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A TEKREBLE TEMPTATION.

t^ ■

QD
M
f

her lover ; I know women better than you
do ; I am one of the precious lot."

The Admiral replied only with a look of
superlative scorn ; this incensed the Somer-
set, and that daring woman, whose ear was
nearer to the door, and had caught sounds
that escaped the men, actually turned the
handle, and while her eye flashed defiance,
her vigorous foot spurned the folding-doors
wide open in half a moment.

Bella Bruce lay with her head sideways
on the table, and her hands extended,
moaning and sobbing piteously for poor
Sir Charles.

She scarcely noticed him, for the moment
he turned her she caught sight of Miss
Somerset, and recognized her face in a mo-
ment. ** Ah 1 the Sister of Charity 1 " she
cried, and stretched out her hands to her
with a look and a gesture so innocent, con-
fiding, and imploring, that the Somerset,
already much excited by her own eloquence,
took a turn not uncommon with termagants,
and began to cry herself.

But she soon stopped that, for she saw
her time was come to go, and avoid un-
pleasant explanations. She made a dart
ancb secured the two letters. ** Settlei i s.

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

tool of Richard Bassett, don't be a tool and
a dupe by halves. He is in love with her
too. Marry her to the blackguard, and
then you will be sure to kill Sir Charles."

Having delivered this with such volubility
that the words pattered out like a roll of
musketry, she flounced out, with red cheeks
and wet eyes, rushed down the stairs, and
sprang into her carriage, whipped the po-
mes, and away at a pace that made the
spectators stare.

Mr Oldfield muttered some excuses and
retired more sedately.

All this set Bella Bruce trembling and
weeping, and her father was some time be-
fore he could bring her to anything like
composure. Her first words, when she
could find breath, were " He is innocent ;
he is unhappy. O that I could fly to him 1 "

" Innocent ' What proof ? "

" That brave lady said so."

" Brave lady 1 A bold hussy. Most
likely a friend of the woman Somerset, and
a bird of the same feather. Sir Charles
has done himself no good with me by send-
ing such an emissary.

"No, papa; it was the lawyer brought
her, and then her own good heart made her
burst out. Ah ! she is not like me : she has
courage. What a noble thing courage is,
especially in a woman 1 **

*< Pray did you hear the language of this
noble lady V "

"Every word, nearly; and I shall never
forget them. They were diamonds and
pearls."

" Of the sort you can pick up at Billings-
gate."

" Ah, papa, she pleaded for him as I can-
not plead, and yet I love him. It was true
eloquence. O, how she made me shud-
der 1 Onlv think ; he had a fit, and lost his
reason, and all for me. What shall I do ?
What shall I do?"

This brought on a fit of weeping.

Her father pitied her, and gave her a
crumb of sympathy : said he was sorry for
Sir Charles.

" But," said he, recoverinor his resolution,
"it cannot be helped. He must expiate
his vices, like other men. Do pray pluck
up a little spirit and sense; now try and
keep to the point. This woman came
from him ; and ^ou say you heard her lan-
guage, and admire it. Quote me some of

" She said he fell down as black as his

hat. and his eyes rolled, and his poor tpeth

„ rys s n ^ dAi eidadi^yiriar darlime!

swallow an anonymous letter like spring-
water. Oh 1 oh I "

" Green ? There was a word 1 "

"Oh I oh I But it is the right word.
You can't mend it. Try, and you will see
you can't. Of course 1 was green. Oh 1
And she said everv gentleman who can
afford to keep a saddle-horse has a female
friend, till his banns are called in church.
Oh! ohi"

" A pretty statement to come to your
ears 1 "

" But, if it is the truth 1 * The truth

MAY BE BLAMED, BUT IT CAN'T BE

SHAMED.' Ah I I '11 not forget that ! I *11
pray every night I may remember those
words of me brave lady I Oh I "
" Yes ; take her for your oracle."
"I mean to. I always try to profit by
my superiors. She has courage: 1 have
none. I beat about the bush ana talk skim-
milk: she uses the veiy word. She said
we have been the dupe and the tool of a
little scheming rascal, an anonymous cow-
ard, with motives as base as his heart is
black, oh I oh ! ay, that is the way to speak
of such a man : I can*t do it m^'self, but I
reverence the brave lady who can. And
she was n't afraid even of you, dear papa.
* Come, old gentlemar,' — ha I ha 1 ha 1 —
' take the world as it is. Belgravian moth-
ers would not break both their hearts for
what is past and gone.' What hard good
sense 1 a thing I always did admire : be-
cause I 've got none. But her heart is not
hard. After all her words of fire that went
so straight, instead of beating the bush, she
ended by crying for me. Oh I oh 1 oh !
Bless h|^l bless her! If ever there 'was
a good woman in the world that is one.
She was not bom a lady, I am afraid ; but
that is nothing : she was bom a woman, and
I mean to make her acquaintance, and take
her for my example in all things. No, dear
papa, women are not so pitiful to women,
without causjB. She is almost a stranger,
yet she cried for me. Can you be harder
to me than she is ? No ; pity your poor girl,
who will lose her health, and perhaps her
life. Pity poor Charles, stung by an anony-
mous viper, and laid on a bed of sickness
for me , oh I oh I oh I "

" I do pity you, Bella. When you cry
like this my heart bleeds."

" I '11 try not to cry, papa. Oh I oh 1 "
" But, most of all, I pity your infatuation,
your blindness. Poor innocent dove, that
looks at others by the light of her own good-
ness and so sees all sBannor dftvlnluos iif a

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

" Come, Bella. I thought you were going
to imitate the jade, and not beat about the
bush. Yes, or no ? "

" The features are very like."

" Bella, you know it is the same woman.
You recognized her in a moment. That
speaks yolumes. But she shall find I am
not to be made < a dupe and a tool of ' quite
so easily as she thinks. I '11 tell you what,
— this is some professional actreps Sir
Charles has hired to waylay you. Little
simpleton I "

He said no more at that time ; but, after
dinner, he ruminated, and took a very se-
rious, indeed almost a maritime, view of the
crisis. "I 'm overmatched now," thought
he. " They will cut my sloop out under the
very guns of the flagship, if we stay much
longer in this port, — a lawyer against me,
and a woman too ; there 's nothing to be done
but heave anchor, hoist sail, and run for it."

He sent otf a forei^ telegram, and then
went up stairs. <* Bella, my dear," said he,
" pack up your clothes lor a journey. We
start to-morrow."

** A journey, papa I A long one ? "

« No. We sha' n't double the Horn this
time."

"Brighton? Paris?"

« O, arther than that."

" The grave. That is the journey I
should like to take."

" So you shall, some day ; but, just now,
it is a foreign port you are bound for. Gro
and pack."

"I obey." And she was creeping off, but
he called her back and kissed her, and said,
" Now, I '11 tell you where you are going ;
but you must solemnly promise me^not to
write one line to Sir Charles Bassett."

She promised ; but cried as soon as she
had promised; whereat the Admiral in-
ferred he had done wisely to exact the
promise.

" Well, my dear," said he, " we are ffoing
to Baden. Your aunt Molinejix is tnere.
She is a woman of great delicacy and pru-
dence, and has daughters of her own all
well married, thanks to her motherly care.
She will bring you to your senses bitter
than I can."

Next evening they left England, by the
mall; and the day after, Richard Bassett
learned this through his servant, and went
home triumphant, and, indeed, wondering
at his success. He ascribed it, however, to
the Nemesis whic i dogs the heels of those
who inherit the estate of another.

Such was the only moral reflection he made,
thoagh the business in general, and partic-
ularly his share in it, admitted of several.

Miss Somerset also heard of it, and told

The whole matter appeared stagnant for
about ten days ; and then a delicate hand
stirred the dead waters cautiously. Mr.
Oldfield, of all people in the world, received
a short letter m)m Bella Bruce.

•< KoNiesBERa Hotel, BadKn.

" Miss Bruce presents her compliments to Mr.
Oldfield^ and will feel much obliged if he will send
her the name and address of that brave lady who
accompanied him to her father's house.

" Miss Bruce desires to thank that lady^ person-
aUyy for her brave defence of one with whom it
would be imfiroper in her to communicate ; but she
can never be indifferent to his u)eifaie, nor hear of
his sufferings unthout deep sorrow."

« Confound it ! " feaid Solomon Oldfield,
" What am I to do? I must n't tell her it
is Miss Somerset." So the wary lawyer
had a copy of the letter made, and sent to
Miss Somerset for instructions.

Miss Somerset sent for Mr. Marsh, who
was now more at her beck and call than
ever, and told him she had a ticklish letter
to write. " I can talk with the best," said
she ; *' but the moment I sit down and take
up a pen, something cold runs up my
shoulder, and then down my back-bone,
and I *m palsied. Now you are •silways
writing, and can't say < Bo ' to a goose, in
company. Let us mix ourselves, i '11
walk about, and speak my mind ; and then
you put down the cream, and send it."

From this ingenious process resulted the
following composition : —

" She whom Miss Bruce is good enough to call
' the brave lady,' happened to know the truth, and
that tempted her to try and baffle an anonymous '
slamlerer who was ruining the happiness of a lady
and gentleman. Being a person of warm mpidses,
she went great lengths ; but she now wishes to retire
into the shade. She is flattered by Miss Bruce's
desire to know her, aria some day, perhaps, may
remind her of it. But, at present, she must deny
herself that honor. If her reasons were known.
Miss Bruce vsould not be offended, nor hurt; she
would entirely approve them.

Soon after this, as Sir Charles Bassett sat
by the fire, disconsolate, his servant told
him a lady wanted to see him.

"Who is it?"

"Bee: pardon, Sir Charles; but it is a
kind of a sort of a nun, Sir Charles."

" O, a Sister of Charity 1 Perhaps the
one that nursed me. Aamit her, oy all
means."

The Sister came in. She had a large
veil on. Sir Charles received her with
profound respect, and thanked her, with
some little hesitation, for her kind attention
to him. She stopped him by saying that
was merely her duty. "But," said she,
softl " words ^11 fipm J ou on t^ ^gd of

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

" Ah, then no wonder you speak so kindly :
you can feel what I have lost. She has left
England to avoid me."

<* All the better. Where she is, the door
cannot be closed in your face. She is at
Baden. Follow her there. She has heard
the truth from Mr. Oldiield, and she knows
who wrote the anonymous letter."

« And who did ? "

« Mr. Richard Bassett."

*This amazed Sir Charles.

^ The scoundrel t " said he, after a long
silence.

" Well, then, why let that fellow defeat
you, for his own ends ? I would go at once
to Baden. Your leaving England would be
one more proof to her that she has no rival.
Stick to her like a man, sir, and you will
win her I tell you.

These words from a nun amazed and
fired him. He rose from his chair, flushed
with sudden hope and ardor. " I *11 leave
for Baden to-morrow morning."

The Sister rose to retire.

" No, no," cried Sir Charles. « I have
not thanked you. I ought to go down on
my knees and bless you for i3l this. To
whom am 1 so indebted ? "

" No matter, sir."

**But it does matter. You nursed me,
and perhaps saved my life, and now you
give me back the hopes that make life
sweet. You will not trust me with your
name?"

" We have no name."

" Your voice at times sounds very like —
no, 1 will not affront you by such a compari-
son."

" I *m her sister," said she, like lightning.

This announcement staggered Sir Charles,
and he was silent and uncomfortable. It
gave him a chill.

The Sister watched him keenly, but said
nothing:.

Sir Charles did not know what to say, so
he asked to see her face. << It must be as
beautiftil as your heart."

The Sister shook her head. "My face
las been disfigured by a frightftil disorder."

Sir Charles uttered an ejaculation of
regret and pity.

" I could not bear to show it to one who
esteems me as you seem to do. But per-
haps it will not aWays be so."

" 1 hope not. You are young and Heaven
is good. Can I do nothinor for you ? who
tt "n

" By all means : but it is a poor thing to
offer you,"

" I shall value it very much."

" Say no more. I am fortunate in having
anything you deign to accept."

And so the ring changed nands.

The Sister now put it on her middle
finger, and held up her hand, and her bright
eyes glanced at it, through her veil, with
that delight which her sex in general l^el
at the possession of a new bawble. She
recovered herself, however, and told him,
soberly, the ring should return to his family
at her death, if not before.

" I will give you a piece of advice for it,"
said she. "Miss Bruce has foxy hair and
she is very timid. Don't vou take her ad-
vice about commanding her. Shie would
like to be your slave I Don 't let her.
Coax her to speak her mind. Make a
friend of her. Don 't you put her to this —
that she must displease you or else deceive
you. She might choose wrong, especially
with that colored hair."

** It is not in her nature to deceive."

"It is not in her nature to displease.
Excuse me ; I am too fanciful and look at
women too close. But I know your happi-
ness depends on her : all your eggs are in
that one basket. Well, 1 have told you
how to carry the basket. Grood by."

Sir C harles saw her out, and bowed re-
spectfully to her in the hall, while his ser-
vant opened the street door. He did her
this homage as his benefactress.

W^hen Admiral and Miss Bruce reached
Baden, Mrs. Molineux was away on a visit ;
and this disappointed Admiral Bruce, who
had counted on her assistance to manage
and comfort Bella. Bella needed the latter
very much ; a glance at her pale, pensive,
lovely face, was enough to show tnat soiv
row was rooted at her heart. She was sub-
jected to no restraint, but kept the house of
her own accord, thinking, as persons of her
age are apt to do, that her whole history
must be written in her face. Still, of course,
she did go out sometimes, and one cold, but
bright aniernoon she was strolling languidly
on the parade, when all in a moment she
met Sir Charles Bassett face to face.

She gave an eloquent scream, and turned
pale a moment, and then the hot blood
came rushing, and then it retired, and she
stood at bay, with heaving bosom, and great
eyes.
I • Id u d

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

" Yon must not speak to me, sir. I am
forbidden."

" Pray do not condemn me, unheard."

<< If I listen to you I shall believe you. I
won't hear a word. Gentlemen can do
things that ladies cannot even speak about.
Talk to my aunt Molineux; our fate de-
pends on her. This will teach you not to
be so wicked. What business have gentle-
men to be so wicked? Ladies are not. No,
it is no use, I will not hear a syllable. I am
ashamed to be seen speaking to you. You
are a bad character. O Charles, is it
true you had a fit?"

"Yes."

" And have you beep very ill ? You look
ill."

" I am better now, dearest"

<< * Dearest I ' Don't call me names. How
dare you keep speaking to me, when I re-
quest you not ? "

<< Bat I can't excuse myself, and obtain
my pardon, and recover your love, unless I
am allowed to speak."

"O, you can speak to my aunt Moli-
neux, and she will read you a fine lesson."

"Where is she?"

" Nobody knows. But there is her house,
the one with the iron gate. Gret her ear
first, if you really love me ; and don't you
ever waylay me again. If you do, I snail
say something rude to you, sir. O, I 'm so
happy 1 "

Having let this out, she hid her face with
her hands, and fled like the very wind.

At dinner-time she was in high spirits.

The Admiral congratulated her. " Brava,
Bell I Youth, and health, and a foreign
air, will soon cure you of that follv."

Bella blushed deeply, and said nothing.
The truth struggled within her, too, but she
shrank from giving pain and receiving ex-
postulation.

She kept the house, though, for two days,

Eartly out of modesty, partly out of an
onest and pious desire to obey her father
as much as she could.

The third day Mrs. Molineux arrived,
and sent over to the Admiral.

He invited Bella to come with*him. She
consented eagerly ; but was so long in dress-
ing that he threatened to go without her.
She implored him not to do that ; and, after
a monstrous delay, the motive of which the
reader may perhaps divine, father and
daughter called on Mrs. Molineux. She re-
ceived them very affectionately. But, when
the Admiral, with some hesitation, began to
enter on the great subject, she said, quietly,
"Bella, my dear, go for a walk, and come
back to me in half an hour."

" Aunt Molineux I ' said Bella, extending
both* her hands imploringly to that lady.

Mrs. Molineux was proof against this
blandishment, and Bella had to o.

When she was gone, this lady, who, both
as wife and mother, was literally a model,
rather astonished her brother the Admiral.
She said, " I am sorry to tell you that you
have conducted this matter with perfect im-
propriety, both you and Bella. She had no
business to show vou that anonymous letter ;
and, when she did show it you, you should
have taken it fix)m her, and told her not to
believe a word of it."

" And married my daughter to a liber-
tine I Why, Charlotte, I am aediamed of
you."

Mrs. Molineux colored hish ; but she kept
her temper; and ignored ue interruption.
"Then, if you decided to so into so indeli-
cate a question at all (and really you were
not bound to do so on anonvmous informa-
tion), why then you should have sent for
Sir Charles, and given him the letter, and
put him on his honor to tell you the truth.
He would have told you the fact, instead of
a garbled version ; and the fact is that, be-
fore he knew Bella, he had a connection
which he prepared to dissolve, on terms very
honorable to nimself, as soon as he engaged
himself to your daughter. What is there in
that? Why, it is common, universal,
amongst men of fashion. I am so vexed
it ever came to Bella's knowledge : really, it
is dreadful to me, as a mother, that such a
thin| should have been discussed before that
child. Complete innocence means complete
Ignorance; and that is how all my girls
went to their husbands. However, what
we must do now is to tell her Sir Charles
has satisfied me he was not to blame ; and,
afler that the subject must never be recurred
to. Sur Charles has promised me never to
mention it, and no more shall Bella. And
now, my dear John let me congratulate you.
Your daughter has a high-minded lover,
who adores her, with a fine estate : he has
been crying to me, poor fellow, as men vrill
to a woman of my age ; and if vou have any
respect for my jud^ent — ask him to din-
ner."

She added that it mi^ht be as well if, af-
ter dinner he were to take a little nap.

Admiral Bruce did not fall into these
views without discussion. I spare the read-
er the dialogue, since he yielded at last, on-
ly he stipulated that his sister should do the
dinner and the subsequent siesta.

Bella returned, looxing very wistful and
anxious.

" Come here, niece," said Mrs. Molineux.
" Kneel you at my knee. Now look me in
the face. Sir Charles Bassett ha. loved you,
and you only, from the day he first saw you.
He loves vou now as much as ever. Dc you
love him?"

" O, aunt I aunt ! " A shower of kisses,
and a tear or two.

"That is enojjeh. Then^ ^ our e es.

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION,

and dress your beautiftd hair a little better
than that ; for he dines with me to-day."

Who so bright and happy now as Bella
Bruce?

The dreaded aunt did not stop there.
She held that, after the peep into real life
Bella Bruce had obtained, for want of a
mother 's vigilance, she ought to be a wife
as soon as possible. So she gave Sir Charles
a hint that Baden was a very good place
to be married in : and, from that moment,
Sir Charles gave Bella and her father no
rest till they consented.

Little did Richard BaSsett in England
dream what was going on at Baden. He
now surveyed the cnimneys of Huntercombe
Hall with resignation, and even with grow-
ing complacency, as chimneys that would
one day be his, since their owner would not
be in a hurry to love again. He shot Sir- ..
Charles's pheasants whenever they strayed
into his hedgerows,, and he-lived moderately
and studied healdi. In a word, content
with the result of his anonymous letter, he
confined himself now to cannily outliving
the wrongful heir, his cousin.

One fine frosty day, the chimneys of Hun-
tercombe be^an to show signs of life;
vertical columns of blue smoke rose in the
air, one after another, till at last there
were about forty going.

Old servants fiowea down from London.
New ones trickled in, with their boxes, from
the country. Carriages were drawn out into
the stable-yard, horses exercised, and a
whisper ran that Sir Charles was coming to
live on his estates, and not alone.

Richard Bassett went about, inquiring
cautiously.

The rumor spread, and was confirmed by
some little facts.

At last, one fine day, when the chimneys
were all smoking, the church bells began to

Richard Bassett heard, and went out,
scowling deeply. He found the village all
agog with expectation.

JEresently there was a loud cheer from
the steeple, and a fiag floated from the top
of Huntercombe house. Murmurs. Distant

so she swept past Richard Bassett ; she saw
him directly, shuddered a moment, and half
clung to her husband : then on again, and
passed through the open gates amidst loud
cheers* She alighted in her own hall, and
walked, nodding and smiline sunnily,
through two files of domestics and retainers ;
and thought no more of Richard Bassett,
than some bright bird that has flown over a
rattlesnake and glanced down at him. But
a gorgeous bird cannot always be flying.
A snake can sometimes creep under her
perch, and glare, and keep hissing, till she
shudders, and droops, and lays her plumage
in the dust.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.

^^ENERALLY, deliberate crimes are fol-
lowed by some giceat punishment ; but they
are also often attended in their course by
briefer chastisements, single strokes from
the whip that holds the round dozen in re-
serve. These precursors of the grand expi-
ation are sharp but kindly lashes ; for they
tend to whip the man out of the wrong
road.

Such a stroke fell, on Richard Bassett.
He saw Bella Bruce sweep past him, cling-
ins to her husband and shuddering at him-
seLT. For this, •then, he had plotted and
intrigued and written an anonymous letter.
The only woman he had ever loved at all
went past him with a look of aversion, and
was his enemv's wife, and would soon be
the mother of that enemv's children, and
blot him forever out of tne coveted Inher-
itance.

The man crept home and sat by his lit-
tle fireside, cru shed. Indeed, from that hour
he disappeared and drank his bitter cup
alone.

After a while it transpired in the vil-
lage that he was very ill. The clergyman
went to visit him, but was not admitted.
The only person who got to see him was his
friend Wheeler, a smsdl but sharp attorney,
by whose advice he acted in country matters,
lii't , s n f o tin and

h^..thei 8 * w

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Wheeler, it is all over. I and mine shall
never have Huntercombe now."

"I'll tell you what it is," said Wheeler,
almost angrdy, " you will have six feet by
two of it before loi^ if you go on this way.
Was ever such folly 1 to fret yourself out of
this jolly world because you can't get one
particular slice of its upper crust ; why, one
bit of land is as good as another, and I '11
show you how to get land, — in this neigh-
borhood too ; ay, right under Sir Charles's
nose."

" Show me that," said Bassett, gloomily
and incredulously.

'< Leave off moping, then, and I will. I
advise the Bank, you know, and Splatchett's
farm is mortgaged up to the eves. It is not
the only one. I go to the village inns and
pick up* all the gossip I hear there."

" How am I to find money to buy land ? "

"I'll put you up to that too; but you
must leave off moping. Hang it, man, never
say die. There are plenty of chances on
the cards. Gret your color back, and marry
a girl with money, and turn that into land.
The first thing is to leave off grizzling.
Why, you are playing the enemy's game :
that can't be right, can it ? "

This remark was the first that really
roused the sick man.

Wheeler had too few clients to lose one.
He now visited Bassett almost daily, and,
being himself full of inventions and schemes,
he got Bassett, by degrees, out of his leth-
argy ; and he emerged into daylight a^ain ;
but he looked thin, and yellow as a guinea,
and he had turned miser. He kept but
one servant, and fed her and himself at Sir
Charles Bassett's expense. He wired that
gentleman's hares and rabbits in his own
hedges. He went out with his gun every
sunny afternoon and shot a brace or two of

Eheasants, without disturbing the rest ; for
e took no dog with him to run and yelp, but
a little boy, who quietly tapped the hedge-
rows and walked the sunny banks and shaws.
They never came home empty-handed.

But, on those rarer occasions, when Sir
Charles and his Mends beat the Bassett
woods, Richard was sure to make a large
bag ; for he was a cool, unerring shot, and
flushed the birds in hedgerows, slips of un-
derwood, etc., to which me fairer sportsmen
had driven them.

These birds, and the surplus hares, he al-
*ways sold in the market town, and put the
money into a box. The rabbits he ate, and
also squirrels, and, above all, voung hedge-
hogs; a gypsy taught him now to cook
them, viz. ! by enclosing them in clay, and
baking them in wood embers ; then the
bristles adhere to the burnt clay, and the
meat is juicy. He was his own garden-
er, and vegetables cost him next to noth-
ing.

So he went on through all the winter
months, and by the spring his health and
strength were restored ; then he turned
woodman ; cut down every stick of timber
in a little wood near his house, and sold it ;
and then set to work to grub up the roots,
for fires, and cleared it for tillage. The ^
sum he received for the wood was much
more tlian he expected, and this he made a
note of.

He had a big body that could work hard
all day; a big Hate, and a mania for the
possession of land ; and so he led a truly
Spartan life, and everybody in the village
said he was mad.

Whilst he led this hard life. Sir Charles
and Lady Bassett were the gayest of the
gay. She was the beauty and the bride.
Viiiiits and invitations poured in firom every
part of the country. Sir Charles, flattered
by the homage paid to his beloved, made
himself younger and less fastidious, to in-
dulge her ; and the happy pair often drove
twelve miles to dinner, and twenty to dine
and sleep, — an excellent custom in that
county, one of whose favorite toasts is
worth recording, — " Mat you dine where

TO IT PLEASE, AND SLEEP .WHERE TOU
DINE."

They were at every ball, and gave one or
two themselves. .

Above all, they enjoyed society in that
delightful form which is confined to large
houses. They would have numerous and
well-assorted visitors staying at the house
for a week or so, and all dining at a hu^e
round table. But two o'clock p. m. was the
time to see how hosts and guests enjoyed
themselves; the hall door of Huntercombe

was approached by a flight of stone
easy of ascent and about twenty-four feet
wide ; at the riding hour, the county ladies
used to come, one after another, holding up
their riding habits with one hand, and
perch about this gigantic flight of steps like
peacocks and chat like jays, while tne ser-
vants walked their horses about the gravel
esplanade, and the four-in-hand waited a
little in the rear. A fine champing of bits
and fidgeting of thoroughbreds there was
till all were ready ; then the ladies would
each put out her little foot with charming
nonchalance to the nearest gentleman or
groom, with a slight preference for the
grooms, who were more practised ; the man
lifted, the lady sprans at the same time,
and into her saddle, like a bird, — Lady
Bassett on a very quiet pony or in the car-
riage to please some dowager, — and away
they clattered in high spirits, a regular cav-
alcade. It was a huntmg county, and the
ladies rode well ; square seat, ligfit hand on
the snaffle, the curt) reserved for cases of
necessity; and when they had patted the
horse on the neck at starting, as all these

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

coaxing creatures must, tbe^r rode him with
that well-bred ease and unconsciousness of
being on a horse which distinguishes ladies
who have ridden all their lives from the
gawky snobbesses in Hyde Park, who ride,
if riding it can be called, with their elbows
uncoutUy fastened to their sides as if by a
rope, their hands at the pit of their stom-
achs, and both those hands, as heavy as a
housemaid's, sawing the poor horse with
curb and snaffle at once; while the whole
body breathes pretension and affectation,
and seems to say: " Look at me; I am on
horseback I Be startled at that — as I am I
and I have had lessons from a riding-mas-
ter ; he has taught me how a lady should
ride — in his opinion, poor devil."

The champing, the pawing, the moimting,
ftnd the clattering of these bright cavalcades,
with the music of the women excited by
motion, furnished a picture of wealth, and
gayety, and happy country life, that cheered
the whole neighborhood, and contrasted
strangely with the stem Spartan life of him
who had persuaded himself he was the
rightM owner of Huntercombe Hall.

Sir Charles Bassett was a magistrate,
and soon foupd himself a bad one. One
day he made a little mistake, which, owing
to his popularity, was verv gently handled
by the Bench at their weekly meeting ; but
still Sir Charles was ashamed and morti-
fied. He wrote directly to Oldfield, for
law-books, and that gentleman sent him an
excellent selection, bound in smooth calf.

Sir Charles now studied three hours
every day, except hunting-days, when no
squire can work ; and, as his study was his
justice-room, he took care to find an au-
thority before he acted. He was naturally
humane, and rustic offenders, especially
poachers and runaway farm-servants, used
to think themselves fortunate if they were
taken before him, and not before Squire
Powys, that was sure to give them the sharp
edge of the law. So now Sir Charles was
useful as weU as ornamental.

Thus passed fourteen months of happi-
ness, with only one little cloud ; there was
no sign yet of a son and heir. But let a
man be ever so powerful, it is an awkward
s X J.upr IS h 1^ ptrai ^ ee r 8»

Sir Charles now received a hint from one
of his own game-keepers, that the old
farmer was in a bad way and talked of
selling. So Sir Charles called on him, and
asked him if he would sell << Splatchett's "
now. " Why, I can't sell it twice," said
the old man, testily. " You ha' got it, han't
ve ? " It turned out that Richard Bassett
had been beforehand. The Bank had
pressed for their money, and threatened
foreclosure; then Bassett had stepped in
with a good price ; and, although tne con-
veyance was not signed, a stamped agree-
ment was, and neither vendor nor purchaser
could go back. What made it more galling,
the proprietor was not aware of the feud
between the Bassetts, and had thought to
please Sir Charles, by selling to one of his
name.

Sir Charles Bassett went home seriously
vexed ; he did not mean to tell his wife ;
but love's eye read his face, love's arm went
round his neck, and love's soft voice, and
wistful eves soon coaxed it out of him.
''Dear Charles," said she, ''never mind.
It ts mortifying ; but think how much you
have, and how little that wicked man has.
Let him have that farm; he has lost his
self-respect, and that is worth a great many
farms. For my part, I pity the poor wretch.
Let him try to annoy you ; your wife will
try, against him, to make you happy, my own
beloved ; and I think I may prove as strong
as Mr. Bassett," said she, with a look of
inspiration.

Her sweet and tender sympathy soon
healed so slight a scratch.

But they had not done with Splatchett's
yet. Just after Christmas Sir Charles in-
vited three gentlemen to beat his more dis-
tant woods. Their guns bellowed in quick
succession through the woods, and at last
they reached the end of North Wood. Here
Uiey expected splendid shooting, as a great
many cock-pheasants had already been seen
running ahead.

But, when they got to the end of the wood,
they found Lawyer Wheeler standing against
a tree just within Splatchett's boundary;
and one of their own beaters reported that
two boys were stationed in the road, each
n * > h sti k l^u]^^^ ^ Q^nfinj^ tl^ %

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

33-

Only those were spared that flew north-
wards into " Splatdiett's." It was a veri-
table slaughter, planned with judgment and
carried out in a most ungentlemanlike and
unsportsmanlike manner.

It goaded Sir Charles beyond his pa-
tience. After several vain efforts to re-
strain himself, he shouldered his gun, and
followed by his friends, went bursting
through the larches to Richard Bas-
sett.

" Mr. Bassett," said he, " this is most un-
gentlemanly conduct."

" What is the matter, sir ? Am I on your
ground ? "

'< No ; but you are taking a mean advan-
tage of our being out. Who ever heard of
a gentleman beating his boundaries the yery
day a neighbor was out shooting and filling
them with his game ? ''

" O, that is it, is it ? When justice is
against you, you can talk of law ; and when
law is against you, you appeal to justice.
Let us be in one story or the other, please.
The Huntercombe estates belong to me by
birth. You have got them by legal trick-
ery. Keep them, whilst you live. They
will come to me one day, you know. Mean-
time, leave me my little estate of * Splatch-
ett's.* For shame, sir ; you have robbsd me '
of my inheritance and my sweetheart ; do
you grudge me a few cock-pheasants ?
Why, you have made me so poor they are
an object to me now."

" O," said Sir Charles, " if you are steal-
ing my game to keep body and soul to-
gether, I pity you. In that case, perhaps
Dwill let my friends help you fill your
er."

Richard Bassett hesitated a moment ; but
Wheeler, who had drawn near at the sound
of the raised voices, made him a signal to
assent.

** By all means," said he, adroitly. " Mr.
Markham, your father often shot with mine
over the Bassett estates. You are welcome
to poor little * Splatchett's.* Keep your
men off. Sir Charles ; they are noisy bung-
lers, and do more harm than good. Here,
Tom 1 Bill 1 beat for the gentlemen. They
shall have the sport. I only want the
birds."

Sir Charles drew back, and saw pheas-
ant after pheasant thunder and whiz into
the air, then collapse at a report, and fall
like lead, followed by a shower of feathers.

His friends seemed to be deserting him
for l^chard Bassett. He left them in
charge of his keepers, and went slowly
home.

He said nothing to Lady Bassett till
night, and then she got it all from him.
She was very indignant at many of the
things; but as for Sur Charles, all his cousin's
arrows glided off that high-minded gentle-

man, except one, and that quivered in his
heart. " "Yes, Bella," said he, " he told me
he should inherit these estates. That is be-
cause we are not blessed with children."

Lady Bassett sighed. *< But we shall be,
some day. Shall we not ? "

" Grod knows," said Sir Charles, gloomily.
"I wonder whether there was really any-
thing unfair done on our side, when the
entau was cut ofi? "
" Is that likely, dearest ; why ? "
<< Heaven seems to be on his side."
" On the side of a wicked man ? "
^ But he may be the father of innocent
children."
" Why, he is not even married."
" He will marry. He will not throw a
chance away. It makes my headi dizzy,
and my heart sick. Bella, now I can un-
derstand two enemies meeting alone in
some solitary place, and one killing the
other in a moment of rage ; for, when this
scoundrel insulted me, I remembered his
anonymous letter, and all his relentless,
impenitent malice — Bella, I could have
raised my gun, and shot him like a weasel."
Lady Bassett screamed faintly, and flung
her arms round his neck. "O Charles,
pray to God against such thoughts. You
shall never go near that man again. Don't
think of our one disappointment : think of
all the blessings we enjoy. Never mind
that wretched man's hate. Think of your
wife's love. Have I not more power to
make you happy than he has to aflflict you,
my adored?" These sweet words were
accDmpanied by a wife's divine caresses,
with the honey of her voice, and the liquid
sunshine of her loving eyes. Sir Charles
slept peacefully that night, and forgot his
one grief, and his one enemy, for a time.

Not so Lady Bassett. She lay awake all
night and thought deeply of Richard Bas-
sett and " his unrelenting, impenitent
malice." Women of her fine fibre, when
they think long and earnestly on one thing,
have often divinations. The dark Future
seem^ to be illuminated a moment at a time
by flashes of lightning, and they discern the
indistinct forms of events to come. And
so it was with Lady Bassett : in the stilly
night, a terror of the future, and of Richard
Bassett, crept over her, — a terror dispropor-
tioned to his past acts and apparent power.
Perhaps she was oppressed at having an
enemy, — she who was bom to be loved ;
at all events, she was full of feminine divi-
nations, and forebodings, and saw by Sashes,
many a poisoned arrow fly from that quiver,
and strike the beloved breast. It had al-
ready discharged one that had parted them
for a time, and nearly killed Sir Charles.

Daylight cleared awav much of this dark
terror, but left a sober dread, and a strange
resolution. This timid creature, stimulated

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

by love, determined to watch the foe, and
defend her husband with all her little
power. All manner of devices passed
through her head, but were rejected, be-
cause if Love eaid " Do wonders," Timidity
said '< Do nothing that you have not seen
other wives do. ** So she remained, schem-
ing, and longing, and fearins, and passive,
all day. But the next day she conceived a
vague idea, and, all in a heat, rang for her
maid. While the maid was coming, she
fell to blushing at her own boldnesn, and,
just as the maid opened the door, her ther-
mometer fell so low that — she sent her up-
stairs for a piece of work. O lame and
impotent conclusion 1

Just before luncheon, she happened to
look through a window, and to see the head
gamekeeper crossing the park, and coming
to the house. Now this was the very man
she wanted to speak to. The sudden temp-
tation siurprised her out of her timidity.
She rang the bell again, and sent for the
man.

That Colossus wondered in his mind, and
felt uneasy at an invitation so novel How-
ever he clattered into the morning^room, in
his velveteen coat, and leathern gaiters up
to his thigh, pulled his front hair, bobbed
his head, and then stood firm in body as
him of Rhodes, but in mind much abashed at
finding himself in her ladyship's presence.

The lady, however, did not prove so very
terrible.

" May I inquire your name, sir ? " said
fijie, very respectfully.

" Moses Moss, my lady."

<<Mr. Moss, I wish to ask yon a question
or two. May I ? "

*' That you may, my lady."

" I want you to explain — if yon will be
BO good — now the proprietor of * Splatch-
ett's ' can shoot all Sir Cfharles's pheasants."

" Lord I ray lady, we ain't come down to
that. But he do shoot more than bis share,
that *s sure an* sartain. ^ Well, my lady —
if you please — game is just like Christians,
it will make for sunny spots. Highmore has
got a many of them there, with good cover,
and so we breeds for him. As for Splatch-
ctt's that don't hurt we, my lady ; it is all
arable land and dead hedsres with no bot-
tom; only there's one little tongue of it
runs into North Wood, and planted with
larch ; and, if you please, my lady, there is
always a kind of coarse grass grows under
young larches, and makes a strong cover for
game. So, beat North Wood which way
you will, them artful old cocks will run
ahead of ye, or double back into them
larches ; and you see Mr. Ba^sett is not a
gentleman like Sir Charles; he is always a
mouchin^ about, and the biggest poacher in
the parish; and so he drops on to 'em out of
''K)unds."

" Is there no way of stopping all this, sir? "

" We might station a dozen oeaters ahead :
they would most likely get shot ; but I don't
think as they 'd mind that much, if 'you had
set your heart on it, my lady. Dall'd if
I would, for one."

" O Mr. Moss ! Heaven forbid that any
man bhould be shot for me. No, not for all
the pheasants in the world. I '11 try and
think of some other way. I should like to
see thp place. May I ? "

** Yes, my lady, and welcome.*

« How shall I get to it, sir ? "

" You can ride to the * Woodman's Rest,'
my lady, and it is scarce a stone's-throw
firom there ; but 't is baddish travelling for
the likes of you."

She appointed an hoar, rode with her
groom to the public-house, and thence was
conducted through bush, through brier, to
the place where uer husband had been so
annoyed.

Moss's comments became very intelligible
to her the moment she saw the place. She
said very little, however, and r(Hie home.

Next day she blushed high, and asked
Sir Charles for a hundred pounds to spend
upon herself.

Sir Charles smiled, well pleased, and gave
it her, and a kiss into the bargain.

" Ah 1 but," said she, " that is not all."

" 1 am glad of it. You spend too little
money on yourself, — a great deal too little."

"That is a complaint you won't have
long to make. 1 want to cut down a few
trees. May I ? "

"Going to build?"

" Don't ask me. It is for myself."

" That is enoueh. Cut down every stick
on the estate, if you like. The barer it
leaves us the better."

" Ah, Charles, you promised me not. 1
shall cut with great discretion, I assure
you."

" As you please," said Sir Charles. " If
you want to mak$ me happy, deny yourself
nothing. Mind, I shall be angry if you do."

Soon after this, a gaping quidnunc came
to Sir Charles and told him Lady Bassett
was felling trees in North Wood.

" And pray who has a better right to fell
trees in any wood of mine ? "

" But she is building a wall."

" And who has a letter right to build a
wall?"

With the delicacy of a gentleman he
would not go near the place after this till
she asked him, and that was not long. She
came into his study, all beaming, and invited
him to a ride. She took him into North
Wood, and showed him her work. Richard
Bassett's plantation, hitherto divided from
North Wood only by a boundary scarcely
visible, was now shut off by a brick wall :
on Sir Charles's side of that wall every stick

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. 35

o
i

►

of timber was felled and removed, for a dis-
tance of fifty yards, and about twenty yards
from the wall a belt of larches was planted,

" It is all mighty fine, fair lady, but you
have told me a fib. You said it was to be
all for yourself, and got a hundred pounds

a little higher than cabbages. I out of me."

Sir Charles looked amazed, at first ; but I " And so it was for myself, you silly thing,
soon observed how thoroughly his enemy Are you not myself? and the part of my-
was defeated. " My poor Bella," said he, self I love the best." And her supple wri«t
'< to think of your taking all this trouble j wa«) round his neck in a moment,
about such a thin^ — " He stopped to They rode home together, like lovers, and
kiss her very tendeny, and she shone with comforted each other,
joy and innocent pride. " And I never I Richard Bassett, with Wheeler's assist-
thou^ht of this ! You astonish me, Bella." ' ance, had borrowed money of Highmore to
I tf* A " * g ^ *^ V s iri s w • " an u I sa ' • w rr wed m ne

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

the first year. This sounds incredible ; but
owing to the custom of felling only ripe
trees, landed proprietors had no sure clew to
the value of all the timber on an acre. Rich-
ard Bassett had found this out, and bought
Dean's Wood upon the above terms : i. e.,
the vendor gave him the soil, and three
hundred pounds, gratis. He grubbed the
roots, ana sold them for fuel, and plant-
ed larches to catch the overflow of Sir
Charleses game ; the msB grew beautifully,
now the trees were Sown, and he let it for
pasture.

He then, still under Wheeler's advice,
came out into the world again, improved
his dress, and called on several county fami-
lies, with a view to marrying money.

Now in the country they do not despise a
poor gentleman of good lineage, and Bassett
was one of the joldest names in the county ;
so every door was open to him ; and, indeed
his late hermit life had stimulated some cu-
riosity. This he soon turned to sympathy,
by communicating that he was proud but
poor; robbed of the vast estates that be-
longed to him by birth, he had been unwill-
ing to take a lower position. However,
Heaven had prospered him; the wrongful
heir was childless ; he was the heir-at-law,
and felt he owed it to the estate, which must
return to his line, to assume a little more
public importance than he had done.

Wherever he was received he was sure to
enlarge upon his wrongs; and he was be-
lieved, for he was notoriously the direct
heir to Bassett and Huntercombe, but the
family arrangement, by which his father had
been bought out, was known only to a few.
He readfly obtained sympathy, and many
persons were disgusted at Sir Charles's il-
liberality in not making him some compen-

^sation.

To use the h
h , ^

At a very early hour Sir Charles ordered
his carriage and drove home instead of stay-
ins all ni^t.

Mrs. Hardwicke, being a fool, must make
a little more mischief. She blubbered to
her husband, and he wrote Sir Charles a
remonstrance.

Sir Charles replied that he was the only
person aggrieved; Mr. Hardwicke ought
not to have invited a blackguard to meet
him.

Mr. Hardwicke replied that he had never
heard a Bassett called a blackguard before,
and had seen nothing in Mr. Bassett to
justify an epithet so unusual amongst gen-
tlemen. "And to be frank with you, Sir
Charles," said he, ^ I think tliis bitterness
against a poor gentleman whose estates you
are so fortunate as to possess is not consist-
ent with your general character, and is in-
deed unworthy of you."

To this Sir Charles Bassett replied : —

** Dear Mk. Hardwicke, — You have ap-
plied some remarks to me which I will endeavor to
forgety as they were written in entire ignorance of
the truth. J^ut, if we are to remain friends, I ex-
pect you to brieve me whn I tnll you that Mr.
Richard Bassett has never been uronqed by me cnr
mine, but has wronged me and Lady Bassett deeply.
He is a dishonorable scoundrel, not entitled to be re-
ceived in society : and if after this assuinnce, you
receive him, I shall m-ver darken your doors again.
So please let me know your decision,
" / remain

" yours truly,

" Charles Dyke Bassett."

Mr. Hardwicke chafed under this, but
Prudence stepped in; he was one of the
county members, and Sir Charles could com-
mand three hundred votes.

He wrote back to say he had received
Sir h ' 1

y ad

n u e n d

akbes ard & ^ ^ '"^ *^ vt5 Please

A TEKRIBLE TEMPTATION.

<< I am a wise friend. This is a more " You will not see him at all."

serious matter than you seem to think.*' " Charles I "

" Libel 1 " " No, Bella ;- 1 cannot have these animals

" Of course. Why, if Sir Charles had talking to my wife."

consulted me, I could not have dictated a " But, dear love, I am so full of forebod-

better letter. It closes every chink a de- ings. You know, Charles, I don't often

fendant in libel can creep out by. Now presume to meddle; but I am in torture

take your pen and write to Mr. Haid- about this man. If you receive him, may I

wicke."

" Dear Sib, — / have received your letter con-
taining a libel virit^i bf Sir Charl^ Bassett, Mu

1
et.uretaSo

be with you? Then we shall be two to
one."

"No, no," said Sir Charles, testily ; then,
sseincciier l^autiful ^ esi£U afettibd refusal

bo ecae e ae^en^Gti* urseelr<<hhe»

iSufe

uaaeecse

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.

With this bitter reply Wheeler retired

Erecipitately ; the shait pierced but one
osom ; for the devoted wife, with the
swift ingenuity of woman's love, had put
both her hands ridit over her husband's
ears, that he mi^t hear no more in-
sults.

Sir Charles very nearly had a fit; but
his wife loosened his neckcloth, caressed
bis throbbing head, and applied eau-de-Co-
logne to his nostrils : he got better, but felt
dizzy for about an hour. She made him
come into her room and lie down : she
hung over him curling as a vine, and light
as a bird, and her kisses lit softlv as down
upon his eyes, and her words of love and
pity murmured music in his ears, till he
slept and that danger passed.

For a day or two after this both Sir
Charles and Lady Bassett avoided the un-
pleasant subject. But it had to be faced ;
80 Mr. Oldfield was summoned to Hunter^
combe, and all engagements given up for
the day, that he might dine alone with them
and talk the matter over.

Sir Charles thought he could justify; but,
when it came to the point, he could only
prove that Richard had done several un-
gentlemanlike things, of a nature a stout
jury would consider trifles.

Mr. Oldfield said of course they must enter
an appearance ; and, this donp, the wisest
course would be to let him see Wheeler,
and try to compromise the suit. " It will
cost you a thousand pounds. Sir Charles, I
dare say ; but if it teaches you never to write
of an enemy, or to an enemy, without show-
ing your lawyer the letter first, the lesson
wul be cheap. Somebody in the Bible says
* O that mine en^ woul^ write a book 1 *

client has no alternative. No gentleman in
the county would speak to him if he sat
quiet under such contumely."

After beating about the bush the usual
time, Oldfield said that Sir Charles was
hungry for litigation, but that Lady Bassett
was averse to it. " In short, Mr. Wheeler,
I will try and get Mr. Bassett a thousand
pounds to forego this scandal."

" I will consult him, and let you know,"
said Wheeler. << He happens to be in the
town."

Oldfield called a^ain in an hour. Wheeler
told him a thousand pounds would be accept-
ed, with a written apology.

Oldfield shook his head. « Sir Charles
will never write an apology ; right or wrong,
he is too sincere in ms conviction."

"He will never get a jury to share
it."

" You must not be too sore of that. You
don't know the defence."

Oldfield said this with a gravity which
did him credit.

"Do you know it yourself?" said the
other keen hand.

Mr. Oldfield smiled haughtily, but said
nothing. Wheeler had hit the mark.

" By the by," said the latter, " there is
another little matter. Sir Charles assaulted
me, for doing my duty to my client. I mean
to sue him. Here is the writ ; will you ac-
cept service?"

" O, certainly, Mr. Wheeler, and I am
glad to find you do not make a habit of serv-
ing writs on gentlemen in person."

" Of course not. I did it on a single oc-
casion, contrary to my own wish ; and went
in person — to soften the blow — instead of
sending my clerk."

After this little spar, the two artists in
1 w bad oea a tb f f ewell with e^e t.

Cif<

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

of her own money, to keep the matter out of
court. But her very terror of Richard Bas-
sett restrained her. She was always think-
ing about him, and had convinced herself he
was the ablest villain in the wide woild ; and
she thought to herself, " If, with his small
means, he annoys Charles so, what would he
do if I were to enrich him ? He would
crush us."

As the trial drew near, she Began to hover
about Sir Charles in his study, like an
anxious hen. The maternal yearnings were
awakened in her bv marriage ; and ^e had
no child ; so her Cliarles in trouble was hus-
band and child.

Sometimes she would come in and just
kiss his forehead, and run out again, casting
back a celestial look of love at the door,
and, though it was her husband she had
kissed, she blushed divinely. At last one
day she crept in and said, very timidly,
" Charles, dear, the anonymous letter, is
not that an excuse for libelling him — as
they call telling the truth ? "

" Why, of course it is. Have you got it ? "

" Dearest, the brave lady took it away."

« The brave lady 1 Who is that ? ^'

"Why, the lady that came with Mr. Old-
field, and pleaded your cause with papa;
O, so eloquently I Sometimes, when I
think of it now I feel almost jealous. Who
is she?"

" From what you have always told me, I
think it was the Sister of Charity who
nursed me."

**You silly thing, she was no Sister of
Charity, that was only put on. Charles,
tell me the truth. What does it matter now f
It was some lady who loved you."

" Loved me, and set her wits to work to
marry me to you ? "

" Women's love is so disinterested —
sometimes."

" No, no ; she told me she was a sister of
and no doubt that is the truth."

« • 8V f th

Lady Bassett complied with the letter,
but, goose or not, evaded the spirit of Sir
Charks's command with considerable dex-
terity.

'* Dear Mb. Oldfield, — You mca/ guess
what trouble I am in. Sir Charles will sooti have
to appear in open court, and be talked against by
some great orator. That anonymous letter Mr. Bas-
sett wrote me was very base, and is surely some jus-
tijkation of the violent epithets my dear husband,
in an unhappy moment of, irritation, has applied to
him. The brave lady has it. I am sure she wiU
not refuse to send it me. I wish I dare ask her to
give tt me unth her own hand ; but I must not, J
suppose. Pra^ tell her how unhappy I am, and
perhaps she wtU favor us with a uxnrd of advice
as weU as the letter. I remain,
" Yours faithfully,

"Bella Bassett."

This letter was written cU the brave lady ;
and Mr. Oldfield did what was expected, he
sent Miss Somerset a copy of Lady Bassett's
letter, and some lines in his own hand, de-
scribing Sir Charles's difficulty in a more
business-like way.

In due course Miss Somerset wrote him
back, that she was in the country, hunting,
at no very great distance from Huntercombe
Hall ; she would send up to town for her
desk ; the letter would be there, if she had
kept it at aU»

Oldfield groaned at this cool conjecture,
and wrote back directly, urging expedition.

This produced an enect he had not anti-
cipated.

One morning Lord Harrowdale's fox-
hounds met at a large covert, about ^Ye
miles from Huntercombe, and Sir Charles
told Lady Bassett she must ride to cover.

"Yes, dear. — Charles, love, I have no
spirit to appear in public. We shall soon
havcpublicity enough."

"That is my reason. I have not done,
nor said, anything I am ashamed of, and
you will meet the county on this and on
' " r r /

howl^

ral ,t ^

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

"No, no. Not 80 tyrannical as tliat;
han^it all I "

" I)o you know what I do whilst you are
hunting? I pray all the time that you may
not get a fall and be hurt ; and I pray God
to forgive you and all the gentlemen for
your cruelty in galloping with all those dogs
after one poor littlS inoffensive thin^, to
hunt it, and kill it, — kill it twice, indeed,
once with terror, and then over again with
mangling its poor little body."

"This is cheerfiil," said Sir Charles,
rather ruefiilly. " We cannot all be angels,
like you. It is a glorious excitement.
TTiere, you are too good for this world ; I'll
let you off going."

" O no, dear. I won*t be let off, now
I know your wish. Only I beg to ride
home as soon as the poor thing runs away.
You would n't get me out of the thick covers,
if I was a fox. I *d run roimd and round,
and call on all my acquaintances to set
them running."

As she said this, her eyes turned towards
each other in a peculiar way, and she looked
extremely foxy ; but the look melted away
directly.

The hounds met, and Lady Bassett, who
was still the beauty of the county, was
surrounded by riders, at first ; but, as the
hounds began to work, and every now
and then a young hound uttered a note,
they cantered about, and took up different
posts, as experience suggested.

At last a fox was found at the other end
of the cover, and away galloped the hunters
in that direction, all but four persons, —
Lady Bassett, and her groom, who kept re-
spectfully aloof, and a lady and gentleman
who had reined their horses up on a rising
ground about a furlong distant.

Lady Bassett, thus left alone, happened to
look round, and saw the ladv level an op-
erarglass towards her and look through it.

J^ a result of this inspection, the lady
cantered towards her. She was on a chest-
nut gelding of great height and bone, and
rode him as if they were one, so smoothly did
she move in concert with his easy, magnifi-
cent strides.

When she came near Lady Bassett, she
made a little sweep and drew up beside her
on the grass.

There was no mistaking that tall figure
and commanding face. It was the brave
lady. Her eyes sparkled, her cheek was
slightly colored with excitement ; she looked
healthier and handsomer than ever, and also
more femi^^i^i^c^ %q reason y^ sao^acious

'^ d >». tl m V^

ff nB hfriJo eP s

looked lovingly at her, before she could
speak. At last she said, "Yes; and you
have come to help us again."

" Well, the lawyer said there was no
time to lose; so 1 have brought you the
anonymous letter."

" 0, thank you, madam, thank you."

" But I 'm afraid it will be of no use,
unless you can prove Mr. Bassett wrote it.
It is in a disguised hand."

"But you found him out by means of
another letter."

"Yes, but I can't give you that other
letter, to have it read in a court of law, b&r
cause, do you see that gentleman there ? "

"Yes." '

« That is Marsh."

"O, isit?"

" He is a fool ; but I am going to marry
him. I have been very ill smce I saw you,
and poor Marsh nursed me. Talk of wo-
men nurses! If ever you are ill in ear-
nest, as I was, write to me, and I'll send
you Marsh. O, I have no words to tell you
his patience, his forbearance, his watclmil-
ness, his tenderness to a sick woman. It
is no use, I must marry him ; and I could
have no letter published that would give
him pain."

" Of course not. O madam, do you
think I am capable of doing anything that
would give you pain, or dear Mr. Marsh
either?"

" No, no, you are a good woman."

" Not half so good as you are."

"You don't know what you are say-
ing."

" O yes, I do."

" Then I say no more ; it is rude to con-
tradict. Good by. Lady Bassett."

" Must you leave me so soon ? Will you
not visit us ? May I not know the name
of so good a jfriend ? "

" Next week I shall be Mrs, MarshJ'

" And you will give me the great pleas-
ure of having you at my house, you and
your husband ? "

The lady showed some agitation at this,
an unusual thing for her. She faltered,
" Some day, perhaps, if I make him as good
a wife as I hope to. What a lady you are I
Vulgar people are ashamed to be grateful ;
but you are a bom lady. Good by, before
I make a fool of myself; and they are all
coming this way, by the dogs' music."

"Won't you kiss me after bringing me
this?"

" Kiss you ? " and she opened her eyes.

" ^^ flP>hdft?'??Kx'^^^*k%'^ Bassett, bend-

mn r^ OTdiff or e

42 A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

H
P
O

55
O

At that contact the stranger seemed to fore described; but she replied pretty prompt-
change her character all in a moment. She ly, "The brave lady herself ; she brought
strained Bella to her bosom, and kissed her me the anonymous letter for your defence."
passionately, and sobbed out wildly, " O " Why, how came she to know about it ? "
God, you are good to sinners. Tliis is " She did not tell me that. She was in
the happiest hour of my life — it is a fore- a great hurry. Her fiance yt^ waiting for
runner. Bless you, sweet dove of inno- her."

cence I You will be none the worse, and I " Was it necessary to kiss her in the hunt-
am all the better — Ahl Sir Charles 1 ing-field ?" said Su: Charles, with something
Not one word about me to him." very like a frown.

And with these words, uttered with sud- " 1 'd kiss the whole field, grooms and

den energy, she spurred her great horse, all, if they did you a great service, as that

leaped the ditch, and burst &rough the dear lady has," said Bella. The words were

dead hedge into the wood, and winded out brave, but the accent piteous.

"orhS liwa* «

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

to escape fartber examination about this
mysterioos lady. She rode home according-
ly. There she found Mr. Oldfield, and
showed him the anonymous letter. , «

He read it, and said it was a defence, but
a disagreeable one. << Suppose he says he
wrote it, and the^ facts were true ? "

"But I don't think he will confess it.
He is not a gentleman. He is very untruth-
ful. Can we not make this a trap to catch
him, sir ? He has no scruples."

Oldfield looked at her in some surprise at
her depth.

" We must get hold of his handwriting,"
said he. " We must ransack the local banks ;
find his correspondents."

" Leave all that to me," said Lady Bas-
sett, in a low voice.

Mr. Oldfield thought he might as well
please a beautiM and loving woman, if he
could ; so he gave her something to do for
her husband. " Very well, collect all the
materials of comparison you can, letters, re-
ceipts, etc. Meantime I will retain the two
principal experts in London, and we will
submit your materials to them the night be-
fore the trial."

Lady Bassett, thus instructed, drove to all
the banks, but found no clerk acquainted
with Mr. Bassett's handwriting. He did
not bank with anybody in the county.

She called on several persons she thought
likely to possess letters or other writings of
Kichard Bassett. Not a scrap.

Then she began to fear. The case looked
desperate.

Then she began to think. And she
thought very hard indeed, especially at
ni^ht.

In the dead of night she had an idea.
She got up, and stole from her husband's
side, and studied the anonymous letter.

Next day, she sat down, with the anony-
mous letter on her desk, and blushed, and
trembled, and looked about like some wild
animal scared. She selected from the
anonymous letter several words, " character,
abused, Sir, Charles, Bassett, lady, aban-
doned, friend, whether, ten, slanderer," etc.,
and wrote them on a slip of paper. Then
she locked up the anonymous letter. Then
she locked the door. Then she sat down to
a sheet of paper, and, after some more wild
and furtive glances all around, she gave her
whole mind to writing a letter.

And to whom did she write, think yon ?

To Richard Bassett.

CHAPTER THE NINTH. ]

" Mb. Bassett, — I am sure both yourself and
my husband will suffer in public estimation, unless

d t u m

" Do not think me blind, nor presumptuous ; Sir
Charles, when he wrote thai letter, had reason to
bdieve you had done him a deep injury by unfair
means. Many will share that opinion, if this
cause is tried. You are his cousin, and his netr-at'
law, I dread to see an unhappy feud inflamed by
a public trial. Is there no personal sacrifice by
which I can compensate the affront you have re-
cdved, without compromising Sir Charles Bassett* s
v^acity, who is the soul of honor f

** I am yours obediently,

"Bella Bassett."

She posted this letter, and Richard Bas-
sett hs^ no sooner received it than he
mounted his horse, and rode to Wheeler's
with it.

That worthy's eyes sparkled. "Capi-
tal I " said he. " We must draw her on,
and write an answer that will read well in
court."

He concocted an epistle just the opposite
of what Richard Bassett, lefl to himself^
would have written. Bassett copied, and
sent it as his own.

" Lady Bassett, — / thank you for writing
to me at this moment, when I am weighed down by
slander. Your own character stands so high, that
you would not deign to write to mc if you believed
the abuse that has been lavished on me. With you
I deplore this family feud. It is not of my seek'
inq ; and as for this lawsuit, it is one in which the
Plaintiff is really the Defendant. Sir Charles
has written a defamatory letter, which has closed
every house in this county to his victim. If , as I
now feel sure, you disapprove the libd, pray per-
suade him to retract it. The rest our lawyers can
settle.

" Yours very respectfully,

"BiCHARD Bassett."

When Lady Bassett read this, she saw
she had an adroit opponent. Yet she wrote
again.

" Mr. Bassett, — There are limits to my in-
fluence with Sir Charles, I have no power to make
him say one word against his convictions.

•* But my lawyer tells me you seek pecuniary com-
pensation for an affront. I offer you, out of my
own means, which are ample, that whidi you seek,
— offer it freely and heartily; and I honestly '
think you had bdter receive it from me than expose
yourself to the risks and mortifications of a public
trial.

" / am yours obediently,

"Bella Bassett."

" Lady Bassett, — You have fallen into a
very ncUural error. It is true I sue Sir Charles
Bassett for money; but that is only because the law
allows me my remedy in no other farm. What
really brings me into court is the defence of my in-
jured honor. How do tfou meet me f You say,
virtually, * Never mind your character: here is
money.* Permit me to decline it, on such terms.

*' A public insult cannot be cured in private.

"Strong in my innocence, and my wrongs, I
court what you call the risks of a public trial.

" hatever the r ult have la ed tl Sh ^

nff^T a

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

unjbriunaie for your husband that your genUe in- Charles Basfiett, who enjoys his cousin's
Jluence is limited by his vanity, which perseveres in ancestral estates, and can so well appreciate

a cmel slander^ instead of retracting it, while there
is yet time.

** lam, Madam, yours obediently,

"RiCHABD BaSSBTT."

'* Mb. Bassett, — / retire from a correspond-

what that cousin has lost hy no fault of his
own."

"Hearl heapl"
" Silence in the Court I "
The Judge. I must request that there

ence which appears to be useless, and might, if pro- may be no manifestation of feeling.

longed, draw some bitter remark from me, as it has Counsel. I will endeavor to prov3ce none,

from y^«- , . , ^ , , J _ , my lord. It is a very simple case, and I f hall

Afier the trial, which you court, and I depre- ^ot occupy vou long. TVell, gentlemen, Mr.

jn y eye, ^^^^^ cbediendy, ^^^ ^^^^^ poor, he is proud and honora-

" Bblla Bassbtt " ^^ °^®* ^^ frowns of fortune like

a gentleman — like a man. He has not

In this fencing match between a la^er solicited Government for a place. He has

and a lady each gained an advantage. The not whined nor lamented. He has dignified

lawyer's letters, as might have been ex- unmerited poverty by prudence and sell^

pected, were the best adapted to be read to denial ; and, unable to rorget that he is a

a jury : but the lady, subtler in her way, Bassett, he has put by a little money every

obtained, at a small sacrifice, what she year, and bought a small estate or t'wo,

wanted, and that without raising the slight- and had even applied to the Lord Lienten-

est suspicion of her true motive in the cor- ant to make him a justice of the peace,

respondence. when a most severe and unexpected blow

She announced her success to Mr. Oldfield; fell upon him. Amongst those large pro-
but, in the midst of it, she quaked with ter- prietors who respected him in spite op his
ror at the thought of what Sir Charles humbler circumstances, was Mr. Hiurdwiekey
would say to her for writing to Mr. Bassett one of the county members ; well, gentle-
at all. men, on the 21st of last May Mr. Bassett re-
She now, with the changeableness of her ceived a letter from Mr. Hard wick e, enclos-
sex, hoped and prayed Mr. Bassett would ing one purporting to be from Sir Charles
admit the anonymous letter, and so all her Bassett —
subtlety and pains prove superfluous. The Judge. Does Sir Charles Bassett

Quaking secretly, but with a lovely face, admit the letter ?

and serene front, she took her place at the Defendant's Counsel (after a word with

Assizes, beside the judge, and got as near Oldfield). Yes, my lord,

him as she could. Plaintijff^s Counsel. A letter admitted to

The court was crowded, and many ladies be written by Sir Charles Bassett. That

present. letter shall be read to you.

Bassett y. Bassett was called in a loud The letter was then read,
voice ; there was a hum of excitement, then The counsel resumed, '* Conceive, if yon
a silence of expectation, -and the plaintiff's can, the effect of this blow, just as my tin-
counsel rose to address the jmry. happy and most deserving client was rising

a little in the world. I shall prove that it

" Mat it please your Lordship : Gen- excluded him from Mr. Hardwicke's house,

tlemen of the Jury — The plaintiff in this and other hotises too. He is a man of

case is Blchard Bassett, Esquire, the di- too much importance to risk affronts; he

rect and lineal representative of that old has never entered the door of any gentle-

and honorable family, whose monuments man in this county since his powerful rela-

are to be seen in several churches in this tive published this cruel libel. He has

county, and whose estates are the largest, I dra^vfn his Spartan cloak around him ; and

believe, in the county. He would have he awaits your verdict to resume that place

succeeded, as a matter of course, to those amongst you which is due to him in every

estates, but for an arrangement made only way, due to him as the heir in direct line to

a year before he was bom ; by which, con- the wealth, and, above all, lo the honor of
e-e t. a *dte' ^ «w « " M^® P^^se ts \ dugr t ^im aa,S* Gtftrle

e • * ere

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

would be si^perflnous; the facts speak for
themselves. Call James Hardwicke, Esq."

Mr. Hardwicke proved the receipt of the
letter from Sir Charles, and that he had
sent it to Mr. Bassett ; and that Mr. Bassett
had not entered his house since then, nor
had he invited him.

Mr. Bassett was then caUed, and being
duly trained by Wheeler, abstained from
all neat and wore an air of dignified dejec-
tion. His counsel examined him, and his
replies bore out the opening statement.
Everybody thought him sure of a verdict.

He was then cross-examined. Defend-
ant's counsel pressed him about his unfair
way of shooting. The judge interfered and
said that was trifling. If there was no sub-
stantial defence, why not settle the mat-
ter?

" There is a defence, my lord."

" Then it is time you disclosed it."

"Very well, n^y lord. Mr. Bassett,
did you ever write an anonymous letter ? "

" Not that I remember."

<' O, that appears to you a trifle. It is
not so considered."

The Judge. Be more particular in your
question.

" I will, my lord. Did you ever write an
anonymous letter, to make mischief between
Shr Charles and Lady Bassett ? "

" Never," said the witness ; but he turned
pale.

" Do you mean to say you did not write
this letter to Miss Bruce ? Look at the let-
ter, Mr. Bassett, before you reply."

Bassett cast one swift glance of agony at
Wheeler, then braced himself like iron.
He examined the letter attentively, turned
it over, lived an age, and said it was not
his writing. ■

f^ Do you swear that ? "

«' Certainly."

Defendants Counsel. I shall ask your
lordship to take down that reply. If per-
sisted in my client will indict the witness
for perjury.

Plaintiff's Counsel. Don't threaten the
witness as well as insult him, please.

The Judge. He is^ an educated man, and
knows the duty he owes to God and the
defendant. Take time, Mr. Bassett, and
recollect Did you write that letter ? "

"No, my lord."

Counsel waited for the judge to note the
reply, then proceeded.

"You have lately corresponded with
Lady Bassett, I think ? "

"Yes. Her ladyship opened a corre-
spondence with me."

" It is a lie I " roared Sir Charles Bassett
from the door of the grand jury room.

" Silence in the Court I "

The Judge. Who made that unseemly
remark?

Sir Charles. I did, my lord. My wife
never corresponded with the cur.

7'he Plaintiff. It is only one insult more,
gentlemen, and as false as the rest. Per-
mit me, my lord. My own counsel would
never have put the question. I would liot,
for the world, give Lady Bassett pain, but
Sir Charles and his counsel have extorted
the truth from me. Her ladyship did open a
correspondence with me; and a friendly one.

The Plaintiff's Counsel. Will your lord-
ship ask whether that was afler the defend-
ant had written the libel ?

The question was put, and answered in
the affirmative.

Lady Bassett hid her face in her hand°.
Sir Cbiarles saw the movement, and groaned
aloud.

The Judge. 1 beg the case may not be
encumbered with irrelevant matter.

Counsel replied that the correspondence
would be made evidence in the case. (To
the witness.) " You wrote this letter to
Lady Bassett?"

"Yes."

" And every word in it ? "

" And every word in it," faltered Bassett,
now ashy pale, for he began to see the trap.

" Then you wrote this word ' charac-
ter,' and this wonj * injured,' and this
word — " ^

The Judge (peevishly). He tells you he
wrote every word in those letters to Lady
Bassett. What more would you have ?

Counsel. If your lordship will be good
enough to examine the correspondence, and
compare those words in it I have underlined
with the same words in the anonymousMet-
ter, you will perhaps find I know my busi-
ness better than you seem to think. ' (The
counsel who ventured on this remonstrance
was a sergeant.^

"Brother Eitherside," said the judge,
with a charming manner, " you satisfied me
of that, to my cost, long ago, whenever I
had you against me in a case. Please hand
me the letters."

While the judge was making a keen com-
parison, counsel continued the cross-exam-
ination.

" You are aware that this letter caused a
separation between Sir Charles Bassett and
the lady he was engaged to ? "

" I know nothincr about it."

" Indeed ! Well, were you acquainted
with the Miss Somerset mentioned in this
letter?"

" Slightly."

" You have been at her house ? "

" Once or twice."

" Which ? Twice is double as often as
once, you know."

« Twice."

"No more?**

« Not that I recollect."

A TERKIBLE TEMPTATION.

<
Hi

P3
M
H
H
N
1^

H
H
O

" You wrote :to her V "

" I may have."

" Did you, or did you not ? "

" J did."

" What was the purport of that letter ? "

" I can't recollect at this distance of time."

" On your oath, sir, did you not write,
urging her to co-operate with you to keep
Sir Charles Bassett from marryingr his affi-
anced, Miss Bella Bruce, to whom that
anonymous letter was written with the
same object ? "

The perspiration now rolled in visible
drops down the tortured liar's face. Yet
still, by a gigantic effort, he stood firm, and
even planted a blow.

** T did not write the anonymous letter.
But I believe I told Mies Soow t ^ 1 1 vi

Miss Bruce, and that her lover was robbing
me of mine, as he had robbed me of every-
thing else."

"And that was all you said — on your
oath ? "

"All I can recollect." With this the
strong man, cowed, terrified, expecting his
letter to Somerset to be produced, and so
the iron chain of evidence completed, gasped
out, " Man, you tear open al|. my wounds at
once I " and, with this, burst out sobbing,
and lamenting aloud that he had ever been
bom.

Counsel waited calmly till he should be
in a condition to receive' another dose.

" O, will nobody stop this cruel trial ? "
said Lady Bassett, with the tears trickling
t cwn hdr face.

A TEREOBLE TEMPTATION.

The judge heard this remark, withoat
seeming to do so.

He said to defendant's counsel, " What-
ever the truth may be, you have proved
enough to show Sir Charles Bassett miajVit
well have an honest conviction that Mr.
Bassett had done a dastardly act. Wheth-
er a jury would ever agree on a question of
handwriting must always be doubtful. Look-
ing at the relationship of the parties, is it
advisable to carry this matter farther ? If I
might advise the gentlemen, they would
each consent to withdraw a juror."

Upon this suggestion the counsel for both
parties put their neads together in animated
whispers ; and, during this, the judge made
a remark to the jury, intended for flie pub-
lic : " Since Lady Bassett's name has been
drawn into this, I must say that I have
read her letters to Mr. Bassett, and they are
such as she could write without in the least
compromising her husband. Indeed, now
the defence is disclosed, they appear to me
to be wise and kindly letters, such as only
a good wife, a high-bred lady, and a true
CWstian could write in so delicate a mat-
ter."

Plaintiff* s Counsel, — My lord, we are
agreed to withdraw a juror.

Defendants Counsel, — Out of respect for
your lordship's advice, and not from any
doubt of the result, on our part.

The Crier. — Wage v, Haliburton !

And so the car of justice rolled on till it
•came to Wheeler v, Bassett.

This case was soon disposed of.

Sir Ciiarles Bassett was dignified and
calm in the witness-box, and treated the
whole matter with high-bred nonchalance,
as one unworthy of the attention the Court
was good enough to bestow on it. The
judge disapproved the assault, but said the
plaintiff had drawn it on himself; by unpro-
fessional conduct, and by threatening a gen-
tleman in his own* house. Verdict for the
plaintiff, — 405. The judge refused to cer-
tify for costs.

iady Bassett, her throat parched with ex-
citement, drove home and awaited her hus-
band's return with no little anxiety. As soon
as she heard him in his dressing-room, she
glided in and went down on her knees to
him. " Pray, pray, don't scold me ; I couldn't
bsar you to be defeated, Charles." Sir
Charles raised her, but did not kiss her.
" You think only of me," said he, nather
sadly. " It is a sorry victory, too dearly
bought." 0^

Then she began to crv.

Sir Charles begged her not to cry ; but
slill he did not kiss her, nor conceal his mor-
ifi * -dli 1 .h

her husband was right, and loved her like
a man. But she thought also that she was
not very wrong to love him in her way.
Wrong or not, she felt she could not sit
idle, and see his enemy defeat him.

The coolness died away, by degrees, with
so much humility on one side and so much
love on both : but the subject was interdict-
ed forever.

A week after the trial Lady Bassett wrote
to Mrs. Marsh, under cover to Mr. Oldfield,
and told her how the trial had gone, and,
with many expressions of gratitude invited
her and her husband to Huntercombe
Hall. She told Sir Charles what she had
done, and he wore a very strange look.
"Might I surest that we have them alone ? "
said he, dryly.

" By all means," said Lady Bassett. " I
don't want to share my paragon with any-

In due course a reply came ; Mr. and
Mrs. Marsh would avail themselves some
day of Lady Bassett's kindness : at present
they were going abroad. The letter was
written by a man's hand.

About this time Oldfield sent Sir Charles
Miss Somerset's deed, cancelled, and told
him she had married a man of fortune, who
was devoted to her, and preferred to take
her without any dowry.

Bassett and Wheeler went home crest-
fallen, and dined together. They discussed
the two trials ; and each blamed the othen
They quarrelled, and parted : and Wheeler
sent in an enormous bill, exte^ing over
five years. Eighty-five items 'oegan thus:
" Attending you at your house for several
hours, on which occasion you asked my ad-
vice as to whether — " etc.

Now, as a great many of these attendances
had been really to shoot game, and dine on
rabbits, at Bassett's expense, he thought
it hard the conversations should be charged,
and the rabbits not.

Disgusted with his defeat, and resolved
to evade this bill, he discharged his servant,
and put a. retired soldier into his house,
armed him with a blunderbuss, and ordered
him to keep all doors closed, and present
the weapon aforesaid at all rate collectors,
tax collectors, debt collectors, and appli-
cants for money to build churches, or con-
vert the heathen ; but not to fire at any-
body except his friend Wheeler, nor at him
imless he should try to shove a writ in at
some chink of the building.

This done, he went on his travels, third-
class, with his eyes always open, and his
heart full of bitterness.

Nothinor happened to Richard Bassett on
hi or h .. > h . ' e

A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

I am about to relate seems at this moment
incredible to me, though it is simple
fact.

He found the commercial room empty,
and rang the bell. In came the waiter, a
strapping girl, with coal-black eyes, and
brows to match, and a brown skin, but
glowing cheeks.

They both started at sight of each other.
It was Polly Somerset.

"Why, Polly! How d* ye do? How do
you come here ? "

" It *s along of you I *m here, young man,"
said Polly, and began to whimper. She
told him her sister had found out from the
page she had been colloguing with him, and
had never treated her like a sister after
that. " And, when she married a gentle-
man, she would n't have me aside her, for
all I could say, but she did pack me off into
service, and here I be."

The girl was handsome, and had a liking
for him. Bassett was idle, and time hung
heavy on his hands : he stayed at the inn a
fortnight, more for Polly's company than
anything : and, at last, offered to put her
into a vacant cottage qu his own little estate
of Highmore. But the girl was shrewd,
and had seen a great deal of life this last
three years ; she liked Blchard in her wav,
but she saw he was all self, and she would
not trust him. " Najr," said she, " I *11 not
break with Rhoda for any young man in
Britain. If I leave service, she will never
own me at all ; she is as hard as iron."

" Well, but you mi^ht come and take
service near me, and men we could often
get a word together."

" O, I 'm agreeable to that : you find me
a good place. I like an inn best ; one sees
firesh faces."

Bassett promised to mana^ that for her.
On reaching^ home, he found a conciliatory
letter from Wheeler, coupled with his pei>
mission to tax the bill, according to his own
notion of justice. This, and other letters,
were in an outhouse ; the old soldier had
not permitted them to penetrate the fortress.
He had entered into the spirit of his in-
structions, and to him a letter was a proba-
ble hand-grenade.

Bassett sent for Wheeler; the bill was
reduced, and a small payment made ; the
rest postponed till better times. Wheeler
was then consulted about PollJ^, and he told
his client the landlady of the "Lamb"
wanted a good active waitress ; he thought
he could arrange that little affair.

In due course, thanks to this artist, Mary

Wells, hitherto known as Polly Somerset,

w' 1 e b "La "• nd

fnend Wheeler, and even sleep there after
supper.

By and by the vicar of Huntercombe
wanted a servant, and offered to engage
Mary Wells-
She thought twice about that. She could
neither write nor read, and therefore was
dreadfully dull without company ; the bus-
tle of an inn, and people coming and going,
amused her. However, it was a temptation
to be near Richard Bassett ; so she accepted
at last. Unable to write, she could not
consult him ; and she made sure he would
be delighted.

But, when she got into the village the
prudent Mr. Bassett drew in his horns, and
avoided her. She was mortified, and very
angry. She revensed herself on her em-
plover; broke double her wages. The vicar
had never been able to convert a smasher ;
so he parted with her very readily to Lady
Bassett, with a hint that she was rather un-
fortunate in glass and china.

In that large house her spirits rose, and,
having a hearty manner and a clapper
tongue, she became a general favorite.

One day she met Mr. Bassett in the vil-
lage, and he seemed delighted at the sight
of her, and begged her to meet him that
night at a certain place, where Sir Charles's
gaJden was divided from his own by a ha-ha.
It was a very secluded spot, shut out fix)m
view, even in daylight, by the trees and
shrubs and the winding nature of the walk
that led to it ; yet it was scarcely a hundred
yards from Huntercombe Hall.

Mary Wells came to the tryst, but in no
amorous mood. She came merely to tell Mr.
Bassett her mind ; viz. that he was a shabby
fellowj and she had had her cry, and did n't
care a straw for him now. And she did
tell him so, in a loud voice, and with a
flushed cheek.

But he set to work, humbly and patiently,
to pacify her ; he represented that in a
small house like the vicarage everything is
known ; he should have ruined her charac-
ter if he had not held aloof. " But it is
different now," said he. " You can run out
oiflluntercombe House, and meet me hete,
and nobody be any the wiser."

" Not I," said Mary Wells, with a toss.
" The worst thing a girl can do is to keep
company with a gentleman ; she must meet
him in noles and corners and be flung off
like an old glove when she has served bis
turn."

" That will never happen to you," Polly
dear. We must be prudent for the present ;
but I shall be more my own master some

bhY

1q love

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Such was the warning her natural shrewd-
ness gave her. But perseverance under-
mined it ; Bassett so oflen threw out hints
of what he would do some day, mixed with
warm protestations of love, that she began
almost to hope he would marry her. She
really liked him ; his fine fi^r^ and his
color pleased her eye, and he had a plausi-
ble tongue to boot.

As for him, her rustic beauty and health
pleased his senses ; but, for his heart, she had
little place in that. What he courted her
for j'jst now was to keep him informed of
all that passed in Huntercombe Hall. His
morbid soul hung about thatplace, and he
listened greedily to Mary Wells's gossip.
He had counted on her volubility; it did
not disappoint him; she never met him
without a budget, one half of it lies or exag-
gerations. She was a born liar. One night
she came in high spirits, and greeted mm
thus : « What d *ye think ? I'm riz I Mrs.
Eden, that dresses my lady's hair, she took
ill yesterday, and I told the housekeeper I
was used to dress hair, and she tola my
lady. If you did n't please our Rhoda at
that, 't was as much as your life was worth ;
you must n't be thinking of your young
man with her hair in your hand, or she 'd
rouse you with a good crack on the crown
with a hair-brush. So I dressed my lady's
hair, and handled it like old chaney ; by the
same toaken she is so pleased with me, you
can't think. She is a real lady; not like
our Rhoda ; speaks as civil to me as if I
was one of her own sort ; and says she, * I
should like to have you about me, if I might.*
I had it on my tongue to tell her she was
mistress ; but I was a little skeared at her
at first, you know. But she will have me
about her; I see it in her eye."

Bassett was delighted ^t this news ; but
he did not speak his mind all at once ; the
time was not come. He let the gypsy rattle
on, and bided his time. He fiattered her,
and said he envied Lady Bassett to have
such a beautiful girl about her. " I '11 let
my hair grow,'* said he.

"Ay, do,*' said she, "and then I'll pull
it for you."

This challenge ended in a little struggle
for a kiss, the sincerity of which was doubtml.
Polly resisted vigorously, to be sure, but
briefly, and, having given in, returned it.

One day she told him Sir Charles had
met her plump, and had given a great
start.

This made Bassett very uneasy. " Con-
found it, he will turn you away. He will
say, ' This girl knows too much."*

"How simple you be I *' said the girl.
"D*ye think I let him know? Says he,
* I think 1 have seen you before.' * Yes, sir,'
says I ; * I was housemaid here before my
lady had me to dress her.' < No,' says he,
7

* I mean in London, — in Mayfair, you know.'
I declare you might ha' knocked me down
wi* a featner. So 1 looks in his face as cool
as marble, and I said, ' No, sir ; I never had
the luck to see London, sir,' says I. < All
the better for you,' says he, and he swal-
lowed it like spring water, as Sister Rhoda
used to say when she told one and they be-
lieved it."

" You are a clever girl," said Bassett. " He
would have turned you out of the house if
he had known who you were."

She disappointed him in one thing ; she
was bad at answering questions. Morally
she was not quite so great an egotist as
himself, but intellectually a greater. Her
volubility was all egotism. She could
scarcely say ten words, except about her-
self. So when Bassett questioned her
about Sir Charles and Lady Bassett, she
said "Yes," or "No," or "I don't know,"
and was off at a tangent to her own sayings
and doings.

Bassett, however, by great patience and
tact, extracted from her at last that Sir
Chaurles and Lady Bassett were both sore
at not having children, and that Lady Bas-
sett bore the blame.

" That is a good joke," said he. " The
smoke-dried rake. Folly, you might do me
a good turn. You have got her ear ; open
her eyes for me. What might not happen ? '*
His eyes shone fiendishly.

The young woman shook her head. " Me
meddle between man and wife 1 I 'm too
fonrf'of my place."

" Ah, you don't love me as I love you.
You think only of yourself."

"And what do you think of? Do you
love me well enough to find me a better
place, if you get me turned out of Hunter-
combe HaU?"

" Yes, I will ; a much better."

" That is a bargain."

Mary Wells was silly in some things, but
she was very cunning too ; and she knew
Richard Bassett's hobby. She told him to
mind himself, as well as Sir Charles, or
perhaps he would die a bachelor, and so his
flesh and blood would never inherit Hunter-
combe. This remark entered his mind.
The trial, though apparently a drawn bat-
tle, had been fatal to him, — he was cut ; he
dared not pay his addresses to any lady in
the coimty, and he often felt very lone'y
now. So everything combined to draw him
towards Mary Wells, — her swarthy beauty,
which shone out at church like a black
diamond among the other women ; his own
loneliness; and the pleasure these stolen
meetings gave him. Custom itself is pleas-
ant, and the company of this handsome
chatterbox became a habit, and an agree-
able one. The young woman herself em-
ployed a woman's arts ; she was cold and

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

loving by tarns, till, at last, be gave her
what she was working for, a downright
promise of marriage. She pretended not
to believe him, and so led him further ; he
swore he would marry her.

He made one stipulation, however. She
really must learn to read and write first.

TVnen he had sworn this, Mary became
more uniformly affectionate ; and as women
who have been in service learn great self-
government, and can generally please so
K)ng as it serves their turn, she made her-
self so agreeable to him, that he began
really to have a downright liking for her, a
liking bounded, of course, by his incurable
selfishness ; but, as for his hobby, that was
on her side.

Now learning to read and write was
wormwood to Mary Wells ; but the prize
was so great; she knew all about the
Huntercombe estates, partly from her sister,
partly from Bassett himself. (He must tell
nis wrongs even to this girl.) So she re-
solved to pursue matrimony, even on the
severe condition of becoming a scholar.
She set about it as follows : One day that
she was doing Lady Bassett's hair, she
sighed several times. This was to attract
the lady*8 attention, and it succeeded.

" Is there anything the matter, Mary ? "

« No, my lady."

« I think there is."

" Well, my lady, I am in a little trouble
but it is my own people's fault, for not send-
ing of me to school. I might be married to-
morrow, if I could only read and write."

" And can you not ? "

« No, my lady."

" Dear me, 1 thought everybody could
read and write nowadays."

" La, no, my lady 1 not half of them in
our village."

"Your parents are much to blame, my
poor girl. Well, but it is not too late.
Now 1 think of it, there is an adult school
in the village. Shall I arrange for you to
go to it ? "

« Thank you, my lady. But then — "

"Well?" -

"All my fellow-servants would have a
laugh against me."

" The person you are engaged to, will he
not instruct you ? "

" O, he have no time to teach me. Be-
sides, I don't want him to know, either.
But I won't be his wife to shame him."
(Another sigh.)

" Mary," said Lady Bassett, in the inno-
cence of her heart, " you shall not be morti-
fied, and you shall not lose a good marriage.
I will try and teach you myself."

Mary was profuse in thanks. Lady Bas-
sett received them rather coldly. She gave
her a few minutes* instruction in her dress-
'ng-room, every day j and Mary, who could

not have done anything intellectual for half
an hour at a stretch, gave her whole mind
for those few minutes. She was quick, and
learned very fast. In two months she could
read a great deal more than she could un-
derstand, and could write slowly, but very
clearly.

Now, by this time, Lady Bassett had be-
come so interested in her pupil, that she
made her read letters and newspapers to
her, at those parts of the toilet when her
services were not required.

Mary Wells, though a great chatterbox,
was the closest girl in England. Limpet
never stuck to a rock as she could stick to
a lie. She never said one word to Bassett
about Lady Bassett's lessons. She kept
strict silence till she could write a letter,
and then she sent him a line to say she had
learned to write for love of him, and she
hoped he would keep his promise.

Bassett's vanity was flattered by this.
But, on reflection, he suspected it was a
falsehood. He asked her suddenly, at their
next meeting, who had written that note
for her.

" You shall see me write the fellow to it
when you like," was the reply.

Bassett resolved to submit the matter to
that test some day. At present, however,
he took her word for it, and asked her who
had taught her.

" I had to teach myself. Nobody cares
enough for me to teach me. Well, I '11 for-
give you if you will write me a nice letter
ror mine."

" What I Tjrhen we can meet here and
say everything ? "

" No matter ; I have written to you, and
you might write to me. They all get letters
except me, and the jades hold 'em up to
me ; they see I never get one. When you
are out, post me a letter now and then.
It will only cost you a penny. I 'm sure I
don't ask you for much."

Bassett humored her in this, and in one
of his letters called her his wife that was
to be.

This pleased her so much that the next
time they met she hung round his neck with
a good deal of feminine grace.

Richard Bassett was a man who now lived
in the future. Everybody in the county
believed he had written that anonymous
letter, and he had no hope of shining by
his own light. It was bitter to resign his
personal hopes; but he did, and sullenly
resolved to be obscure himself, but the
father of the future heirs of Huntercombe.
He would marry Mary Wells, and lay the
blame of the match upon Sir Charles, who
had blackened him in the county, and put it
out of his power to win a lady's hand.

He told Wheeler he was determined to
marry, but he had not the couiage to tell

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

him all at once what a wife he had selected.
The consequence of this half-confession was
that Wheeler went to work to find him a
girl with money.

One of Wheeler's clients was a retired
citizen, living in a pretty villa near the
njarket-town. Mr. Wright employed him
in little matters, and found him active and
attentive. There was a Miss Wright, a
meek little girl, palish, on whom her father
doted. Wheeler talked to this girl of his
friend Bassett, his virtues, and his wrongs,
and interested the young lady in him. This
done, he brought him to the house, and the
girl, being slight and delicate, gazed with
gentle but undisguised admiration on Bas-
setts torso, V^eeler had told Richard
Misb Wright was to have seven thousand
pounds on her wedding-day; and that
excited a corresponding admiration in the
athletic gentleman.

After that, Bassett often called by him-
self, and the father encouraged the intimacy.
He was old, and wished to see his daughter
married before he left her ; and this seemed
an eligible match, though not a brilliant
one : a bit of land and a good name on one
side ; a smart bit of money on the other.
The thing went on wheels. Richard Bas-
sett was engaged to Jane Wright almost
before he was aware.

Now he felt uneasy about Mary Wells,
very uneasy ; but it was only the uneasiness
of selfishness.

He began to try and prepare ; he affected
business-visits to distant places, etc., in
order to break off by degrees. By this
means their meetino^s were comparatively
few. When they did meet (which was now
generally by written appointment), he tried
to prepare by telling her he had encoun-
tered losses, and feared that to marry her
would be a bad job for her, as well as for
him, especially if she should have children.

Mary replied she had been used to work,
and would rather work for a husband than
any other master.

On another occasion she asked him qui-
etly whether a gentleman ever broke his oath.

" Never," said Richard.

In short, she gave him no opening. She
would not quarrel. She adhered to him, as
she had never adhered to anything but a
lie before.

Then he gave up all hope of smoothing
the matter. He coolly cut her ; never came
to the trysting-place ; did not answer her
letters; 'and, being a reckless egotist,
married Jane Wright all in a hurry, by
special license.

He sent forward to the clerk of Hunter-
combe church, and engaged the ringers to
ring the church bells from six o'clock till
sundown. This was for Sir Charles's ears.

It was a balmy evening in May. Lady

Bassett was commencing her toUet in an
indolent way, with Marv Wells in attend-
ance, when the church-bells of Hunter-
combe struck up a merrv peal.

"Ahl" said Lady Bassett. "What is
that for ? Do you know, Mary ? "

" No, my lady. Shall I ask ? "

" No : 1 dare say it is a village wedding."

" No, my lady : there 's nobody b^n
married here this six weeks. Our kitchen-
maid and the baker was the last, you know.
I '11 send and know what it is for."

Mary went out, and despatched the first
house-maid she caught, for intelligence.
The girl ran into the stable to her sweetr
heart, and he told her directly.

Meantime Lady Bassett moralized upon
church-bells.

"They are always sad, saddest when
they seem to be merriest. Poor things 1
they are trving hard to be merry now ; but
they sound very sad to me, sadder than
usual, somehow." ,

The girl knocked at the door. Mary half
opened it, and the news shot in — " 'T is
for Sauire Bassett, — he is bringing of his
bride nome to Highmore to-day."

"Mr. Bassett, — married, — that is sud-
den. Who could he find to marry him V "

There was no reply. The housemaid had
flown off to circulate the news, and Mary
Wells was supporting herself by clutching
the door, sick with the sudden blow.

Close as she was, her distress could not
have escaped another woman's eye: but
Lady Bassett never looked at her. Aftier
the first surprise she had gone into a revery,
and was conjuring up the future to the
sound of those church-bells. She requested
Mary to go and tell Sir Charles ; but she
did not lift her head, even to give this order.

Mary crept away, and knocked at Sir
Charles's dressing-room.

" Come in," said Sir Charles, thinking, of
course it was his valet.

Mary Wells just opened the door, and
held it ajar. " My lady bids me tell vou,
sir, the bells are ringing for Mr. Bassett ; he 's
married, and brings her home to-night."

A dead silence marked the effect of this
announcement on Sir Charles. Mary Wells
waited.

" May Heaven's curse light on that mar-
riage, and no child of theirs ever take my
place in this house 1 "

" A-a-men I " said Mary Wells.

" Thank you, sir 1 " said Sir Charles.
He took her voice for a man's, so deep and
guttural was her " A-a-men " with concen-
trated passion.

She closed the door, and crept back to
her mistress.

Lady Bassett was seated at her g^ass, with

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

her hair down, and her fihoulders bare.
Mary clenched her teeth, and set aboat her
QBual work, but very soon Lady Bassett
gave a start, and stared into the glass.
<< Marv 1 ** said she, " what is the matter ?
You look ghastly, and your hands are as
cold as ice. Are you faint ? "
"No."

" Then you are ill ; very ill."
" I have taken a chill," st

chill," said Mary, dog-
gedly.

" Go instantly to the still-room maid, and
get a large glass of spirits and hot water, —
quite hot."

Mary, who wanted to be out of the room,
fostened her mistress's back hair with dog-
ged patience, and then moved towards the
door.

<<Mary," said Lady Bassett, in a half-
apologetic tone.

« My lady."

" I should like to hear what the bride is
like."

"I'll know that to-night," said Mary,
grinding her teeth.

" I sl^l not require you again till bed-
time."

Mary left the room and went not to the
still-room, but to her own garret, imd there
she gave way. She flang herself, with a
wild cry, upon her little l^d, and clutched
her own hair and the bedclothes, and
writhed all about the bed like a wild-cat
wounded.

In this anguish she passed an hour she
never forgot nor forgave. She got up at
last, and started at her own image in the
glass. Hair like a savage's, cheek pale,
eyes bloodshot.

She smoothed her hair, washed her face,
and prepared to go down stairs ; but now
she was seized with a faintness, and had to
sit dofrn and moan. She got the better
of that, and went to the still-room and got
some spirits; but she drank them neat,
gulped them down like water. They sent
5ie, devil into her black eye, but no color
into her pale cheek. She had a little scaiv
let shawl ; she put it over her head and went
into the village. She found it astir with
expectation.

Mr. Bassett's house stood near the high-
way, but the entrance to the premises was
private, and through a long wbite gate.

By this gate was a heap of stones, and
Mary Wells got on that heap and waited.

When she had been there about half an
hour Richard Bassett drove up in a hired
carriage with his pale little wife beside him.
At his own gate his eye encountered Mary
Wells, and he started. She stood above
h'm t 1- h r s f Id 1 •

seemed lifted out of her low condition, and
dignified by wrong.

He had to sustain her look for a few
seconds, while the gate was being opened,
and it seemed an age. He felt his first
pan^ of remorse when he saw that swarthy,
ruddy cheek so pale. Then capie admira-
tion of her beautv, and disgust at the
woman for whom he had jilted her ; and
that gave way to fear: the hater looked
into those glittering eyes, and saw he had
roused a hate as unrelenting as his own.

CHAPTER THE TENTH.

For the first few days Richard Bas£ett
expected some annoyance from Mary
Wells; but none came, and he began to
flatter himself she was too fond of him to
give him pain.

This impression was shaken about ten
days ailer the little scene I have described :
he received a short note from her, as fol-
lows: —

" Sir, — You must meet me to-night, at the same
place, eight o'clock. If yvu do not come, it Kill be
the worse for you,

"M. W."

Richard Bassett's inclination was to treat
this summons with contempt ; but he thought
it would be wiser to go, and see whether the
^rl had any hostile intentions. Accord-
ingly he went to the tryst. He waited for
some time, and at last he heard a quick, firm
foot, and Mary Wells appeared. She was
hooded with her scarlet shawl that con-
trasted admirably with her coal-black hair ;
and out of this scarlet frame her dark eyes
glittered. She i^tood before him in silence.

He said nothing.

She was silent too for some time. But
she spoke first.

"Well, sir, you promised one, and you
have married another. Now what are you
going to do for me ? "

« What can I do, Mary? I 'm not the
first that wanted to marry for love, but
money came in his way and tempted him."

" No, you are not tibe first. But that *8
neither here nor there, sir. That chalk-
faced girl has bought you away from me
with her money, and now I mean to have
my share on 't."

"O, if that is all," said Richard, "we can
soon settle it : I was afraid you were going
to talk about a broken heart, and all that
stufi*. You are a good, sensible girl ; and
too beautiful to want a husband long. I 'U

ifio

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

of Huntercombe Hall by and by? Fifty
poands 1 No ; not five uftiea"

" Well, 1 11 give you seventy-five, and, if
that won't do, you must go to law, and see
what you can get/'

"What, han't you had your bellyful
of law? Mind, it is an unked thing to
forswear yourself, and that is what you
done at the 'sizes : I have seen what you
did swear about your letter to my sister;
Sir Charles have got it all wrote down in
his study ; and you swore a lie to the judge,
as you swore a ue to me here under heaven,
you villain I " She raised her voice very
loud. " Don't you gainsay me, or I '11 soon
have you by the heels in jail for your lies.
You '11 do as I bids you, and very lucky to
be let off so cheap. You was to be my mas-
ter, but you chose her instead — well then
you shall be my servant. You shidl come
here every Saturday, at eight o'clock, and
bring me a sovereign, which I never could
keep a lump o' money, and 1 have had one
or two from Rhoda ; so I '11 take it a sover-
eign a week, till I get a husband of my own
sort, and then vou '11 have to come down
handsome once for all."

Bassett knitted his brows, and thought
hard. His natural impulse was to defy her ;
but it struck him that a great many things
might happen in a few months ; so at last be
said humbly, " I consent : I have been to
blame. Only I 'd rather pay you this money
in some other way."

" My way, or none."

" Very well, then, I will bring it you as
you say."

" Mind you do, then," said Mary Wells,
and turned haughtily on her heel.

Bassett never ventured to absent himself
at the hour ; and, at first, the black mail was
delivered and received with scarcely a
word ; but by and by old habits so far re-
vived, that some little conversation took
place.

Then, after a while, Bassett used to tell
her he was unhappy, and she used to reply
she was crlad of it.

Then he began to speak slightingly of his
wife, and say what a fool he had been to
marry a poor silly nonentity, when he might
have wedded a beauty.

Mary Wells, being intensely vain, listened
with complacency to this, although she re-
plied coldly and harshly.

By and by her natural volubility over^

malice, and that shrewd insight into human
nature which many a low woman has, — the
cooler she was, the warmer did Richard
Bassett grow, till, at last, contrasting Ms
pale, meek littie wife with this glowing
Hebe, he conceived an unholy liking for the
latter. She met it, sometimes with coldness
and reproaches, sometimes with affected
alarm, sometimes with a half-yielding man-
ner, and BO tormented him to her neart's
content, and undermined his affection for
his wife. Thus she revenged herself on
them both to her heart's content.

But malice so perverse is apt to recoil on
itsetf; and women, in particular, should not
undertake a long and subtle revenge of this
sort; since the strongest have their hours v
of weakness, and are surprised into things
they never intended. The subsequent his-
tory of Mary Wells will exemplify this.
Meantime, however, meek little Mrs. Bassett
was no match for the beauty and low cun-
ning of her rival.

Yet a time came when she defended her-
self unconsciously. She did something that
made her husband most solicitous for her
welfare and happiness ; he began to watch
her health with maternal care, to shield her
from draughts, to take care of her diet, to
indulge her in all her whims instead of
snubbing her, and to pet her, till fehe was
the happiest wife in Endand for a time.
She deserved this at his nands, for she as- .
sisted him there where his heart was fixed ;
she aided his hobby ; did more for it than
any other creature in England could.

To return to Huntercombe Hall ; the lov-
ing couple that owned it were no longer
happy. The hope of offspring was now de-
serting them, and the disappointment was
cruel. They suffered deeply, with this dif-
ference, that Lady Bassett pined, and Sir
Charles Bassett firetted.

The woman's grief was more pure and
profound than the man's. If there had been
no Richard Bassett in the world, still her
bosom would have yearned and pined, and
the great cry of Nature, " Give me children,
or I die," would have been in her heart,
though it would never have risen to her
lips.

Sir Charles had of course less of this pro-
found instinct than his wife, but he had it
too ; only, in him the feeling was adulter-
ated and at the same time embittered by

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

This chafed the childless man, and gradual-
ly undermiDed a temper habitually sweet,
tnou^h subject, as we have seen, to violent
ebullitions where the provocation was intol-
erable. Sir Charles then, smarting under his
wound, spoke now and then rather unkindly
to the wife he loved so devotedly ; that is to
say, his manner sometimes implied that he
blamed her for then: joint calamity.

Lady Bassett submitted to these stings in
silence. They were rare and speedily fol-
lowed by touching regrets ; and even had it
not been so, she would have borne them
with resignation; for this motherless wife
loved her husband with all a wife's devotion
and a mother's unselfish patience. Let this
be remembered to her credit ; it is the truth,
and she may need it.

Her own yearning was too deep and sad
for firetfulness : yet, though, unlike her hus-
band's, it never broke out in anger, the day
was gone by when she could keep it always
silent. It welled out of her at times in ways
that were truly womanly and touchinor.
r ulft 1 -f

a faint cry had been heard at the bottom of
the old well, — it was ninety feet deep;
people had assembled, and a brave farmer's
boy had been lowered in the bight of a cart-
rope, and had brought up a dead hen and
a live child bleeding at the cheek, having
fallen on a heap of fagots at the bottom of
the well. "Which child was the prisoner's.

Sir Charles had the evidence written
down, and then told the accused she might
make a counter-statement if she chose, but it
would be wiser to say nothing at all.

Thereupon the accused dropped him a lit-
tle short courtesy, looked him steadily in the
face with her pale gray eyes, and delivered
herself as follows : —

" If you please, sir, I was a sitting by th'
old well, with baby in my arms : and I was
mortal tired I was, wi* caning of him ; he be
uncommon heavy for his age : and if you
please, sir, he is uncommon resolute ; and,
whilst I was so, he give a leap right out of
my arms and fell down th' old well. I
screams, and runs away to tell my brother's
f il •

A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

went out, but soon returned, looking pale
and wild.

" Yes ! " said she, with forced calmness ;
then, suddenly losing her self-command,
she broke out, pointing through the win-
dow, at Highmore, <' He has got a fine
boy — to take our place here. Kill me,
Charles I Send me to heaven, to pray for
you ; and take another wife that will love
you less, but be like other wives. That
villain has married a firuitfiil vine, and"
(lifling both arms to heaven with a gesture
unspeakably piteous, poetic, and touching)
" I am a batren stock."

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

Of all the fools Nature produces with the
help of Society, fathers of first-borns are
about the most offensive.

The mothers of ditto are bores too, fling-
ing their human dumplings at every head ;
but, considering the tortures they have suf-
fered, and the anguish the little egotistical
viper they have just hatched will most likely
give them, and considering further that their
love of their first-bom is greater than their
pride, and their pride unstained by vanity,
one must make allowances for them.

But the male parent is not so excusable.
His fussy vanity is an inferior article to the
mother's silly but amiable pride. His ob-
truflive affection is two thirds of it egotism,
and blindish egotism, too; for if, at the
very commencement of the wife's preg-
nancy, the husband is sent to India, or
handed, t^e little angel, as they call it, —
Lord forgive them I — is nurtured from a
speck to a mature infant by the other par-
ent, and finally brought into the world by
her just as effectually as if her male con-
federate had been tied to her apron-string
all the time, instead of expatriated, or
hanged.

Therefore, the Law — for want, I suppose,
of studying Medicine — is a little inconsid-
erate in giving children to ^sithers, and tak-
ing them by force from such mothers as can
support them ; and therefore let Gallena go
on clucking over her first-bom, but Gallus
be quiet, or sing a little smaller.

With these preliminary remarks, let me
introduce to ou a character new in fi *, n

oiit into the world, and made «aUs on peo-
ple, merely to remind them he had a son
and heir.

His self-gratulation took a dozen forms ;
perhaps the most amusing, and the richest
food for satire, was the mock-querulous style,
of which he showed himself a master.

"Don't you ever marry," said he to
Wheeler and others. " Look at me ; do you
think I am the master of my own house?
Not 1 ; I am a regular slave. First, there
is a monthly nurse, who orders me out of
my wife's presence, or graciously lets me in,
just as she pleases : that is Queen 1. Then
there 's a wet-nurse. Queen 2, whom I must
humor in everything, or she will quarrel
with me, and avenge herself by souring her
milk. But these are mild tyrants compared
with the young King himself. If he doeflf
but squall, we must all skip, and find out
what he ails, or what he wants. As ibr me,
I am looked upon as a necessary evil : the
women seem to admit that a father is an en-
cumbrance without which these little angels
could not exist, but that is all."

He had a christening feast, and it was
pretty well attended ; for he reminded all
he asked that the young Christian was the
heir to the Bassett estates. They feasted,
and the church-bells rang merrily.

He had his pew in the church new lined
with cloth, ana took his wife to be churched. «
The nurse was in the pew, with his son
and heir. It squalled, and spoilt the Litur-
gy. Thereat Gallus chuckled.

He made a gravel walk all along the ha-
ha that separated his garden mm Sir
Charles's, and called it « The Heir's Walk."
Here the nurse and child used to parade on
sunny afternoons.

He got an army of workmen, and built a
nursery fit for a duke's nine children. It
occupied two entire stories, and rose in the
form of a square tower high above the rest
of his house, which indeed was as humble
as "The Heir's Tower" was pretentious.
" The Heir's Tower" had a flat lead roof,
easy of access, and fit>m it you could inspect
Huntercombe Hall, and see what was done
on the lawn or at some of the windows.

Here, in the August afternoons, Mr. and
Mrs. Bassett used to sit drinking their tea,
with nurse and child; and Bassett would
talk to his unconscious bov, and tell him
that the great house, and all that belonged
toi slBomdboilBseiiils itduflthe arts thah t tbu^tth

'66

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

combe Hall, and gave cruel pain to the
childless ones, over whom this inflated father
was in fact exulting. ,

As for the christening, and the bells that
pealed for it, and the subsequent churching,
they bore these things with sore hearts, but
bravely, being things of course. But, when
it came to their ears that Bassett and his
family called his new gravel-walk '*The
Heir^s Walk," and his ridiculous nursery
"The Heir's Tower," this roused a bitter
animosity, and indeed led to reprisals. Sir
Charles built a long wall at the edge of his
garden^ shutting out "The Heir's Walk,"
and intercepting the yiew of his own prem-
ises from that walk.

Then Mr. Bassett made a little hill at the
end of his walk, so that the beir might get
one peep over the wall at his rich inheri-
tance.

Then Sir Charles began to fell timber on
a gigantic scale. He went to work with
several gan^s of woodmen, and all his
woods, which were very extensive, rang
with die axe, and the trees fell like com.
He made no secret that he was going to sell
timber to the tune of several thousand
pounds, and settle it on his wife.

Then Richard Bassett, thronph Wheeler,
his attorney, remonstrated in his own name
and that of his son, against this excessiye
fall of timber on an entailed estate.

Sir Charles chafed like a lion stuns by a
gadfly, but vouchsafed no reply: the an-
swer came from Mr. Oldiield ; ne said Sir
Charles had a right under the entail to fell
every stick of timber, and turn his woods
into arable ground if he chose ; and, even
if he had not, looking at his age and his
wife's, it was extremely impr(K)able that
Richard Bassett would inherit the estates :
the said Richard Bassett was not personally
named in the entail, and his rights were all
in supposition : if Mr. Wheeler thought he
could dispute both these positions, the
Court of Chancery was open to his client.

Then Wheeler advised Bassett to avoid
the Court of Chancery in a matter so debat-
able; and Sir Charles felled all the more
for the protest ; the dead bodies of the trees
fell across each other, and daylight peeped
through the thick woods. It was like the
clearing of a primeval forest.

Richard Bassett went about frith a wit-
ness, and counted the fallen.

The poor were allowed the lopwood : thev
thronged in for miles round, and each built
himself a ^reat wood-pile for the winter ;
the po<^r blessed Sir Charles : he gave the
proceeds, thirteen thousand pounds, to his
wife, for h^r separate use. He did not tie
it up. He restricted her no further than
this ; she undertook never to draw above
£ 100 at a time without consultinsr Mr.
Oldfield as to the application. Sir Charles

said he ahoold add to this fund every year;
his beloved wife should not be poor, even if
the hated cousin should outlive him and turn
her out of Huntercombe.

And so passed the summer of that year,
then the autumn, and then came a singular-
ly mild winter. There was more himting
than usual, and Richard Bassett, whom hu
wife's fortune enabled to cut a better figure
than before, was often in the field, mounted
on a great bony horse that was not so fast
as some, being half bred, but a wonderful
jumper.

Even in this pastime the cousins were ri-
vals. Sir Charles's favorite horse was a mag-
nificent thoroughbred, who was seldom ht
ofl' at the finish ; over good ground Rich-
ard's cocktail had no chance with him ; but
sometimes, if towards the close of the run
they came to stiff* fallows and strong fences,
the great strength of the inferior animal,
and that prudent reserve of his powers,
which disdneuishes the canny cocktail from
the higher-blooded animal, would give him
the advantage.

Of this there occurred, on a certain 18th
of November, an example fraught with very
serious consequences.

That day the hounds met on Sii- Charles's
estate. Sir Charles and Lady Bassett break-
fasted in pink ; he had on his scarlet coat,
white tie, irreproachable buckskins, and tcp-
boots. (It seemed a pity a speck of dirt
should fall on them.) Lady Bassett was in
her blue riding-habit ; and, when she mount-
ed her pony, and went to cover by his side,
with her blue velvet cap, and .her red-broivn
hair, she looked more like a brilliant flower
than a mere woman.

A veteran fox was soon found, and went
away with unusual courage and speed, and
Lady Bassett paced homewards, td wait her
lord s return, with an anxiety men laugh
at, but women can appreciate. It was a
form of quiet sufiering she had constantly en-
dured, and never complained nor even men-
tioned the subject to Sir Charles but once,
and then he pooh-poohed her fancies.

The hunt had a burst of about forty min-
utes that left Richard Bassett's cocktail in
the rear ; and the fox got into a large beech
wood with plenty of briers, and kept dodg-
ing about it for two hours, and puzzled the
scent repeatedly.

Richard Bassett elected not to go wind-
ing in and out among trees, risk his horse's
legs in rabbit-holes, and tire him for noth-
ing. He had kept for years a little note-
book he called " Statistics of Foxes," and
that told him an old dog-fox of uncommon
strength, if dislodged from that particular
wood, would slip into Bell-man's Coppice,
and, if driven out of that, would face the
music again, would take the open country
for Higham Gorse, and probably be killed

A TERRIBLE TEMFTATIOlfr.

before he got there ; but once there, a regi-
ment of scythes mi^ht cut him out, but bleed-
ing, sneezing fox-hounds would never work
him out at me tail of a long run.

So Richard Bassett kept out of the wood,
and went sently on to Bell-man's Coppice,
and waited outside.

His book proved an oracle. After two
hours' dodging and manceuvring, the fox
came out at the very end of Bell-man's
Copse with nothing near him but Eichard
Bassett Pug gave him the white of his
eye in an uglv leer, and headed straight as
a crow for Higham Grorse.

Richard Bassett blew his horn, collected
the hunt, and laid the dogs on : away they
went, close together, thunder-mouthed^ on
the hot scent.

Ailer a three miles* ^Uop, they sighted
the fox for a moment, just going over the
crest of a rising ground two furlongs off.
Then the hullahrbaloo and excitement grew
furious, and one electric fury animated dogs,
men, and horses. Another mile, and the tox
ran in sight scarcely a furlong off; but many
of the horses were distressed ; the Bassetts,
however, kept up, one bv his horse being
fresh, the other by his animal's native cour-
age and speed.

Then came some meadows, bounded by a
thick hedge, and succeeded by a ploughed
field of unusual size, — eighty acres.

When the fox darted into this hedge the
hounds were yelling at his heels ; the hunt
burst through the min fence, expecting to
see them kill close to it.

But the wily fox had other resources at
his command than speed. Appreciating his
peril, he doubled and ran sixty yards down
the ditch, and the impetuous hounds rushed
forward and overran the scent. They
raved about to and fro, till, at last, one of
the gentlemen descried the fox running
down a double furrow in the middle of the
field. He had got into this, and so made
his way more smoothly than his four-footed
pursuers could. The hounds were laid on,
and away thev went helter-skelter.

At the end of this stijff ground a stiffish
leap awaited them ; an old quidcset had
been cut down, and all the elm-trees that
grew in it, and a new auickset hedge set on
a high bank with double ditches.

The huntsman had an Irish horse that
laughed at this fence ; he jumped on to the
bank, and then jumped off it into the next
field.

Richard Bassett's cocktail came up slowly,
rose high, and landed his fore-feet in the
field, and so scrambled on.

Sir Charles went at it rather rashly ; his
horse, tried hard by the fallow, caught his
heels against the edge of the baidc, and went
headlong into the other ditch, throwing Sur
Charles over his head into the field. Un-

luckily some of the trees were lying about»
and Sir Charles's head struck one of these
in falling; the horse blundered out again,
and galloped afler the hounds, but the rider
lay there motionless.

Nobody stopped at first; the pace was
too good to inquire ; but presently Richard
Bassett, who had greeted the accident with
a laugh, turned round in his saddle, and
saw his cousin motionless, and two or three
gentlemen dismounting at the place. These
were new-comers. Then he resigned the
hunt, and rode back.

Sir Charles's hat was crushed in, and
there was blood on his white waistcoat ; he
was very pale, and quite insensible.

The gentlemen raised him, with expres-
sions of alarm and kindly concern, ana in-
quired of each other what was best to be done

Richard Bassett saw an opportunity to
conciliate opinion, and seized it. " He must
be taken home directly," said he. " We
must carry him to' that farm-house, and get
a cart for him."

He helped carry him accordingly.

The farmer lent them a spring cart^ with
straw, and they laid the insensible baronet
gently on it, Richard Bassett supporting his
head. ^ Gentlemen," said he, rather pom-
pously, << at such a moment everything but
the tie of kindred is forgotten." WhicSi re-
sounding sentiment was warmly applauded
by the honest squires.

They took him slowly and carefully to-
wards Huntercombe, distant about two miles
fix>m the scene of the accident.

This 18th November Lady Bassett passed
much as usual with her on hunting days.
She was quietly patient till the afternoon,
and then restless, and could not settle down
in any part of the house till she got to a
little room on the first fioor, with a bay-^
window commanding the country over which
Sir Charles was hunting. In this she sat,
with her head against one of the mullions,
and eyed the country-side as far as she
could see.

Presently she heard a rastle, and there
was Mary Wells standing and looking at her
with evident emotion.

<< What is the matter, Mary ? " said Lady
Bassett.

** O my ladv 1 " said Mary. And she
trembled, and her hands worked.

Lady Bassett started up, with alarm
painted in her countenance.

<< My ladv, there 's something wrong in the
hunting field."

« Sir Charles I "

" An accident, they sav."

Lady Bassett put her hand to her heart
with a faint cry. Mary Wells ran to her.

" Come with me directly I " cried Lady
Bassett She snatched up her bonnet, and,
in another minute, she and Mary Wells were

58 A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

on their road to the village, questioning all over with mnd, and his white waistcoat

everybody they met. bloody, lav with his head upon Richard

But nobody they questioned could tell Bassett's knee. His hair was wet with

them anything. The stable-boy, who had bloody some of which had trickled down his

told the report in the kitchen of Hunter- cheek and dried. Even Richard's buckskins

combe, said he had it from a gentleman's were slightly stained with it.

groom, riding by, as he stood at the gates. At that sight. Lady Bassett uttered a

The ill news thus flung in at the gate by scream, which Uiose who heard it never

one passing rapidly by, was not confirmed forgot, and flung herself. Heaven knows

by any further report, and Lady Bassett be- how, into the cart ; but she got there, and

gan to hope it was false. soon had that bleeding head on her bosom.

But a terrible confirmation came at last. She took no notice or Richard Bagsett,'but

In the outskirts of the village, mistress she got Sir Charles away from him, and tbe

and servant encountered a sorrowful pro- cart took her, embracing him tenderly, and

cession, the cart itself, followed by five gen- kissin his hurt head, and moaning over

tlemen on 'tissrae ft tsnincr 1 1 him 1 1 eb h the viJSgp^ to punter ogpibe p j

iar fr ys d ' Hh d ah A. . f .md

th h

A TEBEIBLE TEMPTATION.

same village, in a carriage and four, — bells
pealing, rastics shouting, — to take posses-
sion of Huntercombe, and fill it with pledges
of their great and happy love j and, as they
flashed past, the heir-at-law shrank hope-
less into hiii little cottaee. Now, how
changed the pageant! a farmer's cart, a
splashed and bleeding and senseless form
in ii, supported by a childless, despair-
ing woman, one weeping attendant walking
at the side, and, amongst the gentlemen
pacing slowly behind, the heir-at-law, with
his head lowered in that decent affectation
of regret, which, all heirs can put on to hide
the indecent complacency within.

At the steps of Huntercombe Hall the
servants streamed out, and relieved the
strangers of the sorrowful load : Sir Charles
was carried into the Hall, and Richard Bas-
sett turned away with one triumphant flash
of his eye, quickly suppressed, and walked
with impenetrable countenance, and studied
demeanor, into Hi^hmore House.

Even here he did not throw off the maflk.
It peeled off by degrees.

He began oy telling his wife gravely
enough Sir Charles had met with a severe
fall, and he had attended to him, and taken
him home.

"Ah, I am glad you did that, Richard,"
said Mrs. Bassett *' And is he very badly
hurt?"

"I am afraid he will never get over it.
He never spoke. He just groaned when
they took lum down from the cart at Hun-
tercombe."

« Poor Lady Bassett I "

"Ay, it will be a bad job for her.
Jane!"

" Yes, dear."

" There is a providence in it The fall
would nsver have killed him ; but his head
struck, a t^ee upon the ground; and that
tree was one of the yery elms he had just
cut down to rob our boy."

"Indeed?"
^ " Yes : he was felling the very hedgerow;
timber, and this was one of the old elms in
a hedge. He must have done it out of spite,
for elm-wood fetches no price ; it is good
for nothing I know of, except coffins. Well,
he has cut down his.*'

"Poor man ! — Richard, death reconciles
enemies. Surely you can forgive him now."

" I mean to try.'*

Richard Bassett seemed now to have im-
bibed the spirit of quicksilver. His occu-
pations were not actually enlarged; yet,
somehow or other, he seemed full of business.
He was all complacent, bustled about noth-
ing. He left off inveighing against Sir
Charles : and indeed, if you are one of those
weak spirits to whom censure is intolerable,
t^t^i^ \9J^cl|^i9q^asftira^tontQ jrite

die : let me comfort genius in particular with
this little recipe.

Why, on one occasion, Bassett actually
snubbed Wheeler for a mere allusion. That
worthy just happened to remark, " No more
felling of timber on Bassett Manor for a
while."

" For shame ! " said Richard. « The man
had his faults, but he had his good qualities
too : a high-spirited gentleman ; beloved by
his friends, and respected by all the conn*
try. His successor will find it hard to rec-
oncile the country to his loss."

Wheeler stared, and then grinned satiri-
cally.

This eulogy was never repeated ; for Sir
Charles proved ungrateful; he omitted to
die after all.

Attended by first-rate physicians, tenderly
nursed and watched by Lady Bassett and
Maiy Wells, he got better by degrees, and
every stage of his slow but hopefid progress
was (communicated to the servants and the
village, and to the ladies and gentlemen
who rode up to the door eyery day, and left
their cards of inquiry.

The most attentive of all these was the
new rector, a youn^ clergyman, who had
obtmned the living by exchange. He was
a man highly gifted both in body and mind;
a swarthy Adonis, whose large dark eyes from
the very first turned with glowing admira-
tion on the blond beauties of Lady Bassett

He came every day to inquire afler her
husband; and she sometimes left the suf-
ferer a minute or two, to make her report to
him in person. At other times Mary Wells
was sent to him. That artful girl soon dis-
covered what had escaped her mistress's
observation.

The bulletins were favorable, and wel-
comed on all sides.

Richard Bassett alone was incredulous*
" I want to see him about again," said he.
" Sir Charles is not the man to lie in bed if
he was really better. As for the doctors,
they flatter a fellow till the last moment
Let me see him on his legs, and then I '11
believe he is better."

Strange to say, obliging Fate granted
Richard Bassett this m<3erate request

One firosty but sunny afternoon, as he
was inspecting his coming domain from
"The Heir's Tower," he saw the hall door
open, and a muffled figure come slowly
down the steps between two women.

It was Sir Charles, feeble but convales-
cent He crept about on the sunny gravel
for about ten minutes, and then his nurses
conveyed him tenderly in again.

This sight, which might have touched
with pity a more generous nature, startled.
Richurd Bassett, and then moved his bile.

A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

see us all <mt. And that Mair Wells nurses
him, and I dare say is in love with him
by this time : the fools can*t nurse a man
without. Curse the whole pack of ye ! " he
yelled, and turned away in rage and dis-
gust.

That same night he met Mary Wells, and,
in a strange fit of jealousy, began to make
hot protestations of lore to her : he knew it
was no use reproaching her, so he went on
the other tack.

She received his vows with cool compla-
cency, but would only stay a minute, and
would only talk of her master and mistress
towards whom her heart was, really warm-
ing in their trouble. She spoke hopefully,
and said, " 'T is n't as if he was one of you
faint-hearted ones, as meet Death half-way.
Why, the second day, when he could scarce
speak, he sees me crying by the bed, and
says he,'almost in a wmsper, 'What are
you crying for ? ' * Sir,' eays I, * 't is for you ;
to see you lie like a ghost.* *■ Then you be
wasting of salt water,^ says he. ' I wish I
may, sir,' says I. So then he raised himself
up a little bit ; < Look at me,' says he. ' I'm
a Bassett. I am not the bieed to die for a
crack on the skull, and leave you all to the
mercy of them that would have no mercy' —
which he meant yon, I suppose. So he
ordered me to leave crying, which I behooved
*to obey, for he will be master, mind ye,
while he have a finger to wag, poor dear
gentleman, he will."

And, soon afler this, she resisted all his
attempts to detain her, and scudded back to
the house, leaving Bassett to his if^flections,
which were exceedingly bitter.

"Curse them I" said he. "Even that
girl likes them better than she does me."
' Sir Charles got better, and at last, used
to walk daily with Lady Bassett. Their
favorite stroll was up and down the lawn,
close under the boundarv wall he had built
to shut out " The Heir's "Walk."

The aflemoon sun struck warm upon that
wall, and the walk by its side.

On the other si^e a nurse often carried
little Dicky Bassett, the heir, but neither of
the promenaders could see each other, for
the wall.

Richard Bassett, on the contranr, from
" The Heir's Tower," could see both these
little parties; and, as some men cannot
keep away from what causes their pain, he
used to watch these loving walks, and see
Sir Charles get stronger and stronger, till,
at last, instead of leaning on his beloved
wife, he could march by her side, or even
give her his arm.

Yet the picture was, in a great degree,
delusive; for, except during these blissful
walks, when the sun shone on him, and
Love and Beauty soothed him, Sir Charles
was not the man he had been. The shake

he had received appeared to have dama^
his temper strangely. He became so imta-
ble, that several of his servants left him;
and to his wife he repined ; and his child-
less condition, which had been hitherto only
a deep disappointment, became in his eyes
a calamity that outweighed his many bless-
ings. He had now narrowly escaped dying
without an heir, and this seemed to sink
into his mind, and, co-operating with the
concussion his bnun haa received, brought
him into a morbid state. He brooded on it,
and spoke of it, and got back to it from
every other topic, in a way that distressed
Lady Bassett unspeakably. She consoled
him bravely ; but often, when she was alone,
her gentle courage gave way, and she cried
bitterly to herseu*.

Her distress had one effect she little ex-
pected; it completed what her invariable
Kindness had begun, and actually won the
heart of a servant. Those who really know
that tribe will agree with me that this was
a marvellous conquest. Yet so it was;
Mary Wells conceived for her a real affec-
tion, a\id showed it by unremitting atten-
tion, and a soft and tender voice, that
soothed Lady Bassett, and drew many a
silent but grateful glaiice from her dove-
like eyes.

Mary listened, and heard €nough to blame
Sir Charles for his peevishness, and she be-
gan to throw out little expressions of dis-
satisfaction at him; but these were so
promptly discouraged by the faithful wife,
that she drew in again, and avoided that
line.

But one day, coming softly as a cat, she
heard Sir Charles and Lady Sassett talking
over their calamity. Sir Charles was say-
ing that it was Heaven's curse : that all the
poor people in the village had children;
that lUchard Bassett's weak puny little
wife had brought him an heir, and was
about to make him a parent again. He
alone was marked out, and doomed to be
the last of his race. " And yet," said he,
" if I had married any other woman, and
you had married any other man, we should
have had children by the dozen, I suppose."

Upon the whole, mough he said nothing
palpably vnjust, he had the tone of a man
blaming his wife as the real cause of their
joint cSamity, under which she suffered a
deeper, nobler, and more silent anguish than
himself. This was hard to bear, and, when
Sir Charles went away, Mary Wells ran in
with an angry expression on the tip of her
tongue.

She found Lady Bassett in a pitiable con-
dition, lyin^, rather than leaning, on the
table, with her hair loose about her, sob-
bing as if her heart would break.

All that was good in Mary Wells tugged
at her heart-strings. She flung herself on

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

her knees beside her, and, seizing her mis-
tress's hand, and drawing it to her bosom,
fell to crying and sobbing alon^ with her.

This canine devotion took Lady Bassett
by surprise. She turned her tearful eyes
upon her sympathizing servant, and said,
**0 Macy!" and her soft hand pressed
the girl's harder palm gratefully. They
wept together.

Mary spoke first "O my lady," she
Bobbed, <4t breaks my heart to see you so.
And what a shame to blame you for what
is no fault of youm 1 If I was your husband,
the cradles would soon be full in this house :
but these fine gentlemen, they be old be-
fore their time all with smoking of tobacco ;
and then to come and lay the blame on
wel"

"Mary, I value you very much, —more
than I ever did a servant in my life : but if
you speak against vour master, we shall
part."

" La, my lady, I would n't for the world.
Sir Charles is a perfect gentleman. Why,
he gave me a sovereign only the other day
for nursing of him : but he did n't ought to
blame you for no fault of yourn, and to
make you cry. It tears me inside out to see
ou cry ; you that is so good to rich and poor.

would n't vex myself so for that : dear
heart, 'twas always so; God sends meat to
one house, and mouths to another."

** I could be patient if poor Sir Charles
was not so unhappy," sighed Lady Bassett ;
** but if ever you are a wife, Mary, you will
know how wretched it makes us to see a
beloved husband unhappy."

" Then I 'd make him happy," said Mary.

« Ah, if I only could I"

"O, I could tell you away; for I have
known it done ; and now he is as happy as
a prince. You see, my lad v, some men are
like children : to make them happy you
must give them their own way ; and so, if
I was in your place, I would n't make two
bites of a cherry, for sometimes I think he
will fret himself out of the world for wantr
on't."

« Heaven forbid I "

« It is my belief you would not be long
behind him."

**No, Mary. Why should I ? 'J

" Then — whisper, my lady I "

And, although Lady Bassett drew slightly
back at this freedom, Mary Wells poured
into her ear a proposal that made her stare
and shiver.

As for the rirl's own face, it was as un-
moved as if it nad been bronze.

Lady Bassett drew back, and eyed her

tftW ^

* ense

taken in you. I am afraid you are a vicious
girl. Leave me, please. 1 can't bear the
sight of you."

Mary went away, very red, and the tear
in her eye.

In the evening Lady Bassett gave Mary
Wells a month's warning, and Mary ac-
cepted it doggedly, and thought herself
verv cruelly used.

Alter tms mistress and maid did not ez-
chan^ an unnecessary word for many days.

This notice to leave was very bitter to
Mary Wells, for she was in the very act of
making a conquest Young Drake, a very
small toner, and tenant of Sir Charles, had
fallen in love with her, and she liked him,
and had resolved he should marry her; with
which view eho was playing the tender but
coy maiden very prettily. But Drake,
though young and very much in love, was
advised by his mother, and evidently re-
solved to go the old-fashioned way,— ^ keep
company a year, oj^d know the girl before
offering the ring.

Just before her month was out a more
serious trouble threatened Mary Wells.

Her low artfiil amour with Richard Bas-
sett had led to its natural results. By de-
grees she had gone further than she intend-
ed, and now the fatal consequences looked
her in the face.

She found herself In an odious position f
for her growing regard for young Drake,
though not a vicnent attachment, was enough
to set her more and more against Bichifd
Bassett; and she was preparing an entire
separation from the latter, when the fatal
truth dawned on her.

Then there was a temporary revulsion of
feeling ; she told her condition to Bassett,
and implored him, with many tears, to aid
her to disappear for a time, and hide her
misfortune, especially from her sister.

Mr. Bassett heard her, and then gave her
an answer that made her blood run cold.
"Why do you come to me?" said he.
"Why don't you go to the right man,
young Drake ? "

He then told her he had had her watched,
and she must not think to make a fool of
him. She was as intimate with the young
farmer as with him, and was in his company
every day.

Mary Wells admitted that Drake was
courting her, but said he was a civil, re-
spectful young man, who desired to make
her his wife. "You have lost me that,"
said she, bmrsting into tears ; " and so, for
God's sake, show yourself a man for once,
and see me ^rough my tr<^)le."

8 ^ A itire ae m h

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

H
O

give YOU a wedding present; that is all I
can do for any other man's 8wee|,hearc. I
have pot my own family to provide for, and
it is all I can contrive to make both ends
meet."

He was cold and inflexible to her prayers.
Then she tried threats. He laughed at
them. Said he, " The time is gone by for
that : if you wanted to sue me for breach of
promise, you should have done it at once,
not waited eighteen months, and taken an-
other sweetheart first. Come, come, you
played your little game. You made me
come here week aS/er week and bleed a
sovereign. A woman that loved a man
would never have been so hard on him as
Yoa were on me. I grinned and bore it;
but, when you ask me to own another man's

child, a man of your own sort, that you axe
in love with, — you hate me, — that is a lit-
tle too much. "No, Mrs. Drake ; if that is
your game, we will fight it out, — before the
public, if you like." And having delivered
this with a tone of harsh and loud defiance,
he left her, — left her forever. She sat
down upon the cold ground and rocked her-
self. Despair was cold at her heart.

She sat in that forlorn state for more than
an hour. Then she got up and went to her
mistress's room, and sat by the fire ; for her
limbs were cold as well as her heart.

She sat there gazing at the fire, and sigh-
ing heavily, till Lady Bassett came up to
bed. She then went through her work like
an automaton, and every now and then a
deep sigh came from her breast.

A TEEBIBLE TEMPTATION.

Lady Bassett heard her sigh, and looked
at her. Her face was altered; a sort of
BuUen misery was written on it. Lady Bas-
sett was quick at reading faces, and this
look alarmed her. " Mary," said she, kindly,
** is there anything the matter ? "

No reply.

" Are you unwell ? "

"No."

** Are you in trouble ? "

" Ay," with a burst of tears.

Lady Bassett let her cry, thinking it
would relieve her, and then spoke to her
again with the languid pensiveness of a
woman who had also her trouble. "You
have been very attentive to Sir Charles,
and a kind good servant to me, Mary."

"You are mocking me, my lady," said
Mary, bitterly. " You would n't have turned
me off for a word if I had been a good 8e]>
vant"

Lady Bassett colored high, and was si-
lenced for a moment. At last she said, " I
feel it must seem harsh to you. You don't
know how wicked it was to tempt me. But
it is not as if you had done anything wrong.
I do not feel bound to mention mere words.
I shall give you an excellent character,
Mary : indeed I have. I think I have got
a good place for you. I shall know to-mor-
row ; and, when it is settled, we will look
over my wardrobe together."

This proposal implied a boxful of presents,
and would have made Mary's dark eyes
flash' with delight at another time ; but she
was past all uiat now. She interrupted
Lady Bassett with this strange speech:
"You are very kind, my lady; will you
lend me the key of your medicine-chest ? "

Lady Bassett looked surprised, but said,
** Certainly, Mary," and held out the keys.

But before Mary could take them she
considered a moment, and asked her what
medicine she required.

" Only a little laudanum."

" No, Mary ; not whilst you look like that
and refuse to tell me your trouble. I am
your mistress, and must exert my authority
for your good. Tell me at once what is the
matter."

" I 'd bite my tongue off sooner."

" You are wrong, Mary. I am sure I
should be your best friend. I feel much
indebted to you for the attention and the
affection you have shown me ; and I am

grieved to see you so despondent. Make a
iend of me, my poor girl. There — think
it over, and talK to me again to-morrow."

Mary Wells took the true servant's view
of Lady Bassett's kindness. She looked at
it as a trap ; not, indeed^ set with malice

aense, but still a trap. She saw that
/ Bassett meant kindly at present, but
for all that, she was sure that if she told
the truth her mistress would turn agtunst

her, and say, " Oh I I had no idea yonr
trouble arose out of your own imprudence*
I can do nothing for a vicious girL"

She resolved therefore to say nothing, or
else to tell some lie or other quite wide of
the mark.

Deplorable a» this young woman's situa-
tion was, the duplicity and coarseness of
mind which had Drought her into it would
have somewhat blunted the mental agony
such a situation must inflict; but it was
aggravated by a special terror; she knew
that, if she was found out, she would lose
the only sure friend she had in the world.

The fact is, Mary Wells had seen a great
deal of life during the two years she was
out of the reader's sight. Rhoda had been
^ery good to her ; hi3 set her up in a lodg-
ing-house, at her earnest request. She
misconducted it^ and failed : threw it up in
disgust, and begged Bhoda to put her in the
public line. Bhoda complied. Mary made
a mess of the public-house. Then Bhoda
showed her she was not fit to govern any-
tl^ng, and drove her into service again;
and, in that condition, having no more cares
than a child, and plenty of work to do, and
many a present fnxn Bhoda; she had been
happy.

. But Rhoda, thoi^h she forgave blunders,
incapacity for business, and waste of money,
had always told her plainly there was one
thing she never would forgive.

.Rhoda Marsh had become a good Chris-
tian in every respect but one. The male
rake reformed' is rather tolerant; but the
female rake reformed is, as a rule, bitterly
intolerant of female frailty; and Rhoda
carried this female characteristic to an ex-
treme, both in word and in deed. They were
only half-sifiters after all ; and Mary knew
that she would be cast off forever if she
deviated firom virtue so far as to be found
out.

Besides the general warning, there had
been a special one. When she read Mary's
first letter from Huntercombe Hall, Rhoda
was rather taken aback at first; but, on
reflection, she wrote to Mary, saying she
could stay there on two conditions: she
must be discreet, and never menjtion her
sister Rhoda in the house, and she must
not be tempted to renew her acquaintance
with Richard Bassett.

" Mind," said she, " if ever you speak to
that villain, I shall hear of it, and I shall
never notice you again."

This was the galling present and the dark
future which had made so young and un-
sentimental a woman as Mary Wells think
of suicide for a moment or two ; and it now
deprived her of her rest, and next day kept
her thinkings and brooding all the time her
now leaden limbs were carrying her through
her menial duties.

A TEfl^BIBLE TEMPTATION.

The afternoon was sunny, and Sir Charfes
and Lady Bassett took their usual walk.

Mary Wells went a little waiy with them,
looking very miserable. Lady Bassett ob-
served, and said kindly, "Mary, you can
give me that shawl, I will not keep you ; go
where you like till five o'clock."

Mary never said so much as "Thank
you." She put the shawl round her mis-
tress, and then went slowly back. She sat
down on the stone steps, and glared stu-
pidly at the scene, and felt very miserable
and leaden. She seemed to be stuck in a
sort of slough of despond, and could not
move in any direction to get out of it.

While she sat in thi& gloomy revery a
gentleman walked up to the door, and Mary
Wells lifted her head and looked at him.
Notwithstanding her condition, her eyes
rested on him with some admiration, for he
was a model of a man : six feet high, and
built like an athlete. His face was oval,
and his skin dark but glowing; his hair,
eyebrows, and long eyelashes black as jet ;
his gray eyes large and tender. He was
dresFed in black, with a white tie, and his
clothes were well cut, and seemed superlar
tively so, owing to the importance and sym-
metiy of the figure they covered. It was
the new vicar, Mr. Angelo.

He smiled on Mary graciously, and asked
her how Sir Charles was.

She said he was better.

Then Mr. Angelo asked more tiopudly,
was Lady Bassett at home.

" She is just gone out, sir."

A look of deep disappointment crossed

Mr. Angelo's face. It did not escape Mary

Wells. She looked at him full, and, lowers

in<r her voice a little said ^*dSar » 'ai nla *
h ry ivh, g

shrabbeiy with a speed Mary Wells had
never seen equalled. , He had won the 200-
yard race at Oxford in his day.

The aeonized screams were repeated, and
Mary Wells screamed in response as she
ran towards the place.

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.

Sib Chables Bassett was in high
spirits this afternoon, indeed a little too
high.

« Bella, my love," said he, « now 1 11 tell
you why I made you give me your signature
this morning. The money has all come in
for the wood, and this very day I sent Old-
field instructions to open an account for you
with a London banker."

Lady Bassett looked at him with tears of
tenderness in her eyes. "Deareet," said
she, " I have plenty of money ; but the love,
to which I owe thispresent, that is my trea-
sure of treasures. Well, I accept it, Charles ;
but don't ask me to spend it on myself; 1
should feel I was robbing you."

"It is nothing to me how you spend it; I
have saved it from the enemy."

Now that very enemy heard these words.
He had looked from the " Heir's Tower "
and seen Sir Charles and Lady Bassett
walking on their side the wall, and the nurse
carrying his heir on the otlier side.

He had come down to look at his child
in the sun; but he walked softly, on the
chance of overhearing Sir Charles and Lady
Bassett say something or other about his p
hea}]^' h^ desicrn went no forther h ht Thr
tlU th 1

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

linn

liye I '11 woik for you, and against that yil-
lain."

«* Charles," cried Lady Bassett, « I im-
plore you to turn your thoughts away from
that man, and to give up these idle schemes.
Were you to die 1 should soon follow you ;
80 pray do not shorten your life by these
an^ passions, or you wiJl shorten mine."

This appeal acted powerfully on Sir
Charles, and he left off suddenly with
flushed cheeks, and tried to compose him-
self.

But his words had now raised a corre-
sponding fury on the other side of that boun-
dary wall. Richard Bassett, stun^ with
rage, and, unlike his high-bred cousin, ac-
customed to mix cunning even with his ^nry,
5ave him a terrible blow, — a very coup de
amac. He spoke at him ; he ran forward
'to the nurse, and said very loud, <* Let me
see the little darling; he does you cred-
it ; what fat cheeks I — what arms I — an
infant Hercules 1 There, take him up the
mound. Now lifb him in your arms, and let
him see his inheritance. Higher, nurs3,
higher. Ay, crow away, youngster; all
that is yours, — house, and land, and all.
They may steal the trees, they can't make
away with the broad acres. Ha I I believe
he understands every word, nurse. See
how he smiles and crows."

At the sound of Bassett's voice Sir Charles
started, and at the first taunt, he uttered
something between a moan and a roar as of
a wounded lion.

" Come away," cried Lady Bassett. " He
is doing it on purpose."

But me stabs came too fast. Sir Charles
shook her off, and looked wildly round for
a weapon to strike his insulter with.

« Curse him and his brat 1 " he cried.
"Thev shall neither of them— I'll kill
them both."

He sprang fiercely at the wall, and, not-
withstanding his weakly condition, raised
himself above it, and glared over with a face
80 full of fury that Richard Bassett recoiled
in dismay for a moment, and said, *< Run I
run 1 He '11 hurt the child I "

But the next moment Sir Charles's hands
lost their power; he uttered a miserable
moan, and fell gasping under the wall in an
epileptic fit, with all the terrible symptoms
I have described in a previous portion of
this story. These were new to his poor
wife, ana, as she strove in vain to control
his fearful convulsions, her shrieks rent the
air. Indeed, her screams were so appalling
that Bassett himself sprang at the wail and,
by a great effort of strength, drew himself
u and ered down with white face iS'*^^

o dan N

At that moment humanity prevailed oyer
everything, and he flung himself oyer the
wall, and in his haste got rather a heavy
fall himself. << It is a fit I " he cried, and,
running to the brook close by, filled his
hat with water, and was about to dash it
over Sir Charles's face.

But Lady Bassett repelled him with hoi>
ror. " Don't touch him, you villain I You
have killed him." And then she shrieked
again.

At this moment Mr. Angelo dashed up,
and saw at a glance what it was, for he had
studied medicine a little. He said, <' It is
epilepsy. Leave him to me." He managed,
by his great strength, to keep the patient's
head down till the face ^t pale and the
limbs still ; then, telling Lady Bassett not
to alarm herself too much, he lifted Sir
Charles, and actually proceeded to carry
him towards the house. Lady Bassett,
weeping, proffered her assistance, and so
did Mary Wells ; but this athlete said a lit-
tle brusquely, '' No, no ; I have practised
this sort of tiling " ; and, partly by his rare
strength, partly by his familiarity with all
athletic feats, carried the insensible baronet
to his own house, as I have seen my accom*
plished friend Mr. Henry Neville carry a
tall actress on the mimic stage ; only, the
distance being much longer, 3ie perspira-
tion rolled down Mr. Angelo's face with so
sustained an effort.

He laid him gently on the floor of his
study, while Lady Bassett sent two grooms
galloping for medical advice, and lialf a
dozen servants running for this and that
stimulant, as one thing after another oc-
curred to her agitated mind. The yery
rustling of dresses and scurry of feet over-
head told all the house a great calamity had
stricken it.

Lady Bassett hun^ over the sufferer,
sighing piteously, and was for supporting
his beloyed head with her tender arm ; but
Mr. Angelo told her it was better to keep
the head low, that the blood might flow
back to the yessels of the brmn.

She cast a look of melting gratitude on
her adviser, and composed herself to apply
Stimulants under his direction and advice.

Thus judiciously treated. Sir Charles be-
gan to recover consciousness in part He
stared and muttered incoherently. Lady
Bassett thanked God on her knees, and then
turned to Mr. Angelo with streandng eyes,
and stretched out both hands to him, with
an indescribable eloquence of gratitude.
He gave her his hands timidly, and she
pressed them both with all her soul. Un-
' u 1 eh

^-jea

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Bat at this moment Sir Charles broke
out in a sort of dry, business-like voice,
«« I '11 kill the viper and his brood." Then
he stared at Mr. Angelo, and could not
make him out at first. *< Ah 1 " said he,
complacently, '^this is my private tutor: a
man of learning. I read Homer with him;
but I have fotgotten it, all but one line, —

"vifirtos 6f Tarepa Kreiyuv vcuSas iraraXeurec."

That 's a beautiM verse. Homer, old boy,
I '11 take vour advice : I '11 kill the heir-at-
law, and his brat as well, and, when they
are dead and well seasoned, I '11 sell them
to that old timber-merchant, the devil, to
make hell hotter. Order my horse, some-
body, this minute."

During this tirade Lady Bassett's hands
kept clutching, as if to stop it, and her eyes
filled with horror.

Mr. Angelo came again to her rescue. He
affected to take it all as a matter of course, and
told the servants they need not wait, Sir
Charles was coming to himself by degrees,
and the danger was all over.

But when the servants were sone he said
to Lady Bassett, seriously, <'I would not
let any servant be about Sir Charles, except
this one. She is evidently attached to vou.
Suppose we take him to his own room.'

He then made Mary Wells a signal, and
they carried him up stpirs.

Sir Charles talked all the while with
pitiable vehemence; indeed it was a con-
tinuous babble, like a brook.

Mary Wells was taking him into his own
room, but Lady Bassett said, " No ; into my
room. O, I will never let him. out of my
sight again."

Then they carried him into Lady Bas-
sett's bedroom, and laid him gently down
on a couch there.

He looked round, observed the locality,
and uttered a little sigh of complacency.
He left off talking for the present, and
seemed to doze.

The place, which exerted this soothing
influence on Sir Charles, had a contrary and
strange effect on Mr. Angelo.

It was of palatial size, and lighted by
two side windows and an oriel window at
the end ; the delicate stone shafts and mul-
lions were such aa are oftener seen in cathe-
drals than in mansions ; the deep embrasure
was filled with beautiful flowers and lus-
cious exodc leaf-plants from the hot-houses.
The floor was c^ nolished oak, and some
feet of this were len bare on all sides of the
great Aubusson carpet made expressly for
the room. By this means cleanliness pene-
trated into every comer ; the oak was not
only cleaned, but polished like a mirror.
The curtains were Frengl^chi^tzes, ^f s^b-

roi^tinted satin paper, to which French
art, unrivalled in these matters, had eiven
the appearance .of being stuffed, padded,
and divided into a thousand cosey pillows by
gold-beaded nails.

The wardrobes were of satin-wood. The
bedsteads, one small, one large, were plain
white, and sold in moderation.

All this, nowever, was but the frame to
the delightful picture of a wealthy yooBg
lady's nest.

The things that startled and thrilled Mr.
Angelo were those his imaginatipn could
see the fair mistress using, xhe exquisite
toilet-table, the Dresden mirror, with its
delicate china frame muslined and ribboned,
the great ivory-handled brushes, the array
of cut-glass gold-mounted bottles, and all
the artillery of beauty; the baths of various
shapes and sizes, in which she laved her
fair body; the bath sheets, and the profu-
sion of linen, fine and coarse. The bed, with
its frilled sheets, its huge frilled pillows, and
its eider-down quilt, covered with bright
purple silk.

A delicate perfume came through the
wardrobes, where strata of fine linen from
Hamburg and Belfast lay on scented herbs ;
and this, permeating the room, seemed the
very perfume of Beauty itself, and intoxi-
cated the brain. Imagmation conjured nic-
tures proper to the scene ; a goddess at ner
toilet^ that glorious hair lying tumbled on
the pillow, and burning in contrasted color
with the snowy sheets and with the purple
quilt*

From this revenr he was awakened by a
sofl; voice that said, "How can I ever thank
you enough, sir ? "

Mr. Angelo controlled himself, and ^d, .
" By sending for me whenever I can be of
the slightest use." Then, comprehending
his danger, he added, hastily, " And I fear
I am none whatever now." Then he rose
to 0:0.

Lady Bassett ^ave him both her hands
again, and this tune he kissed one of them
au in a flurry ; he could not resist the temp-
tation. Then he hmried away, with his
whole soul in a tumult. Lady Bassett blush-
ed, and returned to her husband's side.

Doctor Willis came, heard the case, looked
rather grave and puzzled; and wrote the
inevitable prescription ; for the established
theory is, that man is cured by drugs alone.

Sir Charles wandered a little while the
doctor was there, and continued to wander
after he was gone.

Then Mary Wells begged leave to sleep
in the dressing-room.

Lady Bassett thanked her, but said she
thouorbt it unnecessary ; a good night's rest,
she hoped, would make a great change in

SI d .kil d H" f ase s ^ to(#

A TESRIBLE TEMPTATION.

pi!;

etly brought her little b6d into the dressing-
room, and laid it on the floor.

Her judgment proved right ; Sir Charles
was no better next day, nor the day after.
He brooded for hours at a time, and when
he talked there was an incoherence in his
discourse ; above aU, he seemed incapable
of talking long on any subject without com-
ing back to the fatal one of his childless-
ness; and when he did return to this it
was sure to make him either deeply dejected
or else violent against Richard JBassett and
his son ; he swore at them, and said they
were waiting for his shoes.

Lady Bassett's anxiety deepened; strange
fears came over her. She put subtle ques-
tl nsiis) ^A d»ctt>r * he returned obscure an-

swers, and went on prescribing medicines
that had no effect.

She looked wistfully into Mary Wells's
face, and there she saw her own thoughts
reflected.

"Mary," said she, one day, in a low
voice, " what do they say in the kitchen ? "

" Some say one thing, some another.
What can they say ? They never see him,
and never shall, while I am here."

This reminded Lady Bassett that Mary's
time was up. The idea of a stranger tak-
ing her place, and seeing Sir Charles in his
£ resent condition, was horrible to her. " O
lary," said she, piteously, " surely you will
not leave me just now I *'

« Do 9jii5ph me to sta m 1*4 ? "

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

** Can yon ask it ? How can I hope to
find each devotion as^ yourg, such fidelity,
and, above all, such secrecy ? Ah, Mary, I
am the most unhappy lady in all England
this day."

Then she began to cry bitterlv, and Mary
Wells cried with her, and said she would
stay as long as she could ; but, said she, '< I
gave you good advice, my lady, and so you
will find."

Lady Bassett made no answer whatever,
and that disappointed Mary, for she wanted
a discussion.

The days rolled on, and brought no change
fi)r the better. Sir Charles continued to
brood on his one misfortune. He refused
to eo out of doors, even into the garden,
giving as his reason that he was not fit to
be seen. "I don't mind a couple of wo-
men," said he, gravely ; << but no man shall
see Charles Bassett in his present state.
No. Patience ! Patience 1 I '11 wait till
Heaven takes pity on me. After all, it
would be a shame that such a race as mine
should die out, and these fine estates go to
blackguards and poachers and anonymous
letter-writers."

Lady Bassett used to coax him to walk in
the corridor; but, even then, he ordered
Mary Wells to keep watch, and let none of
the servants come that way. From words
he let fall, it seems he thought ^' childless-
ness " was written on his face, and that it
had somehow degraded his features.

Now a wealthy and popular baronet could

not thus immure himself for any length of

. time without exciting curiosity, 'and setting

all manner of rumors afloat Visitors poured

into Huntercombe to inquire.

Lady Bassett excused herself to many;
but some of her own sex she thought it best
to encounter. This subjected her to the insidi-
ous attacks of curiositv admirably veiled with
sympathv. The assailants were marvellously
subtle; but so was the devoted wife. She
gave kiss for kiss, and equivoque for equi-
voque : she seemed grateful for each visit ;
but they ^t nothing out of her, except that
Sir Charles's nerves were shaken by his fall,
and that she was playing the tyrant for once,
and insisting on absolute quiet for her patient.

One visitor she never refused, — Mr. An-
gelo. He, from the first, had been her true
Mend; had carried Sir Charles away from
the enemy, and then had dismissed the gap-
ing servants. She saw that he had divined
her calamity, and she knew, from things he
raid to her, that he would never breathe
a word out of doors. She confided in him.
She told him Mr. Bassett was the real cause
of all this misery. He had insulted Sir
Charles : the nature of this insult she sup-
pressed. " And, O Mr. Angelo," said she,
'that man is my terror night and day. I

don't know what he can do ; but I feel he
will do something, if ever he learns my poor
husband's condition."

<< 1 trust, Lady Bassett, you are convinced
he will learn nothing fix>m me. Indeed, I
will tell the ruffian anything you like : he
has been sounding me a little ; called to in-
quire after his poor cousin — the hypocrite ! "

" How good you are! Please tefi him ab-
solute repose is prescribed for a time ; but
there is no doubt of Sir Charles's ultimate
recovery."

Mr. Angelo promised heartilv.

Mary Wells was not enough : a woman
must have a man to lean on in trouble ; and
Lady Bassett leaned on Mr. Angelo. She
even obeyed him. One day he told her
that her own health would fail if she sat al-
ways in the sick-room; she must walk an
hour every day.

^Must i ? " said she, sweetly.

" Yes, even if it is only m your own
garden."

From that time she used to walk with him
nearly every day.

Richard Bassett saw this from his tow-
er of observation, — saw it, and chuckled.
" Aha ! " said he. *' Husband sick in bed.
Wife walking in the garden with a young
man, — a parson too. He is dark, she is
fair. Something ,will come of this. Ha,
ha I"

Lady Bassett now talked of sending to
London for advice; but Mary Wells dis-
suaded her. ** Physic can't cure him : there 's
only one can cure^him, and that is yourself
my lady."

" Ah, would to Heaven I could I "

" Try my way, and you will see, -my lady."

<* What, that way I O no, no! "

" Well, then, if you won't, nobody else
can."

Such speeches as these, often repeated,
on the one hand, and Sir Charles's melan-
choly on the other, drove Lady Bassett
almost wild with distress and perplexity.

Meanwhile her vague fears of Ricnard
Bassett were being gradually realized.

Bassett employed Wheeler to sound Dr.
Willis Bk^ to his patient's condition.

Dr. Willis, true to the honorable tra-
ditions of his profession, would tell him
nothinsr. But Dr. Willis had a wife. She
pumped him, and Wheeler pumped her.

By this channel Wheeler got a somewhat
exaggerated account of Sjr Charles's state.
He carried it to Bassett,. and the pair put
their heads together.

The consultation lasted all night, and
finally a comprehensive plan of action was
settled. Wheeler stipulated that the law
should not be broken in the smallest par-
ticular, but only stretched.

Four days after this conference Mr. Baa-
sett, Mr. Wheeler, and two spruce gentle-

A TEMIIBLE TEMPTATION,

men dressed in black, sat upon the << Heir's tress. << He came from Dr. Willis, my lady ;

Tower " watching Hnntercombe Hall. it was Dr. Mosely ; and the other gent was

They watched, and watched, until they a suigeon."

saw Mr. Angelo make his usual daily call. << Twt) medical men, sent by Dr. Willis ? "

Then they watched, and watched, until said Lady Bassett, knitting her brow with

Lady Bassett and the youn^ clergyman wonder and a shade of doubt,

came out, and strolled together into the << A couple of her own sweethearts, sent

shrubbery. by herself," suggested Sir Charles.

Then the two gentlemen went down the Lady Bassett sat down, and wrote a hasty

stairs, and were hastily conducted by Bas- letter to Dr. Willis. " Send a groom with

sett to Huntercombe Hall. it, as fast as he can ride," said she ; and

They rang the bell, and the ^ller said, she was much discomposed, and nervous,

in a business-like voice, *' Dr. Mosely, from and impatient, till the answer came back.

Dr. Willis." Dr. Willis came in person. *< I sent no

Mary Wells was sent for, and Dr. Mosely one to take my place," eaid he ; "I esteem

said, " Dr. Willis is unable to come to-day, my patient too nighly to let any stranger

and has sent me." ^ prescribe for him, or even see him, — for a

Mary Wells conducted him to the patient, few days to come."

The other gentleman followed. Lady Bassett sank into a chair, and her

<' Who is this ? " said Mary. ** I can't eloquent face filled with an undefinable

let all the world in to see him." terror.

" It is Mr. Donkyn, the surgeon. Dr. Mary Wells, being on her defence, put in

Willis wished the patient to be examined her word. <' I am sure he was a doctor ;

with the stethoscope. You can stay outside,
Mr. Donkyn."

This new doctor announced himself to
Sir Charles, felt his pulse, and entered at
once into conversation with him.

-Sir Charles was in a talking mood, and
very soon said one or two inconsecutive

things. Dr. Mosely looked at Marv Wells, it has ever benefited,

for he wrote a prescription, and here 't is."
Dr. Willis examined the prescription with
no fi"iendly eye.

*^ Acetate of morphia I The verr worst
thing that could be given him. This is the
fitvorite of the specialists. This fatal drug
has eaten away a thousand brains for one

and said he would write a prescription,

As soon as he ^had written it, " Mr. Don-
kyn 1 •• he said, very loud, " Mr. Donkyn 1 "

The door instantly opened, and that
worthy appeared on the threshold.

" Oblige me," said the doctor to his con-
frere, " by seeing this prescription made up ;
and you c^n examine the patient yourself,
but do not fatigue him."

With this he retired swifUy, and strolled
down the corridor to wait for his com-
panion.

He had not to wait long. Mr. Donkyn
adopted a free-and-easy style with Sir

* Special-

<< Ah ! " said Lady Bassett.
ists * 1 what are they ? "

'< Medical men who confine their practice
to one disease."

** Mad doctors, he means," said the pa-
tient, very gravely.

Lady Bassett turned very pale. " Then
those were mad doctors."

"Never you mind, Bella," said Sir
Charles. " I kicked the fellow handsomely."

** I am sorry to hear it. Sir Charles."

« Why ? "

Dr. Willis looked at Lady Bassett, as
much as to say, " I shall not give him my

Charles, and that gentleman marked his real reason"; and then said, "I think it

sense of the indi^ity by turning him out very undesirable you should be excited and

of the room, and kicking him industriously provoked until your heallh is thoroughly

half-way down the passage. restored."

Messrs. Mosely and Donkyn retired to Dr. Willis wrote a prescription, and re-

Hio^hmore. tired.

Bassett was particularly pleased at the Lady Bassett sank into a chair, and

Baronet having kicked Donkyn ; so was trembled all over. Her divining fit was on

Wheeler ; so was Dr. Mosely. Donkyn her ; she saw the hand of the enemy, and

alone did not share the general enthusiasm, filled with vague fears.

ba llW?" d T# ISL "^a 9 43* ^•'" 1

a y '• ^M?s

A TEEEIBLE TEMPTATION.

a moment, and strikes ; and then is gone
and leaves his victim trembling."

Then she slipped into the dressing-room,
and became hysterical, out of her husband's
sight and hearing.

Mary Wells nursed her, and, when she
was better, whispered in her ear, ^* Lose no
more time then. Cure him. You know
the way."

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

In the present condition of her mind these
words produced a strange effect on Lady
Bassett. She quivered, and her eyes began
to rove in that peculiar way I have already
noticed ; and then she started up, and walked
wildly to and fro ; and then she kneeled down
and prayed ; and then, alarmed, perplexed,
exhausted, she went and leaned her head on
her patient's shoulder, and wept softly, a long
time.

Some days passed, and no more strangers
attempted to see Sir Charles.

Lady Bassett was beginning to breathe
again, when she was afflicted by an unwel-
come discovery.

Mary Wells fainted away so suddenly
that, but for Lady Bassett*s quick eye ana
ready hand, she would have fallen heav-
Uy.

Lady Bassett laid her head down, and
loosened her stays, and discovered her con-
dition. She said nothing till the young
woman was well, and then she taxed her
with it.

Mary denied it plump; but, seeing her
mistress's disgust at the falsehood, she owned
it with many tears.

Being asked how she could so far forget
herself, she told Lady Bassett she had long
been courted by a respectable young man ;
he had come to the village, bound on a three
years* voyage, to bid her ^ood by, and, what
with love and grief at parting, they had been
betrayed into folly ; and now he was on the
salt seas, little dreaming in what condition
he had left her ; ** and/' said she, " before
ever he can write to me, and I to him, I
shall be a ruined girl ; that is why I wanted
to put an end to myself; — I will, too, un-
less I can find some way to hide it from the
world."

Lady Bassett begged her to give up those
de rate thoughts ; she would think what

had laid aside her trouble, her despair, and
given her sorrowful mind to nursingmnd com-
tbrting Sir Charles. This would have out-
weighed a crime^ and it made the wife's
bowels yearn over the unfortunate girl.
" Mary," said she, <' others must jadge you ;
I am a wife and can only see vour fidelity
to my poor husband. I don't know what I
shall do without you, but 1 think it is my
duty to send you to him if possible. You
are sure he really loves you ? "

" Me cross the seas after a young man ? "
said Mary Wells. <^ I 'd as lieve hang my-
self on the nighest tree, and make an end.
No, my lady, n you are really my friend, let
me stay here as long as I can, — I will
never go down stairs, to be seen, — and then
give me money enough to get my trouble
over unbeknown to m^ sister; she is all
my fear. She is married to a gentleman,
and got plenty of money, and I shall never
want while she lives, and behave myself;
but she would never forgive me if she knew.
She is a hard woman ; she is not like you,
my lady. I 'd liever cut my hand off, ibaa
1 'd trust her as 1 would you."

Lady Bassett was not auite insensible to
this compliment ; but she felt uneasy, ^* What,
help you to deceive your sister 1 "

" For her good. Why, if any one was to
go and tell her about me now, she 'd hate
them for telling her almost as much as she
would hate me."

Lady Bassett was sore perplexed. Un-
able to see quite clear in the matter, she
naturally reverted to her husband, and his
interest. That dictated her course. She
said, " Well, stay with us, Mary, as long as
you can : and then money shall not be want-
ing to hide your shame from all the world :
but I hope, when the time comes, you will
alter your mind, and tell your sister. May
I ask what her name is ? "

Mary, after a moment's hesitation, said
her name was Marsh.

*^ I know a Mrs. Manh," sud Lady Bas-
sett ; " but, of course, thfit is not your sis-
ter. My Mrs. Marsh is rather fair."

** So is my sister, for that matter."

"And tall?"

"Yes; but you never saw her. You'd
never forget her, if you had. She has got
eyes like a lion."

"Ahl Does she ride?"

" O, she is famous for that ; and driving,
and all."

"Indeed I But no; I see no resem-

A TEBRIBLE TEUFTATION.

The day waa not over yet Just before
diDne]>time a fly from the station drove to
the door, and Mr. Oldfield sot out.

He was detained in the nail by Sentinel
M088.

Lad^ Bassett came down to him. At the
very sight of him she trembled, and said,
"ifichaid Bassett?"

" Yes," said Mr. Oldfield, "he is m the
field agaia. He has been to the Court of
Chancery ex parte^ and obtained an injunc-
tion ad interim to stay waste. Not another
tree must be cut ^own on this estate for the
present."

♦< Thank Heaven it is no worse than that.
Not another tree shall be felled on the
grounds."

" Of course not But they will not stop
there. If we do not move to dissolve the
injunction, I fear they will go on, and ask
the Court to administer the estate, with a
view to all interests concerned, especially
those of the heir-at-law and his son."

" What, iwhile my husband lives ? "

" If they can prove him dead in law."

" I don't understand you, Mr. Oldfield."

" They have got affidavits of two medical
inen that he is insane."

Lady Bassett uttered a faint scream, and
pat her hand to her heart

" And, of course, they will use that ex-
traordinary fall of timber as a further proof,
and also as a reason why the Court should
interfere to protect the heir-at-law. Their
case is well got up, and very strong," said
Mr. Oldfield, regretfully.

" Well, but you are a lawyer; and you
have always beaten them hitherto."

"I had law ana fact on my side. It
is not eo now. To be frank. Lady Bassett,
I don't see what I can do, but watch the
ca«e, on the chance of some error, or ille-
gality. It is very hard to fi^ht a case when
you cannot put your client forward — and I
suppose that would not be safe. How un-
fortunate that you have no children ! "

" Children 1 How could they help
us?"

" What a question I How could Richard
Bassett move the Court, if he was not the
heir-at-law?"

After a long conference, Mr. Oldfield re-
turned to town, to see what he could do in
the way of procrastination, and Lady Bas-
sett promised to leave no stone unturned to
cure Sir Charles in the mean time. Mr.
Oldfield was to write immediately if any

one acqusdnted with her fcx might see that
some strange conflict was going on in her
troubled mind.

Every now and then she would come and
cling to her husband, and cry over him ;
and that seemed to still the tumult of her
soul a little.

She never slept all that night ; and, next
day, clinging in her helpless agony to the
nearest branch, she told Mary Wells what
Bassett was doing, and said, " What shall I
do ? He is not mad ; but he is in so very
precarious a state that, if they get at him
to torment him, they will drive him mad
indeed."

*^^ly lady," said Mary Wells, "I can't
ffo froip my word. 'T is no use making two
bites of a cherry. A\^e must cure him : and
if we don't, you 'U never rue it but once,
and that will be all your life."

" I should look on myself with horror af-
terwards were 1 to deceive him now."

" No, my lady, you are too fond cf him
for that Once you saw him happy, you 'd
be happv too, no matter how it came about.
That fiichard Bassett will turn him cut of
this else. I am sure he will ; he is a hard-
hearted villain."

Lady Bassett's eyes flashed fire ; then her
eyes roved ; then she sighed deeply.

Her powers of resistance were beginning
to relax. As for Mary Welle, she gave her
no peace ; she kept instilling her mind into
her mistress's, with the pertinacity of a
small but ever-dripping fount, and we know
both by science and poetry that many small
drops of water will wear a hole in marble.

" Gutta cavat lapidem non tI ecd ssepe cadendo."

And in th^ midst of all a letter came
from Mr. Oldfield, to tell her that Mr. Bas-
sett threatened to take out a commissicn ile
lunaticoj and she must prepare Sir Charles
for an examination ; for, if reported in?ane,
the Court would administer the estates ; but
the heir-at law, Mr. Bassett, would have the
ear of the Court, and the right of application,
and become virf ually master of Huntercombe
and Bastett ; and perhaps, considering the
spirit by which he was animated, wculd con-
trive to occupy the very Hall itself. Lady
Bassett was in the dressing-room, when fho
received this blow, and it drove' her almost
frantic. She bemoaned her husband ; she
prayed God to take them both, and Jet their
enemy have his will. She wept and raved,
and at the height of her distress, came from
the other roomo fe 1 he »" Childless I

A TEREIBLE TEMPTATION.

Mary Wells bow trembled a little in her
torn ; but 8he seized the opportunity, —

" My lady, whatever I say, you *11 stand
to?"

" Whatever you say, 111 stand to."

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.

Mart Wells, like other uneducated
women, was not accustomed to think long
and earnestly one any on subject; to use an
expression she once applied with far less
justice to her sister, her mind was like run-
ning water.

But gestation affects the brains of such
women, and makes them think more stead-
ily, and sometimes very acutely ; added to
which, the peculiar dangers and difficulties
that beset this drl during that anxious pe-
riod stimulated ner wits to the very utmost.
Often she sat quite still for hours at a time,
brooding, and brooding, and asking herself
how she could turn each new and unex-
pected event to her own benefit. Now, so
much does mental force depend on that ex-
ercise of keen and long attention, in which
her sex is generally deficient, that this young
woman's powers were more than doubled
since the day she first discovered her condi-
tion, and began to work lier brains night
and day for her defence.

Gradually, as events 1 have related un-
folded themselves, she caught a glimpse ot
this idea, that if she could get her mistress
to have a secret, her mistress would help
her to keep her own. Hence her insidious
whispers, and her constant praises of Mr.
An^elo, who, she saw, was infatuated with
Lady Bassett. Yet the designing creature
was acbually fond of her mistress ; and so
strangely compounded is a heart of this low
kind, that the extraordinary step she now
took was half afiectionate impulse, half ego-
tistical design.

She made a motion with her hand invit-
i*ii; Lady Bassett to listen, and stepped into
Sir Charles's room.

"Childless! childless I childless I"

" Hush, sir," said Mary Wells. « Don't
say so. We sha' n't be many months with-
out one, please Heaven."

Sir Charles shook his head sadly.

" Don't you believe me ? "

"No."

« What, did ever I tell you a lie?**

" No : but you are mistaken. She would
have told me."

" Well, sir, my lady is young and shy, and
I think she is afnaid of disappointing you
after all • for ou know s^ thefe 's mai^ a

Sir Charles was mfi6h agitated, and said
he would give her a hundred guineas if that
was true. " Where is my darling wife ?
Why do I hear this through a servant ? "

Mary Wells cast a look at the door, and
said for Lady Bassett to hear, " She is re-
ceiving company. Now, sir, I have told
you good news : will you do something to
oblige me ? You should n't speak of it di-
rect to my lady just yet; and, if you want
all to go well, you must n't vex my lady, as
you are doing now. What I mean, you
must n't be so down-hearted, — there 's no
reason for 't, — and you must n't coop your-
self up on this floor : it sets the folks talk-
ing, and worries mv lady. You should give
her every chance, being the way she is."

Sir Charles said eagerly he would not vex
her for the world. " I '11 walk in the gar-
den," said he; "but as for going abroad,
you know I am not in a fit condition yet :
my mind is clouded."

" Not as I see."

" O, not always. But sometimes a cloud
seems to get 'into my head; and, if I was in
public, I might do or say something discred-
itable. I would rather die."

" La, sir 1 " said Mary Wells, in a broad,
hearty way, " a cloud in your head I You *ve
had a bad fall, and a fit at top on 't, and no
wonder your poor head do ache at times.
You '11 outgrow that — if you take the air,
and give over fretting about t' other thing.
I tell you you '11 hear the music of a child's
voice, and little feet a pattering up and
down this here corridor, before ao reiy long
— if so be you take my advice, and leave
off fretting my lady with fretting of yourself.
You should consider : she is too^ fond of you
to be well when you be ill."

"I'll get well, for her sake," said Sir
Charles, firmly.

At this moment there was a knock at the
door. Mary Wells opened it so that the
servant could see nothing.

" Mr. Angelo has called."

" My lady will be down directly."

Mary Wells then slipped into the dress-
ing-room, and found Lady Bassett looking
pale and wild. She had heard every word.

" There, he is better already," said Maxy
Wells. " He shall walk in the garden with
you this afternoon."

" What have you done ? I can't look
him in the face now. Suppose he speaks to
me?"

"He will not. I'll manatre that. You
won't have to say a word. Only listen to
what / say, and don't make a liar of me.
He is better already."

" How will this end ? " cried Lady Bas-
sett, helplessly. " What shall I do ? "
In X Y,9u£||u^t^gO do »» W f aeh. e,. ^^iJ

A TEBRIBLE TEMPTATION.

« I -will go to him.'*

She slipped out hy the other door, and it
was three hours, instead of one, before she
returned.

For the first time in her life she was
afiraid to face her husband.

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

Meantime Mary Wells had a long con-
Tersation with her master; and after that
she retired into the adjoining room, and sat
down to sew baby-linen clandestinely.

After a considerable time. Lady JBassett
came in and, sinking into a chair, covered
her face with her hands. She had her bon-
net on.

Mary Wells looked at her with black eyes
that flashed triumph.

Afier so surveying her for some time, she
said, '* I have been at him again, and there 's
a change for the better already. He is not
the same man. You go and see else."

Lady Bassett now obeyed her servant :
she rose, and crept, like a culprit, into Sir
Charles's room. She found him clean-
shaved, dressed to perfection, and looking
more cheerftd than she had seen him for
many a long day. " Ah, Bella," said he,
" you have your bonnet on ; let us have a
walk in the garden."

Lady Bassett opened her eyes, and con-
sentea eagerly, though she was very tired.

They walked together ; and Sir Charles,
being a man that never broke his word, put
no direct onestion to Lady Bassett, but
spoke cheerfully of the future, and told her
she was his hope and his all ; she woald
baffle his enemy, and cheer his desolate
hearth.

She blushed, and looked confused and

distressed ; then he smiled, and talked of

indifierent matters, until a pain in his head

stopped him ; then he became confused,

^d u tLD<r h' hr 'f e ^ '^ ^ ^ ^^

timent of Mary Wells, coupled with her
uniform kindness to himself gave her great
influence with Sir Charles in his present
weakened condition. Moreover, the yorms
woman had an oily, persuasive tongue ; and
she who persuades us is stronger than he
who convinces us.

Thus influenced, Sir Charles walked
every day in^ the garden with his wife, and
forbore all direct allusion to her condition,
though his conversation was redolent of it.

He was still subject to sudden collapses of
the intellect ; but he became conscious when
they were coining on ; and, at the first warn-
ing, he would insist on burying himself in
his room.

After some days he consented to lake
short drives with Lady Bassett in the open
carriage. This made her very joyful. Sir
Charles refiised to enter a single house, so
high was his pride, and so sreat his terror
lest he should expose himself; but it was a
great point gained that she could take him
about the county, and show him in the
character of a mere invalid.

Everything now looked like a cure, slow,
perhaps, but progressive ; and Lady Bassett
had her joyful hours, yet not without a bit-
ter alloy; her divining mind asked itself
what she should say and do, when Sir
Charles should be quite recovered. This
thought tormented her, and sometimes so

goaded her that she hated Mary Wells for
er well-meant interference, and, by a natu-
ral recoil from the familiarity circumstances
had forced on her, treated that young wo-
man with great coldness and hauteur.

The arSiil girl met this with extreme
meekness and servility ; the only retort she
ever hazarded was an adroit one ; 8he would
take this opportunity to say, "How much
better master do get, ever since I took in
hand to cure him 1

This obliaue retort seldom failed. Lady
Bassett would look at her husband, and her
face would clear ; and she would generally
end by giving Mary a collar, or a scarf, or
somethin .

eh ^

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Mary WellB made it fatally easy to her.
She was the agent ; Lady Bassett was silent
and passiTe.

After all she had a hope of extrication.
Sir Charles once cured, she would make
him travel Europe with her. Money would
relieve her of Mary Wells, and distance cut
all the other cords.

And indeed a time came when she looked
back on her present situation, with wonder
at the distress it had caused her. " I was
in shallow water then," said she; *^but
nowl"

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.

Sir Charles observed that he was never
trusted alone. He remarked this, and in-
quired, with a peculiar eye, why that
was.

Lady Bassett had the tact to put on an in-
nocent look, and smile, and say, ". That is
true, dearest. I have tied yo)i to my apron-
string without mercy. But it serves you
rkht for having fits, and frightening me.
'You get well, and my tyranny will cease at
once."

However, afler this, she oflen left him
alone in the garden, to remove firom his
mind the notion that he was under restraint
from her.

Mr. Bassett observed this proceeding
from his tower.

Oae day Mr. Angelo called, and Lady
Bassett left Sir Charles in the garden, to
go and speak to him. .

She had not been gone many minutes,
when a boy ran to Sir Charles, and said,
^'O sir, please come to the gate; the lady
has had a fall, and hurt herself."

Sir Charles, much alarmed, followed the
boy, who took him to a side gate opening
on the high-road. Sir Charles ru^ed
through thi8, and was passing between two
stout fellows that stood one on each side
the gate, when they seized him, and lifted
him in a moment into a close carriage that
was waiting on the spot He struggl^ and
cried loudly for assistance ; but they bun-
dled him in and sprang in after him: a
third man closed the door, and got up by the
side of the coachman. He drove off, avoid-
ing the village, soon got upon a broad road,
and bowled along at a great rate, the car-
riage being light, and drawn by two power-
fiQ horses.

So cleverly and rapidly was it done, that,
but for a woman's quick ear, the deed might
not have been discovered for hours. But
Mary Wells heard the crv for help through
an open window, recognized Sir Charles's
voice, and ran screaming down stairs to
Lady Bassett : she ran wildly out, with Mr.

Angelo^ to look f<Mr Sir Charles. He was
nowhere to be found. Then she ordered
every horse in the stables to be saddled;
and she ran with Mary to the place where
the cry had been heard.

For some time no intelligence whatever
could be gleaned; but at last an old man
was found, who said he had heard somebody
cry out, and soon after that a carriage had
come tearing by him, and gone round (he
corner; but this direction was of little
value, on account of the many roads, any
one of which it might have taken.

However, it left no doubt that Sir Charles
had been taken away from the place by
force.

Terror-stricken, and pale as death. Lady
Bassett never lost her head for a moment.
Indeed she showed unexpected fire; she
sent off coachman and grooms to scour the
country, and rouse the gentrv to help her ;
she gave them money, and told them not to
come back till thev had found Sir Charles.

Mr. Angelo said eagerly, " I 'U go to the
nearest magistrate, and we will arrest Rich-
ard Bassett on suspicion."

" God bless you, dear friend 1 " sobbed
Lady Bassett. " O yes, it is his doing, —
murderer I "

Off went Mr. Angelo, on his errand.

He was hardlv gone, when a man was
seen running and shouting across the fields.
Lady Bassett went to meet him, surrounded
by her humble sympathizers. It was young
Drake : he came up. panting, with a double-
barrelled gim in nis hand, — for fC^-was
allowed to shoot rabbits on his own little
farm, — and stammered out, " O my lady
— Sir Charles — they have ^airied him
off, against his will."

"Who? Where? Did vou see him ? "

" Ay, and heerd him ^nd alL I was fer-
reting rabbits by the side of the turnpike-
road yonder, and a carriage came tearing
along, and Sir Charles put out his head and
cried to me, * Drake, mey are kidnapping
me. Shoot!' But they pulled him back
out of sight."

" O my poor husband I And did you let
them? Oh!"

** Could n't catch 'em, my lady, so I did
as I was bid ; got to my gun as quick as
ever I could, and gave me coachman both
barrels hot."

"What, kill him?"

*' Lord, no ; 't was sixty yards off ; but
made him holler and squeak a good un.
Put thirty or forty shots into his back, I
know."

" Give me your hand, Mr. Drake. I '11
never forget that shot." Then she began to
cry.

" Doant ye, my lady, doant ye," said the
honest fellow, and was within an ace of
blubbering for sympathy. ** We ain't a lot

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

o' babies, to see our sauire kidnapped. If
you would lend Abel Moss there, and me, a
couple o' nags, we'll catch them yet, my
lady."

« That we will," cried Abel. « You take
me where you fired that shot, and we '11 fol-
low the fresh wheel-tracks. They can't beat
us while they keep to a road."

The two men were soon mounted, and in
pursuit, amidst the cheers of the now ex-
cited yillagers. But still the perpetrators
of the outrage had more than an hour's
start ; and an hour was twelve miles.

And now Lady Bassett, who had borne up
80 brayely, was . seized with a deadly faint-
ness, and supported into the house.

lild dldfir nd u
( w m 7 fn

it. Parson had said Mr. Bassett was to
blame ; and that passed from one to another,
and so fermented that, in the evening, a
crowd collected round Highmore House, and
demanded Mr. Bassett.

The servants were alarmed, and said he
was not at home.

Then the man demanded, boisterously,
what he had done with Sir Charles, and
threatened to break the windows unless they
were told; and, as nobody in the house
could tell them, the women egged on the
men, and they did break the windows ; but
they no sooner saw their own work than
they were a little alarmed at it, and retired
talking ve loud, to support their waning
or * * •nor

t Jte a

to O (

A TEBBEBLE TEMPTATION.

They left & house full of holes and
screams, and poor little Mrs. Bassett half
dead with firight.

As for Lady Bassett, she spent a horrible
sight of terror, suspense, and agony. She
could not lie down, nor even sit still ; she
walked incessantly, wringing her hands, and
groaning for news.

Mary Wells did aU she could to comfort
her ; but it was a situation beyond the power
of words to alleviate.

Her intolerable suspense lasted till four
o'clock in the morning; and then, in the
still night, horses' feet came clattering up to
the door.

Lady Bassett went into the hall. It was
dimly lighted by a single lamp. • The great
door was opened, and m clattered Moss and

Drake, splashed^ and weary, and down-
cast.

<< Well?" cried Lady Bassett, clasping
her hands.

<< My lady," said Moss, << we tracked the
carriage into the next county, to a place
thirty miles from here — to a lodge — and
there they stopped us. The place is well
guarded with men and great big dogs. We
heerd 'em bark, did n't us, Will ? "

" Ay," said Drake, deiectedly.

'< Tne man as kept the lodge was short,
but civil. Says he, * This is a place nobody
comes in but by law, and nobody goes out
but by law. If the gentleman is here you
may go home and sleep ; he is safe enough.' "

"A prison? Nol^'

" A 'sylum, my lady."

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

THE lady put her hand to her heart and
was eilent a long time.
^At last she said doggedly, but faintly,
^ You will go with me to that place to-mor-
row, one of you."

"I'll go, my lady," said Mosa. "Will,
here, had better not show his face. They
might take the law on him for that there
shot."

Drake buns his head, and his ardor was
evidently coded by discovering that. Sir
Charles had been taken to a madhoase.

Lady Bassett saw and sighed, and said
she would take Moss to show her the way.

At eleven o'clock next morning, a ligrht
carriage and pair came round to ttie ifaili
gate, and a large basket, a portmanteau,
and a baor were placed on the roof under
care of Moss. Smaller packa^s were put
inside ; and Ladv Baesett and her maid got
in, both dressed in black.

They reached Bellevne House at hall past
two. The lodge gate was open, to Lady
Bassett's ^surprise, and they drove through
some pleasant grounds to a large white
house.

The lace at first sicrht had no distinc-
le m eteae ^ee

n role lacoa e a

dThv

He soon returned' and said, " Dr. Suaby
is not here, but the gentleman in charge
will see you."

Ladv Bassett got out, and, beckoning Ma-
ry Wells, followed the servant into a curi-
ous room, half library, half chemist's shop ;
they called it " the laboratory."

Here she found a tall man leaning on a
dirty mantel-piece, who received her stiffly.
He had a pale mustache, very thin lips, and
altogether a severe manner. His head bald,
rather prematurely, and whiskers abun-
dant.

Lady Bassett looked him all over with one
glance of her woman's eye, and saw e^ehad
a hard and vain man to deal with.

"Are you the gentleman to whom this
house belongs ? " she faltered.

" No, madEim ; I am in charge during Dr.
Suaby's absence."

" That comes to the same thing. Sir, I
am come to see my dear husband."

" Have you an order ? "

" An order, sir? I am his wife."

Mr. Salter shrugged his shoulders a little,
and said, " I have no authority to let any
visitor see a patient without an order from
the person by whose authority he is placed
here -^ ^[^m^^B^gg^ -c

tsnaJgbca e ^^^ nusP^^ ®®

eoc ter

e ee cs

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION

Then she began to cr7, and wring her
hands.

" This is Tery painful," said Mr. Salter,
and leit the room.

The respectable servant looked in soon af-
ter, and Lady Basse tt told him, between her
sobs, that she had brought some clothes and
things for her husband. ** Surely, sir," said
she, " they will not reftise me that? "

" Lord, no, ma'am," said the man. " You
can give them to the keeper and nurse in
charge of him.*'

' Lady Bassett slipped a guinea into the
man's hand directly. «Let me see thbee
people,'* said she.

The man winked, and vanished : he soon
reappeared, and said loudly, '* Now, madam,
if you will order the things into the hall."

Liady Bassett came out and gave the order.

A short, bull- necked man and rather a
pretty young woman with a flaunting cap,
bestirred themselves getting down the things;
and Mr. Salter came out and looked on.

Lady Bassett called Mary Wells, and
gave her a five-pound note to slip into the
man's hand. She telegraphed the girl, who
instantly came near her with an indiarrub-
ber bath, and, afiecting ignorance, asked
her what that was.

Lady Bassett dropped three sovereigns
into the bath, and said, '* Ten times, twen-
ty times that, if you are kind to him. Tell
him it is his cousin's doing, but his wife
watches over him."

« All right," said the girl. « Come again
when the doctor is here."

All this passed, in swift whispers, a few
yards from Mr. Salter, and he now came for-
ward and offered his arm to conduct Lady
Bassett to the carriage.

But the wretched, heart-broken wife for-
jt her art of pleasing. She shrank from
im with a faint cry of aversion, and got in-
to her carriage unaided. Mary Wefis fol-
lowed her.

Mr. Salter was unwilling to receive this
rebuff. He followed and said, << The clothes
shall be given with any message you may
think fit to intrust to me."

Lady Bassett turned away sharply firom
him, and said to Mary Wells, ** Tell bim to
drive home. Home 1 I have none now. Its
light is torn fix>m me."

The carriage drove away as she uttered
these piteous words.

She cried at intervals all the way home ;
and could hardly drag herself up stairs to
bed.

Mr. Angelo called next day with bad
news. Not a magistrate would move a
finger against Mr. Bassett ; he had the law
on nis side. Sir Charles was evidently in-
sane ; it was quite proper he should be put
in security before he did some mischierto
imself or Lady Bassett, " They say, why

was he hidden for two months, if tbere was
not something very wrong V "

Lady Bassett ordered the carriage and
paid several calls, to counteract this fatal
impression.

She found, to her horror, she might as well
try to move a rock. There was plenty of kind-
ness and pity ; but the moment she began to
assure them her husband was not insane she
was met with the dead silence of polite in-
credulity. One or two old friends went fur-
ther, and said, " My dear, we are told he could
not be taken away without two doctors' cer-
tificates; now, consider, they must know
better than you. Have patience, and let
them cure him."

Lady Baseett withdrew her friendship on
the spot from two ladies for contradicting
her on such a subject, and retired home af
most wild herself. ^

In the village her carriage was stopped by
a woman with her hair au fiying, who told
her in a lamentable voice that Squire Bassett
had sent nine men to prison for taking Sir
Charles's part and ill-treating his captprs.

" My lawyer shall defend them. at my ex-
pense," said Lady Bassett with a sigh.

At last she got home, and went up to ber
own room, and there was Mary Wells wait-
ing to dress her.

ohe tottered in, and sank into a chair.
But, after this temporary exhaustion, came
a rising tempest of passion ; her eyes roved,
her fingers worked, and her heart seemed to
come out of her in words of fire. << I have
not a friend in all the county. That villain
has only to say < Mad,' and all turn from me,
as if an angel of truth had said < Criminal.'
We have no friend but one, and she is my
servant. Now go and envy wealth and titles.
No wife in this parish is so poor as I ; power-
less in the folds of a serpent. I can't see m v
busband, without an order from him. He is all
power, I and mine all weakness." She raised
her clenched fists, she clutched her beautiful
hair as if she would tear it ^ut by the roots.
" I shall go mad I I shall go mad 1 No I "
said she, all of a sudden. '< That will not do.
TOiat is what he wants — and then my darling
would be defenceless. I will not go mad."
Then suddenly grinding her white teeth,
" I '11 teach hirn to drive a lady to despair.
I '11 fight."

She descended, almost without a break,
firom the fury of a Pythoness to a strange
calm. Oh I then it is her sex are danger-
ous.

" Don't look so pale," said she, and she
actually smiled. '< All is fair against so
foul a villain. You and I will defeat him.
Dress me, Mary."

Mary Wells, carried away by the unusual
violence of a superior mind, was quite bewil-
dered.

Lady Bassett smiled a strange smile, and

A TEBRIBLE TEMPTATION.

said, " 1 11 show 70a How to dress me *' ; and
Blie did give her a lesson that astonished
her.

" And now," said Lady Bassett, " I shall
dress you." And she took a loose full dress
out of her wardrobe, and made Mary Wells
put it on ; but first she inserted some stuffing
so adroitly, that Mary seemed very l^xom,
but what she wished to hide was hidden.
Not so Lady Bassett herself. Her figure
looked much rounder than in the last dress
she wore.

With all this she was late for dinner, and,
when she went down, Mr. Angelo had just
finished telling Mr. Oldfield of the mishap
to the villagers.

Lady Bassett came in animated and beau-
tiiiil.

Dinner was announced directly, and a com-
monplace conversation kept up till the ser-
vants were got rid of. She then told Mr.
Oldfield how she had been refused admit-
tance to Sir Charles at Bellevue House, a
plain proof, to her mind, they knew her hus-
band was not insane ; and beg^d him to act
with energy, and get Sir Chanes out, before
his reason could be permanently injured by
the outrage, and the horror of his situation.

This led to a discussion, in which Mr.
Angelo and Lady Bassett threw out various
su^stions, and Mr. Oldfield cooled their
ardor with sound objections. He was famil-
iar with the Statutes de Lunatico, and said
they had been strictly observed, both in the
ciuptqre of Sir Charles,. and in Mr. Salter's
refusal to let the wife see the husband. In
short, he appeared either unable or unwill-
ing to see anything except the strong legal
position of the adverse party.

Mr. Oldfield was one of those prudent
lawyers, who search for the adversary's
strong points, that their clients may not be
taken by surprise ; and that is very wise of
them. But wise things require to be done
wisely : he sometimes carried this system so
far as to discourage his client too much. It
is a fine thing to make your client think
his case the weaker of the two, and then
win it for him easily ; that gratifies your
own foible, professional vanity. But sup-
pose, with your discouraging him so, he fiings
•apy or compromises, a winnmg case ? Sup-
pose he takes the huff, and goes to some
other lawyer, who will warm him with hopes,
instead of cooling him with a one-sided and
hostile view of his case ?

In the present discussion Mr. Oldfield's
habit of beginning by admiring his adver-
saries, together with his knowledge of law
and little else, and his secret conviction that
Sir Charles was unsound of mind, combined
to paralyze him ; and, not being a man of
invention, he could not see his way out of
the wood at all : he could negative Mr. An-
gelo's suggestions, and give g<x>d reasons, but

he could not, or did not, suggest anything
better to be done.

Lady Bassett listened to his negative wis-
dom with a bitter smile and said at last,
with a sigh, *' It seems, then, we are to sit
quiet, and do nothing, while Mr. Bassett and
his solicitor strike blow upon blow. There
— I'll fight my own battle j and do you
try and find some way of defending the
poor souls that are in trouble because they
did not sit with their hands before them
when their benefactor was outraged. Com-
mand my purse, if money will save them
from a prison."

Then she rose with dignity, and walked
like a cameleopard all down the room on
the side opposite to Mr. Oldfield. Angelo
ilew to open the door, and in a whisper
begged a word with her in private. She
bowed assent, and parsed on from the room.

« What a fine creature 1 " said Mr. Old-
field. « How she walks. I " ,

Mr. Angelo made no reply to this, but
asked him what was to be done for the poor
men: 'Mhey will be up before the Bench,
to-morrow."

Stun? a little .by Lady Bassett's remark,
Mr. Oldfield answered promptly, " We must
get some tradesmen to bail them, with our
money. It will only be a few pounds apiece*
If the bail i$ accepted, they shall ofier pe-
cuniary compensation, and ^et up a defence ;
find somebody to swear Sir Charles was
sane, — that sort of evidence is always to be
got. Counsel must do the rest. Simple
natives — benefactor outraged — honest im-
pulse — regretted the moment they under-
stood the capture had been legally made.
Then throw dirt on the plaintiff. He is
malicious, and can be proved to have for-
sworn himself in Bassett v. Bassett."

A tap at the door, and Mary Wells put in
her head. " If you please, sir, my lady is
tired, and she wishes to say a word to you
before she goes up stairs."

** Excuse me one minute," said Mr. An-
gelo, and followed Mary Wells. She
ushered him into a boudoir, where he found
Lady Bassett seated in an arm-chair, w^h
her bead on her hand, and her eyes fixed
sadly on the carpet.

SnQ smiled faintly to him, and said,
" Well, what do you wish to say to me ? "

« It is about Mr. Oldfield. He is clearly
incompetent."

**I don*t know. I snubbed him, poor
man : but if the law is all a^inst us 1 "

" How does he know that r He assumes
it, because he is prejudiced in. favor of the
enemy. How does he know they have done
everything the Act of Parliament requires ?
And, if they have, Law is not invincible.
When Law defies Morality, it gets baffled, and
trampled on, in all civilized communities."

«< I never heoid that before."

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

" Bat you would, if you bad been at Ox-
ford," said he, smiling.

«AhI*'

<< What we want is a man of genius, of in-
vention, a man who will see every chance,
take every chance lawAil or unlawful, and
fight with all manner of weapons."

Lady Bassett's eye flashed a moment.
" Ah 1 " said she ^ '' but where can I find such
a man, with knowledge to guide his zeal ? "

'< I think I know of a man, who could at all
events advise you, if you would ask him."

"Ahl Who?"

'< He is a writer ; and opinions vary as to
bis merit. Some say he has talent ; others
say it is all eccentricitv and afiectation.
One thing is certain, his books brin^ about
the changes he demands. And then he is in
earnest ; he has taken a good many alleged
lunatics out of confinement."

<< Is it possible ? then let us apply to him
at once."

'< He lives in London ; but I have a firiend
who knows him. May I send an outline to
him through that friend, and ask him whether
be can advise you in the matter ? "

*< You may ; and thank you a thousand
times 1 "

<< A mind like that, with knowledge, zeal,
and invention, mast surely throw some
Hght."

" One would think so, dear friend."

<< I Ml write to-ni^ht, and send a letter to
Greatrex ; we shall perhaps get an answer
the day after to-morrow."

** Ah, you are not the one to go to sleep in
the service of a friend. A writer, did you say ?
What does he write?"

"Fiction."

** What, novels?"

^ And dramas and all."

Lady Bassett sighed incredulously. '<I
sbould never think of going to Fiction for
wisdom."

<< When the Family^ Galas were about to
be executed unjustly, with the consent of all
the lawyers and statesmen in France, one
man in a nation saw the error, and fought
for the innocent, and saved them ; and that
one wise man in a nation of fools was a
writer of fiction."

** Ah 1 a learned Oxonian can always an-
.tho .thou lf«e

You can write vour letter here, and then
please come and relieve me of Mr. Nega-
tive."

She rang, and ordered cofiee and tea into
the drawinz-room ; and Mr. Oldfield found
her very cold company.

In half an hour Mr. Angelo came down,
lookins flushed and very handsome ; and
Lady Bassett had some fresh tea made for
him.

This done, she bade the gentlemen good
night, and went to her room : here she found
Marv Wells full of curiosity to know whether
the lAwyer would get Sir Charles out of the
asylum.

Lady Bassett gave loose to her indigna-
tion, and said nothing was to be expected
from such a Nullity. " Mary, he could not
see. I gave him every opportunity. I .
walked slowly down the room before him
after dinner ; and I came into the drawing
room and moved about, and yet he could
not see."

*'Then you will have to tell him, that is
all."

"Never: no more shall you. I'll not
trust my fate, and Sir Charles's, to a man
that has no eyes."

For this feminine reason she took a spite
against poor Oldfield : but, to Mr. Angelo,
she suppressed the real reason, and entered
into that ardent gentleman's grounds of dis-
content, thoush these alone would not have
entirely dissolved her respect for the family
solicitor.

Next afternoon Angelo came to her in
great distress and ire. " Beaten I beaten !
and all throudi our adversaries having more
talent. Mr. Bassett did not appear at first.
AVheeler excused him on the ground that
his wife was seriously ill through the fright.
Bassett's servants were called, and swore to
the damage and to the men, all but one.
He got off. Then Oldfield made a dry
speech ; and a tradesman he had prepared
offered bail. The magistrates were consult-
ing, when in burst Mr. Bassett all in black,
and made a speech fiftv times stronger than
Oldfield's, and sobbecf, and told them tbe
rioters had frightened his wife so she had
been prematurely confined, and the child
was dead. Could they take bail for a riot,

A TEKRIBIiE TEMPTATION.

defenceless ladies, that there it humanity,
and justice, ^and law in the land." Then
Oldfield tried to answer him with his hems
and his haws : but Bassett turned on him
like a giant, and swept him away.''

" Poor woman I "

*< Ah I that is true : I am afraid I have
thought too little of her. But you suffer,
and so must she. It is the most terrible
feud : one would think this was Corsica, in-
stead of England, only the fighdnv is not
done with daggers. But, after this, pray
lean no more on that Oldfield. We were
all carried away at first ; but now I think of
it Bassett must haye been in the Court, and
held back to make the climax. O yes 1 it
was another surprise and another success.
They are all sent to jail. Superior gener-
alship ! If Wheeler had been our man, we
should have had ei^ht wives crying for pity,
each with one child in her arms, and an-
other holding on to her awon. Do, pray.
Lady Bassett, dismiss that I^^ullity."

** O, I cannot do that ; he is Sir Charles's
lawyer ; but I haye promised you to seek ad-
Tice elsewhere, and so I will."

The conversation was interrupted by the
tolling of the church-bell.

The first note startled Lady Bassett, and
she turned pale.

*< I must leave you," said Angelo, Fret-
fully. " I have to bury Mr. Bassett's Uttle
boy : he lived an hour.'*

Lady Bassett sat, and heard the bell. toll.

Strange sad thoughts passed through her
mind. ** Is it saddest when it tolls, or when
it rinvs — that bell ? He has killed his
own child, by robbing me of my husband.
We are in the hands of Grod, aner aU, let
Wheeler be ever so cunning, and Oldfield
ever so simple. — And I am not acting by
that — Where is my trust in God's justice ?
— O^ thou of little faith 1 — What shall I
do ? * Love is stronger in me than faith, —
stronger than anything in heaven or earth.
God forgive me — Grod help me — I will go
back.

*^ But O, to stand still, and be good, and
simple, and so see my husband trampled on
by a cunning villain I

" Why is there a future state, where
everything is to be different? no hate ; no
injustice ; all love. Why is it not all of a
piece ? Why begin wrong, if it is to end
all right ? If I was omnipotent, it should
be ri^ht from the first. — O thou of little
faith 1 — Ah me 1 it is hard to see fools and
devils, and realize angels unseen. O that I
could shut my eyes in faith, and go to sleep,
and drift on the right path ; fori '
take it with my eyes open,
bleeding for him."

Then her head fell lanjjWdly DacL,

eyes closed, and the tear! ^welled trough
them : they knew the way, by 4ia8 time*

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

Next morning in came Mr. Angelo, with
glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes.

" I have ^ot a letter, a most gratifying
one. My fhend called on Mr. Kolfe, and
gave him my lines ; and he replies direct to
me. May I read you his letter ? "

" O yes."

" ' Dear Sir, — The case you have sent tne, of a
gentleman confined on certificates by order of an in-
teresCed relative, — as you presume, jbr you have not
seen the order, — and on grounds you mink insuffi*
cient, is interesting, and some of it looks true : but
there are gaps in' the statement, and 1 dare not ad-
vise in so nice a matter till these arefUled ; hut that
I suspect can only be done by the lady herself She
had better call on me in person ; it may be worth her
while* At home every day 10 — 3, this ufeek. As
for yourself, you need not address me through
Greatrex, I have seen you pull No. 6, attd afters
wards stroke, in the University boat, and you dived in
Portsmouth harbor, and saved a sailor. See
** Ryde Journal,*' Aug, 10, p. 4, col, 3; cited in
my Day-book Aug, 10, and also in my Index homi-
num, in voce ** Angelo " — ba I ha i here 's a fel-
low for detail.

" ' Yours very truly,

"'ROLTB.'"

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

" Dive, and save a soldier."

" No ; I nailed him just as he was sink-
ing."

" How good and brave you are I "

Angelo blushed like a girl. " It makes
me too happy, to hear such words firom you.
But I vote we don't talk about me. Will
you call on Mr. Rolfe."

« Is he married ? "

Angelo opened his eyes at the question.
" I thmk not," said he : " Indeed I know he
is not."

" Could you get him down here ? "

Angelo shook his head. "If he knew
you — perhaps — but can you expect him to
come here upon your business? These
popular writers are spoiled by the ladies. I
doubt if he would walk across the street to
advise a stranger. Candidly, why should
he?"

" No ; and it was ridiculous vanity to sup-
pose he would. But I never called on a
gentleman in my life."

" Take me with you. Yon can go up at
nine, and be back to a late dinner."

" I shall never have the courage to go.
Let me have his letter."

He gave her the letter, and she took it
away.

o'clock she sent Mary Wells to
with a note to say she had stud-
^ letter, and there was more
she 1^ thought; but his going
off ^m her husband to boat-racing seemed
trivuA^ and jshe could not make up h^ mind

A TERKDBLE TEMPTATION.

to go to London to consult a noyelist on such
a serious matter.

At nine she sent to say she should go,
but could not think of dragging him there :
she should take her maid.

Before eleven, she half repented this reso-
lution, but her maid kept her to it : and at
haLf past twelve next dav they reached Mr.
Rolfe's door ; an old-fashioned, mean-look-
ing house, in one of the briskest thorough-
iisures of the metropolis ; a cab-stand oppo-
site to the door, and a tide of omnibuses pass-
ing it.

Lady Bassett viewed the place discontent-
edly, and said to herself, ** What a poky
little place for a writer to live in; how noisy,
how unpoetical 1 "

They knocked at the door. It was opened
by a maid-gervant.

« Js Mr. Rolfe at home ? "

" Yes, ma'am. Please give me your card
and write the business."

Lady Bassett took out her card, and wrote
a line or two on the back of it. The maid
glanced at it, and showed her into a room,
while she took the card to her master.

The room was rather long, low, and non-
descript. Scarlet flock, paper. Curtains
and sofas green Utrecht velvet. Wood-
work and pillars white and gold. Two win-
dows looking on the street. At the other
end folding-doors with scarcely any wood-
work, all pate glass, but partly hidden by
heavy curtains of the same color and mate-
rial as the others.

Accustomed to large, lofty rooms. Lady
Bassett felt herself in a long box here ; but
the colors pleased her. She said to Mary
Wells, " Wnat a funny, cosey Httle place for
a gentleman to live in I "

Mr. Holfe was engaged with some one,
and she was kept waiting ; this was quite
new to her, and discouraged her, already
intimidated by the novelty of the situation.

She tried to encourage herself, by saying
it was for her husband she did this unusual
thing ; but she felt very miserable and in-
clined to cry.

At last a bell rang ; the maid came in and
invited Lady Bassett to follow her. She
opened the glass folding-doors, and took
them into a small conservatory, walled like
a grotto, with ferns sprouting out of rocky fis-
sures, and spars sparkling ; water dripping.
Then she opened two more glass folding-
doors, and ushered them into an empty room,
the like of which Lady Bassett had never
seen ; it was large in itself, and multiplied
tenfold by great mirrors firom floor to ceil-
ing, with no frames but a narrow oak bead-
ing : opposite her, on entering, was a bay-
vdndow all plate glass, the central panes of
which opened like doors, upon a pretty lit-
tle garden that glowed with color, and was
acked by fine trees belonging to the nation ;

for this garden ran up to the wall of Hyde
Park.

The numerous and large mirrors all down
to the ground laid hold of the garden and
the flowers, and by double and treble reflec-
tion filled the room with delightful nooks of
verdure and color.

To confuse the eye still more, a quantity
of young india-rubber trees, with glossy
leaves, were placed before the large central
mirror. The carpet was a warm velvet>'pile,
the walls were distempered, a French gray,
not cold, but with a tint of mauve that cave
a warm and cheering bloom ; this soothing
color gave great eflect to the one or two
masterpieces of painting that hung on the
walls, and to the gilt frames ; the iurniture,
oak and marqueterie highly polished ; the
curtains, scarlet merino, through which the
sun shone, and, being a London sun, difluecd
a mild rosy tint favorable to female faces.
Not a sound of London could be heard.

So far the room was romantic ; but there
was a prosaic corner to shock those who
fancy tnat fiction is the spontaneous over-
flow of a poetic fountain fed by nature only ;
between the fireplace and the window, and
within a foot or two of the wall, stood a gi-
gantic writing-table, with the signs of hard
labor on it, and of severe system. Three
plated buckets, each containing three pints
rail of letters to be answered, letters to be
pasted into a classified guard-book, loose
notes to be pasted into various books and
classified (for this writer uEed to sneer at
the learned men who sav, " J will look among
my papers for it ; he held that every written
scrap ought either to be burnt, or pasted
into a classified guard-book, where it could
be found by consulting the index); ^ye
things like bankers' bill-books, into whose
several compartments MS. notes and news-
paper cuttings were thrown, as a preHlUi-
nary towards classification in books.

Underneath the table was a formidable,
array of note-books, standing upright, and
labelled on their backs. There were about
twenty large folios, of classified facts, ideas,
and pictures ; for the very wood-cuts were
all indexed and classified on the plan of a
tradesman's ledger; there was also the re-
ceipt-book of the year, treated on the same
plan. Receipts on a file would not do for
this romantic creature: if a tradesman
brought a bill, he must be able to turn to
that tradesman's* name in a book, and prove
in a moment whether it had been paid or
not. Then there was a collection of solid
quartos, and of smaller folio guard-bcoks
called Indexes. There was " fiidex rerum
et joumalinm " — " Index rerum et libro-
rum " — " Index rerum et hominum " — and
a lot more ; indeed so many that, by way of
climax, there was a fat folio ledger, entitled
** Index ad Indices."

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

By the side of the table were six or seven
thick pasteboard cards, each about the size
of a large portfolio, and on these the au-
thor's notes and extracts were collected
from all his repertories into something like
a focns, for a present purpose. He was
vxitins a novel based on facts ; facts, inci-
dents, living dialogue, pictures, reflections,
situations, were all on these cards to choose
&om, and arranged in headed columns : and
some portions of the work he was writing
on this basis of imagination and drudgery
lay on the table in two forms, his own writ-
ing, and his secretarv's copy thereof, the
latter corrected for the press. This copy
was half margin, and so provided for addi-
tions and improvements; but for one ad-
dition there were ten excisions, great and
small.

Lady Bassett had just time to take in the
beauty and artistic character of the place,
and to realize the appalling drudgery that
stamped it a workshop, when the author,
who had dashed into his garden for a mo-
ment's recreation, came to the window, and
ftimished contrast No. 3. For he looked
neither like a poet nor a drudge, but a great
&t country farmer. He was rather tall,
very portly, smallish head, commonplace
features, mild brown eye, not very bright,
short beard, and wore a suit of tweed all one
color. Such looked the writer of romances
founded on fact. He rolled up to the win-
do\^ — for, if he looked like a farmer, he
walked like a sailor — and stepped into the
room*

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.

Mr. Rolfe siureyed the two women
with a mild, inoffensive, ox-like gaze; and
invited them to be seated with homely
civility.

He sat down at his desk, and, turning to
Lady Bassett, said, rather dreamily, " One
moment, please : let me look at the case and
my notes."

First his homely appearance, and now a
certain languor about ids manner, discour-
aored Lady Bassett more than it need, for
all artists must pay for their excitements
with occasional languor. Her hands trem-
bled, and she began to gulp and try not to
cry.

Mr. Rolfe observed directly, and said,
rather kindly, "You are agitated, — and
no wonder."

He then opened a sort of china-closet,

ured f IBt ah d?k eH rftss ^e * BX

"Yes, it will do you good foi once in
a way. It is only Ignatia."

She drank it by depees, and a tear along
with it that fell into the glass.

Meantime Mr. Rolfe had returned to his
notes and examined them; he then ad-
dressed her, half stiffly, half kindly, —

"Lady Bassett, whatever may be your
husband's condition, — whether his illness
is mental or bodily, or a mixture of the two,
— his clandestine examination by bought
physicians, and his violent capture, the nat-
ural effect of which must have been to excite
him and retard his cure, were wicked and
barbarous acts contrary to God's law and
the common law of England, and, indeed,
to all human law, except our shallow, incau-
tious Statutes de Lunatico : they were an
insult to yourself, who ought, at least, to
have been consulted, — for your rights are
higher and purer than Richard Bassett's ;
therefore, as a wife bereaved of your husband
by fraud and violence, and the bare letter of
a paltry statute whose spirit has been vio-
lated, you are quite justified in coming to
me, or to any public man you think can help
your husband and you." Then with a cer-
tain bonhomie^ " So lay aside your ner-
vousness ; let us go into this matter sensi-
bly, like a big man and a little man, or like
an old woman and a young woman, which-
ever you prefer."

Lady Bassett looked at him, and smiled
assent; she felt a great deal more at her
ease after this opening.

" 1 dare not advise you yet. I must know
more than Mr. Angelo has told me. Will
you answer my questions frankly ? "

" I will try, sir."

" Whose idea was it confining Sir Charles
Bassett to the house so much ? "

" His own. He felt himself unfit for soci-
ety."

"Did he describe his ailment to you
then ? "

"Yes."

" All the better : what did he say ? "

" He said that, at times, a cloud seemed
to come into his head, and then he lost all
power of mind ; and he could not bear to be
seen in that condition."

" This was after the epileptic seizure ? '*

"Yes, sir."

" Humph ! Now will you tell me how
Mr. Bassett, by mere words, could so enrage
Sir Charles as to give him a fit ? "

Lady Bassett hesitated.

" What did he say to Su- Charles ? "

" He did not speak to him. His child and

ewr Ih tmb*Art Hed I

o&bl wnh f n

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

" He must be very sensitiye."

« On that subject."

Mr. Rolfe was silent ; and now, for the first
time, appeared to think intently.

His study bore frait apparently; for he
tamed to Lady Bassett, and said suddenly,
" What is the strangest thing Sir Charles
has said of late — the very strangest?"

Lady Bassett turned red, and uien pale,
and made no reply.

Mr. Rolfe rose, and walked up to Mary
Wells.

** What is the maddest thing your master
has ever said?"

Mary Wells, instead of replying, looked
at her mistress.

The writer instantly put his great body
between them. ^ Come, none of that," said
' he. " I don't want a falsehood ; 1 want the
truth."

" La, sir, I don*t know. My master he is
not mad, I 'm sure ; the queerest thing he
ever said was, he did say at one time 't was
writ on his face as he had no children."

^ Ah ! And that is why he would not go
abroad perhaps."

" That was one reason, sir, I. do suppose."

Mr. Rolfe put his hands behind his back,
and walked thoughtfully, and rather dis-
consolately, back to his seat.

" Humph ! " said he. Then, after a pause,
•* l/Vell, well ; I know the worst now ; that is
one comfort. Lady Bassett, you really must
be candid with me. Consider ; good advice
is like a tight glove ; it fits the circumstances,
and it does not fit other circumstances. No
man advises so badly on a false and partial
statement as I do, for the very reason that
my advice is a close fit. Even now, I can't
understand Sir Charles's despair of having
children of his own."

The writer then turned his looks on the
two women, with an entire absence of ex-
pression : the sense of his eyes was turned
inwards, though the orbs were directed to-
wards his visitors.

With this lack-lustre gaze, and in the tone
of thoughtful soliloquy, he said, " Has Sir
Charles Bassett no eyes? and are there
women so furtive, so secret, or so bashful,
they do not tell their husbands?"

Lady Basset t turned, with a scared look,
to Mary Wells, and that young woman
showed her usual readiness. She actually
came to Mr. Rolfe, and balf whispered to
him, " If you please, sir, gentlemen are
blind, and my lady she is yery bashful ; but
Sir Charles knows it now ; he have known
• e . • • • se

tors got into his apartment, and the day of
his capture, how long ? "

" About a fortnight."

<<And, in that particular fortnight, was
there a marked improvement?"

" La, yes, sir : was there not, my lady ? "

*< Indeed there was, sir. He was besin-
ning to take walks with me in the garden,
and rides iu an open carria^. He was
petting better eveiy day, and, O sir, that
IS what breaks my heart : I was curing mv
darling so fast, and now they will do aU
they can to destroy him. Their not letting
his wife see him terrifies me."

<* I think I can explain that Now tell
me — what time do you expect — a eertain
event?"

Lady Bassett blushed, and cast a hasty
glance at the speaker ; but he had a piece
of paper before him, and was preparing to
take down her reply, with the innocent face
of a man who had asked a simple and neces-
sary question, in the way of business.

Then Lad v Bassett looked at Mary W^ells,
and this look Mr. Rolfe surprised, because
he himself looked up, to see why the lady
hesitated.

After an expressive glance between the
mistress and maid, the lady said almost inau-
dibly, *' More than three months," and then
she blushed all over.

Mr. Rolfe looked at the two women a mo-
ment, and seemed a -little puzzled at their
tele^phing each other on such a subject,
but he coolly noted down Lady Bassett's re-
ply, on a caixi about the size of a foolscap «
sheet ; and then set himself to write on the.
same card the other facts he had elicited.

Whilst he was doing this very slowly with
trre&t care and pains, the lady was eying
him like a zoologist studying some new ani-
mal ; the simplicity and straightforwardness
of his last question won by degrees upon
her judgment, and reconciled her to her In-
quisitor, the more so, as he was quiet but
intense^ and his whole soul in her case.
She began to respect his simple straightfor-
wardness, his civility without a grain of gal-
lantry, and his caution in eliciting all the
facts before he would advise.

After he had written down his synopFis,
looking all the time as it' his life depended
on its correctness, he leaned back, and his
ordinary but mobile countenance was trans-
figured into geniality.

" Come," said he, " grandmamma has pes-
tered you with questions enoujirh ; now you
retort : a«k me an ^thing : speak 'our mind :
s a •

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

115

handed the child over to Nurse No. 2, with
a lofty condescension, as who should saj,
''You suffice for porterage; I, the superior
artist, reserve myself for emer^ncies." No.
2 received the invaluable bundle with meek
complacency.

By and by Nurse 1 got fidgety, and kept
changing her position.

«« What is the matter, Mary ? " said Lady
Bassett, kindly. <' Is the dress too tight ? "

"No, no, my lady," said Mary sharply,
'< the gownd 's all right." And then she was
quiet a little.

But she began again ; and then Lady.Bas-
Bett whispered Sir Charles, "I think she
wants to sit forward ; may 1 ? "

" Certainly not. I *11 change with her.
Here, Mary, try this side. We shall have
more room in the landau ; it is double, with
wide seats."

Mary was gratified, and amUsed herself
looking out of the ¥dndow. Indeed, she
was quiet for nearly half an hour. At llie
expiration of that period the fit took her
again. She beckoned haughtily for Baby,
" which did come at her command," as the
song says. ShO' sot tired of Baby, or some-
thing, and handed him back again

Presently she was disoovered to be cry-
ing.

General consternation I Universal, but
▼ague consolation 1

Lady Bassett looked an inquiry at Mrs.
Millar. Mrs. Millar looked back assent.
Lady Bassett assumed the command, and
took off Mary's shawl.

« Yes," said she, to Mrs. Millar. « Now,
Maurj', be good ; it is too tight."

Thus urged, the idiot contracted herself
by a mighty effort, while Lady Bassett at-
tacked uie fastenings, and, with infinite dif-
ficulty, they unhooked three bottom hooks.
The fierce burst open that followed, and the
awful chasm, showed what gigantic strength
yanity can command, and now savi^ely
abuse it to maltreat nature.

Lady Bassett loosened the stays too, and
a deep sigh of relief told the truth, which
the \yixi% tongue had denied, as it always
does whenever the same question is put.*

The shawl was replaced, and comfort
gainea till they entered the town of Stave-
lei^h.

Nurse instantly exchanged places with Sir
Charles, and took the child again. He was
her banner in all public places.

When they came up to the inn, they were
greeted with loud hurrahs. It was market-
day The town was full of Sir Charles's
tenants and other farmers. His return had
got wind, and every farmer under fifty had
resolved to ride with him into Hunter^
combe.

When five or six, all shouting together,
intimated this to Sir Charles, he sent one of

his people to order the butchers out to Hun-
tercombe, with joints a score, and then to
gallop on with a note to his housekeeper and
butler. " For those that ride so far with
me must sup with me," said he ; a sentiment
that was much approved.

He took Lady jSassett and the women up-
stairs and rested them about an hour : and
then they started for Huntercombe, followed
by some thirty farmers, and a dozen towns-
people, who had a mind for a lark and to
supat Huntercombe Hall for once.

The ride was delightful ; the carriage
bowled swiftly along over a smooth roaw,
with often tuit at the side ; and that enabled
the young farmers to canter alongside with-
out dusting the carriage-party. Every man
on horseback they overtook joined them;
some they met turned back with them, and
these were rewarded with loud cheers :
every eye in the carriage glittered, and every
cheek was more or less flushe^by this uproar-
ions sympathy so gallantly shown, and the
yery thunder of so many horses' feet, each
carr^g a firiend, was very excitixi^ and
elonous. Why, before they got to the vil-
lage, they had fourscore horsemen at their
backi^.

As they got close to the village Mary
Grosport held out her armis for young master :
this was not the time to forego her impor-
tance.

The church-bells rang out a clashing
the cavalcade clattered into the vif
Everybody was out to cheer, and, at
sigHt of Baby? the women's voices were as
loud as the men's. Old pensioners of the
house were out bareheaded ; one, with hair
white as snow, was down on his knees, pray-
ing a blessing on them.

Lady Bassett began to cry softly; Sir
Charles, a little pale, but firm as a rock ;
both bowing ri^ht and left, like royal person-
ajges ; and well they mieht ; every house in
the village belonged to them but one.

On approaching that one, Mary Gosport
turned ner head round, and shot a glance
round out of the tail of lier eye. Ay, there
was Richard Bassett, pale and gloomy, half
hid belund a tree at his gate ; but Hate's
quick eye discerned him : at the moment of
passing, she suddenly lifted the child high,
and showed it him, pretending to show it to
the crowd : but her eye told the tale ; for,
with that act of fierce hatred and cunning
triumph, those black orbs shot a colored
gleam like a furious leopardess's.

A roar of cheers burst from the crowd at
that inspired gesture of a woman, whose face
and eyes seemed on fire: Lady Bassett
turned pale.

The next moment they passed their own

gkte, and dashed up to tne Hall steps of
untercombe.
Sir Charles sent Lady Bassett to her room

116

A tERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

for the night. She walked, throoffh a row
of ducking seirants, bowing ana smiling
like a genUe goddess.

Mary GosiKyrt, afraid to march in a long
dress with tne child, for fear of accidents,
handed him superbly to Ifillar, and strutted
haughtily after ner mistress, nodding patron-

XHer follower, the meek Millar, 8top;>ed
a to show the heir ri^ht and left, with
simple eeniality and kinoness.

»ir Charles stood on the hall steps, and
invited all to come in and take pot-luck.

Already spits were turning before great
fireil ; a rump of beef, legs of pork, and peas-
puddings boiling in one copper ; turke^rs and
fowls in another ; joints and pies baking in
the great brick ovens ; barrels of beer on
tap, and magnums of champagne and port,
marching steadily up from the cellars, and
forming m line and square upon sideboards
and tables.

Supper was laid in the hall, the dining-
room, ue drawing-room, and the great kitch-
en.

Poor yillagers trickled in; no man or
woman was denied : it was open house that
night, as it had been four hundred years
ago.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.

When Sharpens cleik retired, after serving
that writ on Bassett, Bassett went to WheeC
er, and treated it as a jest. But Wheeler
looked puzzled, and Bassett himself, on sec-
ond thoughts, said he should like advice of
Counsel. Accordingly they both went up
to London to a solicitor, and obtained an
interview with a Counsel learned in the law.
He heard their story, and said, " The ques-
tion is, can you convince a jury he was in-
sane at the time ? '' <* But he can't get in-
to Court," said Bassett. " I won't let him."

" O, the Court will make you produce him."

" But I thought an insane person was civ-
Uiter mortuus, and could n't sue."

^ So he is ; but this man is not insane in
law. Shutting up a man on certificates is
merely a prebminary step to a &ir trial by
his peers, whether he is insane or not. Take
the parallel case of a Felon. A magistrate
commits him for trial, and generally on bet-
ter evidence than medical certificates ; but
that does not make the man a Felon, or dis-
entitle him to a trial by his peers ; on the
contrary, it entitles hun to a trial, and he
could get Parliament to interfere, if he was
not brought to trial. This Plaintiff simply
does what, he will say, you ought to have
done ; he tries himself; if he tries vou at
the same time, that is your fault. If he is
insane now, fight. If he is not, I advise vou
to discharge him on the instant and then
compound."

Wheeler said he was afrmd the PlaindfiT
was too vindictive to come to terms.

'' Well, then, you can show you discharged
him the moment you had reason to think
he was cured, and you must prove he
was insane when you incarcerated him ;
but I warn you it iml be uphill work if he
is sane now; the jury will be apt to go bj
what they see."

Bassett and Wheeler retired ; the latter
did not presume to difier ; but Bassett was
dissatisfied and irritated.

« That fellow would only seethe Plaintiff's
side," said he. " The fool forgets there is
an Act of Parliament, and that we have
complied with its provisions to a T."

" Then why did you not ask his construc-
tion of the Act? " suffgested Wheeler.

<< Because I don^ want his construc-
tion. I 've read it, and it is plain enough
to anybody but a fi)ol. Well, I have
consulted Counsel, to please you; and
now I'll so my own way, to please my-
self."

He went to Burdoch, and struck a bar-

giin, and Sir Charles was to be shifted to
urdoch's Asylum, and nobody allowed to
see him there, etc. etc. ; the old system, in
short, than which no better has, as yet,
been devised, for perpetuating, or even
causing, mental aberration.

"Rom baffled this, as described, and Bas-
sett was literally stunned. He now saw
that Sir Charles had an ally full of re-
sources and resolution. Who could it be ?
He be^an to tremble. He complained to
the police, and set them to discover who
had thus openly and audaciously violated
the Act of Parliament, and then he went
and threatened Dr. Suabv.

But Bolfe and Sir Charles, who loved
Suaby as he deserved, had provided against
that ; theyhad not let the doctor into their
secret. He therefore said, with perfect
truth, that he had no hand in the matter,
and that Sir Charles, being bound upon his
honor not to escape from Bellevue, would
be in the Asylum still, if Mr. Bassett had
not taken him out, and invoked brute force,
in the shape of Burdoch. ^< Well, sir," said
he, *<it seems they have showii you two can
play at that game." And so bade him good
afternoon, very civilly.

Bassett went home sickened. He remained
sullen and torpid for a day or two ; then he
wrote to Burdoch to send to London and
try and recapture Sir Charles.

But next day he revoked his instructions,
for he got a letter from the Commissioners
of Lunacy, announcing the authoritative
discharge of Sir Charles, on the strong rep-
resentation of Dr. Suaby and other compe-
tent persons.

That settled the matter, and the poor
cousin had kept the rich cousin three months

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

117

at his own expense, with no solid advantage,
but the prospect of a lawsuit.

Sharpe, spurred by Bolfe, gave him no
breathing time. With the utmost expedi-
tion the Declaration in Bassett v. Bassett
followed the writ. It was short, simple, and
in three counts.

" For violently seizing and confining the
Plaintiff in a certain place, on a false pre-
tence that he was insane.

" For detaining him in spite of evidence
that he was not insane. •

** For endeavoring to remove him to an-
other place, with a certain sinister motive
there specified.

"By which several acts the Plaintiff had
suffered in his health and his worldly affairs,
and had endured great a^ony of mind.

" And the Plaintiff clauned damages, ten
thousand pounds.''

Bassett sent over for his friend Wheeler,
and showed him the new document, with no
little consternation.

But their discussion of it was speedily
interrupted by the clashing of triumphant
bells and distant shouting.

They ran out, to see what it was. Bassett,
half suspecting, hung back ; but Mary Gos-
port's keen eye detected him, and she held
up the heir to him, with hate and triumph
blazing in her face.

He crept into his own house, and sank
into a chair-foudroyd.

Wheeler, however, roused him to a neces-
sary effort, and next day they took the dec-
laration to Counsel, to settle their defence
in due form.

" What is this ? " said the learned gentle-
man. " Three counts I Why, I advised you
to discharge him at once."

" Tes," said Wheeler, " and excellent ad-
vice it was. But my client — "

** Preferred to go his own road. And now
I am to cure the error I did what I could to
prevent."

*< I dare say, sir, it is not the first time in
your experience."

<< Not by a great many. Clients, in gen-
eral, have a great contempt for the notion
that prevention is better than cure."

*< He can't hurt me," saad'Bassett, impa-
tientlv. " He was separately examined by
two doctors, and all the provisions of the
statute exactly complied with."

" But that is no defence to this plaint.
The statute forbids you to imprison an
insane person without certain precautions ;
but it does not give you a right, under any
circumstances, to imprison a sane man.
That was decided in Butcher v. Butcher.
The defence you rely on was pleaded as a
second plea, and the Plaintiff demurred to
it directly. The question was argued before
the fidl court, and the judges, led oy the first
lawyer of the age, decided unanimously that

the provisions of the statute did not affect
sane Englishmen, and their rights under the
common law. They ordered the plea to be
struck off the record, and the case was re-
duced to a simple issue of sane or insane.
Butcher t;. Butcher governs all these cases.
Can you prove htm insane ? If not, you had
better compound on any terms. In Butcher's
case the jury gave £8,000, and the Plaintiff
was a man or very inferior position to Sir
Charles Bassett. Besides, the Defendant,
Butcher, had notpersisted against evidence,
as you have, lliey will award £5,000 at
least, in this case."

He took down a volume of reports, and
showed them the case he had cited; and,
on reading the unanimous decision of the
judges, and the learning by which they
were supported. Wheeler said at once, "Mr.
Bassett, we might as well try to knock down
St. Paul's with our heads, as to go agunst
this decision."

They then settled to put in a single plea,
that Sir Charles was insane at the time of his
captore.

This done to gain time, Wheeler called on
Sharpe ; and, a&r several conferences, got
the case compounded by an apology, a solemn
retractation in writing, and the payment of
four thousand pounds ; and his counsel as-
sured him his client was very lucky to get
off so cheap.

Bassett paid the money, with the assistr
ance of his wife's father: but it was a
sickener; it broke his spirit, and even
injured his health for some time.

Sir Charles improved the village with
the monev, and gave a copyhold tenement
to each of the men Bassett had got impris-
oned. So thev and their sons and their
grandsons lived rent free, — no, now I think
of it, they had to pay fourpence a year to
the Lord of the Manor.

Defeated at every point, and at last pun-
ished severely, Riduurd Bassett fell into a
deep dejection and solitarv brooding of a
sort very dangerous to the reason. He
would not go out of doors to ^ve his ene-
mies a triumph. He used to sit bv the fire
and mutter, "Blow upon blow, blow upon
blow. My poor bov will never be Lord of
Huntercombe now,'^ and so on.

Wheeler pitied him, but could not rouse
him.

At last a person, for whose narrow attain-
ments and simplicity he had a profound,
though, to do him justice, a civil contempt,
ventured to his rescue. Mrs. Bassett went
crying to her father, and told him she feared
the worst, if Richard's mind could not be
diverted from the Huntercombe estate, and
his hatred of Sir Charles and Lady Bassett,
which had been the great misfortune of her
life, and of his own, but nothing would ever
eradicate it. Richard had great abilities,

1X8

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

was a linguist, a wonderful accountant:
coald her dear father find him some profita-
ble employment, to divert his thoughts ?

<' What, all in a moment ? " said the old
man ; *^ then I shall have to buy it : and, if
I go on like this, I shall not have much to
leave you."

Having delivered this objection, he went
up to London, and, having many firiends in
the City, and laying himself open to pro-
posals, he got scent at last of a new insur-
ance company that proposed also to deal
in reversions, especially to entailed estates.
By prompt purcnase of shares in Bassett's
name, and introducing Bassett himself, who,
by special study, had a vast acquaintance
with entailed estates, and a genius for arith-
metical calculation, he managed somehow to
get him into the direction with a stipend,
and a commission on all business he might
introduce to the office.

Bassett yielded sullenly, and now divid-
ed his time between London and the coun-
try.

Wheeler worked with him, on a share of
commission, and they made some money be-
tween them.

After the bitter lesson he had received,
Bassett vowed to himself he never would
attack Sir Charles again, imless he was sure
of victory. For all this, he hated him and
Ladv Bassett worse than ever, hated them
to the death.

He never moved a finger down at Hunter-
combe, nor said a word ; but, in London, he
employed a private inquirer to find out
where' Lady Bassett had lived at the time of
her confinement, and whether any clergyman
had visited her.

The private inquirer could find out noth-
ing, and Bassett, comparing his advertise-
ments with his performance, dismissed him
for a humbug.

But the office brought him into contact
with a great many medical men, one after
another. He used to say to each stranger,
with an insidious smile, << I think you once
attended my cousin, ~ Lady Bassett."

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.

Sir Charles and Lady Bassett, relieved
of their cousin's active enmity, led a quiet
life, and one that no longer furnished strik-
ing incidents.

iBut dramatic incident is not everything :
character and feeling show themselves m
things that will not make pictures. Now
it was precisely during this reposeful period,
that three personages of this stoir exhibited
fresh traits of feelmg and also of'^character.

To begin with Sir Charles Bassett. He
came back from the Asylum, much altered

in body and mind. Stopping his cigars had ^
improved his stomach ; working in the gar-
den had increased his muscular power, and
his cheeks were healthy, and a little sun-
burnt, instead of sallow. His mind was also
improved : contemplation of insane persons
had set him by a natural recoil to study self-
control. He had returned a philosopher*
No small thing could irritate him now. So
far his character was elevated.

Lady Bassett was much the same as be-
fore, excent a certain restlessness. She
wanted to oe told every day, or twice a day,
that her husband was happy ; and, although
he was visibly so, yet, as ne was quiet over
it, she used to be always asking him if he
was happy. This the reader must interpret
as he pleases.

ManrGosport gave herself airs. Respect-
fiil to her master and mistress, but not so
tolerant of chaff in the kitchen as she used
to be. Made an example of one girl, who
threw a doubt on her marriage. Com-
plained to Lady Bassett, affected to fret,
and the girl was dismissed.

She turned singer. She had always sung
psalms in church, but never a profane note
in the house. Now she took to singing over
her nursling ; she had a voice of proiugions
power and mellowness, and provided she
was not asked, would sing lullabies and
nursery rhymes from another county, that
ravished the hearer. Horsemen have been
known to stop in the road, to hear her sing
through an open window of Huntercombe,
two hundred yards off.

Old Mr. Meyrick, a fermer weHsfft-do, fas-
cinated by Mary ' Gosport's singing, asked
her to be his housekeeper, when she should
have done nursing her charge.

She laughed in his face.

A fanatic, who was staying with Sir
Charles Bassett, offered her diree years'
education in Do, Ra, Mi, Fa, preparatory to
singins at the opera.

Decuned without thanks.

Mr. Drake, after hovering shyly, at last
found courage to reproach her for deserting
him, and marrying a sailor.

<< Teach you not to shilly «hally," said she.
'< Beauty won't go a begging. Mind you look
sharper next time."

which dialogue, being held in the kitchen,
gave the women some amusement at the
young farmer's expense.

One day Mr. Richard Bassett, from
motives of pure affection, no doubt, not
curiosity, desired mightily to inspect Mr.
Bassett, aged eight months and two days.

So, iq his usual wily way, he wrote to
Mrs. Grosport, asking her, for old acquaint-
ance' sake, to meet him in the meadow at
the end of the lawn. This meadow belonged
to Sir Charles, but Richard Bassett had a
right of way through it, and could step into

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

119

it by a postern, as Maiy could by an uon
gate.

He asked ber to come at eleven o'clock, be-
cause, at that bour, be observed sbe walked
on tbe lawn witb ber cbaree.

Mary Gosport came to the tryst, but with-
out Mr. Bassett.

Richard was very polite ; she cold, taciturn,
observant.

At last he said, << But where 's the little
hdr?"

Sbe flew at him directly. " It is him you
wanted, not me. Did you think I 'd bnug
him here — for you to kill him ? "
Come, I say."

<< Ah, you 'd kill him, if you had a chance.
But you never shall. Or, if you did n't kill
hinii you 'd cast the evil eye on him, for you

are well known to have tbe evil eye. No ;
he shall outlive thee and thine, and be lord
of these here manors, when thou is gone to
hell, thou villain."

Mr. Richard Bassett turned pale, but did
the wisest thing he could, — put his bands in
bis pockets, and walked into bis own prem-
ises, followed, however, by Mary Gk)sport>
who stormed at him, till he shutbis postern
in her face.

She stood there trembling for a little while,
then walked away, crying.

But, having a mind like running water, she
was soon seated on a gardcn-cbair, singing
over her nursling, like a mavis : she bad de-
livered him to Millar, while sbe went to speal^
her mind to ber old lover.

As for Richard Bassett, he was theory*

120

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

bitten, and so turned everything one way.
To be sure, as long as the woman's glaring
eyes, and face distorted by passion, were
before him, he interpreted her words simply :
but when he thought the matter over he said
to himself, " The evil eye ! That is all bosh ;
the girl is in Lady Bassett's secrets ; and I
am not to see young master : some day I
shall know the reason why.''

Sir Charles Bassett now belonged to the
tribe of clucking cocks quite as much as his
cousin had ever done ; only Sir Charles had
the good taste to confine his clucks to his
own first floor. Here, to be sure, he richlv
indemnified himself for his self-denial abroad.
He sat for hours at a time, watching the bov
on the ground at his knee, or in his nurse^s
arms.

And, whilst he watched the infant with un-
disguised delight. Lady Bassett would watch
him with a sort of furtive and timid com-
placency.

Yet, at times, she suffered from twinges of
jealousy, — a new complaint with her.

I think I have mentioned that Sir Charles,
at first, was annoyed at seeing his son and
heir nursed by a woman of low condition.
Well, he got over that feeling by degrees,
and, as soon as he did get over it, his senti-
ments took quite an opposite turn. A woman
for whom he did very httle, in his opinion, —
since what, in Heaven's name, were a ser-
vant's wages, — he saw that woman do some-
thing great for him : saw her nourish his son
and heir from her own veins; the child had
no other nurture ; yet the father saw him
bloom and thrive, and grow surprisingly.

A weak observer, or a less enthusiastic

Earent, might have overlooked all this ; but
•ir Charles had naturally an observant eye
and an analytical mind, and this had been
suddenly, but effectually, developed by the
Asylum and his correspondence with Rolfe.

He watched the nurse then, and her ma-
ternal acts, with a curious and gratefiil eye,
and a certain reverence for her power.

He observed, too, that his child reacted
on the woman : she had never sun^ in the
house before ; now she sang ravishingly,
sang in low, mellow, yet sonorous notes
some ditties that had lulled mediaeval barons
in their cradles.

And what had made her vocal made her
beautiful at times.

Before, she had appeared to him a hand-
some girl, with the hi^ish look of the lower
classes : but now, when she sat in a sunny
window, and lowered her black lashes on
her nursling, with the mixed and delicious
smile of an exuberant nurse relieving and
relieved, she was soft, poetical, sculptorial,
maternal, womanly.

This species of contemplation, though
half philosophical, half paternal, and quite

innocent, gave Lady Bassett some severe
pangs. She hid them, however, only she
bided her time and then suggested the pro-
priety of weaning Baby.

But Mrs. Gosport got Sir Charles's ear,
and told him what magnificent children they
reared in her village by not weaning infants
till they were eighteen months old or so.

By this means, and by crying to Lady
Bassett, and representing her desolate con-
dition, with a husband at sea, she obtained
a reprieve, coupled, however, with a good-
humored assurance from Sir Charles that she
was the greater baby of the two.

When the inevitable hour approached
that was to dethrone her, she took to read-
ing the papers, and one day she read of a
disastrous wreck, the Carbrea Castle,
only seven saved out of a crew of twenty^
three. She read the details carefully, and,
two days afterwards she received a letter
written hy a shipmate of Mr. Grosport, in a
handwriting not very unlike her own, relat-
ing the saa wreck of the Carbrea Castle
and the loss of several good sailors, James
Gosport for one.

llien the house was filled with the wail-
ing and weeping of the bereaved widow ;
and then came consolers and raised doubts^
but then somebody remembered to have
seen the loss of that very ship in the paper.
The paper was found, and the fatal truth
was at once established.

Upon this Mr. Bassett was weaned as
quickly as possible, and the widow clothed in
black at Lady Bassett's expense, and every-
thing in reason was done to pet her and
console her.

But she cried bitterly, and said she woald
throw herself into the sea and follow her
husband.

Huntercombe was nowhere near the coast.

At last, however, she relented, and con-
cluded to remain on earth as dry nurse to
Mr. Bassett.

Sir Charles did not approve this; it
seemed unreasonable to turn a wet nurse in-
to a dry nurse, when that ofiSce was alrea^
occupied by a person her senior and more
experienced.

Lady Bassett a^eed with him, bnt
shrugged her shoumers and said, <<Two
nurses will not hurt, and I suspect it will
not be for long. Mary does not feel her hus-
band's loss one bit."

<< Surely you are mistaken. She howls
loud enough."

" Too loud, — much," said Lady Bassett,
dryly. *

Her perspicuity was not deceived. In a
very short time, Mr. Meyrick, unable to get
her for his housekeeper, ofiered her mar-
riage.

" What 1 " said she, " and James Gosport
not dead a month ? "

A TEERIBLE TEMPTATION.

121

« Say the word now ; and take your own
time/' said he.

*• Well, I might do worse," said she.

About six weeks after this Drake came
about her, and in tender tones of consolation
suggested that it is much better for a pret-
ty girl to marry one who ploughs the land
than one who ploughs the sea.

^ That is true," said Mary, with a sigh ;
**I have found it to my sorrow."

After this Drake played a bit with her,
and dien relented, and one evening ofiered
her marriage, expecting her to jump eagerly
at his offer.

« You be too late, young man," said she,
coolly, "I'm bespoke."

« Doan't ye say that 1 How can ye be be-
spoke ? Why t' other han't been dead four
months yet."

« What o' that? This one spoke for me
within a week. Why our banns are to be
cried to-moirow ; come to church and hear
'em, that will learn ye not to shilly shally so
next time."

« Next time I " cried Drake, half blubber-
ing : then, with a sudden roar, " What, be
you coming to market again, arter this ? "

" Like enough : he is a sight older than I
be. 'T is Mr. Meyrick, if ye must know."

Now Mr. Meyrick was well-to-do, and so
Drake was taken aback.

" Mr. Meyrick ! " said he, and turned sud-
denly respectful.

But presently a view of a rich widow flit-
ted before his eye.

« Well," said he, " you sha' n't throw it in
my teeth agidn as I speak too late. I ask
you now, and no time lost"

" What, am I to stop my banns, and jilt
Farmer Meyrick for thee t "

" Nay, nay. But I mean I '11 marry you,
if you '11 marry me, as soon as ever the breath
is out of that dall'd old hunks's body."

" Well, well. Will Drake," said Mary,
gravely, " if I do outlive this one, — and you
Daint married long afore, — and if you keeps
in the same mind as you be now, — and lets
me know it in good time, — I '11 see about t."

She save a flounce that made her petti-
coats wiiislc like a mare's tail, and off to the
kitdbcn, where she related the dialogue with
an appropriate reflection, the company con-
taining several of either sex. " Dilly, Dally,
and Shilly, Shally, they belongs to us as wo-
man be. I hate and de^ipise a man, as can't
make up his mind in half a minnut."

So the Widow Gosport became Mrs. Mey-
rick, and lived in a farm-house not quite a
mile from the Hall.

She used often to come to the Hall, and
take a peep at her lamb ; this was the name
^e gave Mr. Bassett long after he had
ceased to be a child.

About four years after the triumphant re-

turn to Huntercombe, Lady Bassett con-
ceived a sudden coldness towards the little
boy, though he was universally admired.

She concealed this sentiment from Sir
Charles, but not from the female servants :
and, from one to another, at last it came round
to Sir Charles. He disbelieved it utterly at
first ; but, the hint having been given him,
he paid attention, and discovered there
was, at all events, some truth in it.

He awaited his opportunity, and remon-
strated, " My dear Bella, am I mistaken, or
do I really observe a falling off in your ten-
derness for your child ? "

Lady Bassett looked this way and that,
as if she meditated flight, but at last she re-
signed herself, and said, << Yes, Charles ; my
heart is quite cold to him."

« Good heavens, Bella! But why? Is
not this the same little angel that came to
our help in trouble, that comforted me even
before his birth, when my mind was morbid,
to say the least?"

<< I suppose he is the same," said she, in a
tone impossible to convey, by description of
mine.

<< That is a strange answer."

« If he is, / am chan^d." And this she
said doggedly and unlike herself.

" What I " said Sir Charles, very gravely,
and with a sort of awe : << can a woman
withdraw her affection frt)m her child, her
innocent child ? If so, my turn may come
next"

<<0 Charles! Charles!" and the tears
began to well.

" Why, who can be secure after this ?
What is so stable as a mother's love? If
that is not rooted too deep for gusts of ca-
price to blow it away, in Heaven's name
what is?" ^

No answer to that but tears.

Sir Charles looked at her very long, at-
tentively, and seriously, and droppea the
subject.

But his dropping so suddenly a subject of
this importance was rather suspicious, and
Lady Bassett wa too shrewd not to see
that.

They watched each other.

But with this difference: Sir Charles
could not conceal his anxiety, whereas the
lady appeared quite tranquil.

One day Sir Charles said, cheerfully,
" Who do you think dines here to-morrow,
and stays all night ? Dr. Suaby."

" By invitation, dear? " asked Lady Bas-
sett, quietly.

Sir Charles colored a little, and said
quietly, "Yes."

Laay Bassett made no remark, and it was
impossible to tell by her face whether the
visit was agreeable or not

Some time afterwards, however, she said,
'< Whom shall I ask to meet Dr. Suaby ? "

122

TERRIBLB TEMPTATION.

« Nobody, for Heaven s sake 1 "

^ Will not that be dull for him ? "

"I hope not/'

" You will haye plenty to say to him, eh,
darling ? '*

" We never yet lacked topics. Whether
or no, his is a mind I choose to drink neat."

"Drink him tieat?"

" Undiluted with rand minds."

«Ohl"

She uttered that monosyllable very dryly,
and said no more.

Dr. Suaby came next day, and dined
with them, and Lady Bassett was charming ;
but, rather earlier than usual, she said,
*^ Now I am sure you and Dr. Suaby must
have many things to talk about," and re-
tired, casting back an arch, and almost a
cunning smile.

The door closed on her; the smile fled,
and a sombre look of care and suffering
took its place.

Sir Charles entered at once on what was
next his heart ; told Dr. Suaby he was in
some anxiety ; and asked him if he had oh-
served anything in Lady Bassett.

" Nothing new," said Dr. Suaby, " charm-
ingas ever."

Then Sir Charles confided to Dr. Suaby,
in terms of deep feeling and anxiety what
I have coldly told the reader.

Dr. Suaby looked a little grave, and
took time to think before he spoke.

At last he delivered an opinion, of Which
this is the substance, though not the exact
words.

" It is sudden and unnatural, and I can-
not say it does not partake of mental aber-
ration. If the patient was a man, I should
fear the most serious results : but here we
have to take into account the patient's sex,
her nature, and her present condition.
Lady Bassett has always appeared to me a
very remarkable woman. She has no me-
diocrity in anything; understanding keen,
perception wondermlly swift, heart lar^e
and sensitive, nerves high strung, sensibUi-
ties acute. A person of her sex, tuned so
high as this, is always subject, more or less,
to nysteria. It is controlled by her intelli-
^nce and spirit: but she is now, for the
time being, in a physical condition that has
often deranged less sensitive women than
she is. I believe this about the boy to be a
hysterical delusion, which will pass away
when her next child is bom. That is to say,
she will probably ignore her first-bom, and
everything else, for a time; but these car
prices, springing in reality from the body
rather than the mind, cannot endure forever.
When she has several grown-up children
the first-bom will be the favorite. It comes
to that at last, my good friend."

" These are the words of wisdom," said
^ir Charles ; '< God bless you for them."

After a while he said, "Then what yoa
advise is simply — patience ? "

" No, I don't say that. With such a larse
house as this, and your resources, you mioht *
easily separate them before the delusion
grows any farther. Why risk a calam-
fty?"

" A calamity ? " and Sir Charles began to
tremble.

" She is only cold to the child as yet.
She might go farther, and fancy she hated
it. Obsta principiis: that is my motto.
Not that I really think, for a moment, the
child is in danger. Lady Bassett has mind
to control her nerves with ; but why run the
shadow of a chance ? "

" I will not run the shadow of a chance,"
said Sir Charles, resolutely ; " let us come
up stairs : my decision is taken."

The very next day Sir Charles called on
Mrs. Meyiick, and aisked if he could come to -
any arrangement with her to lodge Mr. Bas-
sett and his nurse under her roof; " The
boy wants change of air," said he.

Mrs. Mevrick jumped at the proposal, but
declined all terms. " No," said she, " the
child I have suckled shall never pay me for
his lodging. Why should he, sir, when I 'd
pay you to let him come, if I was n't afeard
of offending you ? "

Sir Charles was touched at this, and, be-
ing a gentleman of tact, said, " You are very
good : well, then, I must remain your debtor
for the present."

He then took his leave, but she walked :
with him a few yards, just as far as the
wicket gate that separated her little front -
garden from the high-road.

" I hope," said she, " my lady will come
and see me, when my lamb is with me : a
sight of her would he good for sore eyes.
She have never been here but once, and then
she did not get out of her carriage."

" Humph I" said Sir Charles, apologeti-
cally, " she seldom goes out now ; you un- *
derstand."

" O, I 've heard, sir ; and I do put up my
prayers for her ; for my lad v has been a
good friend to me, sir, and, if you will be-
lieve me, I often sets here ana longs for a
sight of her, and her sweet eyes, and her
hair like sunshine, that I Ve hsui in my
hand so often. Well, sir, I hope it will
be a girl this time, a little ^1 with golden
hair ; that 's what I wants this time. They '11
be the prettiest pair in England."

"With all my heart," said Sir Charles;
" girl, or boy, I don't care which ; but I 'd
give a few thousands if it was here, and the
mother safe."

He hurried away, ashamed of having ut-
tered the feelings of his heart to a farmer's
wife. To avoid discussion, he sent Mrs. Mil-
lar and the boy off, all in a huny, and then
told Lady Bassett what he had done*

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

123

Sbe appeared mncb distressed at that,
and asked what she had done.

He soothed her, and said she was not to
blame at all ; and she must not blame him
either. He had done his best.

** After all you are the master/* said she,
submissively.

"lam," said he, *<and men will be ty-
rants, you know."

Then she flung her arm round her ty-
rant's neck and there was an end of the
discussion.

One day he inquired for her and heard,
to his no small satisfaction, she had driven
to Mrs. Meyrick's, with a box of things
for Mr. Bassett She stayed at the farm-
house all day, and Sir Charles felt sure he
had done the right thing.

Mrs. Mevrick found out to her cost the
difference between a nursling and a ram-
pageous little boy.

Her lamb, as she called him, was now a
young monkey, vigorous, active, restless,
and, unfortunately, as strong on his pins as
most boys of six. It took two women to
look after him, and smart ones too, so swift-
ly did he dash off into some mischief or
other. At last Mrs. Meyrick simpli6ed mat-
ters in some degree by locking the large
gate, and even the small wicket, and order-
ing all the farm people and milkmaids to
keep an eve on him, and bring him straight
to her if he should stray, for he seemed to
hate indoors. Never was such a boy.

Nevertheless, such as had not the care of
him admired the child for his beauty and
assurance. He seemed to regard the whole
human race as one family, of which he was
the rising head. The moment he caught
^ght of a human being he dashed at it and
into conversation by one unbroken move-
ment.

Now children in general are too apt to
hide their intellectusd treasures from stran-
gers by shyness.

One day this ready converser was stand-
ing on the steps of the house, when a gentle-
man came to the wicket gate, and looked
over into the garden.

Young master darted to the gate directly,
and, getting his foot on the lowest bar and
his hands on the spokes, gave tongue.

"Who are you? I'm Mr. Bassett I
don't live here; I'm only staying. My
home is Huncom HalL I 'm to have it for
myself when papa dies. I did n't know dat
till I cc»ne here. How old are yon ? I 'm
half-past four — "

A loud scream, a swift rustle, and Mr.
Bassett wag clutched up by Mrs. Meyrick,
who snatched him away with a wild glance
of terror and defiance, and bore him swiftly
into the house with words ringing in her
ears that cost Mr. Bassett dear, he being
the only person sh^ coul^punish. She sat

down on a bench, flung young master across
her knee in a minute, and bestowed such a
smacking on hini as far transcended his
wildest dreams of the weight, power, and
pertinacity of the human arm.

The words Richard Bassett had shot her
flying with were these : —

"Too latel I've seen the parson's

BRAT."

Richard Bassett mounted his horse and
rode over to Wheeler, for he could no longer
wheedle the man of law over to Highmore,
and I will say briefly why.

1st. About three years a^, an old lady,
one of his few clients, left him three thou-
sand pounds, just reward of a very little
law and a vast deal of gossip.

2d. The head solicitor of the place got
old and wanted a partner. Wheeler bought
himself in, and tnenceforth took his share
of a good business, and by his energy en-
larged it, though he never could founa one
for nimself.

Sd. He married a wife.

4th. She was a pretty woman, and blessed
with jealousy of a just and impartial nature :
she was equally jealous of women, men,
books, business, anything that took her hus-
band from her.

No more sleeping out at Highmore; no
more protracted potations ; no more bache-
lor tncks for Wheeler. He still valued his
old client, and welcomed him; but the venue
was changed, so to speak.

Richard Bassett was kept waiting in the
outer oflice; but when he did get in he
easily prevailed on Wheeler to send the
next chent or two to his partner, and give
him a full hearing.

Then he opened his business. "Well,"
said he, " I 've seen him at last 1 "

" Seen him? seen whom ? "

**The boy they have set up to rob my
boy of the estate. I 've seen him, Wheeler,
seen him close; and he's as black as

MY HAT."

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

Wheeler, instead ofbeing thunder-strick-
en, said quietly, « O, is he ? Well ? "

" Sir Charles is lighter than I am : Lady
Bassett has a skin like satin, and red hair."

" Red I say auburn gilt. I never saw such
lovely hair."

" Well," said Richard, impatiently, « then
the boy has eyes like sloes, and a brown
skin, lU:e an Italian, and black hair almost;
it will be quite."

« Well,'^ said Wheeler, « it is not so very
uncommon for a dark diild to be bom of
fairpaients, or vice versa. I once saw an

124

A TEBSEBLE TEMPTATION.

urcbin that was like neitiher father nor moth-
er, but the image of his father's grandfa-
ther, that died eighty years before he was
bom. They used to hold him up to the por-
trait."

Said Bassetty " Will you admit that it is
uncommon V "

<< Not so uncommon as for a high-bred
lady, living in the country, and adored by
her husband, to trifle with ner marriage tow,
finr that is what you are driving at."

<< Then we have to decide oetween two
improbabilities ; will yoa grant me that, Mr.
Wheeler?"

"Yes."

" Then suppose I can proye fhet upon
fact, and coincidence upon coincidence, all
tending one way ! Are you so prejudiced,
that nothing will convince you ? **

" No. But it will take a great deal : that
lady's fkce is fhll of purity, and she fought
us uke one who loved her husband."

" Fronti ntdla Jides: and as for her ^ht-
ing, her infidelity was the weapon she defeat-
ed us with. — Will you hear me?"

" Yes, yes ; but pray stick to facts, and
not conjectures."

"Then don't interrupt me with childish
arguments :

" Fact 1. — Both reputed parents fair ; the
boy as black as the ace of spades.

" Fdct 2. — A handsome youns fellow
was always buzzing around her mdyship,
and he was a parson, and ladies are remark-
ably fond of parsons.

*^ Fact 3. — This parson was of Italian
breed, dark, like the boy.

^^ Fact A, — This dark young man left
Huntercombe one week, and my lady left it
the next, and they were both in the city of
Bath at one time.

« Fact 5. — The Lady went from Bath to
London. The dark young man went from
Bath to London."

" None of this is new to me," said Wheel-
er, quietly.

" No ; but it is the rule, in estimating co-
incidences, that each fresh one multiplies
the value of the others. Now the boy look-
lag so Italian is a new coincidence, and so

is what I ameoing to tell yon, — at last I
have found the medical man who attended
Lady Bassett in London.''

"Ah I"

" Yes, sir ; and I have learned Fact 6. —
Her ladyship rented a house, but hired no
servants, and engaged no nurse. She had
no attendant but a lady's-maid, no servant
but a sort of charwoman.

" Fact 7. — She dismissed this doctor mo-
usnally soon, and gave him a very large fee.

*^ Facts. — She concealed her address
from her husband."

" Oh I can you prove that ? "

"Certainly. Sir Charles came up to
town, and had to hunt for her, came to this
veiy medical man, and asked for the address
his wife had not given him ; but lo ! when ba
got there the bird was flown.

" Fact 9. — Following the same system of
concealment, my lady levanted from Lonr
don within ten days of her confinement.

" Now put all these coincidences togeth-
er. Don t you see that she had a lover, and
that he was about her in London and other
places? Stop! Fact 10, — Those two were
married for years, but had.no child but this
equivocal one ; and now four years and a
half have passed, during all which time ihej
have had none, and the youne parson has
been abroad during that period.''

Wheeler was staggerea and perplexed bj
this artful array of coincidences.

" Now advise me," said Bassett.

"It is not so easy. Of coarse if Sir
Charles was to die, you could claim the es-
tate, and give them a great deal of pain and
annoyance ; but the burden of proof would
always rest on yon. My advice is not to
bream a syllable of this : but get a good do-
tective, and push your inquiries a little fiu>-
ther, among house agents, and the women
they put into houses ; find that charwoman^
and see if you can pick up anything more."

" Do you know such a thing as an able
detective?"

" I know one that will work, i£ 1 instroct
him."

" Instruct him, then."

"IwiU."

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.

Lady Bassett, as her time of trial drew
near, became despondent.

She spoke of the ^ture, and tried to
pierce it ; and in all these little loving spec-
ulations and anxieties, there was no longer
anymention of herself.

This meant that she feared her husband
was about to lose her. I put the fear
in the very form it took in that gentle
breast.

Possessed with this dread, so natural to
her situation, she 'set her house in order,
and left her little legacies of clothes, and
jewels, without the help of a lawyer ; for
Sir Charles, she knew, would respect her
lightest wish.

To him she left her all, except these tri-
fles, and, above all, — a manuscript book.
It was the history of her wedded life. Not
the bare outward history : but sueh a record
of a sensitive woman*s heart, as no male
writer's pen can approach.

It was the nature of her face and her
ton^e to conceal ; but here, on this paper,
she laid bare her heart ; here her very sub-
tlety operated, not to hide, but to dissect
herself and her motives.

But, O, what it cost her to pen this faith-
ful record of her love, her trials, her doubts,
her perplexities, her asjonies, her tempta-
tions, and her crime. Often she laid down
the pen, and hid her face in her hands. Often
the scalding tears ran down that scarlet face.
Often she writhed at her desk, and wrote on,
sighing and moaning. Yet she persevered
to the end. It was the grave that gave her
the power. " When he reads this," she said,
^^ I shall be in my tomb. Men make ex-
cuses for the dead. My Charles will forgive
me when I am gone. He will know I loved
him to desperation."

It took ner many days to write ; !t was
quite a thick quarto ; so much may a wo-
man feel in a year or two ; and, need t say
that, to the reader of that volume, the mys-
tery of her conduct was all made clear as
daylight ; clearer far, as regards the revela-
tion of mind and feeling, than I, dealer in
broad facts, shall ever make it, for want of
a woman's mental microscope, and deUcate
bnu^i.

AjqH, when this record was finished, she

wrapped it in paper, and sealed it with
many seals, and wrote on it, —

*' Only for my husband* s eye.
From her who loved him not wis
but too well,"

And she took other means that even the
superscription should never be seen of any
other eye but his. It was some little com-
fort to her, when the book was written.

She never prayed to live. But she used
to pray, fervently, piteously, that her child
might live, and be a comfort and joy to his
father.

The person employed by Wheeler discov-
ered the house agents, and the woman he
had employed.

But these added nothing to the evidence
Bassett had collected.

At last, however, this woman, under the
influence of a promised reward, discovered
a person who was likely to know more
about the matter; viz.: the woman who
was in the house with Lady Bassett at the
very time.

But this woman scented gold directly;
so she held mysterious language ; declined
to say a word to the officer ; but intimated
that she knew a great deal, and that the
matter was in truth well worth looking into,
and she could tell some strange tales, if it
was worth her while.

This information was sent to Bassett ; he
replied that the woman only wanted money
for her intelligence, and he did not blame
her ; he would see her next time he went to
town, and felt sure she would complete his
chain of evidence. This put Richard Bas-
sett into extravagant spirits. He danced
his little boy on nis knee, dnd said, *^ I '11
run this little horse against the parson's
brat ; five to one, and no takers."

Indeed, his exultation was so loud and
extravagant, that it jarred on gentle Mrs.
Bassett. As for Jessie, the Scotch servant,
she shook her head, and said the master
was fey.

In the morning he started for London,
still so exuberant and excited that the
Scotch woman implored her mistress not to
let him go ; there would be an accident on
the railway, or something. But Mrs. Bassett
knew her husband too well to interfere with
his journeys.

126

A TEEBIBLE TEMPTATION.

Before lie drove off he demanded his little
boy.

" He must kiss me," said he, " for I 'm go-
ing to work for him. D' ye hear that, Jane ?
Tms day makes him heir of Huntercombe
and Bassett."

The nurse brought word that Master
Bassett was not very well this morning.

'< Liet us look at him," said Bassett.

He got out of his gig, and went to the nur^
eery. He found his little boy had a dry
cou^h, with a little flushing.

"It is not much," said he ; " but I *11 send
the doctor over from the town."

He did so, and himself proceeded up to
London.

The doctor came, and, finding the bov
labored in breathing, administered a fuU
dose of ipecacuhana. This relieved the
child for the time; but about four in the
afternoon he was distressed again, and be-
gan to cough with a peculiar grating sound.

Then there Was a cry of msmay : " The
croup I " The doctor was gone for, and a
letter posted to Bichard Bassett, urging him
to come back directly.

The doctor tried everything, even mer^
cury, but could not check the fatal discharge :
it stiffened into a still more fatal membrane.

When Bassett returned next afternoon in
great alarm, he found the poor child thrust-
ing its fingers into its mouth, in a vain atr
tempt to free the deadly obstraction.

A warm bath and strong emetics were now
administered, and great relief obtained . The
patient even ate and drank, and asked leave
to get up and play with a new toy he had.
But, as often happens in this disorder, a severe
relapse soon came, with a spasm of the glottis
so violent and prolonged that the patient at
last resigned the struggle. Then pain
ceased forever: the heavenly smile came;
the breath went; and nothing was left in
the little white bed but a fair piece of tinted
clay, that must return to the dust, and carry
thither all the pride, the hopes, the boasts
of the stricken father, who had schemed,
and planned, and counted without Him, in
whose hands are the issues of life and
death.

As for the child himself, his lot was a
happy one, if we could but see what the
world is really worth. -He was always a
bright child, that never cried, nor com-
plained : his first trouble was his last ; one
day*s pain, then bliss eternal : he never got
poisoned by his father's spirit of hate, but
loved and was beloved during his little life-
time ; and, dying, he passed m>m his Noah's
ark to an inheritance a thousand times
richer than Huntercombe, Bassett, and all
his cousin's lands.

The little grave was du^, the bell tolled,
and a man bowed double with mef saw his
c^hild and his ambition laid in the dust.

Lady Bassett heard the bell tolled, and
spoke but two words : " Poor woman I **

She might well say so. Mrd. Bassett was
in the same condition as herself, yet this
heavy blow must fall on her.

As for ^chard Bassett, he sat at home,
bowed down and stupid with grief.

Wheeler came one day to console him ;
but, at the sight o him, refrained from idte
words. He sat down by him for an houK,
in silence. Then he got up and said " Good
by."

" Thank Vou, old friend, for not insulting
me,*' said Bassett, in a broken voice.

Wheeler took his hand, and turned awaj
his head, and so went away, with a tear in
his eye.

A fortnight after this he came again, and
found Bassett in the same attitude, but not
in the same leaden stupor. On the contra-
ry, he was in a state of tremor, he had lost
under the late blow the sanguine mind that
used to carry him through everything.

The doctor was up stairs, and his wife's
fate trembled in the oalance.

" Stuy by me," «aid he, " for all my nerve
is gone. I 'm afraid I shall lose her ; for I
have just begun to value her ; and that it
how God deals with his creatures, the mep-
ciftd God, as they call him."

Wheeler thought it rather hard God Al-
mighty should be blamed, because Dick Bas-
sett had taken eight years to find out hia
wife's merits ; but he forbore to say so. He
said kindly he would stay.

Now while they sat in trying suspense
the church-bells struck up a merry peal.

Bassett started violently, and his eyes
gave a strange glare.

*' That 's the other 1 " said he ; for he had
heard about Lady Bassett by this time.

Then he turned pale. " They ring fbr
him : then they are sure to toll for me.'

This foreboding was natural enough in a
man so blinded by egotism as to fancy thai
all creation, and the Creator himseli^ must
take a side in Bassett v. Bassett

Nevertheless events did not justify thai
forebodine. The bells had scarcely dona
ringing for the happy event at Huntep^
combe, when joyful feet were heard running
on the stairs ; joyful voices clashed together
in the passage, and in came a female ser-
vant with joyful tidings. Mrs. Bassett was
safe, and the child in the world. ^ The
loveliest little girl you ever saw 1 "

" A girl I " cried Bichard Bassett, with
contemptuous amazement. Kven his mel-
ancholy forebodings had not gone that
length. " And what have they got at Hun-
tercombe ? "

" O, it is a boy, sir, there."

" Of course."

The ringers heard, and sent one of their
number to ask him if they should ring.

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

127

H
>

H
d

H
O

« What for ? " asked Bassett, with a nasty
dittering eye ; and then with a sudden fury,
he seizea a large piece of wood from the
hasket to fling at his insulter. << I '11 teach
you to come and mock me."

The ringer vanished ducking.

« Gently," said Wheeler, « gentljr."

Bassett diucked the wood back into the
basket, and sat down gloomily, saying,
** Then how dare he come and talk about
ringing beUs for a girl. To think that I
should have all this mght, and my wife all
this trouble — for a giri I "

It was no time to talk of business then ;
but about a fortnight afterwards, Whieeler
said, *} I took the detective o£f, to save yon
expense."

'* Quite right," said Bassett, wearily.

'< I gave yon the woman's address ; so tha
matter is in your hands now, I consider."

"Yes," said Bassett, wearily. "Move
no farther in it"

" Certainly not ; and, frankly, I should be
glad to see you abandon it."

"I have abandoned it. Why should I
stir the mud now ? I and mine are thrown
out foi'ever ; the only question is, shall a son
of Sir Charles, or the parson's son, inherit ?
I 'm for the wrongful heir. Ay," he cried,
starting up, and beating the aur with his fists
in sudden frvy, " since the right Bassetts are
never to have it, let the wrong Bassetts be
thrown out, at all events ; I 'm on mv back,
but Sir Charles is no better off; a Dastard
will succeed him, thanks to that cursed wo*
man who defeated me.**

128

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

This turn took Wheeler by snrpriBe. It
f^so gave him real pain. '^Bassett," said
he, 'U pity you. What sort of a life has
yours been for the last eight years ? Yet,
when there 's do fuel left for war and ha-
tred, you blow the embers. You are incur-
able.''^

<' I am," said Richard. << 1 11 hate those
two with my last breath, and curse them in
my last prayer."

CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.

Lady Bassett's forebodings, like most
of our insights into the ^ture, were confuted
by the event

She became the happy mother of a flaxen-
haired boy. She insisted on nursing him
herself; and the experienced persons who
attended her raised no objection.

Jn connection with this, she gave Sir
Charles a peck, not very severe, out sud-
den, and remarkable as the only one on
record.

He -^as contemplating her and her nurs-
ling wi^ tbe deepest affection, and hap-
pened to say, '<My own Bella, what deligbt
It gives me to see you I " ^

" Yes," said she, " we will have onlv one
mother this time, will we, my darling ? and
it shall be Me." Then suddenly, turning
her head like a snake, *' O, I saw the looks
you gave that woman ! "

Tms was the fiunous peck ; administered
in return for a look that he had bestowed
on Mary Gosport, not more than five years
ago.

Sir Charles would, doubtless, ave bled
to death on the spot, but either he had nev-
er been aware how he looked, or time and
business had obliterated the impression,
for he was unaffectedly puzzled, and said,
" What woman do jrou mean, dear ? "

<<No matter, darlmg," said Lady Ba»-
sett, who had already repented her dire
severity : <* all I sav is, that a nurse is a
rival I could not endure now; and, another
thing, I do believe those wet nurses dve
their disposition to the child : it is dreadful
to think o£"

« Well, if so. Baby is safe. He will be
the most amiable boy in England."

^ He shall be more amiable than I am, —
scolding my husband of husbands " ; and
ihe leaned towards him. Baby and all, £»r
a kiss from his lips.

We say at school " Seniores priores," " let
fibvor go by seniority," but, whdre babies
adorn the scene, it is ^'juniores priores,"
with that sex to which the very young are
confided.

To this rule, as might be expected, Lady
Bassett furnished no exception; she was

absorbed in Baby, and trusted Mr. Ba^ett
a good deal to ms attendant, who bore an
excellent character for care and attention.

Now Mr. Bassett was strong on his pins
and in his will, and his nurse-maid, after
all, was young; so he used to take his
wflJks, nearly every day, to Mrs. Mey^
rick's : she petted mm enough, and spoiled
him in every way, while the nurse-maid was
flirting with her farm-servants out of sight.

Sir Charles Bassett was devoted to the
boy, and used always to have him to his
study in the morning, and to the drawing
room after dinner, when the party was
small, and that happened much oftener
now than heretofore: but at other hours
he did not look after him, being a business
man, and considering him at that age to be
under his mother's care.

One day the only guest was Mr. Rolf^ ;
he was staying in the house for three days>
upon a condition sugsested by himself, viz. :
that he might enjoy his fiiends' society in
peace and comfort, and not be set to roll
the stone of conversation up some young
lady's back, and obtain monosyllables in
reply, faintly lisped amidst a clatter of
fourteen knives and forks. As he would
not leave his writing-table on any milder
terms, the^ took him on these.

After dinner in came Mr; Bassett, erect^
and a proud nurse with little Compton, just
able to hold his nurse's gown and toddle.

Bolfe did not care for small children ; hB
just glanced at the angelic fair-haired iib-
fant, but his admiring gaze rested on the
elder boy.

« Why, what is here, — an Oriental
Prmce?"

The boy ran to him directly. " Who axe
you ? "

"Rolfe the writer. Who are you, — the
Gypsy King?"

** No ; but I am very fond of gypsies.
I 'm Mister Bassett : and when papa diBs I
shall be Sir Charles Bassett."

Sir Charles laughed at this with paternal
&tuitrjr, especially as the boy*B name hap-
pened to be Beginald Francis, after his
grandfather.

Bolfe smiled satirically, for these litt^
speeches from children did much to recon-
cile him to his lot

« Meantime," said he, <<let us feed off
him; for it may be forty years before we
can dance over his grave. First let us see
what is the unwhdesomest thing on the
table."

He rose, and, to the infinite delight of
Mr. Bassett, and even of Master Comoton,
who pointed and crowed from his mower's
lap, he got up on his chair, and put on a
pair of spectacles to look.

« Eureka 1 " said he ; << behold that dish
by Lady Bassett; those are matrons glaces:

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

129

fetch them here, and let us go in for a fit of
the gout at once."

'< Gout ! what 's that ? " inquired Mr. Bas-
•ett

« Don't ask me."

« You don't know."

« Not know I What, did n't I tell you I
was Rolfe the writer. Writers know every-
tiiin^. That is what makes them so modest."

'i/&. Bassett was now unnaturally silent
for five minutes, munching chestnuts ; this
enabled his quests to converse ; but, as soon
as he had cleared his plate, he cut right
across the conversation, with that savage
contempt for all topics but his own, which
characterizes gentlemen of his age, and says
Le to Rolfe, ** You know everytmng ? then,
what's a parson's brat ? "

" Well, that 's the one thin^ I don't know,"
mid Rolfe ; " but a brat I we to be a bov
who interrupts ladies and gentlemen with
nonsense, when they are talking sense."

''I am very much obliged to you, Mr.
R(^e," said Lady Bassett. << That remark
was very much needed."

Then she called Reginald to her, and lec-
tured him, 8oUo voce, to the same tune.

" You old bachelors are rather hard," said
Sir Charles, not very well pleased.

^' We are obliged to be ; you parents are
so soft. Afler all, it is no wonder ; what a
saperb boy it is I — Ah, here is nurse. I 'm
00 sorry. Now we shall be cabined, cribbed,
confined to rational conversation, and I shall
not be expected to — (good night, little
flaxen an^I ; good-by, handsome and lo-
quacious (kmon ; kiss and be friends) — ex-
pected to know, all in a minute, what is a
parson's brat. By, the by, talking of par-
sons, what has become of Angelo ? "

" He has been, away a go^ many years.
Consumption, I hear."

" He was a fine-built fellow, too ; was he
not, Lady Bassett ? "

<<I don't know; but he was beautifully
strong. I think I see him now, carrying
dear Charles in his arms all down the gar-
den."

<< Ah, you see he was raised in a univer-
sity that does not do thinss by halves, but
trains both body and mind, as they did at
Athens ; for the union of study and athletic
sports is spoken of as a novelty, but it is
only a return to antiquity."

Here letters were brought by the second
post. Sir Charles ^anced at his, and sent
t^m to his study. Xady Bassett had but
one. She said << May I ? " to both genHe-
men, and then opened it.

<< How strange I " said she. << It is from
Mr. Angelo : just a line to say he is coming
home quite cured."

She began this composedly, but blushed
afterwards, — blushed quite red.

<< May 1 1 " said she, and tossed it deli-

cately half-way to Rolfe. He handed it to
Sir Charles.

Some remarks were then made about the
coincidence, and nothing further passed
worth recording at that time.

Next day Lady Bassett, with instinctive
curiosity, asked Master Reginald how he
came to put such a question as that to Mr.
Rolfe.

*< Because I wanted to know."

'^But what put such Words into your
head ? I never heard a gentleman say such
words : and you must never say them again,
Reginald."

*< Tell me what it means, and I wpn't,"
said he.

" O," said Lady Bassett, " since you bar-
gain with me, sir, I must bargain with you.
Tell me first where you ever heard such
words."

^ When I was staying at nurse's. Ah,
that was ioUy."

*< You uke that better than being here ? "

« Yes."

'< I am sorry for that. Well, dear, did
nurse say that ? Surely not ? "

<' O no ; it was the man."

"What man?"

^< Why, the man that came to the gate one
morning, and talked to me, and I talked to
him, and that nasty nurse ran out, and
caught us, and carried me in, and gave ma
such a hiding, and all for nodiing."

" A hiding I What words the poor child
picks up 1 But I don't understand why
nurse should beat you.*'

" For speaking to the man. She said he
was a bad man, and she would kill me if
ever I spoke to him again."

"O, it was a. bad man, and said bad
words, — to somebody he was quarrelling
with?"

" No, he said them to nurse because she
took me away."

"What did he say, Reginald?" asked
Lady Bassett, becoming very grave and
thoughtful all at once.

" He said < That 's too late : I 've seen the
parson's brat. ' "

"Oh I"

" And I 've isked nurse again and again
what it meant, but she won't tell me. ohe
only says the man is a liar, and I am not to
say it again : and so I never did sav it again
— for a long time : but, last nignt, vmen
Rolfe the writer said he knew everything,
it struck my head — what is the matter,
mamma ? "

" Nothing ; nothing."

" You look BO white. Are yon ill, mam-
ma ? " and he went to put his arms round
her, which was a mighty rare thing with him.

She trembled a good deal, and did not
either embrace him or repel him. She only
trembled.

130

A TEURTBLE TEMPTATION.

After some time the recoyered hers^
enoush to say, in a voice, and with a man-
ner, that impressed itself, at once, on this
diarp bo^ : " Reginald, your nurse was quite
right. Understand this ; the man was your
enemy — and mine ; the words he said, you
must not say again. It would be like tak-
ing up dirt and flinging some on your own
face, and some on mine/'

"I won't do that," said the boy, firmly.
<< Are you afraid of the man, that you look
80 white?"

<<Aman with a woman's tongue — who
can help fearing ? "

" Don't you be afraid ; as soon as I 'm big
enough, I '11 kill him."

Ls^y Bassett looked with surprise at the
diild, he uttered this' resolve with such a
tteady resolution.

She drew him to her, and kissed him on
the forehead.

<< No, Reginald," said she ; * we must not
died blood; it is as wicked to kill our ene-
mies as to kill any one else. But never
speak to him, never even listen to him ; if
he tries to speak to you, run away from him,
and don't let him — he is our enemy."

That same day she went to Mrs. Mey-
rick, to examine her. But she found me
boy had told her all there was to tell.

Mrs. Meyrick, whose affection for her
was not diminished, was downright vexed.
<< Dear me 1" said she ; " I did think I had
kept that from vexing of you. To think of
the dear child hiding it for nigh two years,
and then to blurt it out like that I Nobody
heard him, I hope ? "

"Others heard; but — "

" Did n't heed ; the Lord be praised for
that."

" Mary," said Lady Bassett, solemnly, " I
am not equal to another battle with Mr.
Richard Bassett ; and such a battle 1 Bet-
ter tell all, and (He."

« Don't think of it," said Mary. « You 're
safe from Richard Bassett now. Times are
changed since he came spying to my gate.
His own boy is gone. You have got two.
He '11 lie still, if you do. But, if you tell
your tale, he must hear on 't, and he '11 tell
his. For Grod's sake, my lady, keep close.
It is the curse of women that they can't
just hold their tonnes, and see how things
turn. And is this a time to spill good
liquor ? Look at Sir Charles I why, he is
another man ; he have got flesh on his bones
now, and color into his cheeks, and 't was
you and I made a man of him. It is my be-
lief you 'd never have had this other little
angel, but for us having tense and courage
to see what must be done. Knock down
our own work, and send him wild again,
and give that Richard Bassett a handle?
You '11 never be so mad."

Lady Bassett replied. The other an-

swered; and so powerfully, that Lady Basii-
sett yielded, and went home sick at hearty
but helpless, and in a sea of doubt.

Mr. Angelo did not call. Sir Charles
asked Lady Bassett if he had called on hor.

She said, "No."

" That is odd," said Sir Charles. " Per-
haps he thinks we ought to welcome him
home. Write and ask mm to dinner.

" Yes, dear. Or you can write."

"Very well, I will. No, I wiU call."

Sir Charles called, and welcomed him
home and asked him to dinner. Angelo re-
ceived him rather stiflly at first ; but accept
ed his invitation.

He came, looking a good deal older and
graver, but almost as handsome as ever;
only somewhat changed in mind. He had
become a zealous clergyman ; and his soul
appeared to be in his work. He was distant
and very respectful to Lady Bassett; I
misht say obsequious. Seemed almost afiraid
of her, at first. *

That wore off in a few months ; but he
was never quite so much at his ease with
her as he had been before he left some years
ago.

And so did time roll on.

Every morning, and every night, Ladj
Bassett used to look wistfully at Sir Charles
and say, " Are you happy, dear ? Are you
sure you are happy ? "

And he used always to say, and with
truth, that he was the happiest man in £n^
laud, thanks to her.

Then she used to relax the wild and wis^
fill look with which she asked the question,
and give a sort of sigh, half content, half
resignation. ,

In due course another fine boy came, and
filled the Royal office of Baby, m his turn.

But my story does not follow him.

Reginald was over ten years old, and
Compton nearly six. They were as diflfeiv
ent in character as complexion, both re-
markable boys.

Reginald, Sir Charles's favorite, was a
wonderful boy for riding, running, talking ;
and had an amazing genius for melody ; he
whistled to the admiration of the village^
and latterly he practised the fiddle in woods
and imder hedges, being aided and abetted
therein by a gypsy boy whom he loved, and
who, indeed, provided the instrument.

He rode with Sir Charles, and rather
liked him; his brother he never noticed,
except to tease him. Lady Bassett he ad-
mired, and almost loved her while she was
in the act of playing him undeniable melo-
dies. But he liked ms nurse Meyrick better
OR the whole ; she flattered him more, and
was more unifbrmly subservient.

With these two exceptions he despised
the whole race of women, and aflected male
society only, especially of grooms, stable-

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

131

boys,' and gypsies ; these last weloomed him
to their tents, and almost prostrated them-
selyes before him, so dazzled were they by
his beauty and his color. It is belieyed
they suspected him of having gypsjr blood
in his Veins. They let him into their tents,
and even into some of their secrets, and he
promised them they should hare it all their
own way as soon as he was Sir Reginald ;
he had out^wn his original theory that he
was to be Sir Charles on his father's death.
He hated in-doors; when fixed, by com-
mand, to a book, would beg hard to be al-
lowed to take it into the sun ; and at flight
would open his window and poke his black
head out to wash in the moonshine, as he
said.

He despised ladies and gentlemen, said
they were all affected fools, and gave imita-
tions of all his father's ^ests, to prove it;
and so keen was this child of nature's eye
for affectation that, very often, his disap-
proving parents were obU^d to confess the
imp had seen with his fresn eve defects cus-
tom had made them overlook, or the solid
food qualities that lay beneath had over^
alanced.

Now all this may appear amusing and ec-
centric, and so on, to strangers ; But afier
the first hundred laughs or so with which
paternal indulgence dismisses the faults of
childhood, Sir Charles became very grave.
The boy was his darling, and his pride.
He was ambitious for him. He earnestly
desired to solve for him a problem, which is
as impossible as squaring the circle, viz.:
how to transmit our experience to our chil-
dren. The years and the health he had
wasted before he knew Bella Bruce, these
he resolved his successor should not waste.
He looked higher for this beautiful boy than
for himself. He had fully resolved to be
member for the county one day; but he
did not care about it for himself; it was
only to pave the way for his successor;
that Sii Reginald, afler a long career
m the Commons, might find his way into
the House of Peers, and so obtain dimuty,
in exchange for antiquity ; for, to teu the
truths the ancestors of four fifths of the
British House of Peers had been hewers
of wood and drawers of water, at a time
when these Bassetts had already been gen-
tlemen of distinction for centuries.

All this love, and this vicarious ambition^
were now mortified daily. Some fathers
could do wonders for a brilliant boy, and
with him ; they expect him, and a dull boy
appears ; that is a bitter pUl ; but this was
worse; Reginald was a sharp boy; he could
do anything ; fasten him to a book tor twen-
ty minutes, he would learn as mucb as most
boys in an hour; but there was no keeping
him to it, imless you strapped him or nailed
him, for he had the will of a mule, and the

suppleness of an eel to carry out his wilL
And then his tastes — low, as his features
were refined ; he was a sort of moral dun^
fork ; picked up all the slang of the stable,
and scattered it in the dining-room, and
drawins-room ; and, once or twice, he stole
out of his comfortable room at night, and
slept in a gypsy's tent, with his arm round
a gypsy boy, unsullied, firom his cradle, by
soap.

At last Sir Charles could no longer reply
to his wife at night, as he had done for tnis
ten years past : he was obliged to confess
that there was one cloud upon his happiness.
<< Dear Reginald grieves me, and makes me
dread the future ; for, if the child is father
to the man, there is a bitter disappointment
in store for us. He is like no other boy ;
he is like no human creature I ever saw ;
at his age, and long after, I was a fool;
I was a fool till I knew you; but surely I
was a gentleman. I cannot see myself
again — in my first-bom."

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.

LADY BASSETT was paralyzed for a
minute or two by this speech. At la^
she replied by asking a question, — rather a
curious one. " Who nursed you, Charles ? "

" What, when T was a baby ? How can I
tell? Yes, by the by, it was my mother
nursed me — so I was told."

And your mother was a Le Compton.
This poor boy was nursed by a servant. O,
she has some good Qualities, and certainly
devoted to us, — to tnis day her face bright-
ens at sight of me, — but she is essentially
vulgar; and do you remember, Charles, I
wished to wean mm early ; but I was over-
ruled, and the poor child drew his nature
from that woman for nearly eighteen
months; it is a thing unheard of nowa-
days."

" Well, but surely it is fix)m our parents
we draw our nature.''

<< No ; I think it is from our niu*ses. If
Compton or Alec ever turn out like Regi-
nald, blame nobody but their nurse, and
that is Me."

Sir Charles smiled faintly at this piece of
feminine logic, and asked her what he should
do.

She said she was quite unable to advise.
Mr. Rolfe was coming to see them soon, per-
haps he mi^ht be able to su^^est something.

Sir Chanes said he womd consult him;
but he was clear on one thing, the boy must
be sent fix>m Huntercombe, and so sepa-
rated from all his present acquaintances*

Mr« Rolfe came and the distressed father
opened his heart to him In strict confidence
respecting Reginald.

132

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Eolfe listened and erfmpathized, and knit
his brow, and asked time to consider what
he had heard, and also to study the hoy for
himself.

He angled for him next day accordingly.
A little table was taken ont on the lawn, and
presently Mr. Rolfe issued forth in a uni-
form suit of dark blue flannel and a som-
brero hat, and set to work writing a novel
in the sun.

Reginald in due course descried this fig-
ure, and it smacked so of that Bohemia to
which his own soul belonged, that he was
attracted thereby, but made his approaches
stealthily like a little cat.

Presently a fiddle went off behind a tree,
so close that the noTclist leaped out of his
seat with an eldrich screech ; K>r he had long
a^o forgotten all about Mr. Rednald, and,
^en he got heated in this kind of compo-
sition, any sudden sound seemed to nis
tense nerves and boiling brain about ten
times as loud as it really was.

Having relieved himself with a yell, he
sat down with the mien of a martyr expect-
ing tortures; but he was most acreeably
disappointed ; the little monster played an
English melody, and played it in tune.
This done, he whistled a quick tune and
played a slow second to it in perfect har-
mony; this done, he whistled the second
part and played the qmck treble; a very
simple feat, but still ingenious for a boy,
and new to his hearer.

"Bravo I bravo I" cried Rolfe with all
his heart.

Mr. Reginald emerged, radiant with van-
ity. " You are like me, Mr. Writer," said
he ; " you don't like to be cooped up in-
doors."

" I wish I could play the fiddle like you,
my fine fellow."

" Ah, ydu can't do that all in a minute ;
sed the time I have been at it.''

"Ah, to be sure, I forgot your anti-
qdty."

" And it is n't the time only ; it 's giving
your mind to it, old chap."

"What, you don't give your mind to
your books then, as you do to your fiddle,
young gentleman f**

" iNot such a flat. Why, lookee here,
Governor, if you go and give your mind to
a thing you don't uke, it 's always time wast-
ed, because son^e other chap, that doed like
.it, will beat you, and what 's the use working,
for to be beat ? "

" < For,' is redundant," objected Rolfe.

" But if you stick hard to the things you
like, you do 'em downright well. But old
people are such fools, they always drive you
the wrong way. They make the gals plav
music six hours day, and jrou might as well
set the hen bullfinches to pipe. Look at the
gals as come here, how they rattle up and

down the piano, and can't make it sing a
morsel. Why they couldn't rattle like that,
if they 'd music in their skins, d — ^n 'em :
and they drive me to those stupid books, be-
cause I 'm all for music and moonshine. Can
you keep a secret ? "

« As the tomb."

" Well, then, I can do plenty of things well,
besides nddling : I can set a wire with any
poacher in the parish. I have caught plenty
of our old man's hares in my time ; and il
takes a workman to set a wire as should be.^
Show me a wire, and I '11 tell you whether*
it was Hudson, or Whitbeck, or Squinting
Jack, or who it was that set it. I know
all their work that walks by moonlight here-
abouts."

"This is criticism; a science; I rjefer
art : play me another tune, my bold Bohe-

mian.

" Ah, I thought I should catch ye with my
fiddle. You 're not such a muff as the oth-
ers, old 'un, not by a long chalk. Hang
me, if I won't give ye * Ireland's music,' and
I 've sworn never to waste that on a fool.

He played the old Irish air so simply and
tunably, that Rolfe leaned back in his chair,
with half-closed eyes, in soft voluptuous eo-
sti^.

The youngster watched him with his
coal-black eye.

" I like you," said he, " better than I
thought I should, a precious sight."

" Highly flattered."

" Come with me, and hear my nurse sing
it."

" What, and leave my novel ? "

" O, bother your novel."

" And so I will. That will be tit for tat ;
it has bothered me. Lead on, Bohemian
bold."

The boy took him, over hedge and ditch
the short cut to Meyrick's farm ; and caught
Mrs. Meyrick, and said she must sing " Po-
land's music " to Rolfe the writer.

Mrs. MejTick apologized for her dress,
and affected shyness about singing: Mr.
Reginald stared at first, then let her know
that, if she was going to be affected like the
girls that came to the Hall, he should hate
her, as he did them, and this he confirmed
with a naughty word.

Thus threatened, she came to book, and
sang Ireland's melody in a low, rich, sono-
rous voice ; Reginald played a second ; the
harmony was so perfect and strong, that cer-
tain glass candelabra on the mantel-piece
rang loudly, and the drops vibrated. Ihen
he made her sing the second, and he took
the treble with his violin ; and he wound tip
by throwing in a third part himself, a sort
of counter-tenor, his own voice being much
higher than the woman's.

The tears stood in Rolfe s eyes. " Well,*
said he, " you have got the soul of musics

A TEKRIBLE TEMPTATION.

133

H
t*

>
O

d
a

you two. I could listen to you * From mom
till noon, from noon till dewy ere.' "

As they returned to Huntercombe, this
mercurial youth went off at a tangent, and
Kolfe saw him no more.

He wrote in peace, and walked about be-
tween the heats.

Just before dinner-time, the screams of
women were heard hard by, and the writer
hurried to the place, in time to see Mr. Bas-
sett hanging by the shoulder from the
branch of a tree, about twenty feet from the
ground.

Rolfe halloed, as he ran, to the women,
to fetch blankets to catch him, and got un-
der the tree, determined to try and catch
him in his arms, if necessary ; but he en-
couraged the boy to hold on.

« All right. Governor," said the boy in a
quayering yoice.

It was yery near the kitchen ; maids and
men poured out wiih blankets ; eight people
held one, under Bolfe's direction, and down
came Mr. Bassett in a semicircle, and
bounded up again off the blanket, like an
india-rubber b^ll.

His quick mind recoyered courage, the
moment he touched wool.

"Crikey I that's jolly," said he, «giye
me another toss or two."

" O no I no I " said a good-natured mud.
" Take an' put him to bed right off, poor dear."

" Hold your ton^e, ye bitch," said young
hopeful : " if ye don't toss me, I '11 turn ve
all off, as soon as eyer the old un kicks tho
bucket."

13^

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Thus menaced, they thought itpradentto
toss him : but, at the third toss, he yelled out
c'Ohl ohi ohi I'm all wet: it'sbloodl
I 'm dead."

' Then the j examined, and found his arm
was seyerely lacerated by an old nail that
had been driven into the tree, and it had
torn the flesh in his fall : he was covered
with blood, the sight of which quenched his
manly spirit, and ne began to howl.

" Old linen rag, warm water, and a bottle
of champagne," wouted Rolfe : the servants
flew.

Rolfe dressed and banda^d the wound
for him, and then he felt faint : the cham-
pagne soon set that ri^ht; and then he
wanted to set drunk, aUeging, as a reason,
that he haa not been drunk for this two
months.

Sir Charles was told of the accident,
and was distressed by it, and also by the
cause.

" Rolfe," said he, SGrrowfiJly, « there is a
ring-dove's nest on that tree : she and hers
have built there in peace and safety for a
hundred years, and cooed about the place.
My unhappy boy was climbing the ti^e, to
take the young, afler solemnly promising
me he never would : that is the bitter truth.
What shall I do with the young barbarian ? "

He sighed, and Lady Bassett echoed the
sigh.

Said Rolfe, " The young barbarian, as you
call him, has disarmed me : he plays the
fiddle like a civilized angel."

«0 Mr. Rolfe I"

" What, you his mother, and not found
that out yet? O yes, he has a heaven-
bom eenius for music."

RoUe then related the musical feats of the
urchin.

Sir Charles begged to observe that this
talent would go a very little way towards
fitting him to succeed his father and keep
up the credit of an ancient family.

<<Dear Charles, Mr. Rolfe knows that;
but it is like him to make the best of things,
to encourage us. But what do you think
of him on the whole, Mr. Rolfe ? has Sir
Charles more to hope or to fear ? "

" Give me another day or two, to study
him," said Rolfe.

That night there was a loud alarm. Mr.
Bassett was running about the veranda in
his night-dress.

They caught him, and got him to bed,
and Itolfe said it was fever ; and, with the
assistance of Sir Charles and a footman,
laid him between two towels steeped in
tepid water, then drew blankets tight over
him, and, in short, packed him.

"Ah I" said he complacently; "I say,
give me a drink of moonshine, old chap."

"I'll give you a bucketful," said Rolfe;
then, wiu the servant's help, took his little

bed, and put it close to the window ; the
moonlight streamed in on the boy's face, luA
great black eyes glittered in it. He wa«
diabolically beautiful. " Kiss me, moon-
shine," said he, " I like to wash in you."

Next day he was, apparently, qmte well,
and certaixuy lipe for iresh mischief. Roli^
studied him, and, the evening before be
went, gave Sir Charles and Lady Bassett
his opinion, but not with his usual alacrity ;
a weight seemed to hang on him, and, more
than once, his voice trembled.

" I shall tell you," said he, '* what I see —
what I foresee — and then, with great diffi-
dence, what I advise.

^ "I see — what Naturalists call, a rever-
sion in race, a boy who resembles in color
and featmres neither of his parents, and in-
deed, bears little resemblance to any of the
races that have inhabited England since
history was written. He suggests rather
some Oriental type."

Sir Charles turned round in his chair, with
a sigh, and said, <<We are to have a ro-
mance it seems."

Lady Bassett stared with all her eyes, and
began to change color.

The theorist continued, with perfect com-
posure, " I don't undertake to account for it,
with any precision. How can I ? Perhaps
there is Moorish blood in your family, and
here it has revived ; you look incredulous,
but there are plenty of examples, ay, and
stronger than this : ever^ child that is bom
resen^les some progenitor; how then do
you account for Julia Pastrana, a youn^
lady who dined with me last week, ana
sang me ' Ah perdona,' rather feebly, in the
evening? Bust and figure like any other
lady, hand exquisite, arms neatly turned,
but with lon^ silky hair from the elbow to
the wrist. Face, u^hl forehead made of
black leather, eyes lul pupil, nose an excre-
scence, chin pure monkey, face all covered
with hair; briefly, a type extinct ten thou-
sand years before Adam, yet it could revivB
at this time of day. Compared with La
Pastrana, and many much weaker examples
of antiquity revived, that I have seen, your
Mauritanian son is no great marvel after
all."

♦* This is a little too far-fetched," said Sir
Charles, satirically ; " Bella's father was a
very dark man, and it is a tradition in oar
family that all the Bassetts were as black
as ink till they married with you Rolfes, in
the year 1684."

« Oho I " said Rolfe, « is it so ? See how
discussion brings out things."

"And then," said Lady Bassett, « Charles,
dear, tell Mr. Rolfe what / think."

«Ay, do," said Rolfe; "that will be a
new form of circumlocution."

Sir Charles complied with a smile.
"Lady Bassett's theoiy is, that childrea

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

185

derive their natare qnite as mncli from
their wet-nurses as from their parents, and
she thinks the faults we deplore in Regi-
nald ^re to be traced to his nurse ; hy tSie
hj, she is a dark woman too/'

" Well," said Rolfe, "there 'b a good deal
of truth in that, as far as regards the dis-
position. But I never heard color so ac-
counted for; yet why not? It has been
proved that the very bones of young ani-
mals can be colored pink, by feeding them
on milk so colored.*'

« There 1" said Lady Bassett.

"But no nurse could give your son a
color which is not her own. I have seen
the woman; she is only a dark Endish-
woman. Her arms were embrowned by
exposure, but her forehead was not brown.
Mr. Reginald is quite another thing. The
skin of nis body, the white of his eye, the
pupil, all look like a reversion to some Ori-
ental type ; and, mark the coincidence ; he
has mental peculiarities that point towards
the East"

Sir Charles lost patience. *' On the con-
trary," said he, "he talks, and feels, just
like an English snob, and makes me miser-
able."

" O, as to that, he has picked up vulgar
phrases at that farm, and in your stables ;
but he never picked up his musical genius
in stables and farms, far less his poetry."

« What poetry ? "

" What poetry ? Why, did not you hear
him ? Was it not poetical of a wounded,
fevered boy to be^ to be laid by the win-
dow, and to say < Let me drink the moon-
shine'? Take down your Homer, and
read a thousand lines hap-hazard, and see
whether you stumble over a thought more
poetical than that. But criticism does not
exist; whatever the dead said was ^ood;
whatever the living say is little ; as if the
dead were a race apart, and had never been
the living, and the living would never be
the dead.

Heaven knows where he was ranning to
DOW, but Sir Charles stopped him, by con-
ceding that point. " Weu, you are right:
poor child, it was poetical," and the father's
pride predominated, for a moment, over
evenr other sentiment.

"Yes; but where did it come from?
That looks to me a typical idea; I mean an
idea derived, not from his luxurious parents,
dwellers in curtained mansions, but from
some outdoor and remote ancestor ; perhaps
from the Oriental tribe that first colonized
Britain ; they worshipped the sun and the
moon, no doubt; or perhaps, after all, it
oxdy came from some wandering tribe that
passed their lives between the two H^hts of
Heaven, and never set foot in a human
. dwelling."

" This," said Sir Charles, << is a flattering

speculation, but so wild and romantic, that.
I fear it will lead us to no practical result.
I thought you undertook to advise me.
What advice can you build^ on these cob-
webs of your busy brain? "

"Excuse me, my practical friend," said
Rolfe. "I opened my discourse in three
heads. What I see — what I foresee — and
what, with diffidence, I advise. Pray don't
disturb my methodus, or I am done for;
never disturb an artist's form. I have told
you what I see. What I foresee is this;
you will have to cut off the entail with Reg-
inald's consent, when he is of age, and
make the Saxon boy Compton your succes-
sor. Cutting off entails runs in families,
like everything else ; your grandfather did
it, and so will you. Ion should put by a
few thousands every year, that you may be
able to do this without injustice either to
your Oriental or your Saxon son."

" Never I " shouted Sir Charles : then, in
a broken voice, " He is my first-bom, and
my idol ; his coming into the world rescued
me out of a morbid condition : he healed my
one great grief. Bar the entail, and put his
younger brother in his place — never I "

Mr. Rolfe bowed his head politely, and
left the subject, which indeed could be car-
ried no further, without serious offence.

" And now for my advice. The question
is, how to educate this Strang boy. One
thing is clear; it is no use tryins the hum-
drum plan any longer; it has been tried,
and faded. I should adapt his education to
his nature. Education is made as stiff and
unyielding as a board ; but it need not be.
I should abolish that spectacled tutor of
yours at once, and get a tutor, young, en-
terprising, manly, and supple,, who would
obey orders : and the order should be to ob-
serve the boy's nature, and teach accord-
ingly. Why need men teach in a chair, and
boys learn in a chair? The Athenians
studied not in chairs. The Peripatetics, as
their name imports, hunted knowledge
afoot; those who sought truth in the groves
of Academus were not seated at that work.
Then let the tutor walk with him, and talk
with him by sunlight, and moonlight, relat-
ing old history, and commenting on each
new thing that is done, or word spoken, and
improve every occasion. Why, I myself
wonld give a guinoa a day to walk with
William White about the kindly aspects,
and wooded slopes of Selbome, or with Karr
about his garden. Cut Latin and Greek
clean out of the scheme. They are mere
cancers to those who can never excel in
them. Teach him not dead languages, but
living facts. Have him in your justice
room for half an hour a day, and give him
your own comments on what he has heard
there. Let his tutor take him to all quarter
sessions and assizes, and stick to him like

136

A TEBBEBLE TEMPTATION.

diacalum, especially out of doom ; order him
never to be admitted to the stable yard;
dismiss every biped there that lets him
come. Don't let him visit his nurse so
often, and never without his tutor ; it was
she who taught him to look forward to your
dejcease; that is just like these common
women. Such a tutor as I have described
will deserve £500 a year. Give it him;
and dismiss him if he plays humdrum, and
does n't earn it. Dismiss half a dozen, if
necessary, till you get a fellow with a grain
or two of genius Tor tuition. When the
boy is seventeen, what with his Oriental
precocity, and this system of education, he
will know the world as well as a Saxon
boy of twenty-one, and that is not saying
much. Then, if his nature is still as wild, get
him a large tract in Australia; cattle to
breed, kangaroos to shoot, swift horses to
thread the bush and gallop mighty tracts ;
he will not shirk business, if it avoids the
repulsive form of sitting down indoors, and
oners itself in combination with riding,
hunting, galloping, cracking of rifles, and
of colonial whips as loud as rifles, and
drinking sunshine and moonshine in that
mellow clime, beneath the Southern cross
and the spangled firmament of stars un-
known to us."

His own eyes sparkled like hot coals at
this Bohemian picture.

Then he sighed and returned to civiliza-
tion. "But," said he, "be ready with
eighty thousand pounds for him, mat he
may enjoy his own way and join you in
barring the entail. I forgot, I must say no
more on that subject; I see it is as ofien-
sive — as it is inevitable. Cassandra has

Soken wisely, and, I see, in vain. €rod
ess you both — good night."

And he rolled out of the room with a cer-
tain clumsy iipportance.

Sir Charles treated all this advice with
a polite forbearance while he was in the
room, but on his departure delivered a sage
reflection.

" Strange," said he, " that a inan so val-
uable in any great emergency should be so
extravagant and eccentric in the ordinary
aflairs of life. I might as well drive to
Bellevue House and consult the first gen-
tleman 1 met there."

Lady Bassett did not reply immediately,
and Sir Charle^ observed that her face
was very red and her hands trembled.

"Why, Bella," said he, "has all that
rhodomontade upset you? "

Lady Basactt looked frightened at his
noticing her agitation, and said that Mr.
Bolfe always overpowered her. " He is so
large, and so confident, and throws such
new light on things."

" New light I Wild eccentricity always
does that; but it is the light of Jack-o'-lan-

tern. On a ^at question, so near my
heart as this, give me the steady light of
common sense, not the wayward corusca-
tions of a fiery imagination. Bella dear, I
shall send the boy to a ^ood school, and so
cut off at one blow all the low associations
that have caused the mischief."

"You know what is best, dear," said
Lady Bassett ; " you are wiser than any of
us."

In the morning she got hold of Mr. Bolfe,
and asked him if he could put her in the
way of getting more than three per cent
for her money without risk,

" Only one," said Bolfe. " London Free-
holds in risii^ situations, let to substantial
tenants. I can get you five per cent that
way, if you are always readv to buy. The
thing does not offer every day."

" I have twenty thousand pounds to dis-
pose of so," said Lady Bassett.

« Very well," said Bolfe. " I '11 look out
for you, but Oldfield must examine titles
and do the actual business. The best of
that investment is, it is always improving ;
no ups and downs. Come," thought he,
" Cassandra has not spoken quite in vain."

Sir Charles acted on his judgment, and
in due course sent Mr. Bassett to a school
at some distance, kept by a cleivyman, who
had the credit in that county of exercising
sharp supervision and strict discipline.

Sir Charles made no secret of the boy's
eccentricities. Mr. Beecher said he had
one or two steady boys who assisted him ia
such cases.

Sir Charles thought that a very good
idea ; it was like putting a wild colt into
the break with a steady horse.

He missed the boy sadly at first, but com-
forted himself with the conviction that he
had parted with him for his good : that conr
soled him somewhat

Hie younger children of Sir Charles and
Lady Bassett were educated entirely by
their mother, and taught as none but a
loving lady can teach.

Compton, with whom we have to do,
never knew the thorns with which the
path of letters is apt to be strewn. A
mistress of the great art of pleasing made
knowledge fi\>m the first a primrose path
to him. Sparkling all over with intelli-
gence, she impregnated her boy with it.
She made herself his favorite companion ;
she wQuld not keep her distance. She
stole and coaxed knowledge and goodness
into his heart and mind with rare and
loving cunning.

She taught him English and French and
Latin on the Hamiltonian plan, and stored
his young mind with history and biography,
and read to him, and conversed with * ~
on everything as they read it.

A TEERIBLE TEMPTATION*

137

She taught him to speak the tnKih, and
to be honorable and just.

She tauvht him to be polite, and even
formal, rather than free and easy and rude.
She taught him to be a man. He must not
be what brare boys called a moUev-coddle :
like most womanly women she had a vener-
ation for man, and she ^ave him her own
high idea of the manly character.

J^atural ability, and habitual contact with
a mind so attractive and so rich, gave this
intelligent boy many good ideas beyond his
age.

When he was six jrears old, Lady Bas-
sett made him pass his word of honor that
he would never go into the stable-yard;
and even then he was far enough advanced
to keep his word religiously.

In return for this pne let him taste some
sweets of lib^ty, and was not always i^er
l^im. She was profound enough to see that,
without liberty, a noble character cannot
be formed ; and she husbanded the curb.

One day he represented to her that, in
die meadow next their lawn, were great
stripes of yellow, which were possibly cow-
slips ; of course they might be only butter-
cups, but he hoped better things of them :
he further reported that there was an iron
gate between him and this paradise : he could
get over it if not objectionable; but he
thought it safest to ask her what she
thought of the matter; was that iron gate
intended to keep little boys from the cow-
slips, because, if so, it was a misfortune to
which he must resign himself. Still, it was
a misfortune. All this, of course, in the
ample language of boyhood.

xhen Lady Bassett smiled, and said
** Suppose I were to lend yon a key of that
iron gate?"

** mamma ! '*

^ I have a great mind to."

" Then you will, you will."

«* Does that follow?"

** Yes : whenever you say you think you '11
do something kind, or you have a great miiid
to do it, you know you always do it ; and
that is one thing I do like you for, mamma,
you are better than your word."

<< Better than my word? Where does
the child learn these things ? "

'< La, mamma, papa says that often."

^ O, that accounts for it. I like the
phrase very much. I wish I could think I
deserved it. At any rate I will be as good
as my word for once ; you shall have a key
of the gate."

The boy clapped his hands with delight.

The key was sent for, and, meantime, she
told him one reason why she had trusted him
with it was because he had been as good as
Us word about the stable.

The key waa brought, and she held it up.

half playfully, and said, " Hiere, sir, I de-
liver you this upon conditions : you must
only use it when the weather is (]^uite dry,
because the grass in the meadow is longer,
and will be wet. Do you promise ? "

" Yes, mamma."

" And you must always lock the gate when
you come back, and bring the key to one
place — let me see — the drawer in the hall
table, the one with marble on it ; for you
know a place for everything is oar rule.
On these conditions, I nereby deliver you
this magic key, with the right of egress and
ingress."

« Egress and ingress ? "

" Egress and ingress."

<<Is that foreign for cowslips, mamma —
and oxlips ? "

'' Ha I ha I the child's head is full of cow-
slips. There is the Dictionary; look out
Egress, and afterwards look out Ingress."

When he had added these two words to
his little vocabulary, his mother asked him
if he would be good enough to tell her why
he did not care much about all the beautifA
flowers in the garden, and was so excited
about cowslips, which appeared to her a
flower of no great beauty, and the smell
rather sickly, begging his pardon.

This question posed him dreadfully: he
looked at her in a sort of comic distress, and
then sat gravely down all in a heap, about a
yard off, to think.

** Finally he turned to her with a wry face,
and said *'Why do I, mamma ? "

She smiled deliciously. <<No, no, sir,"
said she. ^ How can I get inside your
little head, and tell what is there ? Tkere
must be a reason, I suppose ; and you know
you and I are never satisfied till we get at
the reason of a thing. But there is no
hurry, dear. I give you a week to find it
out. Now run and open the gate — Stay,
are there any cows m that field ? "

'< Sometimes, mamma; but they have no
horns you know."

" Upon your word ? "

<* Upon my honor. I am not fond of {heat
with horns, myself."

" Then run away, darling. But you must
come and hunt me up, and tell mo how you
enjoyed yourself, because that makes me
happy, you know."

This is mawkish; but it will serve to
show on what terms the woman and boy were.

On second thoughts, I recall that apology,
and defy creation. « The Mawkish " is a
branch of literature, a great and popular one,
and I have neglected it savagely.

Master Compton opened the iron gate,
and the world was all before him where to
choose.

He chose one of those yellow stripes that
had so attracted him. Horror 1 it was all
buttercups, and deil a cowslip.

438

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATIOIT.

Never theless, ptDrrain? his researches, he
found plenty of that delightfal flower scat-
tered about the meadow in thmner patches ;
and he gathered a double handful and dirtied
Ills knees.

Returning, thus laden, from his first excm>
sion, he was accosted hj a fluty voice.

"Little boy I"

He looked up, and saw a girl standing on
Uie lower bar of a little wooden gate painted
white, looking over.

*^ Please bring me my ball,^ said she,
pathetically.

Compton looked about, and saw a soft ball
of many colors lying near.

He put down his cowslips gravely, and
lirought her the ball. He gave it her with
a blush, because she was a strange girl :
lind she blushed a little, because he did.

He returned to his cowslips.

<< Little bovl" said the voice, "please
bring me my oall again."
. He brought it her, with undisturbed po-
liteness. She was giggling; he laughed too>
at that.

" You did it on purpose that time," said
he solemnly.

« La I you don't think I 'd be so wicked,"
said she.

Compton shook his head doubtfully, and,
considering the Interview at an end, turned
to go, when instantly the ball knocked his
hat off, and nothing of the malefactress was
visible, but a black eye sparkling with fun
and mischief, and a bit orforebead wedged
against the angle of the wall.
. This being a challenge, Compton said,
" Now you come out after that, and stand a
ghot, like a man."

The invitation to be masculine did not
|«mpt her a bit ; the only thing she put out
was her hand, and that she drew in with a
lauph, the moment he threw at it.

At this juncture, a voice cried, " Ruperta 1
yhat are you doing there ? "

Ruperta made a rapid signal with her
hand, to Compton, implying that he was to
run away : and she herself walked demurely
towards the person who had called her.

It was three days before Compton saw
her again ; and then she beckoned him roy-
ally to her.

« Little boy," said she, "talk to m«."

Compton looked at her a little confound-
ed, and did not reply.

" Stand on this gate, like me, and talk,"
Bsld she.

He obeyed the first part of this mandate,
iind stood on the lower bar of the little gate ;
so their two figures made a V, when they
)iung back, and a tenpenny nail, when they
eame forward and met, and this motion they
tontinued through the dialogue ; and it was
a pity the little wretches could not keep
still, and send for my friend the English

Titian ; for, when their heads were in post*
tion, it was indeed a pretty picture of cnild-
ish and flower-like beauty and contrast; llie
bov fair, blue-eyed, and with exauisite
golden hair; the girl black-eyed, black-
browed, and with eyelashes of incredible
length and beauty, and a check brownish,
but tinted, and so glowing with health and
vigor, that, pricked with a needle, it seemed
ready to squirt carnation right into your
eye.

She dazzled Master Compton so, that he
could do nothing but look at her.

" Well ? " said she, smiling.

" Well," replied he, pretending her
" well " was not an interrogatory, but a con-
cise statement, and that he had discharged
the whole duty of man by according a
prompt and cheerful consent

"You begin," said the lady.

"No, you."

"What for?"

"Because — I think — you are the clev-
erest."

" Good little boy I Well then, I will.
Who are you?"

" I am Compton. Who are you, please ? "

" I am Ruperta."

" I never neard that name before."

" No more did I. I think they measured
me for it : you live in the great house there,
don't you?"

" Yes, Ruperta."

« Well then, I live in the little house. It
is not ver^ little either. It 's Highmore. I
saw you in church one dav ; is that lady
with the hair your mamma ? "

"Yes, Ruperta."

« She IS beautiful."

"Isn't she?"

" But mine is so good."

" Mine is very good too, Ruperta. Won-.
derfully good."

"I like you, Compton — a little."

" I like you a good deal, Ruperta."

" La, do you ? I wonder at that : yon are
like a cherub, and I am such a black thing."

" But that is why I like you. Repnsdd is
darker than you, and O so beautifuL"

" Hum I — he is a very bad boy."

« No, he is not."

"Don't tell stories, child; he is. I
know all about him. A wicked, vulgar, bad
boy."

" He is not," cried Compton, almost sniv-
elling : but he altered his mind, and fired
up. " You are a naughty story-telling girl,
to say that."

" Bless me I " said Ruperta, coloring high,
and tossinp her head haughtily.

"I don^ like you notr, Ruperta," said
Compton, with all the decent calmness of a
settled conviction.

" You don't ? " screamed Ruperta. " Then
go about your business directly, and don't

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

13»

never come here again t — Scolding me ! —
How dare you ? — oh I oh I oh 1 " and the
little lady went off slowly, with her finger
in her eye : and Master Compton looked
rather ruefal, as we all do, when this charm-
ing sex has recourse to what may be called
^ liquid reasoning." I have known the most
Bolid reasons unable to resist it.

However "mens conscia recti," and, above
all, the cowslips, enabled Compton to resist,
and he troubled his head no more about her
that day.

But he looked out for her the next day,
and she did not come ; and that rather dis-
appointed him.

The next day was wet, and he did not go
into the meadow, being on honor not to So
so.

The fourth day was lovely, and he spent
a long time in "the meadow, in hopes : he
saw her for a moment at the gate ; but she
8x>eedily retired.

He was disappointed.

However, he collected a good store of
cowslips, and then came home.

As ne passed the door out popped Ru-
perta from some secret ambusn, and said,
"Well?"

« Well," replied Compton.

** Are you better, dear ? "

" I 'm very well, thank you," said the
boy.

" In your mind,! mean. You were cross
last time, you know."

Compton remembered his mother's les-
sons about manly behavior, and said, in a
jaunty way, << Well, I s'pose I was a little
cross."

Now the other cunning little thing had
come to apologize, if there was no other
way to recover her admirer. But, on this
confession, she said, " O, if you are sorry
for it, I forgive you. You may come and
talk."

l%en Compton came and stood on iha
gate, and they held a long conversation;
and, having Quarrelled last time, parted
now with ratner violent expressions of
attachment.

After that they made friends and laid their
little hearts bare to each other; and it soon
appeared that Compton had learned more,
but Ruperta had thou:;ht more for her self,
and was sorelv puzzled about many things,
and of a vastly inquisitive mind. " Why,"
said she^ '< is good things so hard, and bad
things 80 nice and easy ? It would be much
better if good things was nice and bad ones
nasty. ^Diat is the way 1 'd have it, if I
could make things."

Mr. Compton shook his head and said
piany things were yery hard to understand,
and even his mamma sometimes could not
make out all the things.

*< Nor inine neither ; I puzzle her dreadfoL

I can't help that ; things should n't come and
puzzle me, and then 1 should n't puzzle her*
Shall I tell you my puzzles, and perhapf^
you can answer them, because you are a bo^.
I can't think why it is wicked for me to dig
in my little garden on a Sunday, and is n't
wicked for Jessie to cook and Sarah to make
the beds. Can't think why mamma told papak
not to be cross, and,, when I told her not to
be cross, she put me in a dark cupboard all:
among the dreadful mice, till I screamed so
she took me out and kissed me and ?av<^
me pie. Can't think why papa called Sally
< Something' for spilling the ink over his
papers, and when I called the gardener the'
very same for robbing my flowers, all their
hands and eyes went up, and they said 1 was-
a shocking girl. Can't think why papa gig-
gled the next moment, if I was a shocking
girl : it is all puzzle — puzzle — puzzle."

One day she said, <<Can you tell me
where all the bad people are buried ? for
that puzzles me dreadfuL"

Compton was posed at first, but said at
last he thousht they were buried in the
churchyard, along with the good ones.

" O indeed I " said she, wiui an air of pily..^
" Pray, have you ever been in the church-
yard, and read the writings on the stones ? **

"No."

" Then I have. I have read every single ''
word ; and there are none but good people
buried ihercy not one." She added, rather
pathetically, "You should not answer me
without thinking, as if things was easy,
instead of so hard. Well, one comfort,
there are not many wicked people here-
abouts; they live in towns; so 1 suppose
they are buried in the garden, poor things,
or put in the water with a stone."

Compton had no more plausible theory
ready, and declined to commit himself to
Ruperta's ; so that topic fell to the ground.

One day he found her perched as usual,
but with her bright little face overclouded.

By this time the intelligent boy was fond
enousrh of her to notice her face.

« What 's the matter, Perta ? "

"Ruperta. The matter? Puzzled again 1
It is very serious this time."

« Tell me, Ruperta."

"No, dear."

" Please."

The younv lady fixed her eyes on lum,
and said, witn a pretty solemnity, " Let us
play at Catechism."

" I don't know that game."

" The governess asks questions, and the
good little boy answers. That 's Catechism.
1 'm the governess."

" Then I 'm the good little boy."

" Yes, dear; and so now look me full in
the face."

140

JL TERBIBtE TEMPTATION.

<* There — you *re rery pretty, Bnperta."

^ Don't be giddy ; I 'm hideous ; bo be-
hnve, and toswer all my questions. O,
I'm so unhappy. Answer me, is yotmg
people, or old people, goodest ? "

<* You should say best, dear. Good, bet-
ter, best. Why, old people, to be sure —
much."

*' So I thought ; and that is why I am so
puzzled. Then your papa and mine are
much betterer — will tnat do ? — than we
are?"

« Of course they are."

<< There he goes 1 Such a child for an-
flwering slap bang I never."

^'I'm^not a child. I'm older than you
are, Ruperta."

"That's a story."

"Well, then, I'm as old; for Mary says
we were born the same day ^- the same
hour — the same minute."

" La I we are twins."

She paused, however, on this discovery,
and soon found reason to doubt her hasty
conclusion. "No such thing," said she:
"they tell me the bells were ringing for
you being found, and then I was found — to
catechism you."

"There, then yon see I am older than
you, Ruperta."

" Yes, dear," said Ruperta, very gravely,
" 1 'm younger in my body, but older in my
head."

This matter being settled, so that neither
party could complun, since antiquity was
evenly distributed, die catechizing recom-
menced.

« Do you believe in * Let dogs delight ' ? "

"I don't know."

" What I " screamed Ruperta. " O you
wicked boy! Why, it eomes next after
Bible."

. ** Then I do believe it," said Compton,
who, to tell the truth, had been merely puz-
zled by the verb, and was not afflicted with
any doubt that the composition referred to
was a divine oracle.

"Good boy!" said Ruperta, patroniz-
^ingly. "Well, then, this is what puzzles
me; your papa and mine don't believe in
*Dog8 delight.' They have been quarrel-
fing this twelve years and more, and mean
to go on, in spite of mamma. She is good.
Did n't you know that your pi^ and mine
are great enemies ? "

" No, Ruperta. O, what a pity ! "

" Don't, Compton, don't : there, you have
made me cry."

He set himself to console her.

She consented to be consoled.

But she said, with a sigh, " What becomes
of old people being better than young ones,
now ? Are you and I bears and lions ? Do
we scratch out each other's eyes ? It is all
puzzle, puzzle, puzzle. I wish I was dead I

Nurse says, when I *m dead I shall under-
stand it all. But I don't know ; I saw a
dsad cat once, and she did n't seem to know
as much as before ; puzzle, puzzle. Comp-
ton, do you think they are puzzled in
heaven ? "

"No."

" Then the sooner we both go there, the
better."

" Yes, but not just now."

"Why not?"

" Because of the cowslips."

« Here 's a boy ! What, would you rath-
er be among the cowslips than the angels ?
and think of the diamonds and pearls that
heaven is paved with."

" But you might n't be there."

"What! Am I a wicked girl, then, —
wickeder than you, that is a boy ? "

" O no, no» no ; but see how big it is tip
there " ; they cast their eyes up, and, taking
the blue vault for creation, were impressed
with its immensity. " I know where to find
you here, but up there you might be ever so
far off me."

"La! so I might. Well, then, we had
better keep quiet I suppose we shall get
wiser as we get older. But, Compton,
I 'm so sorry your papa and mine are bears
and lions. Why does n't the clergyman
scold them ? "

"Nobody dare scold my papa," said
Compton, proudly. Then, after reflection,
" Perhaps, when we are older, we may per-
suade them to make friends. I think it is
very stupid to quarrel ; don't you ? "

" As stupid as an owl."

"You and I had a quarrel once, Ruperta.**

" Yes, you misbehaved."

" No, no ; you were cross."

" Story ! Well, never mind : we did
quarrel. And you were miserable directly."

"Not so very," said ComptOn, tossing
his head.

"I was, then," said Ruperta, with un-
guarded candor.

"So was I."

" Good boy ! Kiss me, dear."

" There — and there — and there — >
and — "

"That will do. Iwanttotalk, Comp-
ton."

"Yes, dear."

"I 'm not very sure, but I rather think,
I 'm in love with you, — a little, little bit,
you know."

"And I'm sure I'm in love with you,
Ruperta."

" Over head an' ears ? "

"Yes."

" Then I love you to distraction. Both-
er the gate. If it was n'tfi>r that^ I could
run in the meadow with you : and maiiy
you perhaps, and so gather cowslips togetkr
er foy ever and ever."

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

"Let US open it"

"YoucaaV

« Let U8 try." • %

** I have. It won't be opened."

"het me try. Some gates want to be
lifted up a little, and then they will open.
Hiere, 1 told you so."

The gate came open.

Ruperta uttered an exclamation of de-
light, and then drew back.

<<I 'm afraid, Compton," said she, <'papa
would be angry."

She wanted Compton to tempt her; but
that younv gentleman, having a strong
sense of fiual duty, omitted so to do.

When she saw he would not persuade
her, she dispensed. ''Come along," said
she, " if it is only for five minutes."

She took his hand, and away the;^ scam-
pered. He showed her the cowsups, the
violets, and all the treasures of the mead-
ow ; but it was all hurry, and skurry, and
excitement; no time to look at anything
above half a minute, for fear of being found
out ; and so, at last, back to the gate, beam-
ing with stolen pleasure, glowing and spark-
ling with heat and excitement.

The cunning thing made him replace the
gate, and then, after sayin^ she must go for
about an hour, marched demurely b»:k to
the house.

After one or two of these hasty trips, im-
punity gave her a sense of security, and, the
weather getting warm, she used to sit in
the meadow with her beau and weave
wreaths of cowslips, and place them in her
black hair, and for Compton she made coro-
netsof bluebells, and adorned his golden head.

And, sometimes, for a little while, she
would nestle close to him, and lean her
head, with all the feminine grace of a ma-
ture woman, on his shoulder.

Said she, " A boy's shoulder does very nice
for a girl to put her nose on."

One d^ the aspiring girl asked him what
was that forest.

" That is Bassett's wood."

^ I will go there with you some day, when
papa is out."

" I 'm afraid that is too far for you," said
Compton.

*• Nothing is too far for me," replied the
ardent girl. « Why, how far is it? "

" Jkfore than half a mile."

«Is it very big?"

"Immense."

" Belong to the Queen ? "

"No, to papa."

" Oh I "

And here my reader may well a& what
was Lady Bassett about, or did Compton,
with all his excellent teaching, conceal all
this from his mother and his mend.

On the contrary, he went openmouthed to
Jierand told her he had seen such a pretty

little girl, and gave her a brief account of
their conversation.

Lady Bassett was startled at first and
greatly perplexed. She told him he must
on no account go to her ; if he spoke to her,
it must be on papa's ground. She even made
him pledge his honor to that.

More than that she did not like to say.
She thought it unnecessary and undesirable
to transmit to another generation the un-
happy feud by which she had suffered so
much, and was even then suffering. More-
over, she was as much afraid of Richard
Bassett as eyer. If he chose to tell his girl
not to speak to Compton, he might. She
was resolved not to fo out of her way to
affront him, through his daughter. Besides,
that might wound Mrs. Bassett, if it got
round to her ears ; and, although she haSL
never spoken to Mrs. Bassett, yet their eyes
had met in church, and always with a pa-
cific expression. Indeed, Lady Bassett ielt
sure she had read in that meek woman's
face a regret that they were not friends, and
coidd not be firiends, because of their hus-
bands. Lady Bassett, then, for these rea-
sons, would not forbid Compton to be kind
to Ruperta in moderation.

Whether she would have remained as
neutral had she known how far these young
things were going, is quite another matter ;
but Compton's narratives to her were, natu-
rally enough, very tame compared Tvith the
reality, and she never dreamed that two
seven-year-olds could form an attachment
so warm as these little plagues were do-
ing.

And, to conclude, about the time when
Mr. Compton first opened the gate for his
inamorata, Lady Bassett's mind was divert-
ed, in some degree, even from her beloved
boy Compton, by a new trouble, and a host
of passions it excited in her own heart.

A thunder-clap fell on Sir Charles Bas«
sett, in the form of a letter from Reginald's
tutor, informing him that Reginald and an-
other lad had been caught wiring hares in
a wood at some distance, and were now in
custody.

Sir Charles mounted his horse, and rode
to the place, leaving Lady Bassett a prey to
great anxiety and bitter remorse.

Sir Charles came back in two days, with
the galling news that his son and heir was in
prison for a month, all his exertions having
only prevailed to get the case summarily
demtwith.

Reginald's companion, a young gypsy,
aged seventeen, had got three months, it
being assumed that he was the tempter:
the reverse was the case though.

When Sir Charles told Lady Bassett all
this, with a face of agony, and a broken
voice, her heart almost burst: she threw
every other eonsid^alion to the winds.

142

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATIOK^

« Charles,'' she cried, *« I can't bear ii.>i
can't see your heart wrung any moBt, and
your affect ioBS blighted. Tear that young
viper out of your breast : don't go on wast-
isg your heart's blood on a stranger ; he ib

NOT YOUa BON."

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND.

At this monstrous declaration, from the
very lips of the man's wife, there was a dead
fcilence, Sir Charles being struck dumb, and
Lady Bassett herself terrified at the sound
of the Words she had uttered.

After a terrible pause, Sir Charles fixed
his eyes on her, with an awful look, and said,
very slowly ** Will — you — have — the —
goodness — to — say that again? but first
uiink what you are saving."
. This made Lady Bassett shake in every
limb; indeed the very flesh of her body
quivered. Yet she persisted, but in a tone
that, of itself, showed how fast her courage
was oozing. She faltered out, almost in-
audibly, '* I say you must waste no more
love on him — he is not your son."

Sir Charles looked at her to see if she
was in her senses : it was not the first time
he had suspected her of being deranged on
this one subject. But no : she was pale as
death, she was cringing, wincing, quivering,
and her eyes roving to and fro ; a picture not
of frenzy, but of guilt unhardened.

He began to tremble in his turn, and was
so horror-stricken and agitated that he could
hardly speak. '< Am I dreaming ? " he
gasped.

Lady Bassett saw the storm she had raised,
and would have given the world to recall her
words.

« WhoFc'ishe, then ? " asked Sir Charles,
in a voice scarcely human.

"I dqp*t know," said Lady Bassett.
dogffedly.

"Then how dare you say that he is n't
mine?"

*^ Elill me, Charles," cried she, passion-
ately ; " but don't look at me so, and speak
to me so. Why I say he is not vours, is he
like you, either in face or mind ? "

" And he is like — whom ? "

Lady Bassett had lost all her courage by
Ihis time : she whimpered out, " Like no-
body except the gypsies."

" Bella, this is a subject which will part
you and me for life unless we can agree upon
it—"

No reply, in words, fi^m Lady Bassett.

*< So please let us understand each other.
Your son is not my son. Is that what you
look me in the face and tell me ? "

" Charles, I never said that. How could

e be my son, and not be yours ? "

And she raised her eyes, and looked him
fiill in the face : no fear nor cringing now :
thAroilian was majestic.

Sir Charles was a little alarmed in his
turn ; for his wife's soft eyes flamed battle
for the first time in her life.

" Now, you talk sense," said he ; " if he is
yours, he is mine ; and, as he is certainljr
yours, this is a very foolish conversation,
which must not be renewed, otherwise — "

'*! shall be insulted by my own hu»-
band?"

" I think it very probable. And, as I do
not choose you to be insulted, nor to think
yourself insulted, I forbid you ever to recur
to this subject."

" I will obev, Charles ; but let me say one
word first. When I was alone in London,
and hardly sensible, might not this child
have been imposed upon me and you ? I 'm
sure he was."
• "By whom?"

"How can I tell? — I was alone — that
woman in the house had a bad face -— the
gypsies do these things, I 've heard."

" The gypsies And why not the fairies ? **
said Sir Charles, contemptuously.' " Is that
all you have to suggest — before we close
the subject forever r "

" Yes,'' said Lady Bassett, sorrowfully. " I
see you take me for a mad woman ; but time
will show. O, that I could persuade yoa
to detach your affections from that boy][ —
he will break your heart else, — and rest
them on the children that resemble us la
mind and features."

" These partialities are allowed to moth-
ers ; but a father must be just. Reginald is
my first-born ; he came to me from Heaven
at a time when I was under a bitter trial,
and firom the day he was bom till this day
I have been a happy man. It is not often a
father owes so much to a son as I do to my
darling boy. He is dear to my heart in
spite of his faults ; and now I pity him, as
well as love him, since it seems he has only
one parent, poor little fellow."

Lady Bassett opened her mouth to reply,
but could not. She raised her hand s in mute
despair, then quietly covered her face with
them, and soon the tears trickled through
her white fingers.

Sir Charles looked at her, and was touched
at her silent grief.

" My darling wife," said he, « I think this
is the only thing you and I cannot a^ree
upon. Why not be wise as well as lovmg,
and avoid it"

" I will never seek it again," sobbed Lady
Bassett " But, O," she cried, with sudden
wildness, " something tells roe it will meet
me, and follow me, and rob me of my hus^
band. Well, when that day comes, I shall
know how to die."

And with this she burst away firom him.

A TEBRIBX.E TEMPTATION.

143

like some creature who has been stung past
endurance.

Sir Charles often meditated on this stra#ge
scene : turn it how he could, he came back
to the same conclusion, that she must have
an hallucination on this subject. He said
to himself, ** If Bella really believed the boy
was a changeling, she would act upon her
conviction, she would urge me to take some
steps to recover our true child, whom the
gypsies or the fairies have taken, and given
us poor dear Reginald instead."

Jaut still the conversation, and her strange
looks of terror, lay dormant in his mind ;
both were too remarkable to be ever forgot-
ten. Such things lie like certain seeds,
awaiting only fresh accidents to spring into
life.

The month rolled away, and the day came
for Reginald's liberation. A dog-cart was
sent for him, and the heir of the Bassett's
emerged from a county jail, and uttered a
"vdioop of delight ; he insisted on driving,
and went home at a rattling pace.

He was in high spirits tUl he ^t in sight
of Huntercombe Hall ; and then it suddenly
occurred to his mercurial mind that he
should probably not be received with an
ovation, petty larceny being a novelty in that
ancient house whose representative he was.

When he did get there, he found the whole
family in such a state of commotion that his
return was hardly noticed at all.

Master Compton's dinner hour was two
p. H., and yet, at three o'clock ot this day,
he did not come in.

This was reported to Lady Bassett, and
it gave her some little anxiety ; for she sus-
pected he might possibly be in the company
of Ruperta Bassett ; and, although she did
not herself much object to that, she object-
ed very much to have it talked about and
made a fuss. So she went herself to the
end of the lawn, and out into the meadow,
that a servant mi^ht not find the young
people together, if ner suspicion was correct

She went into the meadow and called
"Comptonl — Compton!" as loud as she
could, but there was no replv.

Then she came, in, and began to be
alarmed, and sent servants about in all di-
rections.

But two hours elapsed, and there were no
tidings. The thing looked serious.

She ^ent out grooms well mounted to
scour the country. One of these fell in
with Sir Charles, who thereupon came
home, and iidund his wife in a pitiable
state. She was sitting in an arm-chair,
trembling and crying hysterically.

She cauorht his hand directly, and
grasped it like a vice.

^ It is Richard Bassett 1 " she cried. ^ He

knows how to wound and loll me. He has
stolen our child."

Sir Charles hurried out, and, soon after
that, Re^nald arrived, and stood awe-
struck at her deplorable condition.

Sir Charles came back heated and anx-
ious, kissed Reginald, told him in three
words his brother was missing, and then in-
formed Lady Bassett that he had learned
something very extraordinary ; Richard Bas-
sett's little girl had also disappeared, and
his people were out, looking after her.

"Ah I they are together," cried Lady
Bassett.

"Together? a son of mine consorting
with that viper's brood I "

** What does that poor child know? O,
find him for me, if you love that dearchild^j
mother I "

Sir Charles harried out directly, but was
met at the door by a servant, who blurted
out, " The men have dragged the fish-ponds^
Sir Charles, and they want to know if they
shall drag the brook."

" Hold your ton^e, idiot," cried Sir
Charles, and thrust him out ; but the wise-
acre had not spoken in vain. Lady Bas-
sett moaned, and went into worse hysterics,
with nobody near her but Reginald.

That worthy, never having seen a lady in
hysterics, and not being hardened at all
points, uttered a sympathetic howl, and flung
his arms round her neck. " Oh I^ oh I oh I
Don't cry, mamma."

Lady Bassett shuddered at his touch, but
did not repel him.

«I 'U find him for you," said the boy, "if
you will leave off crying."

She stared in his face a moment, and
then went on as before.

" Mamma 1 " said he, getting impatient,
" do listen to me. I '11 find him easy
enough, if you will only listen."

" You ! — you I " and she stared wildly
at him.

" Ay, I know a sight more than the fools
about here. I 'm a poacher. Just you put
me on to his track. I '11 soon run into him,
if he is above ground."

« A child like you ! " cried Lady Bas-
sett, " how can you do that ? " and she be-
gan to wring her hands a^ain.

" I 'II show you," said the boy, getting
very impatient, "if you will just leave off
crying like a great baby, and come to any
place you like where he has been to-day and
left a mark."

" Ah 1 " cried Lady Bassett
."I 'm a poacher," repeated Reginald,
quite proudly ; " you forget that"

" Come witli me," cried Lady Bassett,
starting up.

She whipped on her bonnet, and ran with "
him down the lawn.

" There, Reginald," said she, panting, "I

144

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

think 1117 darling was here this afternoon ;
yesy yes, he mu8t ; for he had a key of the
door, and it is open/'

<< All right," said Reginald ; '< come into
the field."

He ran siboat, like a dog hunting, and
soon found marks among the cowslips.

<< Somebody has been gathering a nose-
&,y here to-day," said he ; '< now, mamma,
Siere 's only two. ways out of this field, let
us go straight to that gate ; that is the like-
liest."

Near the sate was some clay, and Regi-
nald showed ner several prints of small feet.

<< Look," said he, << here 's the track of
two, — one 's a gal ; how I know, here 's a
sole to this shoe no wider nor a knife.
Come on."

In the next field he was bafiied fi>r along
time; but at last he found a place in a
dead hedge, where they had gone through.

^ See," said he, '* these twigs are fresh
broken, and here 's a bit of the gal's frock.
Ohl won't she catch it?"

" O you brave, clever boy ! " cried Lady
Bassett

" Come on ! " shouted the urchin.

He hunted like a beagle, and saw like a
bird, with his savage glittering eye. He
was .on fire witli the lurdor of the chase ;
and, not to dwell too lonv on what has been
so often and so well wntten by others, in
about an hour and a half he bronsht the
anxious, palpitating, but now hopeful moth-
er, to the neighborhood of Bassett's wood.
Here he trusted to his own instinct.. ** They
have gone into the wood," said he, '< and I
don't blame 'em. I found my way here long
before his age. I say, don't you tell ; I 've
snared plenty of the Grovemor's hares in
that woQd."

He got to the edge of the wood and ran
down me side. At last he found the marks
of small feet on a low bank, and, darting
over it, discovered the fainter traces on some
dectnring leaves inside the wood.

" There," said he ; *< now it is just as if
you had got them in your pocket, far they '11
never find their way out of this wood.
Bless youi: heart, why, / used to get lost in it
at first."

<< Lost in the wood ! " cried Lady Bassett,
^' but he will die of fear, or be eaten by wild
beasts ; and it is getting so dark."

<' What about that ? Night or day is all
one to me. What will you give me, if I find
him before midnight ? "

<< Anything I 've got in the worid."

** Give me a sovereign ? "

<< A thousand I"

"Give me a kiss?"

« A hundred "

" Then I '11 tell you what 1 11 do, — I don't
mind a little trouble, to stop your crying,
mamma, because yott are the right sort, —

1 11 eet the village out, and we will tread the
wood, with torches slu* all for them as can't
see by night; I can see all one; and you
shall have your kid home to supper, x on
see there 's 1 heavy dew, and he is not like
me that would rather sleep in this wood
than the best bed in London city ; a night
in a wood would about settle his hash. So
here goes. I can run a mile in six minutes
and a half."

With these word?, the strange boy was
off like an arrow fix)m a bow.

Lady Bassett, exhausted by anxiety and
excitement, was glad to sit down; her
trembling heart would not let her leave the
place, that she nowbe^an to hope contained
ner child. She sat down and waited pa-
tiently.

The sun set, the moon rose, the stars gli^
tered; the infinite leaves stood out dark and
solid as if cut out of black marble ; all was
dismal silence and dread suspense to the
solitary watcher.

Yet the lady of Huntercombe Hall sat
on, sick at heart, but patient, beneath that
solemn sky.

She shuddered a little as the cold dews
gathered on her, for she was a woman
nursed in Luxury's lap; but she never
moved.

The silence was dismal. Had that wild boy
forgotten his promise, or were there no pa-
rents in thb village, that their feet lagged so ?

It was nearly ten o*clock, when her keen
ears, strained to the utmost, discovered a
faint buzzing of voices; but where she
could not tell.

The sounds increased, and increased, and
then there was a temporary silence ; and af*
ter that a faint halloing in the wood to her
right. The wood was five hundred acres,
and the bulk of it lay in front and to her left.

The halloing got louder and louder; the
whole wood seemed to echo; her heart beat
high ; lights glimmered nearer and nearer,
hares and rabbits pattered by, and startled
her, aud pheasants thundered off their
roosts with aft incredible noise, owls flitted,
and bats innumerable, disturbed and ter-
rified by the glaring lights and loud resound-
ing hallos. ^ ^

i^earer, nearer came the sounds, till at
last a line of men and boys, full fifty, carry-
ing torches and lanterns, came up, and
lighted up the dew-^pangled leaves, and
made the mother's heart leap with joyful
hope at succor so powerful.

O, she could have kissed the stout village
blacksmith, whose deep sonorous lungs rang
close to her. Never had any man's voice
sounded to her so like a god's, as this stout
blacksmith's << hilloop I hilloopl" close and
loud in her ear, and those at the end of the
line halloed <fhilloH>pl hilloK>pi" like an

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

145

echo; and so they passed on, through bush
and brier, till their voices died away in the
distance.

A boy detached himself from the line,
and ran to Lady Bassett, with a travelling-
rug. It was Reginald.

*^ Tou put on this," said he. He shook
it, and standing on tip-toe, pat it over her
shoulders.

« Thank you, dear," said she. " Where
is papa?"

<< O, he is in the line, and the Highmoro
swell and all."

«< Mr. Richard Bassett I "

" Ay, his kid is out on the loose, as well
as ours."

« O Reginald, if they should quarrel ! "

« Why, our governor can lick Aim, can 't
he?"

CHAPTEB THE THIRTY-THIRD.

** O, don't talk so. I would n't for all
the world they should quarrel."

'< Well, we have got enough fellows to
part them, if they do."

<<Dear Reginald, you have been so good
to me, and you are so clever ; speak to some
of the men, and let there be no more quar-
relling between papa and that man."

« Ml right," said the boy.

*' On second thoughts, take me to papa;
I '11 be by his side, and then they can-
not."

^ You want to walk through the wood ?
that is a good joke. Why, it is like walk-
ing through a river, and the young wood
slapping your eyes, for vou can't see every
twig bv this light, and the leaves sponging
your face and shoulders; and the briers
would soon strip your eown into ribbons,
and make your little ankles bleed. No, yon
are a lady ; you st^ where you are, and let
us men work it. We sha' n't find him yet
awhile. I must get near the Grovemor,
When we find my lord, I '11 give a whistle
you could hear a mile off.''

*^ O Reginald, are you sure he is in the
wood?"

" I 'd bet my head to a chany orange.
Yon might as well ask me, when I track a
badger to his hole, and no signs of his go<
ing out again, whether old long-claws is
there. I wish I was as sure of never going
. back to sdiool as I am of finding that little
lot. The only thing I don't like, is the
ag muff's not giving us a hallo back.
, any way, I 'U find 'em, alive ifr dead"

And, with this pleasing assurance, the
little imp scudded off, leaving the mother
glued to the spot with terror*

For full an hour more the torches
■ gleamed, though fiunter and fiunter, and so

full was the wood of echoes, that the voices,
though distant, seemed to hallo all round
the agonized mother.

But presently there was a continuous yell,
quite different from the isolated shouts, a
distant but unmistakable howl of victory
that made a bolt of ice shoot down her back,
and then her heart to glow like fire.

It was followed by a keen whistle.

She fell on her knees and thanked God
for her boy.

In the middle of this wood was a shallow
excavation, an old chalk -pit, nnuEed for
many years. It was never deep, and had
been half filled up with dead leaves : these,
once blown into the hollow, or dropped fiK)m
the trees, had accumulated.

The very middle of the line struck on this
place, and Moss, the old keeper, who was
near the centre, had no sooner cast his eyes
into it than he halted, and uttered a stento-
rian hdlo well known to sportsmen, — ^* Seb
— HO I"

A dead halt, a low murmur, and, in a
very few seconds, the line was a circle, and
aU the torches, that had not expired, held
high in a flaming ring, over the prettiest
little sight that wood hid ever presented.

The old keeper had not given tongue on
conjecture, like some youthful hound. In a
little hollow of leaves, which the boy had
scraped out, lay Master Compton and Miss
Ruperta, on their little backs, each with an
arm round the other's neck, enjoying the
sweet sound sleep of infancy, which neither
the horror of their situation — Babes in the
wood — nor the shouts of fifty people had
in the smallest degree disturbed ; to be sure
they had undergone great fatigue.

X oung Master wore a coronet of blue-
bells on his golden head: young Miss a
wreath of cowslips on her ebon lo^s. The
pair were flowers, cherubs, children, every-
thing that stands for young, tender, and
love^r.

The honest villa^rs gaped, and roared in
chorus, and held nigh their torches, and
gazed with reverential delight. Not for them
was it to finger the little gentlefolks, but
only to devour them with admiring eyes.

indeed, the picture was carried home to
many an humble hearth, and is spoken of
to this day in Huntercombe village.

But the pale and anxious fathers were in
no state to see pictures ; they only saw their
children; Sir Charles and Richard Bassett
came round with the general rush, saw, and
dashed into the pit.

Strange to say, neither knew the other
was there : eaeh seized his child, and tore
it awav from the contact of the other child,
as if from a viper; in which natural but
harsh act they saw each other for the first

TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

time, and their eyes gleamed in a moment
-with hate and defiance, over their loving
children.

Here was a pictqre of a different kind, and,
if the melancholy Jaaues, or any other gen-
tleman with a foible for thinking in a wood,
had been there, methinks he hi^ moralized
very prettily on the hideousness of hate and
the beauty of the sentiment it had inter-
rupted so fiercely. But it escaped this sort
of comment for about eight years. Well,
all this woke the bairns ; the lights dazzled
them, the people scared them. Each hid a
little face on the paternal shoulder.

The fathers, like wild beasts, each carry-
ing off a lamb, withdrew, glaring at each
other ; but the very next moment the strong-
er and better sen^ent prevailed, and they

kissed and blessed their restored treasures,
and forgot their enemies for a time.

Sir Charles's party followed him, and
supped at Huntercombe, every man Jack of
them.

Besinald, who had delivered a terrific
cat-call, now ran off to Lady Bassett. There
she was, still on her knees. *<Ft)undl
found 1 " he shouted.

She clasped him in her arms and wept
for joy.

" My eyes I " said he, " what a one you
are to cry I You come home : you '11 catch
your death o' cold."

" No, no ; take me to my child at once."

" Can't be done ; the Governor has car*-
ried him off through the wood ; and I ain't
a going to let you travel the woo4« You

A TEREIBLE TEMPTATION.

147

come with me; we 11 go the short cut, and
be home as soon as them."

She complied, though trembling all over^

On the way he told her where the chil-
dren had been discovered, and in what atti-
tude.

" Little darling I " said she. " But he
has frightened his poor mother, and nearly
broken her heart. Oh "

" If you cry any more, mamma — Shut
up, 1 tell you."

^'MustU Oh!"

" Yes, or you '11 catch pepper."
, Then he pulled her alon^, gabbling all
the time. ** Those two swells did n't quar-
rel, after all, you see."

« Thank Heaven I "

<< But they looked at each other like hobe-
lixes, and pulled the kids away like pison.
Ha, ha 1 1 say, the voung 'uns ain't of the
same ndnd as the old 'nns. I sav, though,
our Compton is not a bad sort ; I m blowed
if he had n't taken off his tippet to put round
his gal. I say, don't you think that little
chap has begun rather early? Why, / did
n't trouble my head about the gals tul I was
eleven years old."

Lady Bassett was too much agitated to
discuss these delicate little questions just
then.

. She replied as irrelevantly as ever a lady
did. "O you good, brave, clever boy!"
said she.

Then she stopped a moment to kiss him
heartily. <' I shall never forget this night,
dear. I shall always make excuses for you.
O, shall we never get home? "

<< We shall be home a^ soon as they will,"
said Reginald. << Come on."

He gabbled to her the whole way; but
the reiKler has probably had enough of his
mill-clack.

Lady Bassett reached home, and had just
ordered a large fire in Compton's bedroom,
when Sir Charles came in, bringing the
boy.

The lady ran out screaming, and went
down on her knees, with her arms out, as
only a mother can stretch them to her child.

There was not a word of scolding that
night. He had made her suffer ; but what
of that? She had no egotism; she was a
true mother. Her boy had been lost, and
was found ; and she was the happiest soul
in creation.

But the fathers of these Babes in the wood
were both intensely mortified, and took meas-
ures to keep those little lovers apart in fu-
ture. Richanl Bassett locked up his gate :
Sir Charles padlocked his ; and they Doth
told their wives they really must be more
vigilant.

The poor children, being in disgrace, did
not venture to remonstrate. But they used
often to think of eaeh other, and took a

liking to the British Sunday ; for then they
saw each other in church.

By and by even that consolation ceased.
Ruperta was sent to school, and passed her
holidays at the searside.

To return to Reginald, he was compelled
to change his clothes that evening, but was
allowed to sit up, and, when the heads of the
house were a little calmer, became the hero
of the night

Sir Charles, gazing on him with parental
pride, said, <<£^ginald, you have be^un a
new life to-day, and begun it well. Let us
forget the past, and start iresh to-day, with
the love and gratitude of both your parents."

The boy hung his head, ana said nothing
in reply.

Lauiy Bassett came to his assistance.
" He will : he will. Don't say a word
about the past. He is a good, brave,
beautifol bov; and I adore him."

<< And I like you, mamma," said Retgi-
nald, graciouslv.

From that day, the boy had a champion
in Lady Bassett : and. Heaven knows, she
had no sinecure; poor Reginald's virtues
were too eccentric to balance his faults for
long together. Bis parents could not have
a child lost in a wood every day ; but good
taste and propriety can be offended every
hour, • when one is so young, active, and
lavage, as Master Reginald.

He was up at five, and doing wrong all
day.

Hours in the stables, leamii^ to talk
horsey, and smell dunghilly.

Hours in the village — gossiping and
romping.

In g(x>d company, an owl.

In bad, or low, company, a crickety a
nidktingale, a magpie.

He was seen at a neighboring fair, play-
ing the fiddle in a booth to dancing yokels,
and receiving their pence.

He was caught by Moss wiring hares in
Bassett's wood, within twenty ysmls of the
place where he had found the Babes in the
wood so nobly.

Remonstrated with tenderly and solemn-
ly, he informed Sir Charles that poaching
was a thing he could not live without, and
he modestly asked to have Bassett's wood
given him to poach in, offering, as a con-
sideration, to keep all other poachers out :
as a greater inducement he represented that
he should not require a house, but only a
coarse sheet to stretch across an old saw-
pit, and a pair of bluikets for winter use ;
one under; one over.

Sir Charles was often sad, sometimes
indignant.

Lady Bassett excused each enormity with
pathetic ingenuihr; excused, bat simered,
and indeed pined visibly, fyr all this time

148

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

he was tormenting her as few women in her
position have been tormented. Her life was
a struggle of contesting emotions ; she was
wounded, harassed, perplexed, and so miser^
able, she would have welcomed Death, that
her husband might read that Manuscript,
and cease to suffer, and she escape the
diame of confessing, and of living aner it.

In one word she was expiating.

Neither the excuses she made, nor the
misery she suffered, escaped Sir Charles.

He said to her at last, *' My own Bella,
this unhappy boy is killing you. Dear as
he is to me, you are dearer. I must send
him away again."

'< He saved our darling," said she, faintly ;
but she could say no more. He had ex-
hausted excuse.

Sir Charles made inquiries everywhere,
and, at last^ his attention was drawn to the
following advertisement in the Times —

U' NMANAGEABLE, Backward, or other BOYS, care-
fully TRAINED and m>UCATED, by a married
rector. Homo comforts. Moderate terms. Address Dr.
Beecher, Fennymore, Cambrldgesblre.

He wrote to this gentleman, and the
correspondence was encoura^g. " These
scapegraces," said the artist in tuition, <* are
like crab^trees; abominable till you graft
them, and then they bear the best*iruit/'

Wbjle the letters were passing, came a
climax. Reckless Reginald could keep no
boimds intact : his inward definition of a
boundary was ^'a thing you should go a
good way out of your way rather than not
overleap."

Accordingly he was often on Highmore
farm at night, and even in Highmore gar-
den ; the boundary wall tempted him so.

One light, but windy night, when every-
body that could put his head under cover,
and keep it there, did, reckless Reginald
was out enjoying the fresh breezes; he
mounted the boundary wall of Highmore
like a cat, to see what amusement might
offer. Thus perched, he speedily discovered
a bright light in Highmore dining-room.

He dropped from the wall directly, and
Biole softly over the grass, and peered in at
the window.

He saw a table with a powerftd lamp on
it : on that table, and gleaming in that light,
were several silver vessels of rare size and
workmanship: and Mr. Bassett, with his
coat off, and a green baize apron on, was
cleaning one of these with brush and leather.
He had already cleaned the others, for they
glittered prodigiously.

Reginald's black eye gloated and glittered
at this unexpected display of weaUh in so
dazzling a form.

But this was nothing to the revelation in
store. When Mr. Bassett had done with
that piece of plate, he went to the panelled
wall, and opened a door so nicely adapted
o the panels, that a stranger would hardly

have discovered it Yet it was an enop-
mous door, and, being opened, revealed a
still larger closet, lined with green velvet,
and fitted with shelves from fi<x>r to ceiling.
Here shone, in all their elory, the old

Elate of two good families : t£at is to say,
alf the old plate of the Bassetts, and all
the old plate of the Goodwvns, from whom
came Highmore to Richard Bassett through
his mother Ruperta Groodwyn, so named
after her grandmother so named after her
aunt; so named after her godmother; so
named after her father, Prince Rupert, cava*
lier, chemist, glass-blower, eto. ete.

The wall seemed ablaze with suns and
moons, for many of the chased goblets, plates,
and dishes, were silver-gilt : none of your
filmy electro-plate, but gold laid on thick,
by ^e old mercurial process, in days when
they that wrought in precious metals were
honest — for want of knowing how to cheat.

Glued to the pane, gloating on this con-
stellation of gold suns and silver moons, and
trembling with Bohemian excitement, reck-
less Reginald heard not a stealthy step upon
the grass behind him.

I& had trusted to a fact in optics, forget-
ting the doctrine of shadows.

The Scoteh servant saw from a pantry-
window the shadow of a cap projected on
the grass, with a face, and part of a body.
She stepped out, and got upon the grass.

Finding it was only a boy, she was brave,
as well as cunning ; and, owing to the wind,
and his absorption, stole on him unheard,
and pinned him with her strong hands by
both his shoulders.

Young Hopeful uttered a screech of dis-
may, and administered a back kick that
made Jessie limp for two days, and scream
very lustily for the present.

Mr. Bassett, at this dialogue of yell%
dropped a coffee-pot with a crash and a
tinkle, and ran out directly, and secured
young Hopefiil, who thereupon began to
quake and remonstrate.

<<I was only taking a look," said he;
« where 's the harm of that ? "

" You were trespassing, sir," said Rich-
ard Bassett.

« What is the harm of that. Governor ?
You can come all over our place, for what
I care."

" Thank you. I prefer to keep to my own
place."

" Well, I don't. I say, old chap, don't bit
me. 'T was I put 'em all on the scent of
your kid, you know." >*

<< So I have heard. Well, then, this makes
us quits."

«l>on't it? You ain't such a bad sort^
after all."

" Only mind, Mr. Bassett, if I cateh you
prying here again, that will be a fresh ao-
count, and I shill open it with a horsewhip."

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

149

He then gave liim a little pnsh, and the
boy fled like the wind. When he was gone
lUchard Bassett became rather uneasy. He
had hitherto concealed, even from his own
family, the great wealth his humble home
contained. His secret was now public.
Repaid had no end of low companions.
If burglars got scent of this, it might be
very awkward. At last he hit upon a de-
fence. He got one of those hooks ending
in a screw, which are used for pictures, ana
screwed it into the inside of the cupboard
door near the top. To this he fastened a
long piece of catgut, and carried it through
the floor. His bed was just above the cup-
board door, and he attached the gut to a
bell by his bedside. By this means nobody
could open that cuplxMurd without ringing
in his ears.

Jessie told Tom, Tom told Maria and
Harriet; Harriet and Maria told Every-
body; Somebody told Sir Charles. He
was deeply mortified.

^ You young idiot 1 " said he ; " would
nothing less Sian this serve your turn?
must you go and lower me and yourself by
giving just offence to my one enemy? — the
man I hate and despise, and who is always
on the watch to injure or afiront me. On!
who would be a rather ! There, pack up
your things: you will go to school next
morning at eid^t o'clock."

Mr. Regin^d packed accordingly; but
that did not occupy lon^ ; so he salhed forth,
and, taking for granted that it was Richard
' Bassett who had been so mean as to tell, he
purchased some paint and brushes and a
rope, and languished until midnight.

But when that ma^c hour came he was
brisk as a bee ; let mmself down from his
T'eranda, and stole to Richard Bassett's
front door, and inscribed thereon, in large
and glaring letters, —

"JsRRT Sneak, Esq.,
TeU-Tale Tit:*

He then returned home much calmed and
eomforted, climbed up his rope and into his
room, and there slept sweetly, as one who
bad discharged his duty to his neighbcnr and
society in general.

In the morning, hpwever, he was very ac-
tive, hurried the grooms, and was off before
the appointed time.

Sir Charles came down to breakfast, and
lo ! young Hopeful gone, without the awk-
ward ceremony of leave-taking.

Sk Charles found, as usual, many delica-
cies on his table, and amongst ihem one rarer
to him than ortolan, pin-tsul, or wUd turkey
(in which last my soul delights); for he
found a letter from Richard Bassett, Esq.

'' Sib, -» Last night we caught your successor
tfuU is to he at my dining-room window, prying

into my private affairs, Having ike honor of our
family at hearty £ was about to administer a little
wholesome correction, when he reminded me he had
been instrumental in tracking Miss Bassett, and
thereby rescuing her: upon this I was, naturally,
mollified, and sent him about his business, hoping to
have seen the last of him at Highmore.

" This morning my door is covered with oppro^
brious epithets, and, as Mr. Bassett bought paint
and brushes at the shop yesterday afternoon, it is
doubtless to him I am indebted fttr them,

" I make no comments ; / simpli' record thefticts,
and put them down to your credit, and your son's.
" Your obedient Servant,

''Richard Bassbtt."

Lad^ Bassett did not come down to
breakfast that mominp ; so Sir Charles di-
gested this dish in solitude.

He was furious with Reginald; but, as
^chard Bassett's remonstrance was intend-
ed to insult him, he wrote back as follows :

" SiB, — lam deeply grieved that a son of mine
should descend to look in at your windows, or to
write anything^ whatever upon your door; and 1
wiU take care it shall never recur.

" Yours obediently,
"Charles Dykb Bassbtt."

This little correspondence was salutarv;
it fanned the coals of hatred between tne
cousins.

Reckless Re^nald soon found he had
cauo^ht a tartar in his new master.

Aat gentleman punished him severely
for every breach of discipline. The study
was a cool dark room, with one window
lookinz north, and that window barred.
Here he locked up the erratic youth for
hours at a time, upon the slightest esca-
pade.

Reginald wrote a honeyed letter to Sir
Charks, bewailing his lot, and praying to
be removed.

Sir Charles replied sternly, and sent him
a copy of Mr. Richard Bassett*s letter. He
wrote to Mr. Beecher at the same time, exy
pressing his full approval.

Thus disciplined, the boy began to change,
he became moody, sullen, silent, and even
sleepy, — * this was the less wonderful, that
he generally escaped at night to a gypsy
camp, and courted a ^psy girl, who was
nearlv as handsome as himself, besides be-
in^ older, and far more knowing.

His tongue went like a mill, and the whole
tribe soon knew all about him, and his par-
ents.

One morning the servants ^t up super-
naturally early, to wash. Mr. Reginald was
detected stealing back to his roost, and re-
ported to the master.

Mr. Beecher had him up directly, locked
him into the study alone ; put the other stu-
dents into the drawing-room ; and erected
ban to his bedroom window.

150

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

A few dajB of this, and lie pned like
a bird in a cage.

A few more, and his gypsy drl came for-
tone-telling to the servants, and wormed out
the troth.

Then she came at night under his window,
and made him a signal. He. told her his
hard case, and told her also a resolution he
had come to. She Informed the tribe. The
tribe consulted. A keen saw was flung up
to him ; in two nights he was through the
bars ; the third he was free, and joined his
sable friends.

They struck their tents, and decamped
with horses, asses, tents, and baggage, and
were many miles away by daybreu, without
troubling turnpikes.

The wyy 1^ not a line behind him, and
Mr. Beeeher half hoped he might come
back; still he sent to the nearest station,
and telegraphed to Huntercombe.

Sir Charles mounted a fleet horie, and
rode off at once into Cambridgeshire. He
set inquiries on foot, and learned that the
boy had been seen consorting with a tribe
of gypsies. He heard, also, tmit these were
rather high gypsies, many of them foreign-
ers ; and that they dealt in horses, and had
a farrier ; and that one or two of the girls
were handsome, and also singers.

Sir Charles telegraphed for detectives
from London: wrote to the Mayors of
towns; advertised, with full description
and large reward, and brought such pres-
sure to Dear upon the Egyptians, that the
band began to fear: they consulted, and
took measures for their own security : none
too soon, for, they being encamped on
Grey's Common in Oxfordshire, Sir Charles
and the rural police rode into the camp, and
demanded young Hopeftil.

They were e(]^ual to tbe occasion: at first
they knew nothing of the matter, and, with
injured innocence, invited a full inspection.

The invitation was accepted.
. Then, all of a sudden, one of the women
affected to be strack with an idea. <<It is
the young gentleman who wanted to join us
in Cambridgeshire.*'

Then all their throats opened at once.
^ Yes, gentleman, there was a lovely young
gentleman wanted to come with us ; but we
would n't have him. What could we do with
him?"

Sir Charles left them under surveillance,
and continued his researches, telegraphing
Lady Bassett twice every day.

A dark stranger came into Huntercombe
village, no longer young, but still a striking
figure : had once, no doubt, been superlar
tively handsome. Even now, his long hair
was black, and his eye could glitter : but
his life had impregnated his noble features
with hardness and meanness; his large

black eye was restless, keen, and servfle:
an excellent figure for a painter though;
born in Spain he was not afraid of color,
had a red cap on his snaky black hair, and
a striped waistcoat.

He inquired for Mr. Meyrick's farm.

He soon found his way thither, and asked
for Mrs. Meyrick.

The female servant who opened the door
ran her eye up and down nim, and said,
brusquely, ^ What do you want with her, my
man Y because she is busy."

** O, she will see me, Miss.'

Softened by the <«Miss," the gurl kughed,
and said, *< What makes you thmk tha^ my
man?" .

'< Give her this. Miss,** said the gypsj^
''and she will come to me."

He held her out a dirty crumpled piece of
paper.

Sally, whose hands were wet firom the
tub, whipped her hand under the comer of
her checkered apron, and so took the note
with a finger and thumb operating through
the linen. By this means she avoided two
evils, — her fingers did not wet the letter,
and the letter did not dirty her fingers.

She took it into the kitchen to her mis-
tress, whose arms were deep in a wash-
tub.

Mrs. Meyrick had played the fine lady at
first starting, and for ^ix months would not
put her hand to anything. But those twin
cajolers of the female heart. Dignity and
Laziness, made her eo utterly wretched*
that she returned to her old habits of work,
only she combined with it the sweets of
domination.

Sally came in, and said, ^ It 's an old
gypsy, which he have brought yon this."

Mrs. Meyrick instantly wiped the soap-
suds firom her brown but shapely arms, and,
whipping a wet hand under her apron, took
the note just as Sally had. It contained
these words only: —

" NuBSB, — The old Bmanee will teJl ym aU
about me. _^^ Reoimald.*'

She had no sooner read it than she took
her sleeves down, and whipped her shawl
ofi* a peg, and pot it on, and took off her
apron, — and all for an old gyp^. No
stranger must take her for anything but
a lady.

Thus embellished in a turn of the hand,
she went hastily to the door.

She and the g^'psv both started at sight
of each other, and Mrs. Meyrick screamed.

" Why, what brings you here, old man ? "
said she, panting. The ^psy answered with
oily sweetness, <<The little gentleman sent
me, my dear. Why, you look like a queen."

«<Hush!" said Mrs. Meyrick. <<Come
in here,"

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION,

151

Slie made the old gypsy sit down, and she
sat close to liim.

" Speak low, Daddy,** said she, "and tell
me all about my boy, my beautiful boy."

The old gypsy told Mrs. Meyrick the
wrongs of Keginald that had driven him
to th^ ; and she fell to crying and lament-
ing, and inveighing against all concerned,
— Schoolmaster, Sir Charles, Lady Bassett,
and the gypsies. Them, the old man de-
fended, and assured her the youn^ gentle-
man was in good hands, and would he made
a little King of, all the more, that Eeturah
had told them there was gypsy blood in him.

Mrs. Meyrick treated £is with loud sc(»*n ;
and then returned to her grief.

When she had indulged that grief for a
long time, she felt a natural desire to quar-
rel with somebody, and she actually put on
her bonnet, and was going to the Hall to give
Lady Bassett a bit of her mind, for she said
that lady had never shown the feelings of a
woman for the lamb.

But she thought better of it, and post-
poned the visit. "I shall be sure to say
something I shall be sorry for after," said
she: so me sat down again, and returned
to her grief.

Nor could she ever shake it off as thorough-
ly as she had done any other trouble in her
life.

Months afler this, she said to Sally, with
a burst of tears, "I never nursed but one,
and I shall never nurse another : and now
he is across the seas."

She kept the old gypsy at the farm; or,
to speak more correctlv, she made the farm
his head-quarters. She assigned him the
only bedroom he would accept viz. a cattle-
shed, open on one side. She used often to
have lum into her room, when she was
alone : she gave him some of her husband's
clothes, and made him wear a decent hat :
by these means she effaced, in some degree,
his nationality, and then she compelled her
servants to caJl him " The foreign Gent."

The foreign Gent was very apt to disap-
pear in fine weather, but rain soon drove
him back to her fireside, and hunger to her
fieshpots.

On the very day the foreign Gent came
to Meyrick's farm, Lady Bassett had a letter
by post from Reginald.

" Dear Mamma, — lam gone with thegypsieSy
across the water, I am sorry to leave you. You
are the right sort : but they tormented me so, with
their books, and their dark rooms. It is very un-
fortunate to be a boy. When I am a man, I shall
be too old to be tormented, and then I will come back.
" Your dutiful Son,

" Reginald."

Lady Bassett telegraphed Sir Charles,
and he returned to Huntercombe, looking
old, sad, and t^orn.

Lady Bassett set herself to comfort and
cheer him, and this was her gentle office for
many a long month.

She was the more fit for it, that her own
health and spirits revived the moment Regi-
nald left the country with his friends the
gypsies ; the color crept back to her cheek,
her spirits revived, and she looked as hand-
some, and almost as young, as when she
married. She tasted tranquillity. Year
after year went by, without any news of
Reginald, and the hope grew that he would
never cross her threshold again, and Comp-
ton be Sir Charles's heir, without any more
trouble.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.

Our story now makes a bold skip. Comp-
ton Bassett was fourteen vears old, a youth
highly cultivated in mind, and trained in
body, but not very tall, and rather effemi-
nate looking, because he was so fair and his
skin so white.

For all that, he was one of the bowlers
in the Woolcombe eleven, whose cricket-
ground was the very meadow in which he
had erst gathered cowslips with Ruperta
Bassett; and he had a canoe, which he car-
ried to adjacent streams, however narrow,
and paddled it with singular skill and vigor.
A neighboring miller, suffering under
drought, was heard to say "There ain*t
water enough to float a duck ; nought can
swim but the dabchicks and Muster Bas-
sett.'*

* He was also a pedestrian, and got his
father to take long walks with him, and leave
the horses to eat their oats in peace.

In these walks young master botanized
and geologized ms own father, and Sir
Charles ^ave him a little politics, history,
and English poetry, in return. He had
a tutor fresh &om Oxford for the clas-
sics.

One day, returning with his father from a
walk, they met a youn^ lady walking
towards them from tne viUage : shewastal^
and a superb brunette.

!Now it was rather a rare thing to see a
lady walking through that village, so both
Sir Charles and his son looked keenly at
her, as she came towards them.

Compton turned crimson, and raised his
hat to her rather awkwardly.

Sir Charles, who did not know the lady
from Eve, saluted her nevertheless, and
with infinite grace ; for Sir Charles, in his
youth, had lived with some of the elite of
French society, and those gentlemen bow
to the person whom their companion bows
to. Sir Charles had imported this excellent
trait of politeness, and always practised it^

152

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

though not die custom in England, the
more the pity.

As soon as the young lady had passed
and was out of heanng, Sir Charles said
to Compton, *' Who is that lovely girl ?
Why, how the boy is blushing I "

« O papa ! "

« Well, what is the matter ? "

** Don't you see ? It is herself, come back
from school.*

<< 1 have no doubt it is herself and not
her sister, but who is herself? "

« Ruperta Bassett."

<< Richard Bassett's daughter I impossible.
That young lady looks seventeen or eigh-
teen years of age."

« xes, but it is Ruperta. There 's no-
body like her. — Papa."

"Well?"

" I suppose I may speak to her now."

"What for?"

" She is so beautiful."

" That she really is. And therefore I ad-
vise you to have nothing to say to her. You
are not children now, you know. Were
you to renew that intimacy, you might be
tempted to fall in love with her. I don't
say you would be so mad, for you are a sen-
sible boy : but still, after that little business
in the wood — "

" But suppose I did fall in love with her ? "

" Then that would be a great misfortune.
Don't you know that her father is my ene-
my ? If you were to make any advances to
that young lady, he would seize the oppor-
tunity to affiront you, and me through you."

This silenced Compton, for he was an
obedient youth.

But in the evening he got to his mother
and coaxed her to take his part.

Now Lady Bassett felt the truth of all her
husband had said ; but she had a positive
wish the young people should be on friendly
terms at all events : she wanted the family-
feud to die with the generation it had af-
flicted. She promised, therefore, to speak
to Sir Charles ; and so great was her influ-
ence that she actually obtained erms for
Compton : he might speak to Miss Bassett,
if he would realize the whole situation, and
be very discreet, and not revive that absurd
familiarity into which their childhood had
been betrayed.

She communicated this to him, and warned
him at the same time that even this conces-
sion had been granted somewhat reluctantly,
and in consideration of his invariable good
conduct; it would be immediately with-
drawn upon the slightest indiscretion.

"O, I will be discretion itself," said
Compton; but the warmth with which he
kissed his mother gave her some doubts.
However, she was prepared to risk some-
thing. She had her own views in this mat-
er.

When he had got this limited permissioii.
Master Compton was not much nearer the
mark ; for he was not to call on the young
lady, and she did not often walk in the vi£
la^.

But he often thought of her, her loving,
sprightly ways seven years ago, and the
blaze of beauty with which she had re-
turned.

At last, one Sunday afternoon, she .came
to church alone. When the congregatioa
dispersed, he followed her, and came up
with her, but his heart beat violently.

" Miss Bassett I " said he, timidly.

She stopped and turned her eyes on him :
he blushed up to the temples. She blushed
too, but not quite so much.

"I am afraid you don't remember me,**
said the boy, sadly.

"Yes I do> sir," sjdd Ruperta, shyly.

" How you are grown ! "

" Yes, sir."

"You are taller than I am; and more
beautiful than ever."

No answer, but a blush.

" You are not angry with me for speak-
ing to you ? "

" No, sir."

" I would n't offend you."

<* I am not offended. Only — "

" O Miss Bassett, of course I know yon
will never be — we shall never be — like we
used."

A very deep blush, and dead silence.

" You are a grown-up young lady, and I
am only a boy still, somehow. But it would
have been hard if I might not even speak to
you. Would it not?"

" Yes," said the young lady, but after some
hesitation, and only in a whisper.

" I wonder where you walk to. I have
never seen you out but once."

No reply to this little feeler.

Then, at last, Compton was discouraged,
partly bv her beauty and size, partly by hep -
taciturmty.

He was silent in return, and so, in a state
of mutual constraint, they reached the gate
Highmore.

" Good by," said Compton, reluctantly.

" Good by."

" Won't you shake hands ? "

She blusned, and put out her hand hal^
way. He took it and shook it, and so they
parted.

Compton said to his mother dlscqnsolately,
" Mamma, it is all over. I have seen her,
and spoken to her: but she haswne off
dreadfully." \

"Why, what is the matter ?" V

" She is all changed. She is so shspid
and dignified got to be. She has noS^ a
word to say to a fellow." ,^

" Perhaps she is more reserved : that il<8
natural. She is a young lady now."

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

153

" Then it is a great pity she did not stay
as she was. O, the bright little darling !
Who 'd think she could ever turn into a
great, stupid, dignified thing? She is as
tall as you, mamma."

<< Indeed! She has made use of her time.
Well, dear, don't take too much notice of
her, and then you will find she will not be
nearly so shy."

« Too much notice ! I shall never speak
to her again — perhaps."

" I would not be violent, one way or the
other. Why not treat her like any other
acquaintance ? "

Next Sunday afternoon she came to
church alone.

In spite of his resolution, Mr. Compton
tried her a second time. Horror I she was
all monosyllables and blushes again.

Compton began to find it too uphill. At
last, when they reached Highmore gate, he
lost his patience, and sud, '* I see how it is.
I have lost my sweet playmate forever.
Grood by, Ruperta; I won't trouble you
any more." And he held out his hand to
the young lady for a final farewell.

Ruperta whipped both her hands behind
her back like a school-girl, and then, recov-
ering her dignity, cast one swift glance of
gentle reproach, then suddenly assuming vast
stateliness, marched into Highmore like the
mother of a family. These three changes
of manner she effected all in less than two
secoi^ds.

Poor Compton went away sorely puzzled
by this female kaleidoscope, bat not a little
alarmed and concerned at having mortally
offended so much feminine dignity.

After that he did not venture to accost her
for some time, but he cast a few sheep's-eyes
at her in church.

Now Ruperta had told her mother all ;
and her mother had not forbidden her to
speak to Compton, but had insisted on re-
serve and discretion.

She now told her mother she thought he
would not speak to her any more, she had
snubbed him so.

" Dear me I " said Mrs. Bassett, " why did
you do that ? Can you not be polite and
nothing more ? "

" No, mamma."

** Why not ? He is very amiable. Every-
body says so." ^

<* He is. But I keep remembering what
a forward girl I was, and I am afiraid he has
not forgotten it either, and that makes me
hate the poor little fellow ; no, not hate him ;
but keep him off. I dare say he thinks me
a cross ill-tempered thing : and I am very
unkind to him : but I can't help it."

" Never mind," said Mrs. Bassett; " that
is much better than to be too forward. Papa
would never forgive that."

B^ and by there was a cricket-match in

the farmer's meadow, Hi^hco^be and Hun-
tercombe eleven against the town of Stave-
leigh. All clubs liked to play at Hunter-
combe, because Sir Charles found the tents
and the dinner, and the young farmers drank
his champagne to their hearts' content

Ruperta took her maid and went to see
the match. They found it soing against
Huntercombe. The score as follows :

Staveleigh. First innings, a hundred and
forty-eight runs.

Huntercombe eighty-eight.

Staveleigh. Second innings, sixty runs,
and only one wicket down; and Johnson
and Wright, two of their best men, well in,
and masters of the bowling.

This being communicated to Ruperta, she
became excited, and her soul in the game.

The batters went on knocking the balls
about, and scored thirteen more, before the
young lady's eyes. >

« O dear!" said she, <<what is that boy
about? Why doesn't he bowl? They
pretend he is a capital bowler."

At this time, Compton was standing loi^
field on, only farther from the wicket thiui
usual.

Johnson at the wicket bowled to, beins a
hard but not yerj scientific hitter, lifled a
half volley ball right over the bowler's head,
a hit for roar, but a sky-scraper. Compton
started the moment he hit, and, running
with prodigious velocity, caught the baU
descending, within a few yards of Ruperta;
but, to set at it, he was obliged to throw
himself forward into the air; he rolled upon
the grass, but held the baU in sight all the
while.

Mr. Johnson was out^ and loud acclama-
tions rent the sky.

Compton rose, and saw Ruperta clapping
her hands close by.

She left off, and blushed, directly he saw
her. He blushed too, and touched his cap
to her, with an air half manly, half sheepish ;
but did not speak to her.

This was the last ball of the over, and, as
the ball was now to be delivered from the
other wicket, Compton took the place of
long-leg.

The third ball was overpitched to leg,
and Wright, who, like most country players,
hit freely to leg, turned half, and caught
this ball exactly right, and sent it whizzing
for six.

But the very force of the stroke was fieital
to him ; tiie ball went at first bound right
into Compton's hands, who instantly fiung
it back, like a catapult, at Wright's wicket.

Wright, having nit for six, and being un-
able to see what had become of the ball,
started to run, as a matter of course.

But the other batsman, seeing the ball
go right into long-legs hands like a bullet»
cried" Back 1"

154

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Wright toftied, and would have got back
to his wicket, if the ball had required hand-
ling by the wicket-keeper ; but, hj a mix-
ture of skill with lucky it came ri^ht at the
wicket Seeing whidb, the wicket-keeper
Tery judiciously let it alone, and it earned
off the bails just half a second before Mr.
Wright grounded his bat.

** How's that, umpire? ** cried the wicket-
keeper.

" Out ! " said the Staveleigh umpire, who

*ged at that end.

Jp went the ball into the air, amidst
great excitement of the natives.

Rup^rta, carried away by the general
enthusiasm, nodded all sparkling to Comp-
ton, and that made his heart b^t, and his
soul aspire. So next over he claimed his
rights, aad took the ball. Luck still be-
j&iended him: he bowled four wickets in
twelve overs; the wicket-keeper stumped a
fifth : the rest were " the tail," and disposed
of for a few runs, and the total was no more
than Huntercombe's first innings.

Our hero then took the bat, and made
forty-seven runs before he was disposed of,
five wickets down for a hundred and ten
runs. The match was not won yet, nor
sure to be ; but the situation was reversed.

On going out, he was loudly applauded ;
and Ruperta naturally felt proud of her
admirer.

Being now fi%e, he came to her irreso-
lutely with some iced champagne.

Ruperta declined, with thanks; but he
looked so imploringly that she sipped a
little, and said, warmly, '<I hope we ehall
win : and, if we do, I know whom we shall
have to thank."

<< And so do I : you. Miss Bassett"

" Me ? Why, what have / done in the
matter?"

"You brought us luck, for one thing.
You put us on our mettle. Staveleigh shall
never beat me, with you looking on."

Ruperta blushed a little, for the boy's
eyes beamed with fire.

<'If I believed that," said she, <<I should
hire myself, out at the next matcb, and
chaise twelve pair of gloves."

" You may believe it, then ; ask anybody
whether our luck did not change the mo-
mentyou came."

" Ihen I am afiraid it will go now, for I
am going."

" jTou will lose us the match if you do,"
said Compton.

" I can't help it : now you are out, it is
rather insipid. There, you see I can pay
compliments as well as you."

Then she made a gracefiil inclination and
moved away.

Compton felt his heart ache at parting.
He took a thought and ran quickly to a cer-
tain part of the field.

Ruperta and her attendant walked very
slowly homeward.

Compton caught them just ,at their own
gate. " Cousin P' said he, imploringly, and
held her out a nosegay of cowslips only.

At that the memories rushed back on her,
and the girl seemed literally to melt. She
pave him one look full of womanly sensibil-
ityand winning tenderness, and said, softly,
"Thank you, cousin."

Compton went away on wings: itie ice
was broken.

But the next time he met her it had frozen
again apparently : to be sure she was alone ;
and young ladies will be bolder when thev
have anower person of their own sex with
them.

Mr. Angelo called on Sir Charles Bas-
sett to complain of a serious grievance.

Mr. Angelo had become zealous and elo-
quent, but what are eloquence and zeal
against sex? A handsome woman had
preached for ten minutes upon a little
mound outside the village, and had an-
nounced she should say a few parting
words next Sunday evening at six o'clock.

Mr. Angelo complained of this to Lady
Bassett.

Lady Bassett referred him to Sir Charles.

Mr. Angelo asked that magistrate to en-
force the law against conventicles.

Sir Charles said he thought the Act did
not apply.

" Well, but," said Angelo, " it is on youp
ground she is going to preach."

'< I am the proprietor, but the tenant is
the owner in law. He could ^am me off
his ground. I have no power."

<*I fear you have no inclination," said
Angelo, nettled.

" Not much, to tell the truth," replied Sir
Charles, coolly. "Does it matter so very
much who sows the good seed, or whether it
is flung abroad from a pulpit or a grassy

"That is begging the question. Sir
Charles. Why assume that it is good
seed? it is more likely to be tares than
wheat in this case."

" And is not that begging the question ?
Well, I will make it my business to know :
and if she preaches sedition, or heresy, or
bad morals, I will strain my power a little
to silence her. More than that I really can-
not pomise you. The day is gone by for
intolerance."

" Intolerance is a bad thing ; but the ab-
sence of all conviction is worse, and that is
what we are coming to."

" Not quite that : out the nation has tasted
liberty ; and now every man assumes to do
what is right in his own eyes."

" That means what is wrong in his neigh-
bor's."

A TEKRIBLE TEMPTATION.

155

Sir CLarles tbougbtthis neat, and laughed
good-humoredly : he asked the rector to dine
on Sunday at half past seven. <* I shall
know more about it by that time," said he.

They dined early on Sunday, at Highmore,
and Ruperta took her maid ror a w£& in the
aflemoon and came back in time to hear
the female preacher.

Half the village was there already, and
presently the Preacher walked to her sta-
tion.

To Ruperta's surprise, she was a lady,
richly dressed, tall, and handsome, but with
features rather too commanding. She had a
glove on her left hand, and a little Bible in
her right hand, which was large, but white,
and finely formed.

She delivered a short prayer, and opened
her text: —

" Walk honestly ; not in strife and envy-
ing."

Just as the text was siven out, Ruperta's
maid pinched her, and me young lady, look-
ing up, eaw her father coming to see what
was the matter. Maid was ror hiding, but
Ruperta made a wry face, blushed, and stood
her ground. " How can he scold me, when
he comes himself? " she whispered.

During the sermon, of which, short as it
was, I can only afford to give the outline, in
crept Compton Bassett, and got within three
or four of Ruperta.

Finally Sir Charles Bassett came up, in
accordance with his promise to Angelo.

The perfect preacher deals in generali-
ties, but strikes them home with a few per-
sonalities.

Most clerical preachers deal only in gen-
eralities, and that is ineffective, especially to
imcultivated minds.

Mrs. Marsh, as mi^ht be expected from
her sex, went a little too much the other
way.

After a few sensible words, pointing out
the misery in houses, and the harm done to
the soul, by a quarrelsome spirit, she la-
mented there was too much of it in Hunter-
combe : with this opening she went into per-
sonalities : reminded them of the fight be-
tween two farm servants last week, one of
whom was laid up at that moment in conse-

Suence. " And," said she, " even when it
oes not come to fighting, it poisons your
lives, and offends your Redeemer."

Then she went into the causes, and she
said Drunkenness and Detraction were the
chief causes of strife and contention.

She dealt briefly but dramatically with
Drunkenness, and tnen lashed Detraction^ as
follows :

" Every class has its vices, and Detrac-
sion is the vice of the poor. You are ever
so much vainer than your betters : you are
eaten up with vanity, and never give your
neighbor a good word. I have been in

thirty houses, and in not one of those houses
has any poor man or poor woman spoken
one honest word in praise of a neighbor.
So do not flatter yourselves that this is a
Christian village : for it is not. The only
excuse to be made for you, and I fear it is
not one that God will accept on his judg-
ment-day, is that your betters set you a bsul
example instead of a good one. The two
principal people in this village are kinsfolk,
yet enemies, and have been enemies for
twen^ years. That 's a nice example for
two Christian gentlemen to set to poor peo-
ple, who, they may be sure, will copy their
sins, if they copy nothing else.

" These gentlemen go to church regularly,
and believe in the Bible, and yet they defy
both church and Bible.

*< Now I should like to ask those gentle-
men a question. How do they mean to man-
age in heaven ? When the Baronet comes
to that happy place, where all is love, will
the Squire walk out ? Or do they think to
quarrel there, and so get turned out, both of
them ? I don't wonder at your smiling ; but
it is a serious consideration for all that. The
soul of man is immortal : and what is the
soul ? it is not a substantial thing, like the
body ; it is a bundle of thoughts and feel-
ings: the thoughts we die with in this
world, we shall wake up with them in the
next. Yet here are two Christians loading
their immortal souls with immortal hate.
What a waste of feeling, if it must all be
flung off together with tiie body, lest it drag
the souls of both down to bottomless perdi-
tion.

" And what do they gain in this world ? —
irritation, ill-health, and misery. It is a fact
that no man ever reached a ^at old age,
who hated his neighbor; still less a good old
age; for, if men would look honestly into
their own hearts, they would own that to
hate is to be miserable.

<* I believe no men commit a sin for many
years, without some special warnings ; and
to neglect these, is one sin more s^lded to
their account. Such a warning, or rather,
I should say, such a pleading of Divine
love, those two gentlemen have had. Do
you remember, about eight years ago, two
children were lost on one day, out of differ^
ent houses in this village?" (A murmur
from the crowd.)

" Perhaps some of you here present were
instrumental, under Grod, in finding that
pretty pair." (A louder murmur.)

"O, don't be afraid to answer me.
Preaching is only a way of speaking ; and
I 'm only a woman that is speaking to you
for your good. Tell me, — we are not in
church, tied up by strait-laced rules to keep
men and women from getting within arm's-
length of one another's souls, — tell me, who
saw those two lost children ? "

156

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

"I, I, I, I, I," roared seyeral Toices in
reply.

<< Is it true, as a ^ood woman tells me,
that the innocent darhno:8 had each an arm
ronnd Uie other's neck?

«Ay."

<< jbid little coronets of flowers, to match
their hair V (That was the girl's doing.)"

"Ay."

" And the little hoy had played the man,
and taken off his tippet to put round the
little lady?"

" Ay I " with a hurst of enthusiasm from
the assemhled rustics.

"I think I see them myself; and the
torches lighting up the dewy leaves over-
head, and that Divine picture of innocent
love Well, which was the prettier si^ht,
and the fittest for heaven, — the hatred of
Uie patents, or the affection of the children ? "

" And now mark what a weapon hatred is,
in the Devil's hands. There are only two
people in this parish on whom that sight was
wasted : and those two, being gentlemen,
and men of education, would have been
more afiected by it than humble folk, if Hell
liad not been in their hearts; for Hate
comes lix)m Hell, and takes men down to the
place it comes fix)m.

" Do you then shun, in that one thing, the
example of your betters : and 1 hope those
children will shun it too. A father is to be
treated with great veneration, but above all
is our Heavenly Father and his law, and
that law, what is it ? — what has it been this
eighteen hundred years and more ? — Why,
Love.

" Would vou be happy in this world, and
fit your souls to dwell hereafter even in the
meanest of the many mansiQns prepared
above, you must, above all things, oe chari-
table. You must not run your neighbor
down behind his back, — or God will hate
you : you must not wound him to his face, —
or God will hate you. You must overlook
a fault or two, and see a man's bright side,
and then God will love you. If you won't
do that much for your neighbor, why, in
Heaven's name, should God overlook a mul-
titude of sins in you ?

"Nothing goes to heaven surer than Char-
ity, and nothing is so fit to sit in heaven.
St. Paul had many things to be proud of,
and to praise in himself, — things that the
world is more apt to admire than Christian
charity, the sweetest, but humblest of all the
Christian graces : St. Paul I say was a bul-
wark of learning, an anchor of faith, a rock
of constancy, a thunderbolt of zeal : yet see
how he bestows the palm.

" < Knowledge puneth up : but charity edi-
fieth. Though I speak with the tongues of
men and of angels, and have not charity, I
am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling
cymbal. And though I have the gift of pro-

phecy, and understand all mysteries, and all
knowledge ; and though I have all faith, so
that I could remove mountains, and have
not charity, I am nothing. And though I
bestow ail my goods to feed the poor, and
though I give my body to be burned, and
have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Charity suflcreth long, and is kind ; charity
envieth not ; charity vaunteth not itself, is
not puffed up, doth not behave itself un-
seemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily
provoked, thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in
iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth ; beareth
all things, believeth all things, hopeth all
things, endureth all things. Charity never
faileth : but prophecies — they shall fail ;
tongues — they shall cease ; knowledge — it
shall vanish away. And now abideth Faith,
Hope, and Charity, these three, but the
greatest of these is charity.'"

The fair orator delivered these words with
such fire, such feeling, such trumpet-toned
and heartfelt eloquence, that for the first
time those immortal words sounded in these
village ears true oracles of God.

Then, without pause, she went on. " So
let us lift our hearte in earnest prayer to
God that, in this world of thorns, and tem-
pers, and trials, and troubles, and cares, he
will give us the best cure for aJl, — the great
sweetener of this mortal life, — the sure fore-
runner of Heaven, — his most excellent gift
of charity." Then, in one generous burst, she
prayed for love divine, and there was many
a sigh, and many a tear, and, at the close,
an " Amen ! " such as, alas ! we shall never,
I fear, hear burst from a hundred bosoms
where men repeat beautiful but stale words,
and call it prayer.

The preacher retired, but the people still
lingered Fpell-bound, and then aro&e tliat
buzz, which shows that the words have
gone home.

As for Richard Bassett, he had turned on
his heel, indignant, as soon as the preacher's
admonitions came his way.

Sir Charles Bassett stood his ground rather
longer, being steeled by the conviction that
the quarrel was none of his seeking. More-
over, he was not aware what a good friend
this woman had been to him, nor what a
good wife she had been to Marsh this
seventeen years. Bis mind, therefore,
made a clear leap from the Bhoda Somer-
set, the vixen of Hyde Park and Mayfair,
to this preacher, and he could not help
smiling ; than which a worse frame for re-
ceiving unpalatable truths can hardly be
conceived. And so the elders were obdu-
rate. But Compton and Buperta had no
armor of old age, egotism, or prejudice to
turn the darts of honest eloquence. They
listened, as to the voice of an angel ; they
gazed, as on the face of an angel ; and,
when those silvery accents ceased, they

A TERRIBLE TEltPTATION.

157

torned towards each other, and came to-
wards each other, with the sweet enthusi-
asm that became their years. *^ O Cousin
Ruperta I " quavered Compton. " O Cousin
Compton 1 " cried Ruoerta, the tears trick*
Img^down her lovely cneeks.

They could not say any more for ever so
long.

Buperta spoke first. She gave a final
gulp, and said, <* I will go and speak to her,
and thank her."

" O Miss Buperta, we shall be too late for
tea," suggested the maid.

" Tea 1 " said Ruperta. " Our souls are
before our Tea ! I must speak to her, or
else my heart will ychoke me, and kill me.
I will go — and so will Compton."

" O yes I " said Compton.

And they hurried after the preacher.

They came up with her, flushed and
panting; and now it was Compton's turn
to be shy ; the lady was so tall, and statdy
too.

^ut Ruperta was not much afraid of any-
thing in petticoats. *^ O madam," said she,
" if you please, may we speak to you? "

Mrs. Marsh turned round, and her some-
what aquiline features softened instantly at
the two specimens of beauty and innocence
that had run after her.

" Certainly, my young friends" ; and she
smiled maternally on them. She had chil-
dren of her own.

" Who do you think we are ? We are
the two naughty children you preached
about so beautifully."

« What I you the Babes in the wood ? "

^ Yes, madam. It was a long, long while
ago, and we are fifteen now ; are we not,
(x>usin Compton?"

" Yes, madam."

" And we are both so unhappy at our
parents' quarrelling. At least I am."

"And so am I."

** And we came to thank you. Did n't we,
dompton?**

« Yes, Buperta."

" And to ask your advice. How are we
to make our parents be friends ? Old people
will not be advised by young ones. They
look down on us so ; it is dreadftii."

«' My dear young lady," said Mrs. Marsh,
T will try and answer yon ? but let me sit
down a minute ; for, after preaching, I am
apt to feel a little exhausted. Now, sit be-
side me, and give me each a hand, if you
please."

" Well, my dears, I have been teaching
yon a lesson ; and now you teach me one,
and that is, how much easier it is to preach
reconciliation and charity> than it is to prac-
tise it under certain circumstances. How-
ever, my advice to you is first to pray to
Grod for wisdom in this thino^, and then to
watch every opportuulty. Dissuade your

parents from every unkind act: don't be
afraid to speak — with the word of Grod at s
your back. I know that you have no easy
task before you. Sir Charles Bassett and
Mr. Bassett were both among my hearers,
and both turned their backs on me, and
went away unsoftened; they would not
give me a chance ; would not hear me to
an end, and I am not a wordy preacher
neither."

Here an interruption occurred. Buperta,
so shy and cold with Compton, flung her
arms round Mrs. Marsh's neck, with the
tears in her eyes, and kissed her eagerly.

*^ Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Marsh, after
kissing her in turn, f' I was a little mortified.
But that was very weak and foolish. I am
sorry, for their own sakes, they would not
stay ; it was the word of God : but they
saw only the unworthy instrument. Well,
then, my dears, you have a hard task ; but
you must work upon your mothers, and win
them to Charity."

"Ah I that will be easy enough. My
mother has never approved this unhappy
quarrel."

" No more has mine."

" Is it so ? Then you must try and sjet
the two ladies to speak to each other. But
something tells me that a way will be opened.
Flave patience. Have Faith ; and do not
mind a check or two: but persevere, re-
membering that ^blessed are the peace-
makers.' "

She then rose, and they took leave of her.

"Give me a kiss, children," said she.
" You have done me a world of good. My
own heart often flags on the road, and you
have warmed and comforted it. Grod bless
youl"

And so they parted.

Compton and Ruperta walked homewards.
Ruperta was very thoughtful, and Compton
could only get monosyllables out of her.
This discouraged and at last vexed him.

" What have I done," said he, " that you
wHl speak to anybody bat me ? "

" Don't be cross, child," said she ; " but
answer me a question. Did you put your
tippet round me in that wood ? "

" 1 suppose so."

" O, then you don't remember doing it,
eh?"

"No; that I don't."

" Then what makes you think you did? "

" Because they say so. Because I must
have been such an awful cad if I didn't.
And I was always much fonder of you than
vou were of me. My tippet 1 I'd give my
head sooner than any harm should come to
you. Ruperta !

Ruperta made no reply, but, being now
at Highmore, she put out her hand to him,
and turned her head away. He kissed her
hand devotedly, and so they parted.

158

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Compton told Lady Bassett all that had
happened, and Ruperta told Mrs. Bas-
sett.

Those ladies readily promised to be on
the side of peace, but they feared it could
only be the work of time, and said so.

"By and by Compton got impatient, and
told Ruperta he had thought of a way to
compel their fathers to be Mends. " I am
afraid you won't like the idea, a.t Jirst,** said
he ; " but the more you think of it, the more
you will see it is the surest way of all."

"Well, but what is it?"

" You must let me marry you."

Ruperta stared, and began to blush crim-
son.

" Will you, cousin ? "

^ Of course not, child. The idea I "

" O Ruperta," cried the boy, in dismay,
" surely you don't mean to marry anybody
else but me 1 "

"Would that make you very unhappy,
then??*

" You know it would ; wretched for my
life."

" I should not like to do that. But I dis-
approve of early marriages. I mean to
wait till I 'm nineteen ; and that is three
years nearly."

"It is a fearful time: but, if you will
promise not to marry anybody else, I sup-
pose I shall live through it."

Ruperta, though she made light of Comp-
tbn's offer, was very proud of it (it was her
firstV She told her mother directly.

Mrs. Bassett sighed, and said that was
too blessed a thing ever to happen.

" Why not ? " said Ruperta.

" How could it," said Mrs. Bassett, " with
everybody against it but poor little me ? "

" Compton assures me that Lady Bassett
wishes it."

" Indeed 1 But Sir Charles and papa,
Ruperta?"

" O, Compton must talk Sir Charles over,
and I will persuade papa. I'll begin this
evening, when he comes home from Lon-
don."

Accordingly, as he was sitting alone in
the dining-room, sipping his glass of port,
Ruperta slipped away from ner motier*s
side, and found him.

His face brightened at the sight of her ;
for he was extremely fond and proud of this
girl, for whom he would not have the bells
run^ when she was bom.

She came and hung round his neck a
little, and kissed him, and said, softly,
** Dear papa, I have something to tell you.
I have had a proposal."

Richard Bassett stared.

" What, of marriage ? "

Ruperta nodded archly.

" To a child like you ? Scandalous I No,
for after all you look nineteen or twenty.

And who is the highwayman that thinks to
rob me of my precious girl ? "

' " Well, papa, whoever he is, he will have
to wait three years, and so I told him. It
is my cousin Cfompton."

" What 1 " cried Richard Bassett, so loud-
ly, that the girl started back dismayed.
" That little monkey have the impudence to
offer marriage to my daughter? Surely,
Ruperta, you have offered nim no encour-
agement ? "

«N— no."

" Your mother promised me nothing but
common civility should poss between you
and that young gentleman."

" She promised for me, but she could not
promise for him : poor little fellow I "

" Marry a son of the man who has robbed
and insulted your father ? "

" O papa I is it so ? Are you sure you
did not begin ? "

" If you can think that, it is useless to say
more. I thought ill-fortune had done its
worst ; but no : blow upon blow, and wound
upon wound. Don't spare me, child. No-
body else has ; and why should you ?
Marry my enemy's son, his younger son,
and break your father's heart."

At this, what could a sensitive girl of
sixteen do but burst out crying, and prom-
ise, round her father's neck, never to marry
any one whom he disliked.

When she had made this promise, her
father fondled and petted her, and his ten-
derness consoled her, for she was not pas-
sionately in love with her cousin.

Yet Mie cried a good deal over the letter
in which she communicated this to Comp-
ton.

He lay in wait for her ; but she baffled
him for three weeks.

After that she relaxed her vigilance, for
she had no real wish to avoid him, and was
curious to see whether she had cured him.

He met her ; and his conduct took her by-
surprise. He was pale, and looked very-
unhappy.

He said, solemnly, "Were you jesting
with me when you promised to many no
one but me?"

" No, Compton. But you know I could
never marry you without papa's consent."

" Of course not ; but, what I fear, he
might wish you to marry somebody else."

"Then I should refuse. I will never
break my word to you, cousin. I am not in
love with you, you are too young for that,
— but somehow I feel I could not make yon
unhappy. Can't you trust my word ? Yon
might. I come of the same people as yon.
Why do you look so pale? — we are very-
unhappy."

Then the tears began to steal down her
cheeks ; and Compton's soon followed.

Compton consulted his mother. She told

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

159

himf with a sigb, she was powerless. Shr
Charles might yield to her, but she had no
power to influence Mr. Bassett, at present.
"The time may come," said she. She
could not take a very serious view of this
amour, except with regard to its pacific re-
sults. So Mr. Bassett's opposition chilled
her in the matter.

While things were so, something occurred
that drove all these minor things out of her
distracted heart.

One summer evening, as she and Sir
Charles and Compton sat at dinner, a ser-
vant came in to say there was a stranger at
the door, and he called himself Bassett.

« What is he like?" said Lady Bassett,
turning pale.

" He looks like a foreigner, my lady. He
says he is Mr. Bassett," said the man, with
a scandalized air.

Sir Charles got up directlv, and hurried
to the hall door. Compton followed Lady
Bassett to the door only, and looked.

Sure enough it was Reginald, fiiU grown,
and bold, as handsome as eVer, and darker
than ever.

In that moment his misconduct in run-
ning away never occurred either to Sir
Charles or Compton; all was eager and
tremulous welcome. The hall rang with
joy. They almost carried him into the din-
ingroom.

The first thin^ they saw was a train of
violet-colored velvet, half hidden by the
table.

Compton ran forward, with a cry of dis-
may.

It was Lady Bassett, in a dead swoon,
her face as white as her neck and arms, and
these as white and smooth as satin.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.

Lady Bassett was carried to her room,
and did not reappear. She kept her own
apartments, and her health declined so rap-
idly that Sir Charles sent for Dr. Willis.
He prescribed for the body, but the disease
lay in the mind. Martyr to an inward
struggle, she pined visibly, and her beauti-
ful eyes began to shine like stars, preternat-
Tirally large. She was in a fiaghfiul condi-
tion : she longed to tell the truth and end
it all : but then she must lose her adored
husband's respect, and perhaps his love ; and
she had not the courage. She saw no way
out of it but to die and leave her confession :
and, as she felt that the agony of her soul
was killing her by dcCTces, she drew a som-
bre resignation from Siat.

She declined to see Reginald. She could
not bear the sight of him.

Compton came to her many times a day,

with a fece full of concern and even terror.
But she would not talk to him of herself.

IJe brought her all the news he heard,
having no other way to cheer her.

One day he told her there were robbers
about Two farm-houses had been robbed,
a thing not known in these parts for many
years.

Lady Bassett shuddered, bnt said noth-
ing.

But by and by her beloved son came to
her in distress with a grief of his own.

Ruperta Bassett was now the beauty of
the county, and it seems Mr. Rutland had
danced with her at her first ball, and been
violently smitten with her ; he had called
more than once at Highmore, and his atten-
tions were directly encouraged by Mr. Bas-
sett. Now Mr. Rutland was heir to a peer-
age, and also to considerable estates in the
country.

Compton was sick at heart, and, being
young, saw his life about to be blighted ; so
now he was pale and woebegone, and told
her the sad news with such deep sighs and
imploring tearfiil eyes, that all the mother
rose in arms. "Ah ! " said she, " they say
to themselves that I am down, and cannot
fight for my child ; but I would fight for
him on the edge of the grave. Let me think
all by myself, dear. Come back to me in
an hour. I shall do something. Your moth-

er IS a very cunning woman -
loves.*'

-for those she

Compton kissed her gown, — a favorite
action of his, for he worshipped her, — and
went away.

The invalid laid her hollow cheek upon
her wasted hand, and thought with all her
might. By degrees her extraordinary brain
developed a twofold plan of action ; and she
proceeded to execute the first part, being the
least difiSlcult, though even that was not
easy, and brought a vivid blush to her
wasted cheek.

She wrote to Mrd. Bassett.

" Madam, — / aw very ill, and life is uncer-
tain. Something tells me you, like me, reffret the
unhappy feud between our houses. If this is so, it
woM be a consolation to me to take you by the hand,
and exchange a few words, as we already have a
few kind looks.

" Yours respectfully,

"Bella Bassett."

She showed this letter to Compton, and
told him he might send a servant with it to
Highmore at once.

" O mamma 1 " said he, " I never thought
you would do that: how good you are!
You could n't ask Ruperta, could you?
Just in a little postscript, you know."

Lady Bassett shook her head.

" That would not be wisej my dear. Let
me hook that fish for you, not fiighten her
away."

160

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

Great was the astonisliment at Hmbmore
when a blazine footman knocked at the door
and handed Jessie the letter with assumed
nonchalance, then stalked away, concealing
with professional art his own astonishment
at what he had done.

It was no business of Jessie's to take let-
ters into thye drawing-room ; she would have
deposited any other Tetter on the hall table ;
but she brought this one in, and, standing
at the door, exclaimed, " Here 's a letter f?
Huntercombe ! "

Richard Bassett, Mrs. Bassett, and Ru-
perta, all turned upon her with one accord.

« From where ? "

" Fr' Huntercombe itsel'. Et isna for you,
nor for you, Missy. Et's for the mestei^
ress."

She marched proudly up to Mrs. Bassett,
and laid the letter down on the table ; then
drew back a step or two, and, being Scotch,
coolly waited to hear the contents. Rich-
ard Bassett, being English, told her she need
not stay.

Mrs. Bassett cast a bewildered look at her
husband and daughter, then opened the let-
ter quietly; read it quietly; and, haying
read it, took out her handkerchief, and began
to cry quietly.

Ruperta cried, " O mamma I " and, in
a moment, had one long arm round her
mother's neck ; while the other hand seized
the letter, and she read it aloud, cheek to
cheek:. but, before she got to an end, her
mother's tears infected her, and she must
whimper too.

Here are a couple of geese," said Rich-
ard Bassett. " Can 't you write a civil re-
ply to a civil letter, without snivelling ? I '11
answer the letter for you."

« No t " said Mrs. Bassett.

Richard was amazed : Ruperta ditto.

The little woman had never dealt in
<< Noes," least of all to her husband : and
besides this was such a plump " No." It
came out of her mouth like a marble.

I think the sound surprised even herself a
little, for she proceeded to justify it at once.
" I have been a better* wife than a Chris-
tian this many years. But there 's a limit.
And, Richard, I should never have married
you, if you had told me we were to be at
war all our lives with our next neighbor,
that everybody respects. To live in the
country, and not speak to our only neighbor,
that is a life I never would have left my fa-
ther's house for. Not that I complain: if
you have been bitter to them, you have al-
ways been good and kind to me ; and I hope
I have done my best to deserve it; but,
when a sick lady, and perhaps dying, holds
out her hand to me, — write her one of your
cold-blooded letters I That I won't. Re-
ply ? my reply will be just putting on my
Sonnet, and going to her this aflernoon. It

is Passion-week too ; and that 's not a week
to play the heathen. Poor lady I I Ve
seen in her<sweet eyes this many years that
she would gladly be friends with me : and
she never passed mc close but bhe bowed to
me in church or out, even when we were at
daggers drawn. She is a lady, a real lady,
every inch. But it is not that altogether.
No, if a sick woman called me to her bed-
side this week, I 'd go, whether she wrote
irom Huntercombe Hall, or the poorest
house in the place ; else how could I hope
my Saviour would come to my bedside at
my last hour ? "

This honest burst from a meek lady, who
never talked nonsense to be sure, but sel-
dom went into eloquence, staggered Richard
Bassett, and enraptured Ruperta so, that she
flung both arms round her mother's neck,
and cried, <' O mamma I I always thought
you were the best woman in England, and
now I know it."

« Well, well, well," said Richard, kmdly
enough : then to Ruperta, << Did I ever say
she was not the best woman in England V
So you need not set up your throats neck
and neck at me, like two geese at a fox. Un-
fortunately, she is the simplest woman in
England, as well as the best, and she is go-
ing to visit the cunningest. That Lady
Bassett will turn your mother inside out in
no time. I wish you would go with her ;
you are a shrewd girl."

"My daughter will not go till she is
asked," said Mrs. Bassett, firmly.

" In that case," said Richard, dryly, " let
us hope the Lord will protect you, since it
is for love of him you go into a she-fox's
den."

No reply was vouchsafed to this aspira-
tion, the words being the words of faith,
but the voice the voice of scepticism.

Mrs. Bassett put Dn her bonnet, and went
to Huntercombe Hall.

After a very short delay she was ushered
up stairs, to the room where Lady Bbssett
was lying on a sofa.

Laay Bassett heard her coming, and rose
to receive her.

She made Mrs. Bassett a court courtesy so
graceftd and profound that it rather fright-
ened the little woman. Seeing which. Lady
Bassett changed her style, and came for-
ward, extending both hands with admirable
grace, and gentle amity, not overdone.

Mrs. Bassett gave her both hands, and
they looked full at each other in silence, till
the eyes of both ladies began to fill.

"xou would have come — like this —
years ago — at a word ? " faltered Lady
Bassett.

" Yes," gulped Mrs. Bassett. >'

Then there was another lono^ pause. /

« O Lady Bassett, what a life ! It is a
wonder it has not killed us both." <

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

161

'^Tt will kill one of us."

«* Not if I can help it."

" God bless you for saying so. Dear
madam, sit by me, and let me hold the
hand I might have had years ago, if I had
had the courage."

" Why should you take the blame ?" said
Mrs. Bassett. "We have botli been good
wives ; too obedient, perhaps. But to have
to choose between a husband's commands
and Grod's law, that is a terrible thing for
any poor woman."

"It is indeed."

Then there was another silence, and an
awkward pause. Mrs. Bassett broke it,
with some hesitation. " I hope. Lady Bas-
sett, your present illness is not in any way
— I hope you do not fear anything more
from my husband?"

"O Mrs. Bassett I how can I help fear-
ing it, — especially if we provoke him ?
Mr. Reginald Bassett has returned, and you
know he once gave your husband cause for
just resentment."

" Well, but he is older now, and has more
sense. Even if he should, Ruperta and I
must try and keep the peace."

"Ruperta! I wish I had asked you to
bring her with you. But I feared to ask
too much at once."

"I'll send her to you to-morrow, Lady
Bassett"

" No, brinj her."

" Then tell me your hour.'*

"Yes, and I will send somebody out of
the way. 1 want you both to myself."

Whilst this conversation was going on at
Huntercombe, Richard Bassett, being lefl
alone with his daughter, proceeded to work
with his usual skill upon her young mind.

He reminded her of Mr. Rutland's pros^
pects, and said he hoped to see her a count-
ess, and the loveliest jewel of the Peer-
age.

He then told her Mr. Rutland was com-
in^o stay a day or two next week, and re-
quested her to receive him ^Aciously.

She promised that at once. ^ •

" That," said he, "will be a much better
match for you than the younger son of Sir
Charles Bassett. However^ my girl is too
proud to go into a family where she is hot
welcome."

" Much too proud for that," said Ruperta.

He left her smarting under that sugges-
tion.

Whilst he was smoking his cigar in the
garden, Mrs. Bassett came home ; she was
in raptures with Lady Bassett, and told her
daughter all that had passed ; and, in con-
clusion, that she had promised Lady Bas-
sett to take her to Huntercombe to-morrow.

" Me, dear 1 " cried Ruperta : " why, what
can she want of me ? "

" All I know is, her ladyship wishes very

much to see you. In toy opinion you will be
very welcome to jpoor Lady Bassett."

« Is she very ill ? "

Mrs. Bassett shook her head. " She is
much changed. She says she should be
better if we were all at peace : but I don't
know."

" O mamma, I wish it was to-morrow."

They went to Huntercombe next day;
and, ill as she was,. Lady Bassett received
them charmingly. She was startled by Ru-
perta's beauty and womanly appearance, but
too well bred to show it, or say it all in a
moment.

She spoke to the mother first ; but pres-
ently took occasion to turn to the daughter,
and to say, "May I hope. Miss Bassett, that
you are on the side of peace, like yoiu: dear
mother and myself? "

" I am," said Ruperta, firmly ; " I always
was, — especially after that beautiful ser-
mon, you know, mamma."

Says the proud mother, You might tell
Lady Bassett you think it is your mission to
reunite your father and Sir Charles."

" Mammal " said Ruperta, reproachfully.
That was to stop her mouth. " If you tell
all the wild things I say to you, her lady-
ship will think me very presumptuous."

" No, no," said Lady Bassett, " enthusi-
asm is not presumption. Enthusiasm is
beautiful, and the brightest flower of youth."

" I am glad you think so, Ladv Bassett ;
for people who have no enthusiasm seem
very hard and mean to me."

" And so they are," said Lady Bassett,
warmly.

But I have no time to record the full de-
tails of the conversation. 1 can only pre-
sent the general result. Lady Bassett
thought Ruperta a beautiful and noble girl,
that any house mic^ht be proud to adopt ;
and Ruperta was charmed by Lady Bassett's
exquisite manners, and touched and intei>
ested byher pale yet still beautiful face and
eyes. They made friends : but it was not
till the third visit, when many kind things
had passed between them, that Lady Bas-
sett ventured on the subject she had at
heart. "My dear," said she, to Ruperta,
" when I first saw you, I wondered at my
son Compton's audacity in loving a youn^
lady so much more advanced than himself;
but now I must be frank with you ; I think
the poor boy's audacity was only a proper
courage. He has all my sympathy, and, if
he is not quite indifieient to you, let me just
put in my word, and say there is not a
young lady in the world I could bear for my
daughter-in-law, now I have seen and talked
with you, my dear."

"Thank you, Lady Bassett," said Mrs.
Bassett ; " and, since you have said so much,
let me speak my mind. So long as your
son is attached to my daughter, I could never

162

A TERRIBLE TEMITATION.

Trelcome any other son-in-law, I have

GOT THE TIPPET."

Lady Bassett looked at Ruperta for an
explanation. Ruperta only blushed, and
looked uncomfortable. She hated all allu-
sion to the feats of her childhood.

Mrs. Bassett saw Lady Bassett's look of
perplexity, and said, eagerly, " You never
missed it? All the better. I thought I
would keep it, for a peacemaker partly."

" My dear friend," said Lady Bassett,
''you are speaking riddles to me; what
tippet?"

" The tippet your son took off his own
shoulders and put it round my girl that ter-
rible night they were lost in the wood.
Forgive me keeping it, Lady Bassett, —
I know I was little better than a thief, —
but it was only a tippet to you, and to me
it was much more. Ah I Lady Bassett, I
have loved your darling boy ever since ; you
can't wonder, you are a mother ; and," turn-
ing suddenly on Ruperta, "why do you
keep saying he is only a boy ? If he was
man enough to do that at seven years of
age, he must have a manly heart. No ; I
could n't bear the sight of any other son-in-
law ; and, when you are a mother, you '11
imderstand many things; and, for one,
you '11 — under — stand — why I 'm so —
fool — ish: seeing the sweet boy's mother
ready — to cry — too — oh! ohl oh!"

Lady Baspett held out her arms to her,
and the mothers had a sweet cry together
in each other's arms.

Ruperta's eyes were wet at this ; but she
told ber mother she ought not to agitate
Lady Bassett, and her so ill.

" And that is true, my good, sensible girl,"
said Mrs. Bassett ; '' but it has lain in my
heart this nine years, and I could not keep
it to myself any longer. But you are a
beauty and a spoiled child, and so I sujppose
you think nothing of his giving you his tip-
pet to keep you warm."

" Don't say that, mamma," said Ruperta,
reproachfully. " I spoke to dear Compton
about it not long ago. He had forgotten all
about it even."

"All the more to his credit; but don't
you ever forget it, my own gir|."

" I never will, mamma."

By degrees the three became so unre-
served that Ruperta Was gently urged to
declare her real sentiments.

By this time the young beauty was quite
cured of her fear, lest she should be an un-
welcome daughter-in-law : but there was an
obstacle in her own mind. She was a frank,
courageous girl; but this appeal tried her
hard.

She blushed, fixed her eyes steadily on
the ground, and said, pretty firmly and very
slowly, " I had always a great affection for
ny cousin Compton ; and so I have now.

But I am not in love with him. He is but
a boy: now I — "
A glance at the large mirror, and a sit-

£erb smile of beauty and conscious woman-
ood, completed the sentence.

" He will get older every day," said Mrs.
Bassett.

"Andsoehalll."

" But you will not look older, and he will.
You have come to your full growth. He
has n't."

"I agree with the dear gfrl," said Lady
Bassett, adroitly. " Compton, with his fair
hair, looks so young, it would be ridiculous
at present. But it is possible to be engaged,
and wait a proper time for marriage ; what
I fear is, lest you should be tempted by some
other offer. 'To speak plainly, 1 hear diat
Mr. Rutland pays nis addresses to you, and
visits at Highmore."

" Yes, he has been there twice."

" He is welcome to your father ; and his
prospects are dazzling ; and he is net a boy
for he has long mustaches."

''I am not dazzled by his mustaches, and
still less by his prospects," said ike fair
young beauty.

" xou are an extraordinary girl."

« That she is," said Mrs. Bassett. « Her
father has no more power over her than I
have."

" O mamma I am I a disobedient girl,
then?"

" No, no. Only, in this one thing, I see
you will go your own way."

Lady Bassett put in her woid. " Well,
but this one thing is the happiness or mis-
ery of her whole Ufe. I cannot blame her
for looking well before she leaps."

A grateful look from Ruperta's glorious
eyes repaid the speaker.

" But," said Lady Bassett, tenderly, " it
is something to have two mothers when yoa
marry, instead of one ; and you would have
two, my love : I would try and live for you."

This touched Ruperta to the heart fPshe
curled round?flAdy Bassett's neck, and they
kisseckeSch other like mother and ^daughter.

"Tliis is toQ great a temptation," said
Ruperta. " Yes : I tcUl engage myself to
Cousin CoYnptton, if piipa's consent can be
obtained. Witihout his coAsent I could not
marry any one."

" Nobody can obtam it, if you cannot,*'
said Mrs. Bassett. « *

Ruperta shook her head. "Mark
words, mamma, it will take me years to^
it. Papa is as obstinate as a mulei To
sure, I am as obstinate as fifty." :s^

" It shall not take years, nor yet months, ^
said Lady Bassett. "I know Mr. Bas-
sett's objection, and I will remove it, cost
me what it may."

This speech surprised the other two ladies
so, they made no reply.

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

163

Said Lady Bassett firmly, "Do you
ledge yourself to me, if I can obtain Mr.
'assett's consent?"

" I do," said Ruperta. " But — "

"You think my power with your father
must be smaller uian yours. I hope to
show you you are mistaken.*'

The ladies rose to go : Lady Bassett took
leave of them thus; " Grood by, my most
valued friend, and sister in sorrow ; good
by, my dear daughter."

At the gate of Huntercombe, who should
they meet but Compton Bassett, looking
very pale and unhappy.

He was upon honor not to speak to Ru-
perta ; but he gazed on her with a wistful
and terrified look, that was very touching.
She gave him a soft pitying smile in return,
that drove him almost wild with hope.

That night Richard Bassett sat in his
chair, gloomy.

When his wife and daughter spoke to
him in their soft accents, he returned short,
surly answers. Evidently a storm was
brewing.

At last it burst : he had heard of Ruper-
ta's repeated visits to Huntercombe Hall.
" You are not dealing fairly with me, you
two," said he. " I allowed you to go once to
see a woman that says she is very ill but
•I warned you she was the cunningest wo-
man in creation, and would make a fool of
you both ; and now I find you are always
going. This will not do. She is netting
two simple birds, that I have the care OL
Now, listen to me : I forbid you two ever to
set foot in that house again. Do you hear
me?"

" We hear you, papa," said Mrs. Bassett,
quietly, " we must be deaf, if we did not."

Ruperta kept her countenance with diffi-
culty.

" It is not a request, it is a command."

Mrs. Bassett for once in her life fired up.
" And a most tyrannical one," said she.

Huperta put her hand before her moth-
er's mouth, then turned to haipfather.

Mr. Rutland shall pay for it^*

Mrs. Bassett communical&d^is behest to
Lady Bassett in a letter.

Then Lady Bassett summoned all her
courage, and sent for^her son Compton.
" Compton," said she, " I must speak to
Reginald. Can you find him ? "

" O yes, I can find him. I am sorry to
say anybody can find him at this time of
day." .

" Why^where is he ? "

" I haMy like to tell you."

* Do you think his , peculiarities have
escaped me ? *

" At the public-house."
" Ask him to come to me."

Compton went to the public-house, and
there, to his no small disgust, found Mr.
Reginsdd Bassett playing the fiddle, and
four people, men and women, dancing to
the sound, whilst one or two more smoked
and looked on.

Compton restrained himself till the end
of that dance, and then stepped up to
Reginald, and whispered him, "Mamma
wants to see you directly,"

" Tell her I 'm busy."

"I shall tell her nothing of the kind.
You know she is very ill, and has not seen
you yet: and now she wants to. So come
along at once, like a ^ood fellow."

" ioungster," said Reginald, " it is a rule
with me never to leave a young woman for
an old one."

" Not for your mother ? "

" No, nor my grandmother either."

" Then you were • born without a heart.
But you shall come, whether you like it or
not, — though I have to drag you there by
the throat."

" Learn to spell « able ' first."

" I '11 spell it on your head, if you don't
come."

" O, that is the game, young un, is it ? "

<'Yes."

" Well, don't let us have a shindy on the
bricks ; there is a nice little paddock" outside.
Come out there, and I '11 give you a lesson."

" Thank you ; I don't feel inclined to assist
you in degrading our family.'*

" Chaps that are afi-aid to fight should n't
threaten. Come now, the first knock-down
blow shall settle it. If I win, you stay here
and dance with us. If you win, I go to the
old woman."

Compton consented, somewhat reluctantly;
but, to do him justice, his reluctance arose en-
tirely from his sense of relationship, and not
from any fear of his senior.

The young gentlemen took off their coats,
and proceeded to spar without any further
ceremony.

Reginald, whose agility was greater than
his courage, danced about on the tips of his
toes, and succeeded in planting a tap or two
on Compton's cheek.

Compton smarted under these, and pres-
ently, in following his antagonist, who fought
like a shadow, he saw Ruperta and her mother
looking horror-stricken over the palings.

Infuriated with Reginald for this exposure,
he rushed in at him, received a severe cut
over the eye, but dealt him with his mighty
Anglo-Saxon arm a full straightforward
smasher on the forehead, which knocked
him head over heels like a nine-pin.

That active young man picked himself up
wondrous slowly: rheumatism seemed to

164

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

have suddenly seized his well-oiled joints :
he then addressed his antagonist, in his
most ingratiating tones, — " All right, sir,"
said he. " You are the best man. I '11 go
to the old lady this minute."

" 1 *11 see you go," said Compton, sternly :
^< and mind I can run, as well as hit : so none
of your gypsy tricks with me"

Then he came sheepishly to the-palings,
and said, " It is not my fault. Miss Bassett ;
he would not come to mamma without, and
she wants to speak to him."

" O ! he is hurt 1 he is wounded I " cried
Ruperta. " Come here to me."

He came to her, and she pressed her white
handkerchief tenderly on his eyebrow, it was
bleeding a little.

"Well, are you coming? " said Reginald
ironically : ** or do you like young women
better than old ones ? "

Compton instantly drew back a little,
made two steps, laid his hand on the pal-
ings, vaulted over, and followed Reginald.

" That 's your boy,** said Mrs. Bassett.

Ruperta made no reply, but begim to
gulp.

« What is the matter, darling ? "

« The fighting — the blood " — said Ru-
perta, sobbing.

Mrs. Bassett drew her on one side, and
soon soothed her.

When their gentle bosoms got over their
agitation, they rather enjoyed the thing,
especially Ruperta : she detested Reginald
for his character, and for having insulted
her father.

All of a sudden, she cried out " He has
ti^en my handkerchief. How dare he ? "
And she affected anger.

" Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Bassett,
coolly, " we have got his tippet."

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.

Could any one have looked through the
keyhole at Lady Bassett waiting for Regi-
nald, he would have seen, by the very
movements of her body, the terrible agitation
of the mind. She rose, — she sat down, —
she walked about with wild energy, — she
dropped on the sofa, and appeared to give
it up as impossible, — but, erelong, that
deadly languor gave way to impatient rest-
lessness again.

At last ner quick ear heard a footstep in
the corridor, accompanied by no rustle of
petticoats; and yet the footstep was not
Compton's.

Instantly she glanced widi momentary
terror towards the door.

There was a tap.

She sat down, and said, with a tone from

which all agitation was instantly banished,
« Come in."

The door opened, and the swarthy Regi-
nald, diabolically handsome, with his black
snaky curls, entered the room.

She rose from her chair, and fixed her
great eyes on him, as if she would read
him S01U and body before she ventured to
speak.

" Here I am, mamma : sorry to see you
look so ill."

" Thank you, my dear," said Lady Bas-
sett, without relaxing for a moment that

She saic^ still covering him with her eye,
" Would you cure me if you could ? "

To appreciate this opening, and Lady
Bassett's sweet engaging manner, you must
understand that this young man was, in her
eyes, a sort of black snake. Her flesh crept,
with fear and repugnance, at the sight of
him. Yet that is how she received him,
being a mother defending her favorite
son.

"Of course I would," said Reginald.
** Just you tell me how."

Excellent words. But the lady's calm
infallible eye saw a cunning twinkle in
those black twinkling orbs, xoung as he
was, he was on his guard, and waiting for
her. Nor was this surprising: Reginald,
naturally intelligent, had accumulated a
large stock of low cunning in his travels
and adventures with the gypsies, a smooth
and cunning people. Lady Bassett's faint-
ing upon his return, his exclusion firom her
room, and one or two minor circumstances,
had set him thinking.

The moment she saw that look. Lady
Bassett, with swift tact, glided away from
the line she had intended to opcB, and,
after merely thanking him, and saying, " I
believe you, dear," though she did not be-
lieve him, she resumed, in a very impres-
sive tone, " You see me worse than ever to-
day, because my mind is in great trouble.
The time is come when I must tell vera a
secret, which Vill cause you a bitter disap-
pointment. Why I send for you is, to see
whether I cannqt do something for you to
make you happv, in spite of that cruel dis-
appointment'

Not a wor9 from Reginald.

"Mr. Bassett — forgive me, if you can —
for I am the most miserable woman in Eng-
land — you are not the heir to this place:
you are not Sir Charles Bassett's son."

" What 1 ? " shouted the young man.

Her fortitude gave way for a moment.
She shook her he^, in confirmation of what
she had said, and hid her burning &ce and
scalding tears in her white and wasted
hands.

There was a long silence.

Reginald was asking himself if this conld

A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

165

be trae; or was it a manoenvre to put lier
ravorite Compton over his head.

Lady Bassett looked up, and saw this
paltry suspicion in his face. She dried her
'>ears* directly, and went to a bureau, un-
jocked it, and produced the manuscript
confession she had prepared for her hus-
land.

She bade Reginald observe the super-
K^ption, and the date.

When he had done so, she took her scis-
lors, and opened it for him.
^^" Read what I wrote to my beloved hus-
band at a time when I expected soon to
appear before my Judge."

She then sank upon the sofa, and lay
there like a log ; only, from time to time,
during the long reading, tears trickled from
her eyes.

Reginald read the whole story, and saw
the facts must be true : more than that, be-
ing young, and a man, he could not entirely
resist the charm of a narrative, in which a
lady told at full, the love, the grief, the ter-
ror, the sufferings, of her heart, and the
terrible temptation, under which she had
gone astray.

He laid it down at last, and drew a long
breath.

"It's a devil of a job for me," said he ;
" but I can't blame you. You did that Dick
Bassett, and I hate him. But what is to
hecomeofmef*

** What offer you, is a life, in which you
will be happier than you ever could be at
Huntercombe. I mean to buy you vast
pasture-fields in Australia, and cattle to feed.
Those noble pastures will be boiyided only
by wild forests and hills. You will have
Bwifl horses to ride over your own domain,
or to gallop hundreds of miles at a stretch,
if you like. No confinement there ; o fences
and boundaries; all as free as air. No
monotony : -^ one week you can dig for
gold, another you can ride amongst vour
nocks,, another you can hunt. All this in
a climate so delightful that you can lie all
night in the open air, without a blanket, un-
der a new firmament of stars, not one of
which illumines the dull nights of Europe."

The bait was too tempting. " Well, you
are the right sort," cried Reginald.

But presently he began to doubt. " But
all that will cost a lot of money."

"It will; but I have a great deal of
money."

Reginald thought ; and said, suspiciously,
<* I don't know why you should do all this
for me."

"Do you not? What, when I have
brought you into this family, and encour-
aged you in such vast expectations, could I,
in honor and common humanity, let you fall
into poverty and neglect? No* I have
many thousand pounds, all my own, and

you will have them all, and perhaps waste
them all ; but it will take you some time,
because, whilst you are wasting, I shall be
saving more for you."

Then there was a pause, each waiting for
the other.

Then Lady Bassett said, quietly, and
with great apparent composure, " Oi course
there is a condition attached to all this."

"What is that?"

" I must receive from you a written paper,
si^ed by yourself and by Mrs. Meyrick,
acknowledging that vou are not Sir Charles's
son, but distinctly pled^ng yourself to keep
the secret so long as I continue to Rimisu
you with the means of living. You hesitate.
Is it not fair?"

" Well, it looks fair ; but it is an awkward
thing, signing a paper of that sort."

" X ou doubt me, sir : you think that, be-
cause I have told one great falsehood, from
good but erring motives, I may break faith
with you. Do not insult mq with these
doubts, sir. Try and understand that there
are ladies and gentlemen in the world,
though you prefer gypsies. Have you for-
gotten that night when you laid me under
so deep a debt, and I told you I never would
forget It ? From that day was I not always
your frien ? was I not always the one to
make excuses for you ? "

Reginald assented to that.

" Then trust me. I pledge you my honor
that I am this day the best friend you ever
had, or ever can have. Refuse to sign that

{)aper, — and I shall soon be in my grave,
eaving behind me my confession, and other
evidence, on which you will be dismissei)
from this house with ignominy, and without
a farthing, for your best friend will be dead,
and you will have killed her."

He looked at her frill : he said, with a
shade of compunction, " I am not a gentle-
man ; but yon are a lady. I '11 trust you.
I '11 sign anything you like."

"That confidence becomes you," said
Lady Bassett ; " and now I have no objec-
tion to show you I deserve it. Here is a
letter to Mr. Rolfe, by which you may learn
I have already placed three thousand pounds
to his account, to be laid out by him for your
benefit in Australia, where he has many
confidential friends ; and this is a check for
£ 500 I drew in your favor yesterday. Do
me the favor to take it."

He did her that favor with sparkling eyes.

" Now ere is the paper 1 wish you to
sign ; but your signature will be of little
value to me without Mary Meyrick's."

" O, she will sign it directly : I have only
to tell her."

" Are you sure ? Men can be brought to
take a dispassionate view of their own in-
terest : but women are not so wise. Take
it, and try her. If she refuses, bring her to

166

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

me directly. Do you understand ? Other-
wise, in one fatal hour, her tongue will ruin
yoUf and destrojr me."

Impressed with these words, Reginald
hurried to Mrs. Meyrick, and told her, in an
off-band way, she must sign that paper di-
rectly.

She looked at it and turned very white ;
but went on her guard directly.

<*Sign such a wicked lie as that?" said
she. '^ That I never will. You are his son,
and Huntercombe shall be yours. She is an
unnatural mother."

^ Gammon I " said Reginald. << You might
as well say a fox is the son of a gander.
Come now ; I am not going to let you cut
my throat with your tongue. Sign at once,
or else come to her this moment, and tell her
so,"

« That I will," said Mary Meyrick, « and
give her my mind."

This doughty resolution was a little shaken
when she cast eyes upon Lady Bassett,
and saw how wan and worn she looked.

She moderated her violence, and said,
stdlenly, "Sorry to gainsay you, my lady,
and you so ill ; but this is a paper I never
can sign. It would rob him of Hunter-
combe. I 'd sooner cut my hand off at the
wrist."

"Nonsense, Mary," said Lady Bassett,
contemptuously.

She then proceeded to reason with her ;
but it was no use. Mary would not listen to
reason, and defied her at last in a ioud
voice.

« Very well," said Lady Bassett « Then,
since you will not do it my way, it shall be
done another way. I shall put my confes-
sion in Sir Charles's hands, and insist on
his dismissing him from the house, and you
from your farm. It will kill me, and the
money I intended for Reginald I shall leave
to Compton."

"These are idle words, my lady. You
daren't."

" I dare anything when once I make up
my mind to die."

She rang the bell.

Mary Meyrick affected contempt.

A servant came to the door.

" Request Sir Charles to come to me im-
mediately."

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.

" Don't you be a fool," said Reginald to
his nurse.

" Sir Charles will send you to prison for
it," said Lady Bassett.
' " For what I done along with you ? "

" O, he will not punish his wife ; he will
look out for some other victim."

" Sign, you d— d old fool," cried Regi-
nald, seizing Mary Meyrick roughly by the
arm.

Strange to say. Lady Bassett int^cred,
with a sort of majestic horror. She held up
her hand, and said, " Do not dare to lay a
finger on her I "

Then Mary burst into tears, and said she
would sign me paper.

Whilst she was signing it, Sir Charles's
step was heard in the corridor.

He knocked at the door just as she signed*
Reginald had signed alresidy.

Lady Bassett put the paper into the man-
uscript book, and the book into the bureau,
and said, " Come in," with an appearance
of composure belied by her beating heart.

" Here is Mrs. Meyrick, my dear."

In those few seconds so perfect a liar as
Mary Meyrick had quite recovered herself.

"if you please, sir," said she, "I be come
to ast if you will give us a new lease, for
oum it is run out."

"You had better talk to the steward
about that."

" Very well, sir," and she made her cour-
tesy.

Reginald remained, not knowing exactly
what to do.

" My dear," said Lady Bassett, " Reginald
has come to bid me good by. He is going
to visit Mr. Rolfe, and take his advice, if
you have no objection."

"None whatever;, and I hope he will
treat it wlUi more respect than he does
mine."

Reginald shrugged his shoulders, and was
going out, when Lady Bassett said, " Won't
you \iss me, Reginald, as you are goin^
away?"

He ame to her: she kissed him, and
whispered in his ear, " Be true to me, as I
will DC to you."

Then he left her, and she felt like a dead
thing, with exhaustion. She lay on the
sofa, and Sir Charles sat beside her, and
made her drink a glass of wine.

She lay very still that afternoon ; but at
night she slept : a load was off her mind for
the present.

Next day she was so much better she
came down to dinner.

What she now hoped was, that entire sep-
aration, coupled with the memory of the
boy's misdeeds, would cure Sir Charles en-
tirely of his affection for Reginald ; and so
that, after about twenty years more of con-
jugal fidelity, she might find courage to re-
veal to her husband 5ie fault of her youth,
at a time when all its good results remained
to help excuse it, and all its bad results had
vanished.

Such was the plan this extraordinary wo-

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

167

man oonceiTedy and its sncceM so far had a
wonderful effect on her hei^lth.

Bat a couple of divs {Mtssed, and she did
not hear either from Keginald or Mr. Bolfe.
Hutt made her a little anxious.

On the third day Compton asked her,
with an angry (lush on his hrow, whether
/ she had not sent Reginald up to London.

^ Yes, dear," said Lady Bassett.

** Well, he is not gone, then."

"Ohl"

^ He is living at his nurse's. I saw him
ta! Jb^ to an old gypsy that lives on the
farm.'^

Lady Bassett groaned, hut said nothing.

*'19ever mind, mamma," said Compton.
*^ Your other children must love you all the
more."

This news caused Ladpr Bassett both
anxietv and terror. She divined bad faith,
and au manner of treachery, none the less
terrible for beins va^e.

Down went her health again, and her
short-lived repose.

Meantime, Reginald, in reality, was stay-
ing at the farm on a little business of ms

OWUt

He had concerted an expedition with the
foreign Grent, and was waiting for a dark
and gusty night.

He had undertaken this expedition with
mixed motives, spite, and greed, especially
the latter. He would never have under-
taken it with a £ 500 check in Ids pocket;
but some minds are so constituted they
cannot forego a bad deeign once formed :
so Mr. Reginald persisted, though one great
motive existed no longer.

On this expedition it is now our lot to
accompanv him.

The night was favorable, and at about two
o'clock Reginald and the foreign Gent stood
under Richard Bassett's dining-room win-
dow, with crape over their eyes, noses, and
mouths, and all manner of unlawful imple-
ment's in their pockets.

The foreign Gent prized the shutters open
with a little crowbar; he then, with a
glazier's diamond, soon cut out a small
pane, inserted a cunning hand, and opened
the window.

Then Reginald gave him a leg, and he
got into the room.

The agile youth followed him, without
assi'ttance.

They lighted a sort of bull's-eye, and
poured the concentrated light on the cup-
board door, behind which lay the treasure
of glorious old i>late.

Then the foreign Gent produced his skele-
ton keys, and, after several ineffective trials,
opened the door softly, and revealed the
glitterinty booty.

At sight of it the foreign Gent could not
suppress an ejaculation; but the younger

one clapped his hand before his mouth hur-
riedly.

The foreign Gent unrolled a sort of green
baize apron he had round him; it was, in
reality,, a bag.

Into this receptacle the pair conveyed one
piece of plate after another, with surpris-
ing dexterity, rapidity, and noiselessness.
Wnen it was full, thejr be^an to fill the deep
pockets of their shooting-jackets.

While thus employed, they heard a ra[nd
footstep, and Richard Bassett opened the
door. He was in his trousers and shirt,
and had a pistol in his hand.

At sight of him Reginald uttered a cry
of dismay ; the foreign Gent blew out t^
light

Richard Bassett, among whose faults want
of personal courage was not one, rushed
forward, and collated Reginald.

But the forei^ Grent had nused the crow-
bar, to defend iiimself, and struck lum a
blow on the head that made him stagger
back.

The foreign Gent seized this opportunity,
and ran at once at the window, and jumped
at it.

If Reginald had been first, he would have
eone through like a cat, but the foreign
Gent, older, and obstructed by the contents
of his pockets, higgled, and stuck a few
seconds in die window.

That brief delay was fatal ; fiichard Bas-
sett levelled his pistol deliberately at him,
fired, and sent a ball through his shoulder,
he fell, like a log, upon the ground outside.

Richard then levelled another barrel at
Reginald, but he howled out for quarter,
and was immediately captured, and, with
the assistance of the brave Jessie, who now
came boldly to her master's aid, his hands
were tied behind him, and he was made
prisoner, with the stolen articles in his
pocket.

When the^ were tying him, he whim-
pered, and sud it was only a lark ; he never
meant to keep anything. He offered a
hundred pounds down, if they would let
him off.

But there was no mercy for him.

Richard Bassett had a candle lighted, and
inspected the prisoner. He lifted his crape
veil, and said '< Oho I"

** You see it was only a lark," said Regi-
nald, and shook in every limb.

Richard Bassett smiled grimly, and said
nothing. He gave Jessie strict orders to
hold her tongue, and she and he between
them took Ranald, and locked him up in a
small room adjoining the kitchen.

Then they went to look for the other
burvlar.

He had emptied his pockets of all the
plate, and crawled away. It is supposed he
threw away the plate, either to soften Regi-

168

A TERBIBLE TEMPTATION.

nald's offence, or in lihe belief that he had
receiyedf his death wound, and should nqt
require silver yessels where he was going.

BassPtt picked up the articles, and
brought them in, and told Jessie to light the
fire, and make him a cup of coffee.

He replaced all the plate, except the arti-
cles left in Reginald's pocket.

Then he went up staurs, and told his wife
that burglars had broken into the house,
but had taken nothing ; she was to give her-
self no anxiety. He told her no more than
this, for his dark and cruel nature had al-
ready conceived an idea he did not care to
communicate to her, on account of the strong
opposition he foresaw from so good a Chris-
tian : besides, of late, since her daughter
came home to back her, she had opoken her
mind m6re than once.

He kept her then in the dark, and went
down stairs again to his coffee.

He sat and sipped it, and, with it, his
coming vengeance.

All the defeats and mortifications he had
endured from Huntercombe returned to his
mind ; and now, with one master-stroke, he
would balance them all.

Yet he felt a little compunction.

Active hostilities had ceased for many
years.

Lady Bassett, at all events, had held out
the hand to his wife. The blow he medi-
tated was very cruel : would not his wife
and daughter say it was barbarous ? Would
not his own heart, the heart of a father, re-
proach him afterwards ?

These misgivings, that would have re-
strained a less obstmate man, irritated Bich-
ard Bassett : he went in a rage, and said
aloud, ** 1 must do it : I will doit, come what
may."

He told Jessie he valued her much : she
should have a black silk gown, for her cour-
age and fidelity ; but she must not be faith-
ful by halves. She must not breath one
word to any soul in the house that the bur^
glar was there under lock and key ; if she did
he should turn her out of the house that
moment.

" Hets I " said the woman, " der ye think
I canna baud my whisht, when the maister
bids me? I'm nae great dasher at ony
time for my pairt."

At seven o'clock in the morning he sent a
line to Sir Charles Bassett, to say that his
hoiise had been attacked last night, by two
ttrmed burglars ; he and his people had cap-
tured one, and wished to take hita before a
mtkgistrate at once, since his house was not
a fit place to hold him secure. He concluded
6]r Charles would not refuse him the benefit
of the law, however obnoxious he might be.

Sir Charles's lip curled with Contempt at
the man who was not ashamed to put such a
doubt on papeh :

However, he wrote back a civil line, to
say that of course he was at Mr. Bassett's
service, and would be in his justice-room at
nine o'clock.

Meantime, Mr. Richard Bassett went fi>r
the constable and an assistant; but, even to
them, he would not say precisely what be
wanted them for.

His plan was to march an unknown bur-
glar, with his crape on his face, into Sir
Charles's study, give his evidence, and then
reveal the son to the father.

Jessie managed to hold her tongue for
an hour or two, and nothing occurred at
Highmore, or in Huntercombe, to inter-
fere with Bichard Bassett's barbarous re-
venge.

Meantime, however, something remarka-
ble had occurred at the distance of a mile
and a quarter.

Mrs. Meyrick breakfasted habitually at
ei^t o'clock.

Reginald did not appear.

Mrs. Meyrick went to his room, and satis-
fied herself he had not passed the night
there.

Then she went to the foreign Gent's shed.

He was not there.

Then she went out, and called loudly to
them both.

No answer.

Then she went int^ the nearest meadow,
to see if they were in sight.

The first thing she saw was the foreign
Gent staggering towards her.

<< Drunk I" said she, and went to scold
him : but, when she got nearer, she saw at
once that something very serious had hap-
pened. His dark face was bloodless and
awful, and he could hardly drag his limbs
along; indeed they had failed him a score
of times between Highmore and that place.

Just as she came up with him, he sank
once more to the ground, and turned up
two despairing eyes towards her.

** O Daddy I what is it? Where 's Reg-
inald ? Whatever have they done to you ? "

" Brandy 1 " groaned the wounded man.

She flew into the house, and returned in
a moment with a bottle. She put it to his
lips.

He revived, and told her all, in a few
words.

" The youtig bloke and I went to crack a
crib. I'm shot with a bullet Hide me in
that loose hay there; leave me the bottle,
and let' nobody come nigh me. The beak
will be after me very soon;"

Then Mrs. Meyrick, being a very strong
woman, dragged him to the haystack, and
covered him with loose hay.

«Now," said she, trembling, « where 's
my boy?"

** He's nabbed."

«Ohl**

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

169

"And he'll be lagged, unless you can
beg him oflf."

Maiy Meyrick uttered a piercing scream.

-" You wretch! to temnt my boy to this.
And him with five hunored pounds in his
pocket, and my lady's favor. O, why did
w^not keep our word with her? She was
the wisest, and our best friend. But it is
all your doing, you are the devil that
tempted him, you old villain I "

" Don't miscall me," said the gypsy.

"Kot miscall you, when you nave run
away, and left them to take my boy to jail.
No word is bad enough for you, you vil-
ladn."

"/*m your father — and a dyina man^*
said the old gypsy calmly, and folded his
hands upon his breast with Oriental compo-
sure and decency.

The woman threw herself on her knees.
" Forgive me, father, — tell me, where is
he?"

" Highmore House."

At that simple word her eyes dilated
with wild horror, she uttered a loud scream,
and flew into the house.

In five minutes she was on her way to
Highmore.

She reached lihat house, knocked hastily
at the door, and said she must see Mr.
Richard Bassett that moment.

<< He is just gone out," said the maid.

"Where to f"

The girl knew her, and began to gossip.
« Why, to Huntercombe Hall. What, have
n't you heard, Mrs. Me}Tick? Master
caught a robber last night. Laws, you
shomd have seen him: he have got crape
all over his face ; and master, and the con-
stable, and Mr. Musters, they be all gone
with him to Sir Charles, for to hare him
committed — the villain. — Why, what ails
the woman ? "

For Mary Meyrick turned her back on
the speaker, and rushed away in a moment.

She went through the kitchen at Hunter-
combe : she was so well known there, nobody
objected: she flew up the stairs, and into
Lady Bassett'g bedroom. " O my lady I
my lady 1 "

Lady Bassett screamed, at her sudden
entrance, and wild appearance.

Mary Meyrick told her all, in a few wild
words. She wrung her hands with a great
fear.

"It's no time for that," cried Mary,
fiercely. " Come down this moment, and
save him."

« How can I ? "

"You must. You shall I "cried the oiher.
"Don't ask me how. Don't sit wringing
your hands, woman. If you are not there
in five minutes, to save him, I'll tell
all."

" Have meicy on me," cried Lady Bassett

" I gave him money, I sent him away. It 's
not my fault."

" No matter ; he must be saved, or I '11
ruin you. I can't stay here : I must be
there, and so must you."

She rushed down the stairs, and tried to
get into the justice-room; but admission
was refused her.

Then she gave a sort of wild snarl, and
ran round to the small room adjoining the
justice-room. Through this she penetrated,
and entered the justice-room, but not in time
to prevent the evidence from being laid be-
fore Sir Charles

What took place in the mean time was
briefly this. The prisoner, handcuffed now
instead of tied, was introduced between the
constable and his assistant ; the door waa
locked, and Sir Charles received Mr. Bas-
sett with a ceremonious bow, seated him-
self, and begged Mr. Bassett to be seated.

" Thank you," said Mr. Bassett, but did
not seat himself. He stood before the
prisoner, and gave his evidence; during
which, the prisoner's knees were seen to
knock together with terror : he was a young
man fit for folly, but not for felony.

Said Richard Bassett, " I have a cupboard
containing family plate. It is valuable, and,
some years ago, I passed a piece of catgut
fi:om the door, through the ceiUng, to a bsll
at my bedside.

"very late last night the bell sounded.
I flung on my trousers, and went do't^ with
a pistol. I caught two burglars in the act
of rifling the cupboard. I went to collar
one : he struck me on the head with a crow-
bar, — Constable, show the crowbar, — I
staggered, but recovered myself, and fired
at one of the burglars : he was just strug-
gling through the window. He fell, and I
thought he was dead ; but he got away. I
secured the other, and here he is — just as
he was when I took him. Constable, search
his pockets."

Ilie constable did so, and produced there-
from several pieces of silver plate stamped
with the Bassett arms.

"My servant here can confirm this,**
added Mr. Bassett.

"It is not necessary here," said Sir
Charles. Then to the criminal, "Have
you anything to say?"

" It was only a lark," quavered the poor
wretch.

"I would not advise you to say that
where you are going."

He then, while writing out the warrant,
said, as a matter of course, " Remove his
mask."

The constable lifted it, and started back
with a shout of dismay and surprise : Jessie
screamed.

Sir Charles looked up, and saw in the
burglar he was committing for trial his

170

A TERRIBLE TEIIPTATIOK.

first-born, the heir to his hmue and his
lands.

Hie pen fell from Sir Charles's fingers,
and he stared at the wan face and wild, im-
ploring eyes that stared at him.

He stared at the lad, and then put his
hand to his heart, and that heart seemed to
die within him.

There was a silence, and a honor fell on
all. Even Richard Bassett quailed at what
he had done.

<<Ahl cmel manl cruel mant" moaned
the broken father. << God judge you for
this — as now I must judge my unhappy
son. Mr. Bassett, it matters little to you
what magistrate commits you, and I must
keep my oath. I am — going — to set you
an — example, by signing a warrant —

"No, no, nol" cried a woman's voice,
and Mary Meyrick rushed into the room.

Every person there thousht he knew Mary
Meyrick; yet she was like a stranger to
ihem now. There was that in her heart
at that awful moment which transfigured a
handsome but vulgar woman into a superior
being. Her cheek was pale, her black eyes
lajrge, and her mellow voice had a mtimc
power. " You don't know what you are do-
ms 1 '* she cried. " Go no farther, or you
wSl all curse the hand that harmed a hair
of his head ; you, most of all, Richard Bas-
sett"

Sir Charles, in any other case, would have
sent her out f the room ; but, in his misery,
he caught at the straw.

" Speak out, woman," he said, ** and save
the wretched boy, if you can. I see no
way."

" There are things it is not fit to speak be-
fore all the world. Bid those men go, and
I '11 open your eyes that stay."

Then Richard Bassett foresaw another tri-
umph, so. he told the constable and his man
they had better retire for a few minutes,
"while," said he, with a sneer, " these won-
derful revelations are being made."

When they were gone, Mary turned to
Richard Bassett, and said. " Why do yon
want him sent to prison? — to spite Sir
Charles here, to stab his heart through his
son."

Sir Charles groaned aloud.

The woman heard, and thought of many
things. She fiung herself on her knees,
and seized his hand. " Don't you cry, my
dear old maste ; mine is the only neart
shall bleed. Hb is not tour son."

" What I " cried Sir Charles, in a terrible
voice.

" That is no news to me," said Richard.
"He is more like the parson than Sir
Charles Bassett"

"For shame! for shame!" cried Mary
Meyrick. " O, it becomes yon to give fa-
thers to children, when you don't know your

own fiesh and blood. He is TOim SOK,

RiCHABD BASSETt."

**My son!" roared Bassett in utter
amazement
"Ay. I should know; for I am his

MOTHER."

This astounding statement was uttered
with all the majesty of truth, and, when she
said " I am his mother," the voice turned
tender all in a moment

They were all paralyzed ; and, absorbed
in this strange revelation, did not hear a tot-
tering footstep : a woman, pale as a corpse,
and with eyes glaring large, stood amongst
them, all in a moment, as if a ghost had
risen from the earth.

It was Lady Bassett.

At sight of her. Sir Charles awoke from
the comusion and amazement into which
Mary had thrown him, and said, " Ah — t
Bella, do you hear what she says, that he is
not our son ? What, then, have you agreed
with your servant to deceive your hus-
band?"

Lady Bassett gasped, and tried to speak :
but, before the woras would come, the sight
of her corpse-like face and miserable agony
moved Miuy Wells, and she snatched the
words out of her mouth.

" What is the use questioning Iter f She
knows no more than you do. fdoneitall:
and done it for the best. My lady's child
died; I hid that from her; for I knew it
would kill her, and keep you in a madhouse.
I done for the best : I put my live child by
her side, and she knew no better. As time
went on, and the boy so dark, she suspected ;
but know it she could n't till now. My lady,
I am his mother, and there stands his cruel
fiither ; cruel to me, and cruel to him. But
don't you dare to harm him ; I 've got all
your letters, promising me marriage, I'll
take them to your wife and daughter, and
they shall know it is your own fiesh and
blood you are sending to prison. O, I am
mad to threaten him : my oarling, speak him
fair ; he is your father ; he may have a bit
of nature in his heart somewhere, though I
could never find it"

The young man put his hands together,
like an Oriental, and said, "Forgive me,"
then sank at Richard Bassett's knees.

Then Sir Charles, himself much shaken,
took his wife's arm and led her, trembling
like an aspen leaf, firom the room.

Perhaps the prayers of Reginald and the
tears of his mother would alone have sufficed
to soften Richard Bassett; but the threat of
exposure to his wife ancl daughter did no
harm. The three soon came to terms.

Reginald to be liberated, on condition of
going to London by tbe next train, and
never setting his foot in that parish again.
His mother to go with him, and see him off

A TEBBIBLE TEMPTATION.

171

to Australia. Ske solemnly pledged ber-
eelf not to reveal the boy's real parentage to
any other soul in the world.

This being settled, Richard Bassett called
the constable in, and said the young gentle-
man had satisfied him that it was a practi-
cal joke, though a very dangerous one, and
he withdrew the charge of felony.

The constable said he must have Sir
Charles's ^luthority for that.

A message was sent to Sir Charles. He
came. The prisoner was released, and Mary
Meyrick took his arm sharply, as much as
to say '< Out of my hands you go no more."

Before they len the room. Sir Charles,
who was now master of himself, said, with
deep feeling, " My poor boy, you can never
be a stranger to me. The mee^on of years
cannot be untied in a moment. You see
now how folly glides into crime, and crime
into punishment. Take this to heart, and
never again stray from the paths of honor.
Lead an honorable life : and, if you do,
write to me as if I was still your father."

They retired, but Richard Bassett, lin-
gered, and hung his head.

Sir Charles wondered what this inveterate
foe could have to say now.

At last Richard said, half sullenly, vet
with a touch of compunction, ** Sir Charles,
^u have been more generous than I was.
xou have laid me under an obligation."

Sir Charles bowed loftily.

<< You would double that obligation, if you
would prevail on Lady Bassett to keep that
old folly of mine secret from my wi& and
daughter. I am truly ashamed of it ; and)
-whatever my faults may have been, they
love and respect me."

<< Mr. Bassett," ssud Sir Charles, « my son
Compton must be told that he is my heir ;
but no details injurious to you shall trans-

Eire : you may count on absolute secrecy
■om Lady Bassett and myself."

<' Sir Charles," said Richard Bassett, fal-
tering for a moment, <<I am very much
obliged to you, and I begin to be sorry we
are enemies. Good morning."

The a^tation and terror of this scene
nearly killed Lady Bassett on the spot.
She lay all that day in a state of utter
prostration.

Meantime, Sir Charles put this and that
toffether, but said nothing. He spoke cheer
fully and philosophically to his wife, said it
had been a fearful blow, terrible wrench : but
it was all for the best ; such a son as that
would have broken his heart before long.

*' Ah, but your wasted affections ! " groaned
Lady Bassett ; and her tears stream^ at the
thought.

Sir Charles sighed : but said after a while,
" Is affection ever entirely wasted ? Mylove
for that young fool enlarged my heart There
was a time he did me a deal of good."

But next day, having only herself to think
of now. Lady Bassett could bear no longer
under the k>ad. of deceit. She told Sir
Charles, Mary Meyrick had deceived him.
^ Read this," she said, ^* and see what your
miserable wife has done, who loved you to
madness and crime."

Sir Charles looked at her, and saw, in her
wasted ferm, and her face, that, if he did
read it, he should kill her.

He restrained himself by a mighty effort,
and said, '* My dear, excuse me ; out on this
matter I have more faith in Mary Meyrick's
exactness than in yours. Besides, 1 know
your heart, and don t care to be told of your
errors in judgment, no, not even by yourself.
Sorry to offend an authoress ; but I decline
to read your book,^ and, more than that, I
forbid you the subject entirely for the next
thirty years, at least. Let bygones be by-
gones."

That eventfti! morning Mr. Rutland called
and proposed to Ruperta. She declined po»
litelv, but firmly.

She told Mrs. Bassett; and Mrs. Bassett
told Richard in a nervous way ; but his an-
swer surprised her. He said he was very
glad of it ; Ruperta could do better.

Mrs. Bassett could not resist the pleasure
of telling Lady Bassett. She went over on
purpose with her husband's consent

Lady Bassett asked to see Ruperta.

<«By all means," said Richard Bassett,
graciously.

On her return to Highmore, Ruperta
asked leave to go td the Hall every day,
and nurse Lady Bassett ^ They will let
her die else," said she.

Richard Bassett assented to that too.

Ruperta, for some weeks, almost lived at
the Hall ^ and, in this emergency, revealed
great qualities. As the msuevoient small-
pox, passing through the gentle cow, comes
out the sovereign cow-pox, so, in this gra-
cious nature, her father's vices turned to
their kindred virtues ; his obstinacy of pur-
pose shone here a noble constancy ; his au-
dacity became candor, and his cunning
wisdom. Her intelligence saw at once that
Lady Bassett was pming to death, and a
weak-minded nurse would be &tal : she was
all smiles and bnghtness, and neglected no
means to encourage the patient

With this view, she promised to plight
her faith to Compton the moment L^y
Bassett should be restored to health : and
soi with hopes, and smiles, and the noveltv
of a daughter's love, she fought with death
for Lady Bassett, and at last she won the
desperate battle.

This did Richard Bassett's daughter for
her father's late enemy.

The grateful husband wrote to Bassetty
and now acknowledged his obligation*

172

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.

A civil, mock'niodest reply from Richard
Bassett.

From this things went on step by step, till,
at last, Compton and Ruperta, at eignteen
years of age, were formally betrothed.

Thus the children's love wore out the
fathers' hate.

That love, so troubled at the outset, lefl,
by degrees, the region of romance, and rip-

Sied smooihly through green, f owery mea-
0W8. r

Ruperta showed her lover one more
phase of girlhood; she, who had been a
precocious and forward child, and then a shy
and silent girl, came out now a bright and
witty young woman, full of vivacity, mod-
estvj and sensibility.

Time cured Compton of his one defect.
Rupwta stopped growing at fi&een; but
Compton went slowly on : caught her at
seventeen, and at nineteen had passed her
b^ a head. Ue won a scholarsnip at Ox-
ford, he rowed in College races, and at last
in the University race on the Thames.

Ruperta stood, in peerless beauty, dark
blue ih)m throat to feet, and saw his boat
astern of its rival, saw it come up with, and
creep ahead, amidst the roars of the multi-
tude. When she saw her lover, with bare
corded arms, as brown as a berry, and set
teeth, filling his glorious part in that manly
struggle within eight yards of her, she con-
fessed he was not a boy now.

But Lady Bassett accepted no such evi-
dence: being pestered to let them marry at
twenty years of age, she clogged her consent
with one condition. They must live three
years at Huntercombe as man and wife.

" No boy of twenty," said she, " can im-
derstand a young woman of that age. I
must be in the house to prevent a single
misunderstanding between my beloved cmi-
dren."

The vonng people, who botih adored her,
voted the condition reasonable. They were
married, and a wing of the spacious building
allotted to them.

For their sakes let us hope that their
wedded life, now happily commenced, will
furnish me no materials for another taLe;
the happiest lives are uneventful.

The foreign Gent recovered his wound,
but acquired rheumatism and a dislike for
midnight expeditions.

Reginald ^albped a year or two over
seven hundred miles of colony, sowing his
wild oats as he flew, but is now a prosper-
ous, squatter, very fond of sleeping in the
open air. England was not big enough for

ihe bold Bohemian. He does very well
where he is.

Old Me vrick died, and left his wife a little
estate in the next county*. Drake asked her
hand at the funeral. She married him in
six months, and migrated to the estate in
question ; for Sir Charles refused her a lease
of his farm, not choosing to have her near
him.

Her new abode was in the next parish to
her sister's.

La Marsh set herself to convert . Mary,
and often exhorted her to penitence : sne
bore this pretty well, for some time, being
overawed Dv old reminiscences of sisterly su-
periority: but at last her vanity rebelled.
" Repent ! and Repent 1 " cried she. " Why
you be like a cuckoo, all in one song. One
would think I had been and robbed a
church. 'T is all very well for you to re-
pent, as led a fastish lue at starting : hut I
never done nothing as I'm ashamed onJ*

Richard Bassett said one day to Wheeler,
<< Old fellow there is not a worse poison than
Hate. It has made me old before my time.
And what does it all come to ? We might
just as well have kept quiet ; for my grand-
son will inherit Huntercombe and Bassett,
after all — ''

<< Thanks to the girl you would not ring
the bells for."

Sir Charles and Lady Bassett lead a
peaceful life after all their troubles, and re-
new their youth in their children, of whom
Ruperta is one, and as dear as any.

let there is a pensive and humble air
about Lady Bassett, which shows she still
expiates her fault, though she knows it will
always be ignored by him for whose sake
she sinned. V ~^^*t^ ^

In summing her up, it may l^ as well to
compare this with the unmixed self-compla-
cency of Mrs. Drake.

You men and women, who judge this
Bella Bassett, be firm, — and do not let her
amiable qualities or her good intentions
blind you in a plain matter of right and
wrong : be charitable, — and ask yourselves
how often in your lives, you have seen your-
selves, or any other human being, resist a
terrible temptation.

My experience is that we resist other
people's temptations nobly, and succumb to
our own.

So let me end with a line of England's
gentlest satirist, —

" Heaven be mersiftd to as all, tizmen as we be.**

THE END.

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