Wylder's Hand. Sheridan Le Fanu

at Dollington. Be lively. If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come.

      'M. WYLDER.'

      'I'll drive,' said Captain Lake. 'Lose no time and I'll give you half-a-crown.'

      Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more the dog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, went between the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bear to be called up under startling circumstances at unseasonable hours.

      'Easily earned, Luke,' said Captain Lake, in his soft tones.

      The captain had buttoned the collar of his loose coat across his face, and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumed it; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocket and thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigar between his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse bounded off, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road, at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quickly melted in darkness.

      That night a spectre stood by old Tamar's bedside, in shape of her young mistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly, close in her face—

      'Tamar, I'm going away—only for a few days; and mind this—I'd rather be dead than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must not suspect—you'll manage that. Here's the key of my bed-room—say I'm sick—and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk and whisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, and keep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to the Hall, say I've a headache, and fear I can't go. You understand me clearly, Tamar?'

      'Yes, Miss Radie,' answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strange expression of fear in her face.

      'And listen,' she continued, 'you must go into my room, and bring the message back, as if from me, with my love to Miss Brandon; and if she or Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar's wife, should call to see me, always say I'm asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?'

      'Yes, Miss,' answered Tamar, whose eyes were fixed in a sort of fascination, full on those of her mistress.

      'If Master Stanley should call, he is to do just as he pleases. You used to be accurate, Tamar; may I depend upon you?'

      'Yes, Ma'am, certainly.'

      'If I thought you'd fail me now, Tamar, I should never come back. Good-night, Tamar. There—don't bless me. Good-night.'

      When the light wheels of the dog-cart gritted on the mill-road before the little garden gate of Redman's Farm, the tall slender figure of Rachel Lake was dimly visible, standing cloaked and waiting by it. Silently she handed her little black leather bag to her brother, and then there was a pause. He stretched his hand to help her up.

      In a tone that was icy and bitter, she said—

      'To save myself I would not do it. You deserve no love from me—you've showed me none—never, Stanley; and yet I'm going to give the most desperate proof of love that ever sister gave—all for your sake; and it's guilt, guilt, but my fate, and I'll go, and you'll never thank me; that's all.'

      In a moment more she sat beside him; and silent as the dead in Charon's boat, away they glided toward the 'White House which lay upon the high road to Dollington.

      The sleepy clerk that night in the Dollington station stamped two first-class tickets for London, one of which was for a gentleman, and the other for a cloaked lady, with a very thick veil, who stood outside on the platform; and almost immediately after the scream of the engine was heard piercing the deep tatting, the Cyclopean red lamps glared nearer and nearer, and the palpitating monster, so stupendous and so docile, came smoothly to a stand-still before the trelliswork and hollyhocks of that pretty station.

      Chapter XIX

       Table of Contents

      THE TARN IN THE PARK.

      Next morning Stanley Lake, at breakfast with the lawyer, said—

      'A pretty room this is. That bow window is worth all the pictures in Brandon. To my eye there is no scenery so sweet as this, at least to breakfast by. I don't love your crags and peaks and sombre grandeur, nor yet the fat, flat luxuriance of our other counties. These undulations, and all that splendid timber, and the glorious ruins on that hillock over there! How many beautiful ruins that picturesque old fellow Cromwell has left us.'

      'You don't eat your breakfast, though,' said the attorney, with a charming smile of reproach.

      'Ah, thank you; I'm a bad breakfaster; that is,' said Stanley, recollecting that he had made some very creditable meals at the same table, 'when I smoke so late as I did last night.'

      'You drove Mr. Wylder to Dollington?'

      'Yes; he's gone to town, he says—yes, the mail train—to get some diamonds for Miss Brandon—a present—that ought to have come the day before yesterday. He says they'll never have them in time unless he goes and blows them up. Are you in his secrets at all?'

      'Something in his confidence, I should hope,' said Mr. Larkin, in rather a lofty and reserved way.

      'Oh, yes, of course, in serious matters; but I meant other things. You know he has been a little bit wild; and ladies, you know, ladies will be troublesome sometimes; and to say truth, I don't think the diamonds have much to say to it.'

      'Oh?—hem!—well, you know, I'm not exactly the confidant Mr. Wylder would choose, I suspect, in a case of that very painful, and, I will say, distressing character—I rather think—indeed, I hope not.'

      'No, of course—I dare say—but I just fancied he might want a hint about the law of the matter.'

      The gracious attorney glanced at his guest with a thoroughly business-like and searching eye.

      'You don't think there's any really serious annoyance—you don't know the party?' said he.

      'I?—Oh, dear, no. Wylder has always been very reserved with me. He told me nothing. If he had, of course I should not have mentioned it. I only conjecture, for he really did seem to have a great deal more on his mind; and he kept me walking back and forward, near the mill-road, a precious long time. And I really think once or twice he was going to tell me.'

      'Oh! you think then, Mr. Lake, there may be some serious—a—a—well, I should hope not—I do most earnestly trust not.' This was said with upturned eyes and much unction. 'But do you happen, Captain Lake, to know of any of those unfortunate, those miserable connections which young gentlemen of fashion—eh? It's very sad. Still it often needs, as you say, professional advice to solve such difficulties—it is very sad—oh! is not it sad?'

      'Pray, don't let it affect your spirits,' said Lake, who was leaning back in his chair, and looking on the carpet, about a yard before his lacquered boots, in his usual sly way. 'I may be quite mistaken, you know, but I wished you to understand—having some little experience of the world, I'd be only too happy to be of any use, if you thought my diplomacy could help poor Wylder out of his trouble—that is, if there really is any. But you don't know?'

      'No,' said Mr. Larkin, thoughtfully; and thoughtful he continued for a minute or two, screwing his lips gently, as was his wont, while ruminating, his long head motionless, the nails of his long and somewhat large hand tapping on the arm of his chair, with a sharp glance now and then at the unreadable visage of the cavalry officer. It was evident his mind was working, and nothing was heard in the room for a minute but the tapping of his nails on the chair, like a death-watch.

      'No,' said Mr. Larkin again, 'I'm not suspicious—naturally too much the reverse, I fear; but it certainly does look odd. Did he tell the family at Brandon?'

      'Certainly not, that I heard. He may have mentioned it. But I started with him, and we walked together, under the