The Yellow Holly. Fergus Hume

then her eyes were on the yellow holly. Brendan remarked it.

      "You are noticing my flower, Mrs. Jersey," he said. "It is rather rare."

      "Most extraordinary," replied Mrs. Jersey, coolly. "I have seen holly with red berries before, but this yellow----"

      "There was a great bush of it in my father's garden," said Mr. Harmer, "but I have not seen any for years."

      "Perhaps you would like it, Mrs. Jersey," said Brendan, taking it from his coat.

      She hastily waved her hand. "No! no! I am too old for flowers. Keep it, Mr. Brendan. It suits better with your youth," she looked at his face keenly. "I have seen a face like yours before."

      Brendan laughed. "I am of a commonplace type, I fear," he said.

      "No; not so very common. Fair hair and dark eyes do not usually go together. Perhaps I have met your father?"

      "Perhaps," replied George, phlegmatically.

      "Or your mother," persisted Mrs. Jersey.

      "I dare say!" Then he turned the conversation. "What a delightful old house you have here!"

      Mrs. Jersey bit her lip on finding her inquiries thus baffled, but taking her cue expanded on the subject of the house. "It was a fashionable mansion in the time of the Georges," she said. "Some of the ceilings are wonderfully painted, and there are all kinds of queer rooms and cupboards and corners in it. And so quiet. I dare say," she went on, "this room was filled with beaux and belles in powder and patches. What a sight, Mr. Brendon--what a sight! Will you have some negus? Port-wine negus, Mr. Brendan."

      She was evidently talking at random, and offered him a glass of negus with a trembling hand. Brendan; evidently more and more astonished at her manner, drank off the wine. He made few remarks, being a man who spoke little in general company. Train had long ago gone to hear Miss Bull tell fortunes and, from the laughter, it was evident that his future was being prophesied.

      "No! no!" cried Train, "I shall never marry. A literary man should keep himself away from the fascinations of female society."

      "Do you agree with that, Mr. Brendan?" asked Mrs. Jersey, curiously.

      He shook his head and laughed. "I am not a hermit, Mrs. Jersey."

      "Then Miss Bull must prophesy about your marriage. Come!"

      At first Brendon was unwilling to go, but after some persuasion he submitted to be led to the table. Miss Bull was quite willing to do what was asked of her, and spread out the cards. Brendon waited beside Mrs. Jersey with a most indifferent air. She was far more anxious to hear the fortune than he was.

      "You are in trouble," announced Miss Bull in a sepulchral tone, "and the trouble will grow worse. But in the end all will be well. She will aid you to get free and will bestow her hand on you."

      "She?" asked Brendon, looking puzzled.

      Miss Bull did not raise her eyes. "The lady you are thinking of."

      Brendon was rather taken aback, but seeing Mrs. Jersey's curious look he crushed down his emotion. "At my age we are always thinking of ladies," he said, laughing.

      Train touched his arm. "It is----" he began, but Brendon frowned, and Leonard was quick enough to take the hint. Miss Bull went on telling the fortune. There were the usual dark and fair people, the widow, the journey, the money, and all the rest of the general events and happenings which are usually foretold. But there was always trouble, trouble, and again trouble. "But you will come out right in the end," said Miss Bull. "Keep a brave heart."

      "I am sure Mr. Brendon will do that," said Madame, graciously.

      While George bowed to the compliment, Miss Bull again shuffled the cards and fastened her keen black eyes on Madame. "Will you have your fortune told?" she asked coldly.

      "Oh, certainly!" said Mrs. Jersey in a most gushing manner; "anything to amuse. But my fortune has been told so often, and has never come true--never," and she sighed in an effective manner.

      Miss Bull continued her mystic counting. She told Madame a lot of things about the house which were known to most present. Mrs. Jersey laughed and sneered. Suddenly Miss Bull turned up a black card, "You will meet with a violent death," she said, and every one shuddered.

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

       BRENDON'S STORY

      If Miss Bull wished to make Madame uncomfortable she certainly succeeded. From being voluble, Mrs. Jersey became silent, the fresh color died out of her face, and her lips moved nervously. Twice did she make an effort to overcome her emotion, but each time failed. Afterward she took a seat by the fire, and stared into the flames with an anxious look, as though she saw therein a fulfillment of the dismal prophecy. Her depression communicated itself to the rest of the company, and shortly before ten the friends took their departure. The idea of being alone seemed to cheer Mrs. Jersey, and she accompanied her departing guests to the front door.

      It was a comparatively thick fog, yet not so bad but that the visitors might hope to reach their homes. For some time Mrs. Jersey stood in the doorway at the top of the steps, and shook hands with those who were going. The boarders, who were old and chilly, were too wise to venture outside on such a dreary night, so Mrs. Jersey had the door-step all to herself. "If you lose your ways," she called out to the visitors "come back. You can tell the house by the red light." She pointed to the fanlight of crimson glass behind which gas was burning. "I will keep that alight for another hour."

      The voices of thanks came back muffled by the fog, but Leonard and George waited to hear no more. They walked upstairs to Train's sitting-room, which was on the first floor. The windows looked out on to a back garden, wherein grew a few scrubby trees, so that the prospect was not cheering. But on this night the faded crimson curtains were drawn, the fire was lighted, and a round table in the middle of the apartment was spread for supper. On one side a door led to Leonard's bedroom, on the other side was the room wherein George was to sleep. As the fire-light played on the old-fashioned furniture and on the mellow colors of curtains and carpet, Leonard rubbed his hands. "It is rather quaint," he said cheerfully, and lighted the lamp.

      "Not such a palace as your diggings in Duke Street," said Brendon, stretching his long legs on the chintz-covered sofa.

      "One must suffer in the cause of art," said Train, putting the shade on the lamp. "I am picking up excellent types here. What do you think?"

      "There's plenty of material," growled Brendon, getting out his pipe.

      "Don't smoke yet, George," interposed Train, glancing at the clock. "We must have supper first. After that, we can smoke till eleven, and then we must go to bed."

      "You keep early hours here, Leonard."

      "I don't. Mrs. Jersey asked me particularly to be in bed at eleven."

      "Why?" Brendon started, and looked hard at his friend.

      "I don't know, but she did."

      "Is it an understood thing that you retire at that hour?"

      Train shook his head and drew in his chair. "By no means. I have sat up till two before now. But on this night Mrs. Jersey wants the house to be considered respectable, and therefore asked me to retire early. Perhaps it's on account of you, old man." Here he smiled in an amused manner. "She hopes to get you as a boarder."

      "I wouldn't come here for the world," retorted Brendon, with quite unnecessary violence.

      "Why not? Have some tongue!"

      "Thanks," responded George, passing his plate. "Because I don't like the house, and I don't care for Mrs. Jersey."

      "Why did you advise me