A Terrible Temptation. Charles Reade Reade

little sobs.

      “She said I must be very green, to swallow an anonymous letter like spring water. Oh! oh!”

      “Green? There was a word!”

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

      “A pretty statement to come to your ears!”

      “But if it is the truth! 'THE TRUTH MAY BE BLAMED, BUT IT CAN'T BE SHAMED.' Ah! I'll not forget that: I'll pray every night I may remember those words of the brave lady. Oh!”

      “Yes, take her for your oracle.”

      “I mean to. I always try to profit by my superiors. She has courage: I have none. I beat about the bush, and talk skim-milk; she uses the very word. She said we have been the dupe and the tool of a little scheming rascal, an anonymous coward, with motives as base as his heart is black—oh! oh! Ay, that is the way to speak of such a man; I can't do it myself, but I reverence the brave lady who can. And she wasn't afraid even of you, dear papa. 'Come, old gentleman'—ha! ha! ha!—'take the world as it is; Belgravian mothers would not break both their hearts for what is past and gone.' What hard good sense! a thing I always did admire: because 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! oh! oh! Bless her! Bless her! If ever there was a good woman in the world, that is one. She was not born a lady, I am afraid; but that is nothing: she was born 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 cause. 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 anonymous viper, and laid on a bed of sickness for me. Oh! oh! oh!”

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

      “I'll try not to cry, papa. Oh! oh!”

      “But most of all, I pity your infatuation, your blindness. Poor, innocent dove, that looks at others by the light of her own goodness, and so sees all manner of virtues in a brazen hussy. Now answer me one plain question. You called her 'the Sister!' Is she not the same woman that played the Sister of Charity?”

      Bella blushed to the temples, and said, hesitatingly, she was not quite sure.

      “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 volumes. But she shall find I am not to be made 'a dupe and a tool of' quite so easily as she thinks. I'll tell you what—this is some professional actress Sir Charles has hired to waylay you. Little simpleton!”

      He said no more at that time; but after dinner he ruminated, and took a very serious, 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 off a foreign telegram, and then went upstairs. “Bella, my dear,” said he, “pack up your clothes for a journey. We start to-morrow.”

      “A journey, papa! A long one?”

      “No. We shan't double the Horn this time.”

      “Brighton? Paris?”

      “Oh, farther 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. Go and pack.”

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

      She promised, but cried as soon as she had promised; whereat the admiral inferred he had done wisely to exact the promise.

      “Well, my dear,” said he, “we are going to Baden. Your aunt Molineux is there. She is a woman of great delicacy and prudence, and has daughters of her own all well married, thanks to her motherly care. She will bring you to your senses better than I can.”

      Next evening they left England by the mail; 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 which dogs the heels of those who inherit the estate of another.

      Such was the only moral reflection he made, though the business in

      general, and particularly his share in it, admitted of several.

       Miss Somerset also heard of it, and told Mr. Oldfield; he told Sir

      Charles Bassett.

      That gentleman sighed deeply, and said nothing. He had lost all hope.

      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 from Bella Bruce.

      “Konigsberg Hotel, BADEN.

      “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, personally, for her noble defense of one with whom it would be improper for her to communicate; but she can never be indifferent to his welfare, nor hear of his sufferings without deep sorrow.”

      “Confound it!” said Solomon Oldfield. “What am I to do? I mustn'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 backbone, and I'm palsied; now you are always writing, and can't say 'Bo' to a goose in company. Let us mix ourselves; I'll 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 slanderer, who was ruining the happiness of a lady and gentleman. Being a person of warm impulses, she went great lengths; but she now wishes to retire into the shade. She is flattered by Miss Bruce's desire to know her, and some day, perhaps, may remind her of it; but at present she must deny herself that honor. If her reasons were known, Miss Bruce would 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?”

      “Don't know, Sir Charles; but it is a kind of a sort of a nun, Sir Charles.”

      “Oh, a Sister of Charity! Perhaps the one that nursed me. Admit her, by 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, softly, “words fell from you, on the bed of sickness, that touched my heart; and besides I happen to know the lady.”

      “You know