I WAS an only son, and my parents died when I was very young — too young, indeed, to remember them, and I was placed under the guardianship of my uncle, Mark Haughton, — Squire Haughton, as the neighbours round about Haughton Tower used to call him; and Uncle Mark, as he was always known to me.

       Haughton Tower — a large, square, battlemented country-house, was situated among deep woods in the north of Yorkshire, and the family of the Haughtons had lived there for many generations. My father and his brother Mark had been brought up together, and they had always been warmly attached to one another. When my father died, the affection of my uncle seemed to be wholly transferred to me. He was an old bachelor, but he treated me exactly as if I had been his son. But still to me, calling up the recollection of my early years, his memory seems less associated with the idea of a parent, than that of a gentle companion and a loving friend. He seemed never happy unless I was by his side, and until I was sixteen years of age, he superintended my physical and mental education himself. He was very fond of field sports, and whether shooting, fishing, or hunting, I was always with him. He was, moreover, tolerably versed in classics and mathematics, which we read and studied together; but his chief delight, within doors, was science, especially natural philosophy and chemistry. It is from this fact that I trace that deep love for science which has been, I may almost say, the ruling passion of my life.

       Very few of the neighbours visited at Haughton Tower, and when my uncle went to any of the adjoining country seats, he left me at home. By this means, as I seldom, if ever, came into contact with persons of my own age, I grew up with precocious ideas and tastes, which gained for me, when very young, the title of "old-fashioned," and as I grew older of "eccentric."

       Thus, then, it had fared with me, until I arrived at the age of sixteen, when my uncle one morning received a letter, which threw our quiet household into a state of excitement. In order to explain this matter, I must refer to an event which happened early in the life of Mark Haughton. He was engaged to be married to a very pretty cousin of his own. Both families were agreeable, and the two young people seemed mutually attached to one another. Why or wherefore it was never understood, but one morning it was discovered that the pretty cousin had eloped with a Captain Maurice, — an officer, whom she had met at a county ball. Her father was extremely angry, and refused to see his daughter, or hear from her again. Poor Mark spoke very little about the matter, but he never said a word against his cousin, nor would he allow any one to do so, in his presence. Afterwards, when the poor runaway had written two or three heart-broken letters home, in which she said that her husband was going to India, and that she was going to accompany him, it was whispered that Uncle Mark had written her a letter, but what it contained, no one save himself and the recipient knew. These events occurred nearly twenty years before I ever heard anything of them, but the letter which now arrived at Haughton Tower seemed likely to bring forward again the circumstances of the past. The letter was dated from an hotel in London, and was written by a Captain Flemming, who had just returned on sick leave from Calcutta. A little girl had been intrusted to his care, and he had brought her to England. He was too unwell to proceed to Mr. Haughton's residence, but begged him to come up to town at once, and receive his charge. He also enclosed a note, which he expected would explain the matter more clearly.

       The enclosed note was very small and was directed in a frail female hand to Mark Haughton. It ran as follows:

       COUSIN MARK, — When everyone else treated me with harshness and cruelty, you alone, who had been most wronged, looked with pity and kindness upon me. Your letter, with its promise, which I received just before leaving England, is not forgotten. You then said that "if ever it lay in your power to serve me, that I might rely upon you." That time has come. Major Maurice, my husband, whom misfortune seemed to mark as its own, is no more, and my physician says that I cannot survive him more than a few days longer. All my children are dead except one, my little daughter Mary, and she will now be left an orphan. I intrust her to you. I cannot send her to my father's house; those who have been so cruel to the daughter, will not be kind to the daughter's child. I rely on your generosity and goodness of heart, and I know that my hopes will be fully realised when I am dead. Good bye! Cousin Mark. Forgive me, and may Heaven reward you!

MARY.    

       I, who knew nothing of the matter then, was astonished to see tears in my uncle's eyes, after reading this letter, and still more astonished when I saw him dash them hurriedly away, saying:

       "God bless the woman! what on earth made her write to me in this way? It's impossible — she can't be dead. But in any case, I must be off to London at once. Take care of her child — of Mary's child? Of course I will — twenty of them, if there were as many! Here, Charlie, don't stand gaping at me in that way. See that my portmanteau is packed at once, and tell Thomas to bring the dog-cart round as soon as possible, for I want to catch the afternoon express for the south!"

       I obeyed his orders, and soon after the dog-cart was brought round, and Uncle Mark, enveloped in great coats and mufflers, took his seat.

       "Charlie," said he, leaning over, and speaking to me, just before starting. "I leave you as housekeeper until I return in a few days, and look here, Charlie, my boy, I'll probably bring home with me a little sister for you. See that you are kind to her, you young dog, or I'll pack you off, bag and baggage!"

       "Never fear, uncle," I said. "Good bye!" and away went the dog-cart, my uncle waving farewell to me, until I lost sight of him far down the avenue.

       I thought over the matter of this little sister that my uncle had promised to bring home, but I could not realise the subject. I determined to wait patiently till he returned. After he had been absent for a week, I received a letter from him, in which he said that he would be still longer detained in town, and that he would write and tell me when he should come back. I had never been left so much to myself before, and I rather enjoyed my freedom. September was well advanced, and I went every day with one of the keepers, and knocked about the partridges to my heart's content.

       Another week, or more, had passed away, and I had been all day on the moors, and with my gun on my shoulder was taking a short cut through the garden to reach the house, when I was suddenly startled by an unusual sight. A little girl dressed in mourning, with a very pale face, very black hair, and very large, soft black eyes, met me, as I turned a corner of the garden-path. She carried in one hand a small bunch of newly-gathered blue flowers, which she was looking at admiringly, but, on hearing my footsteps, she stopped and we faced one another. I did not know which way to look, for I was very shy, and she seemed to scrutinise me so closely, that I believe I blushed. She was so different from any child or girl that I had ever seen before, that I was very much struck with her appearance. The buxom country lasses, and the dashing young amazons, whom I had seen and admired at the cover side, presented a strong contrast to the pale, fragile little form before me.

       "I suppose you are cousin Charlie?" she said, after a slight pause. She spoke in such a sweet, musical childish voice that I seemed somehow to have known it from infancy, and my heart appeared to respond to it at once. At the same time, she held out to me a tiny little hand that reminded me of some rare tropical shell with its delicate pink and white tints. I took it in my own, saying, bashfully:

       "Charlie is my name, and you, — you are my new sister. Am I right?"

       "No, — all my brothers and sisters are dead, and you are to be my cousin Charlie, and I am your cousin Mary, or Polly, as papa used to call me. You may call me which name you like."

       "Cousin Polly, then — I am very glad to see you at Haughton Tower, and I hope you will be happy, but I fear you will find it dull."

       "Don't be afraid about me, I am never dull when people are kind, and among these beautiful woods, and in this garden with its lovely flowers, how could any one be dull, cousin? I am so fond of blue flowers, — what is the name of this one, with its long clusters of blue helmets? Are they not just like helmets?"

       "We sometimes call it Juno's chariot. See! when I pull away this petal, it is exactly like a fairy chariot drawn by two swans."

       "Oh, how pretty! What a pity it is that it has no scent."

       "Very few poisonous plants have any agreeable perfume, Cousin Polly, and that flower has another name, — Monkshood, and it contains a deadly poison."

       "How dreadful; but this other pretty blue blossom, with the golden heart, I am sure that is harmless — is it not?"

       "Wrong again, Polly, that one is more hurtful than the other, and is known by scarcely any other name than the Deadly Nightshade."

       She trembled from head to foot, and threw away the little bunch, saying:

       "Surely, cousin, your English flowers are not all poisonous?"

       "Oh dear no, Cousin Polly; come with me, and I will soon gather you some that won't shock you."

       We seemed to be on friendly terms at once, and wandered about for a considerable time among the gardens and shrubberies, which were very extensive. She was rather difficult to please, but some wild hare-bells and forget-me-nots, together with a moss-rose, pleased her extremely. We were still strolling about when we heard the dinner-bell sound from the house.

       "Oh dear me, Cousin Charlie, what have I been thinking about! Uncle told me to come out and try to find you, and to bring you back immediately. What will he say? — will he be angry?"

       "It's quite plain, Polly, that you don't know Uncle Mark. He will only be too glad to see us. I am the most to blame, for I am sure he is anxious to see me, and in the search for your flowers I quite forgot all about him. Let us go back to the house at once."

       I remember that, at that time, I thought the trembling fit which came over her, when I pointed out the baneful nature of Monkshood and Nightshade, showed an amount of nervous susceptibility belied by her self-possession. But when I learned afterwards that her poor father, Major Maurice, had put an end to himself by poison, it seemed perfectly to explain her emotion.

       My uncle was delighted to see me, and especially to find that Mary and I were such good friends. He seemed never tired of gazing at the black-eyed little girl. I fancy that he saw in her features some traces of her whom he had loved, — long ago.

       She was not more than twelve or thirteen years of age, but knowing that she was the only "lady" in the establishment, she soon began to assume quite a matronly air. It was amusing to see the dignified air with which she took the head of the table at breakfast and tea-time, besides superintending the housekeeping, in her little way. Uncle Mark always treated her as if she were grown up, — listened to her with deference, and resigned his bunch of keys to her with an air at once of courtesy and pleasure.

       Her presence produced a delightful pleasure for both of us, especially for me, who had never mingled in any female society. It was pleasant to listen to her musical voice while detailing her reminiscences of Calcutta and the East, — of strange tropical trees and flowers, and of the dusky Bengalese. Then, again, she would tell us of her passage to England, and of the ideas she had formed of her new home, of Uncle Mark, and myself.

       We got at last into a regular routine, and it seemed as if Cousin Polly had always been with us, and that we could not do without her.

       Some months elapsed before Uncle Mark explained why he had been detained so long in London. He had been making arrangements for Mary Maurice's education. A governess had been engaged, who would soon arrive, and there was an excellent school at the neighbouring town of Hetherington, where she could go for other masters. My Uncle had also taken into account that since I had been so long at home, it was time that I went out and saw a little of the world. Full of these thoughts he had fortunately met with an old college acquaintance who was desirous of going on the continent for a year or two, and anxious to get a pupil to accompany him. The two friends soon came to terms, and I now learned that, in a fortnight's time, I was expected at the house of my uncle's acquaintance — the Rev. Mr. Ellis — in London.

       I was delighted with the news, and hardly knew how to control my excitement. Cousin Polly could not make it out at all. She could not see anything, she said, to be so pleased about. Surely I was happy where I was. And then she opened her large dark eyes and looked with a strange wistful gaze at me.

       In due time I left Haughton Tower, and joined Mr. Ellis in London. I was amazed and positively enchanted with the town, never having seen any large town before, and, after a month's pleasant sojourn, we started for Paris, and from thence we went, by way of Brussels, up the Rhine, and from there into Italy.

       We remained on the continent for two years, during which time I contrived to learn that England was not the whole world, and the hard angles of my character were knocked off. I heard regularly from my uncle, and sometimes I got a short note from Cousin Polly.

       Time passed away, and the period at length arrived for my return. How strange it seemed to me after mingling in the busy world, after seeing so many different countries, after hearing so many different languages, to return to the little family circle at Haughton Tower. Still it was a relief, after the continual change of scenes and faces, to think that once more I was about to gaze on the well known and well-loved haunts, and to meet once more the well-remembered smile and kindly voice of Uncle Mark.

       It was close upon Christmas when I arrived at home. Home! what a cheering warmth there is about the very name! It was evening when I drew up at the hall-door, and my uncle met me on the steps. His face beamed with welcome, and although a little greyer than when I last saw him, he looked still the same dear old kind uncle I had left.

       "My dear boy I'm so glad to see you," he said, after drawing me into the comfortable, well-lighted study. "Come in, Polly and I have done nothing but talk about you for the last month or two, and, Cousin Polly —– Bless me, where's the little puss gone to? She has been watching for you, with me, on the steps for I don't know how long. Polly! Polly!"

       And away went Uncle Mark to seek her. He was not long in bringing her into the room. But what a change had taken place. The little girl had grown up into a woman, seemingly. The long thick jet-black hair I recognised, and the dark eyelashes which she never raised; but the change of climate and the bracing country-air had brought such a glow of health into her cheeks that it was no wonder that I scarcely knew her again.

       Before the evening was over, however, we were all on a more easy footing. I had much to tell, and was spokesman nearly all the night. Somehow or other, although I addressed my uncle whenever I spoke, I felt that I was speaking to Cousin Polly. Whenever I looked towards her, thinking that she was looking at me, down went the eyelashes again, and the faintest suspicion of a blush flashed across her face. Ah, how beautiful she looked, sitting low down in an easy-chair by the genial fire on that quiet winter's night. How deeply did her beauty sink into my heart, and how dearly I love its remembrance now that many — many years are gone!

       I found that my uncle did not now go out as frequently in the fields as he was in the habit of doing formerly; not that he enjoyed his favourite sports less, but that he enjoyed the presence and sunny smiles of Mary Maurice more. When therefore I became once more a member of the household of Haughton Tower, I found, with great pleasure, that my uncle devoted a considerable portion of his leisure time to the pursuit of science. He had a room which was fitted up purposely for his studies, but it was only for experiments of a very limited character. Uncle Mark pursued science more as a relaxation or a pleasure, than for any specific object to be attained. He dipped into the surface of this abstruse subject, and skimmed over that, only extracting the little sweets of speculative philosophy as he passed. I was differently constituted, and always wished to carry out any experiments that we commenced to the end. Often when he had started some new project, I still continued endeavouring, with our limited means to pursue the original idea. Although my uncle confessed his inability to follow in the same path, still he did not conceal his admiration for my patience and perseverance.

       Seeing the pleasure and interest which I took in the subjects which we had been studying, he advised me to go to London for a time, and there add more fully to my knowledge by experimenting in the best laboratories, and by attending lectures by the most eminent men of science. I was, of course, charmed with the proposal, and although it was only six months since I had returned from abroad, it was soon arranged that I had to go up to London on the earliest possible opportunity. The son of a neighbouring gentleman had gone up to town a short time before. He was about to commence the study of medicine, and arrangements were made that I had to occupy rooms along with him. Fred Holdsworth was a light-hearted merry young fellow, about two years younger than myself, and with whom I had struck up a slight acquaintance in the hunting-field. I felt pleased to think that he was to be my companion.

       There was consequently nothing but confusion and bustle for some time at Haughton Tower, for everyone was making preparations for the departure of "the young squire," as I was called.

       All the time that I had been at home, Cousin Polly and I had been remarkably good friends. It was so pleasant, as we sometimes said to one another, to have a brotherly and sisterly feeling towards one another. But we were mostly silent, — provokingly and annoyingly silent, — after making this assertion. When it was fixed that I had to go to London for another indefinite period, Cousin Polly grew unusually quiet, and sometimes when I met her gaze I recognised the same wistful, inquiring look in her eyes, that I remembered on my last departure. But now it made my face tingle, and as I looked, Polly turned away hurriedly, and was, or pretended to be, very busy with some preparations for my departure.

       The day arrived when I was to start. It was a lovely afternoon in June, and as I was all packed up and ready for starting in the evening, I wished to take a stroll over the grounds before leaving. I sought out Cousin Polly, and asked her to accompany me as usual, but she was so busy with arrangements for my comfort in travelling, that she could not come then, but said that she would meet me in a short while, promising to join me at a favourite seat of ours, on a knoll, where three or four beach trees stood, outside of the garden, in the park.

       I walked along leisurely through the grounds, taking a farewell look at the gardens, green-houses and arbours, and then went out into the park, where I lay down on the grass, under the shade of the beech trees where I had promised to meet Mary.

       How calm and peaceful everything was. One or two lazy snow-white clouds flecked the clear blue sky above. There was not enough wind even to rustle the leaves overhead. The park stretched down the slope from where I lay, shadowless, until it reached the deep, dark wood which surrounded it about half-a-mile away, and the many-leaved wood itself seemed motionless in the still, summer air. The only sound that broke the silence was the murmur of a little brook which wandered round the bend of the neighbouring garden hedge. As I lay in the chequered shadow, lulled by the stillness of the scene and the musical murmur of the rippling stream, dreamy thoughts and fancies passed through my mind. How easy and smooth had the course of my life been, and how promising was the aspect of the future. When I came of age I should be in the possession of wealth. No trouble, no grief, no pain had ever crossed my path within my recollection, and my prospects were as bright and sunny as the scene around me. I was now about to pursue my favourite study, not for the sake of gain or ambition, but for the love of science alone. I longed to know more of the hidden secrets of Nature. I thirsted to drink a deep draught from that well at which I had hitherto only sipped. And yet, I thought, if I should make some great discovery, — if my name should be added to the roll of fame, — if it should be so. The murmur of the stream fell softer and softer on my senses and I fell asleep.

       I was awakened by a sense of the air being perfumed, and a gentle, soft kiss was impressed upon my lips. At first I was scarcely conscious where I was; but I soon recognised the scene, and on looking round I saw Mary Maurice sitting by my side. She had taken off her hat, and her face was turned away from me, but I could see that her cheek and neck were suffused with a deep, rosy glow.

       "Polly," I said, while a peculiar choking sensation prevented me from saying anything more. There was no answer, and still the little head, with the black, clustering hair, was turned away from me.

       "Cousin Polly, you kissed me!" at length I blundered out.

       Now the blushing face was turned towards me, and there were bright tears glancing in her beautiful eyes.

       "Oh, don't Charlie — don't say anything more! I thought you were asleep — I did, indeed, cousin."

       Need I go on — need I tell how in that still summer scene, our hearts told their own secrets, and we vowed that we would love one another for ever and for ever.

       As we walked back slowly to the house, she gathered some forget-me-nots, and gave them to me, saying:

       "Take these, Charlie; you remember you gave me some the first time that we met. I have them still; they are safely locked up in my writing-desk. Now I want to say something to you that will make you think me very silly, perhaps. Do you recollect that at our first meeting you told me that the flowers which I had gathered were poisonous?"

       "Perfectly, — what about them?"

       "Well, there is something in my heart, — don't laugh at me, — that tells me now, that you must beware of poisons. Pray do not interrupt me, — I know that your studies will bring you in constant contact with poisonous substances, but it is not that, — something in my inmost heart tells me that your future, your fate will be intimately linked and associated with poisons. Forgive me if what I have said seems idle fancy; but I cannot tell you how I have longed to warn you. I seem to have been prompted to do so by a power stronger than I could control. I know you will forgive me, and promise to — to beware."

       I did promise; and I sealed the promise with a last fond kiss.

       When we arrived at the house, I did not inform my uncle of what had taken place, but I am certain that he suspected something, from the change in our manner. However, I made no sign until just before leaving, when, in bidding him good-bye, I said:

       "Uncle Mark, take care of Cousin Polly — take care of her for me!"

       He took me by both hands, and gazed steadfastly in my face for a few seconds, and then fairly burst into tears.

       "Heaven bless you, my dear boy," he said. "I have longed for many a day to hear this news. Don't stay long away, Charlie, but come back soon and make her your wife."

       In an hour or two afterwards I was in the railway carriage, hurrying on to London, and as the night grew darker and darker, between pauses of sleeping and waking, I fancied that ever and anon I heard Mary's gentle voice whispering in my ear that strange warning — "Beware of poisons! Beware of poisons!"

(To be continued.)

from Once a week
vol 07, pp 449-53 (1862-oct-18)

       I FOUND Fred Holdsworth located in one of the many streets leading from the Strand towards the river. He had secured rooms for me in the same house; and although I did not like the place (it was noisy all day in front with heavy carts; and noisy all night behind with cats), still, as he approved of it, and as I wanted company, I stayed, and was soon reconciled. I rapidly became immersed in my studies, and Holdsworth seemed also immersed in pleasure and all the jollities of medical student life. We were very unlike in disposition, and probably for that very reason were the better friends. We never had the semblance of a quarrel, and consequently lived on very comfortably. He could not comprehend my wish to study chemistry only for the love of science. When in his sensible moments, however, I could see that he was very fond of his profession, and he was continually advising me to enter myself as a student of medicine and surgery. But I had no taste for therapeutics.

       Many of his studies, however, led him in the same direction as myself, and at last he had to undergo the ordeal of some examination which he was desirous of passing creditably; and to do him justice, he worked very hard. He used to sit in the house at night (a very unusual thing for him), and pore over his books, while I, on the other side of the table, was arranging my notes, or jotting down memoranda of the experiments which I had completed during the day. He found me of some assistance to him in his chemical studies, and was in the habit of consulting me at times. I remember a conversation that we had one evening which led in the end to very strange and awful results, brought me misery and pain, and led me close to the gate of death.

       We had been conversing on that mysterious and fascinating portion of chemistry which relates to attraction and repulsion, chemical combinations and decompositions and elective affinity. I recollect now that I startled myself by some of the strange fancies which I indulged in.

       Holdsworth had confessed that he had been perplexed in trying to class together several substances which had been placed before him in a mixed solution. He could not arrange the acids and bases to his satisfaction, and complained bitterly that he believed it was all empiricism to say that one could tell accurately which substances were in conjunction. After trying to explain the subject to him, I remember saying that if he would listen to me for a short time, he might be able to gain some hints which might be useful to him.

       "You must have observed," I said, "that some chemical substances are of such a nature that when brought into contact, they immediately lay hold of one another, so to speak. They unite together ultimately, and form a substance entirely different from either of the original. The impulse by which these bodies join together is called chemical attraction, or affinity — names given, I presume, for want of a better. Now, it appears to me as if these inorganic, inanimate substances possessed a sort of spirit — an intelligence — a will of their own. Don't shake your head so disbelievingly, but hear me out. Take the case of elective affinity, which, by its very title, gives to these so-called dead substances the property of a power of choosing. As an example of what I mean generally let me remind you of a very common mineral, chalk, or carbonate of lime; in it a solid substance, lime, is combined with a colourless gas called carbonic acid. Now, the instant that another acid, say sulphuric acid, is brought in contact with chalk, what is the result? The new acid and the lime spring to each other and combine together at once, while the colourless carbonic acid gas is thrown off into the air. What power is this, that the new acid possesses? What makes the lime throw up its alliance with the gas? I believe myself that it is intimately connected with a law that exists throughout creation both in the animate and inanimate world, — that opposite natures should be drawn together. Inorganic substances which have the strongest "attraction" for one another, are those which differ most entirely in their qualities. You may take acids and alkalies as an example. Look around, too, in the world of your acquaintances, and do you not everywhere see persons of opposite natures strongly attracted to one another, especially in the cases of friends, lovers, or husbands and wives? I do not mean to say that we do not see the contrary sometimes, and meet with cases of like joining to like. Even in chemistry we find that some acids when mixed form a more powerful acid than when separate. But still I hold that throughout the organic and inorganic worlds, opposite natures attract each other and combine the most strongly."

       "Oh, Charlie, Charlie," said Holdsworth, "you are getting quite beyond the subject. I should make the Professor stare with astonishment if I were to come out with such fantastic notions. But I could not help thinking, while you were speaking, that Old Walstein would just suit you."

       "Old Walstein! Who is Old Walstein?"

       "Nobody seems to know, but he is a very clever old fellow, — Doctor Walstein I believe he calls himself. He has taken out a card for practical chemistry at our place, and works all day in our laboratory. He is deep in organic chemistry, and has prepared, while he has been with us, a splendid collection of rare crystals, both from animal and vegetable substances. He is very talkative, and has taken a great fancy to me, but there is something about the look of his eyes that I don't like. In fact, there is no 'elective affinity,' as you call it, between us, as far as I am concerned. He was speaking to me only the other day, in the same strain as you have been talking to me. Would you like to know him? I'll introduce you."

       "I should like to know him very much, — what is he? where does he live?"

       "I haven't the slightest idea what his occupation is; I have, however, a notion that, like you, he is studying chemistry merely for the love of it. As to where he lives, I believe it is somewhere in Wales, but at present he is staying in Piccadilly — Albemarle Street, number —"

       "You seem to know his address pretty well."

       "Well, I saw his daughter — that is — I mean, I saw his carriage stop there one day."

       "Oh, he has a daughter, has he? Well, you need not blush so, Fred."

       "I'm not blushing. I have only seen her once or twice. The doctor's carriage used to come for him in the afternoon, and I have seen a young lady in it, who I fancy is his daughter. She is very pretty — fair with blue eyes, but she seems dreadfully delicate, for she is always wrapped up in furs, even in this warm weather. I've not seen her for the last month, either in the carriage or at the window of the house —"

       "Oh, you have been looking out for her, have you? Come — come, don't begin to blush again, — if you will allow me to go with you to the laboratory to-morrow, I should like to meet this doctor friend of yours."

       "I shall be happy to introduce you, and I think you will get on well together," said Fred, and we dropped the subject.

       The next afternoon I called at the laboratory according to appointment. It was a large dingily-lighted apartment, looking out on the Thames under arches. There were wooden benches fitted up with shelves filled with bottles and phials, retorts, lamps, crucibles, and all the paraphernalia required in the study of chemistry. The room was full of young students, from the midst of whom Holdsworth emerged and led me forward to introduce me to Doctor Walstein.

       The old man seemed quite out of place among the crowd of youthful students around him. His appearance struck me as being very peculiar. He was dressed in a coarse dark blouse, made with tight fitting sleeves, and fastened round the waist with a leathern strap. He wore a black velvet skull-cap, from under which his snow white hair appeared. But his face impressed me the most strongly. I was both attracted and repulsed by it — attracted by the evident fire of genius which glowed in its every feature, and repulsed by the expression of his eyes, which produced an indescribable feeling of fear and submission. His skin was bronzed; evidently by much exposure whilst travelling, and his small keen grey eyes scintillated with a strange light under his overhanging white eyebrows. His nose was long, thin, and aquiline, and his massive forehead was deeply furrowed between the eyebrows, as we often see in men who have suffered deeply or studied much and painfully. The lower part of his face was concealed by a thick white moustache and beard; but he smiled as Holdsworth introduced me, and took my hand with seeming cordiality.

       Even at this lapse of time I can remember that smile and that pressure of the hand, vividly. Every feature in his face smiled, but his eyes did not change their fixed, piercing look, and, as he continued to talk upon various subjects, they seemed to hold me under a fascination, for which afterwards I vainly endeavoured to account. He showed me several exquisite crystalline substances and chemical preparations, each inclosed in a curiously carved wooden case. These, he informed me, he had produced while he had been in the laboratory, and that he had come to London in order to prepare them, as they were intended to assist him in a series of experiments, on which he was engaged in the country. He said, also, that his stay in town would not be long, and giving me his address, told me that he would be happy to see me in the evening, whenever I could call upon him.

       I left the place without even speaking to Holdsworth. I was lost in thought, and my mind seemed overcome with an unaccountable presentiment of evil. I tried to shake off this feeling, but found that it was impossible to do so, — the glittering eyes of the old man seemed to haunt me. When I got to my rooms I began to consider what there was about the Doctor that had produced so singular and disagreeable an effect upon me. One thing I thought that I detected, namely, that Fred Holdsworth had evidently been speaking to him about some of my fanciful ideas with regard to the connection between organic and inorganic nature. This I presumed, not from any direct remark from the Doctor, but rather from observations that he had made to me, seemingly by chance, while showing to me his chemical preparations. I also remembered, with a shudder, that nearly all the substances which he displayed were virulent poisons. When I pondered on this fact, again the shadow of impending evil fell upon me, and once more I seemed to hear the sweet, low voice of Mary Maurice whispering at my side, "Beware of poisons! beware of poisons!" I started from my reverie, almost expecting to find her in the room, but I found it was all the work of imagination. Still the remembrance of my loved cousin was enough to dissipate my gloom. I endeavoured to cast off the evil foreboding which overshadowed me, and I succeeded. What was Doctor Walstein to me, or I to Doctor Walstein, that I should care for him? I declared to myself that I would have nothing more to do with him or his poisonous experiments, and when Holdsworth arrived in the evening, he found me in better spirits than usual.

       "Well, Charlie," said he, "what do you think of our Doctor? I can assure you that he has taken a strong liking to you; indeed, he told me to tell you that you must not forget to call upon him."

       "To tell you the truth, Fred, I have no great partiality for your old friend, and have no desire to meet him again."

       "I think, however, that you ought to call, if it was only to see his daughter. She is really a most beautiful girl, — and you see — knowing that we live together, — you might get an invitation for me on another occasion."

       "Oh! that's how the land lies, is it, Fred? I thought there was a little bit of self in it; but you must excuse me. I cannot explain my reasons to you, but my wish is, to avoid Doctor Walstein if possible; besides, you cannot care very much for a girl whom you have never spoken to."

       Holdsworth was a handsome, strong young fellow, but he had one weakness, which was, that he could not conceal a blush. He turned very red at my last remark, and was silent.

       After a week had elapsed, I received a note from the Doctor, inviting me to his lodgings on the following evening, and as I had really no valid excuse for declining, I went, to the great envy of my companion. But I saw that his envy was tempered with the hope that my visit would result advantageously for himself.

       An evil-faced servant in black opened the door for me, and told me to walk upstairs, where I found Doctor Walstein, who received me cordially, almost affectionately. He was alone, and we immediately began to converse about ordinary topics. He had evidently seen much, and studied much, and on every subject he spoke shrewdly, and with a touch of satire that suited my youthful taste exactly. I did not perceive it at first, but I found out afterwards, that notwithstanding his light and fluent mode of guiding the conversation, he was drawing me out, and making me speak of subjects that I would not have ventured upon with anyone else. He had even got me to speak in somewhat glowing terms about my Yorkshire home and my Uncle Mark. In doing this, however, I felt that I was saying too much before a complete stranger, and I became silent.

       The shades of evening filled the room, and the old man was sitting with his back to the window, so I could not see the expression on his face, but I felt that those piercing grey eyes of his were bent upon me, with their strange, fascinating glance. I was roused by the Doctor informing me that coffee was awaiting us in the adjoining room. He put his arm through mine, and opened the folding-doors leading into the inner apartment. A lamp in the middle of the table lighted the room brightly, and I saw a young girl of the most dazzling beauty, who stood looking at us with a startled expression. It was only for an instant or two, for the Doctor said sternly:

       "How is this, Minna? You informed me that you were so unwell, that you would remain in your own room!"

       She murmured some words in reply which I could not distinguish, and the doctor turned to me, asking me to excuse him for an instant, and then passed through the folding-doors, closing them behind him, and leaving me alone in the outer room.

       Even in the darkened apartment, rendered more dark by the glimpse of light afforded by the opening of the doors, the beautiful figure of that young girl seemed still before me, — a mental picture that appeared indelible. I do not know what length of time elapsed, — it seemed an age, — when the Doctor returned, and invited me into the inner room. He was profuse in his apologies. His daughter was seriously unwell, and he had cautioned her to take care of herself. She was unaware that a stranger was present. He hoped, however, that on my next visit, his daughter would be able to join us. I noticed, as he spoke, that the old man seemed agitated, but he proceeded to say, more calmly, as we sat down to our coffee, that his daughter had lived till within the last year in Southern Europe, and that he feared the treacherous climate of England had made inroads on her health. I said that from the slight glance I had had, his daughter did not appear delicate.

       "Ah," said he, "that is one of the deceptions practised by that fiend Consumption in this country, when he has made sure of his victim."

       Was it reality, or was it fancy on my part, that made me think there was a grim smile on the old man's face as he said these words? His eyes belied it, and his beard concealed it — but most assuredly I thought that he smiled. I know, however, that I felt rather faint at the time, for there was a strange perfume in the air, like the faint scent of geranium leaves. I glanced round the room, but could not see any flowers. Gradually the perfume died away.

       "You may think it unfeminine," the Doctor continued, "but my daughter is well versed in our favourite science — if you will allow me to call it so; from her earliest years she has been my companion, and as she showed a taste for the study of chemistry, I encouraged it, and in many of my researches and discoveries she has been my copartner, and often, indeed, my guide and director."

       I was astonished at what he said, but I remarked that the influence of a loving daughter and a kind voice must go far to cheer the dark and intricate paths of science which he was following.

       "You are right, my young friend — you are right," he said, with a seemingly broken voice. But again I saw, or fancied I saw, a grim smile playing about his features.

       The evening passed away pleasantly enough for me. The Doctor's great experience, the number of countries he had visited, and the varied universities in which he had studied, together with the unusual direction in which his studies had tended, held me entranced while listening to him. I may divide the topics of our conversation, or rather of his instruction, into three parts. First, the subject which seemed to afford him the greatest pleasure and interest — namely, the mysterious principle of life — the vis vitæ. Secondly, he touched lightly but lucidly upon a subject which he knew interested me — the mutual and reciprocal laws which govern the animal, vegetable, and mineral worlds. Lastly, he astounded but charmed me by almost confessing that he was no unsubstantial believer in the theories of the alchemists, both in regard to the elixir of life and the transmutation of metals.

       It was late when I left Doctor Walstein, but I did not do so without promising to visit him on the following evening. Holdsworth was disappointed that I could give him so little information about Miss Walstein, and looked very sceptical when I told him that she was conversant with the science of chemistry, declaring that it was utterly unnatural and impossible.

       I went to the Doctor's house the next evening — in fact, I was there every night for a week, and became more and more attracted by my new acquaintance on every visit. Let me be understood: I neither liked nor respected the old man. He treated every subject of morality or virtue that I had been in the habit of reverencing with the utmost levity. But I fancied that I saw my danger, and thought myself secure. The desire for his acquaintance was intellectual, not moral — it was a friendship of the head, and not of the heart.

       About a week had passed away, and I went as usual to Albemarle Street. I had received through the post that morning from Cousin Polly a rose-bud which had bloomed out freshly after being placed in water. This rose-bud I had placed in the breast of my coat before my visit. The servant at the door told me that Doctor Walstein had not yet returned, but that he had requested me to wait for him. I had noticed one peculiarity about the Doctor's household, which was that there seemed to be only one servant, and that was the evil-faced man in black who opened the door. I never saw any female domestic about the establishment, and the evil-faced man only admitted me, he never entered the apartments.

       I went up-stairs alone, and passed into the drawing-room. Miss Walstein was sitting on a sofa near the window. I knew her in an instant, although I had only seen her hurriedly on the night of my first visit. Lovely as she had then appeared in that momentary glance, she appeared even more so now in the softened twilight. Her light golden hair, which was very luxuriant, was drawn back from her forehead, and clustered gracefully round her beautifully formed head. Her features were small and regular, and her complexion was absolutely brilliant. Her large blue eyes, which were fixed upon me, seemed however to be lighted up with the same strange fire that rendered her father's so remarkable. She wore a rich silk dress trimmed with white fur round the throat and also round the sleeves, out of which her small perfectly shaped hands peeped, rivalling the down itself in their whiteness. She rose slightly, pointing to a chair at some distance from where she was, and begged me to be seated.

       "My father purposes to leave London in a few days, and has many arrangements to make before leaving. You will therefore have to put up with my company this evening, Mr. Haughton, until he returns."

       Of course I expressed the pleasure I had in meeting her, and congratulated her on her recovery. She said that her father was always imagining that she was unwell, but that she considered that it was only the effect of the confined London air. As soon as she got into Wales again she would be certain to recover. After that, we spoke upon many subjects. I found that she had read considerably, was well acquainted with the topics of the day, and could sustain a conversation with spirit. But another circumstance at this time began to attract my attention.

       When I first entered the room I perceived that the air was faintly perfumed with a scent like that of geranium leaves. I recognised it as being the same perfume which had pervaded the inner room on my first visit, and, as before, I looked round vainly for any trace of flowers, except the rose-bud in my breast. While I remained in the room the strength of the aroma did not seem to increase, but at times it made me feel faint and giddy.

       My fair companion noticed that I raised my hand once or twice to my forehead, and said in a slightly faltering tone that her father was in the habit of burning perfumes in the room — that she was accustomed to them — and that she trusted their traces did not annoy me.

       I met her eyes as she spoke, for there was something in her tone that startled me. She looked steadfastly at me, but I did not like her expression. A feeling of distrust shot through me: but at this moment the Doctor entered the room.

       He was cheerful and even gay and brilliant in his discourse, and his presence seemed to communicate a life and energy to our conversation. Once more he turned the discussion to his favourite subject of abstruse, mystical science. The very tones of his voice seemed to fascinate me, and I observed the countenance of his daughter brighten up as he spoke. She seemed the most interested of all, and kept her eyes fixed upon his face as if enthralled by his words. But when she spoke herself, she perfectly astounded me by her weird and fanciful ideas. I scarcely spoke, but was deeply interested in what they said. The air of the room still remained perfumed, and doubtless acted upon my brain, so that I listened to their wild flights of fancy into the region of conjecture with comparative calmness. I feel now that I could not have done so under ordinary circumstances.

       An occurrence took place, however, which was sufficient to call me back to rationality. The room had become rather dark, and Doctor Walstein, after lighting the lamp, drew from his breast-pocket one of the small, carved, wooden cases which I had observed him using when he was working in the laboratory. He opened it and held it out for my inspection. There was an inner glass lid, and through this I could see that the case was filled with pink cotton-wool, in the midst of which was a tuft of delicate crystalline needles of a bright green colour.

       "What is this, Doctor?" I inquired.

       "You have no doubt observed, Mr. Haughton, that I am unusually elated this evening. I have cause to be so, for I have to-day not only completed the whole of the chemical preparations which were necessary for a great secret discovery that I am resolved to make, but I have also succeeded in producing a substance which I have been vainly attempting to arrive at for years. You see it in that case which you hold. It is the pure, essential principle of the poison of one of the most fatal snakes — the Cobra di Capello!"

       "Good heavens! Doctor Walstein!" I exclaimed, putting the case far from me on the table, "all your practical chemistry seems to tend in the direction of poisons."

       "Young man, my aim — my object — my ambition is to fathom the deep secret of Life; to trace its origin, and to analyse its nature. I see in the future that I am destined to discover the wondrous Elixir of Life. I have already arrived at great results, but before I can go further I must penetrate far into the dark and mysterious secrets of Death. These deadly poisons which you seem to look upon with such loathing, are the stepping-stones by which I intend to arrive at the nature of Life itself."

       As he spoke these words his daughter smiled, and taking up the case in her hands, gazed fixedly on the bright green poison. As she continued to look at it, I observed that her eyes lost their strange light, and appeared even soft and gentle. She seemed absolutely to look upon the deadly crystals with love and tenderness, whilst I could not suppress a shudder of horror. My brain, too, was overburdened with the delicate, but subtle and oppressive odour which pervaded the chamber, and I rose to go. They both pressed me to stay, but seeing that I was most anxious to go, Miss Walstein bowed her farewell to me from the sofa, from which she had never risen, and the Doctor descended with me to the front door.

       When I got into the open air I was almost unconscious for a second or two, but the cool air soon revived me, and I proceeded homewards. But whenever I allowed my recollection to dwell on the scene that I had left, I was seized with an uncontrollable feeling of terror. Notwithstanding the old man's extraordinary knowledge and ability, and his daughter's beauty and intelligence, my mind was filled with suspicion and distrust. Once more I made the resolution that my path and Doctor Walstein's should be separate. I felt that our intercourse could tend to no good result, and again the unheeded warnings of my betrothed recalled themselves to my thoughts.

       Ah! why had I ever ceased to remember them? As this self-reproach struck me I looked at the rose-bud in my breast, that had bloomed so freshly a few hours before. It was withered and dead!

(To be continued.)

from Once a week
vol 07, pp 477-82 (1862-oct-25)

       A FEW days after my interview with Doctor Walstein and his daughter, I learned from Holdsworth that they had left London for their house in Wales. This did not surprise me, as I had expected their departure; but I thought it rather strange that the doctor had neither written nor sent any message to me. If Fred had ever been really smitten with the charms of Minna Walstein, he was no longer so. I think that he could never get over the idea that she was deeply versed in chemical science. At all events, he never blushed now when her name was mentioned, and he had even the temerity to taunt me with having a penchant in that direction myself. Notwithstanding my energetic denials, he persisted in his assertions, so that I could almost have been angry, if it had not been for his constant good humour.

       Very gradually there came over me a peculiar feeling, for which I tried vainly to account. I had only seen Minna Walstein on two occasions; but both these interviews were associated in my mind with that strange, subtle perfume of geranium leaves. At first, when I began to allow my recollection to dwell upon this scent, I thought of it with dislike. Very gradually, however, this feeling wore away, and I began to think of it with a strange unrest, and at last with a fierce sort of pleasure. I dreamt of it at night; I seemed to inhale with it a vital atmosphere, necessary for my existence. I soon lost all interest in my studies, and longed to be alone, so that I could let loose the reins of imagination and fancy. I became more and more reserved, and my mind became more morbid every day.

       Every one with whom I met noticed an alteration in my appearance, and I could see that Fred Holdsworth was very solicitous about my health. But I was impatient at all notice, and preferred being left alone to my thoughts. On one occasion, however, he made a remark that called up a vague apprehension, since it corroborated a mysterious sensation which I had lately experienced. After telling me how pale and thin I looked, he said that there was a peculiar expression in my eyes, — a sort of glittering, that reminded him of Doctor Walstein. The same idea had occurred to me of late, when looking at the mirror; but the glittering somehow reminded me more of the eyes of Minna Walstein. He saw by my manner that I was annoyed, and did not allude to the subject again; but I could not forget it: and this new fancy, added to my morbid thoughts concerning the perfume, harassed me almost beyond endurance. A longing to breathe once more that scented atmosphere took possession of me; it seemed now an absolute necessity of my life. I could not, however, disconnect the remembrance of it from Doctor Walstein's poisonous experiments. Was that subtle perfume a poison? If so, what affinity had it with me, that I should feel thus strongly attracted towards it? Questions like these were continually recurring to me, and filled me with a mysterious foreboding.

       The poisoned perfume — for such I had begun to consider it — haunted my dreams more than ever. Some of these dreams were almost too horrible to bear. I remember that, after one night of feverish and troubled sleep, I seemed to lie in a state between sleeping and waking in the grey dawn. The perfume appeared to steal into the air around, and suddenly something heavy, cold, and slimy seemed to pass slowly over my neck and cheek and across my throat, down between my arm and breast. I knew, although I had not seen it, that it was a snake. I lay motionless, but in a dreadful agony of suspense. The slightest sound, the slightest movement, I thought, would be a signal for the deadly fangs of the reptile. At last it seemed that, roused by the warmth, the creature was uncoiling itself, and soon I felt it repass across my throat, and in the dim light I thought I saw the green head of a Cobra di Capello, with its hood distended, rising close before my face. The glittering eyes flashed brilliantly, but, strangely enough to me, they seemed to be the eyes of Minna Walstein! I awoke with a scream, but the dream was too vivid to pass away. I was trembling with terror. It was then that the idea first rose to my mind, — Why not go to Wales and see this old man, and there learn from himself what truth there might be in the vague fears that beset me? The thought no sooner occurred to me, than it superseded all others. I determined to lose no time, but to set out as soon as possible for Wales.

       I knew where the doctor lived; he had spoken to me of his house on several occasions. It was called Pwlldu, or Black-pool House, and was situated somewhere in the wild region of Gower. I made my arrangements for leaving during the day, not even telling my intention to Fred. As soon as I had made up my mind to undertake this journey, I felt drawn and attracted in the direction I had fixed upon, by an almost resistless force. It seemed the one great object of my life. I was as careless of the future as I was utterly forgetful of the past. I thought only of breathing once more that strange atmosphere, — of meeting once more that old man whom I hated, — and of seeing again the serpent-glitter of his daughter's eyes.

       I remember very little of my journey. I arrived about eleven at night in the little town of —–. Late as it was, I procured a carriage, and was soon hurrying forward at a good pace to Pwlldu House, some ten miles distant.

       The carriage was obliged to stop at a little village, where I had to knock up the inmates of a small inn, who instructed me as to my road to the house. It was down by the cliffs, close to the sea, and as there was only a footpath, I paid off the coachman, who drove back to —–, and I proceeded on my lonely walk to Pwlldu House.

       There was sufficient light from the stars to enable me to see my way, but I believe that if there had been such darkness as might have been felt, I would have gone unerringly on my path.

       I was approaching the cliffs, for the mournful monotonous sound of falling waves met my ears, and I found that I was advancing upon a dark grove of trees, through which lights glimmered. I passed through a small gate and under the trees, until I met with a gravel path that led up to the door of a large and substantial looking house. The hall door was open, and in the light stood Doctor Walstein, dressed in the coarse blouse and velvet skull-cap that I had seen him wear in the laboratory, when I first met him.

       "Ah, you are here at last, — I have been expecting you," he said, holding out his hand.

       I grasped it eagerly, and in an instant was conscious of a strange feeling of relief. The very touch of his hand, and the sound of his voice, seemed to bring to me a feeling of calm and security. He took my valise from me and led me within, and as I stood talking with him in a cheerfully lighted room, all the bitter, heart-burning questions which I had intended to ask vanished into air. The moment that I stepped within his door my anguish and suspense disappeared; I felt all the soft and soothing sensation of a condemned prisoner's sudden release. I was treated by Doctor Walstein as an invited guest, and I made no effort to influence his treatment. The perfect rest and composure of my mind was delicious, after the agony that I had endured, and I would not allow even conscience to whisper to me a word of warning.

       After showing me to my apartment he informed me that, fancying I had not dined during my journey, he had caused a slight repast to be prepared. Would I join him even at that late hour? I acquiesced at once, and in a short time he rejoined me, having altered his dress. We descended together.

       Subtle, crafty fiend! I thought I saw that hideous grim smile on his face, but I put my arm through his, and walked with him in all good faith. Subtle, crafty fiend! Another day to wait, and it might have been too late. Had I known his devil's cunning, I would have strangled him then and there, old man though he was.

       We passed across the entrance-hall, and along a passage, at the end of which was the evil-faced servant, still dressed in black, who opened the door for us. I was not in a very observant condition at the moment of which I am writing, but I could not help being struck with the appearance of the room which we entered. The walls were covered with dark green paper, on which was a scroll work of gold, composed, seemingly, of cabalistic characters. A soft carpet, of a deep, rich purple, covered the floor; and the further end of the room was concealed by a heavy green velvet curtain. In the centre of the room was a table, on which a recherché little banquet was laid out. The apartment was lighted by one lamp, which hung from the ceiling, and cast a bright but soft and even light around. The prevalence of green and gold, for even the crystal and porcelain on the table had these hues predominating, and the cabalistic golden scroll, affected me at first, but as my host sat down and invited me to sit opposite to him, all feeling except that of repose and relief left me. I had had no appetite all day, but now I was hungry, and did full justice to the repast before me. The evil-faced servant only appeared now and then, to remove the dishes, and the doctor spoke very little, seeing that I was busily engaged. At last the meal was over, and the servant removed everything but the wine. There were several kinds of wine, and crystal goblets of antique shape, on the table. There was also a small gold flask, beautifully chased, the top being closed with a clasp, in which a large emerald was set. This flask stood on the doctor's right hand, but was not opened.

       My companion's conversation was as interesting and fascinating as ever for me, and I listened to him in a dreamy state of pleasure. The influence of the wine, the soft light, and the strange gold characters on the wall, produced a feeling of calm excitement (if I may use the term), that I wished could last for ever.

       The velvet curtain, which concealed one end of the room, was behind me, and I sat facing the old man, listening once more to his wild and fanciful speculations. My mind was in a perfect state of rest and security, and I was not startled — not a muscle moved nor a nerve quivered — when I was conscious that the mysterious perfume was gradually pervading the air and stealing around me. My eyes were fixed upon the doctor's face, and I saw him, while still looking at me and talking to me, stretch out his hand, and take hold of the flask with the emerald clasp. He opened it mechanically, still looking at me, and pushed it across the table in my direction; signalling to me, at the same time, to take it. I did so, and following the direction of his eyes, I looked behind me. The heavy green curtain was opened in the centre, and Minna Walstein stood in the opening.

       She was dressed in a soft white dress, which fell about her form in long graceful folds. Her beautiful golden hair was unbound, and rippled over her shoulders nearly to the ground, as she stood with her arms stretched out before her, gazing at her father, with a fixed expression of fear and anxiety. She was deadly pale, and moved forward slowly and hesitatingly, never by a single look acknowledging my presence. When she arrived at a few paces from where I sat, I observed that in one hand she carried a curious golden goblet, set with emeralds, and similarly fashioned to the flask which I held.

       There was a dead silence. I glanced at the doctor; he rose and signalled to me to fill the goblet, which his daughter held from the flask. His eyes glanced fiercely under his white eyebrows, and I felt compelled to obey. Raising the flask and moving forward, I filled the gold goblet. The liquid was colourless, and limpid as water, but as I poured it out, I was conscious that the perfume in the air was growing more powerful and oppressive, every instant. I watched her raise the draught to her lips, and her eyes met mine for an instant. Suddenly the room seemed to swim before my eyes, — strains of wonderful, fairy-like music sounded in my ears, — my head throbbed violently, and I fell forward, and down at her feet.

* * * * *

       It was broad daylight when I recovered from a long swoon. I was lying on a large sofa or couch, in an elegantly furnished room, with two large French windows, which were open to the ground, and led into a lovely garden outside. In front of one of the open windows was a writing-desk, on which were a number of papers, a semi-spherical steel hand-bell, and a row of stoppered phials in a rack, over the top of the desk. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud disturbed the serene blue of the sky, and far away I could see the ocean calm and unruffled, with here and there a small white sail gliding along, and the soft murmur of summer waves fell gently on my ears. Roses and jessamine seemed to clamber up the front of the house, for I could see some crimson blossoms of the former, and some of the little white stars of the latter, peeping round the sides of the open windows. But, I looked at everything apathetically. I was quite indifferent as to where I was or how I had chanced to get there. I felt as if I had been prostrated by an attack of fever for months, and was now only recovering, weak and worn out. I was so powerless (physically) that I felt unable to move a finger. I simply lay on the couch, gazing vapidly out of the windows, and then inactively round the room. I was alone. Then suddenly, like a shock of electricity, came the remembrance of the evening of my arrival at Pwlldu. All my former belief and blind confidence in Dr. Walstein flashed away in an instant, and nothing filled my mind but a feeling of intense hatred and horror of the man. But I was physically so weak that I had no more strength than an infant. I tried to rise, and succeeded, with difficulty, in raising myself on one arm, but the exertion was too much for me, I fell back stunned and fainting on the couch.

       "Nine hours he has now been insensible; if he remains five more, then I know that my plans will succeed. Death and Life — Life and Death — how wondrously are ye linked together!"

       These words were uttered in a low, distinct tone, and although I made no sign, I recognised the voice of Dr. Walstein. I kept my eyes closed and listened. He was evidently alone, for there was no response, and I could hear the sound of his pen as he wrote rapidly at his desk. I have before said that I felt powerless; but as I lay there, with closed eyes, I began to perceive with joy that my mind had really assumed a stronger and healthier tone. I began now to see that this old man, for some purposes unknown to me, had been employing me as a subject on which to try some of his diabolical experiments. By some process of mesmerism or animal magnetism he had led me on involuntarily step by step, until I had become entirely subject to his power. I resolved to make a determined resistance against any further proceedings on his part. In the meantime, I made up my mind to remain still and passive. The doctor evidently believed that I was still insensible, and I wished him to remain in that belief, and I lay there, listening intently, in case anything might be said by the old man that might enlighten me with regard to his intentions regarding myself.

       I don't know how long I had lain in this state, when it suddenly dawned upon me that the subtle perfume of geranium leaves was, and had been, lingering about me, ever since I had regained consciousness. On assuring myself of this fact, a feeling of terror came over me which is impossible to describe. However, I rallied, and endeavoured calmly to reflect on every circumstance that had characterised my intercourse with Doctor Walstein and his daughter. I then remembered that I had never noticed the perfume except when Minna Walstein was present. I felt perfectly assured that she was not in the room, before the Doctor came in, and even now I was convinced that she was not near me. Like a lurid gleam of lightning an idea flashed across my mind, — an idea that filled me with horror and dismay.

       The perfume existed in my own breath!

       I shuddered from head to foot, and gave an involuntary cry.

       Still I had enough presence of mind to keep my eyes closed, for I felt that if I met that piercing glance of Dr. Walstein, he would once more control my senses and my will, and compel me to act as he desired. As I uttered the short sharp cry of agony which I have referred to, I was conscious that he had risen from his chair, and was watching me intently. He uttered a few impatient syllables, and then struck sharply two or three times upon the steel bell. Some one entered the apartment almost immediately afterwards. I presumed that it was the evil-faced servant.

       "Your young mistress — where is she, Cosmo?" said the Doctor, rapidly.

       "Miss Walstein went out nearly two hours ago, sir, and I believe that she has gone down to the beach — I saw her take the path that leads down to the cliffs."

       "Run at once, Cosmo — find her, and tell her to come to me. I want her immediately. Haste!"

       The servant left the room, and I was aware that the old man was pacing rapidly to and fro in the lower part of the room, and from his expressions of impatience I learned that he was very anxious for his daughter's return. Still, he neither came near me, nor addressed me. This perplexed me. I had an unaccountable impression that he was afraid of me. And yet it seemed absurd that he should fear one whose strength was so far gone, that it was with an effort he kept his eyes closed. Nevertheless, the belief that he was afraid to approach me grew stronger and stronger every instant. What was the cause of his fear? How I tried to drive back the thought that insidiously crept upon me! How I tried to prevent its passing even as a shadow across my brain! That perfume — that deadly perfume in my breath! Had this old man, — I had heard of such a thing, — by his fiendish acts, contrived to assimilate that poisonous vapour with my being, so that he was afraid to approach the finished object of his design? I tried to banish the thought, but gloom and dismay made my heart sink within me.

       Nearly half an hour passed away, and I became aware that Doctor Walstein's impatience was increasing. He vented his rage in sullen, muttered curses at the delay of his servant and daughter. It appeared to me that he was afraid to leave me out of his sight, and at the same time, was afraid to come near me. At last he stopped suddenly, as it seemed to me, near one of the open windows, and spoke:

       "Charles Haughton, I know that you are conscious, and have been so, for a considerable time. For some reason, known only to yourself, you have declined to speak to me, or even to look towards me. I say nothing of the ingratitude you display in not acknowledging the services rendered to you by my daughter and myself. You have since last night been rescued by us from impending death. But putting that aside, I beg that you will rouse yourself and speak to me, or I cannot answer for the consequences."

       Still he did not come near me. I now felt sure that he was afraid to approach me, and I remained fixed in the determination to keep motionless and silent. For some time the Doctor appeared to wait, expecting my answer; but at length, seeing that I was resolved not to speak, he again began to pace rapidly backwards and forwards, muttering impatiently at intervals. All that I could gather was, that he was anxious for the arrival of his daughter. It seemed however, that his impatience was at length overcome, for after two or three wild outbursts of rage, he again addressed me, but in a different tone:

       "Young man, you force me to speak, and to tell you the whole truth. For some time past, I have been endeavouring to subjugate and control your mind and will by the force of my own. I have succeeded. Listen to me, — and force yourself to comprehend thoroughly what I mean. You are now, as much under my bidding and control as the action of my own muscles, and I defy you to move from the place where you now lie. I hope you are taking heed of what I say, for I wish you to understand what kind of a man you have to deal with. I am not only a student of the mysteries of Nature, but I worship Nature, and have no religion except science. I have no belief in what are called the feelings of the heart, they have, at least, never troubled my rest, and there are no such qualities as love and hate in me. I have often told you that in all my researches I have had one great object in view. In striving to reach that object, no obstacle has ever hindered my progress. Health, wealth, and laborious toil, have all served me in their turn. I did not hesitate for a moment, when I found it necessary to imbue the being, — the system, — the nature of my own daughter with an essence, the fatal nature of which, makes her a living poison. Ah! you may start, — but it is not the first time, that the thought has passed through your mind. And yet, blind fool that you were, you sat almost by her side the first time you ever spoke to her, and drank in eagerly with every respiration, that deadly essence. I say that you were a blind fool, — for if you had glanced at the flower in your breast, you would have seen it withering before your eyes. You, perhaps, wonder why I called you in, — why I enticed you to inhale her poisonous breath. I will tell you. The woman's nature was giving way under the fierce ordeal through which it had to pass, for she not only breathed, but lived and fed on poisons! She was dying slowly and gradually. This did not serve my purpose. She was valuable to me, and I resolved that she should live. I have not studied the secrets of life and death in vain, and I had not long to seek before I met the man who could save my daughter's life, by taking upon himself half of her poisonous existence. The instant that I met with you, I fully comprehended your real nature and temperament, and knew that I could completely control your mental and physical powers. The only real difficulty that I had, was in getting the entire possession of your mind and reason. It was necessary that all remembrance and all thought of other subjects should be banished from your mind, and then I knew that I could infuse that deadly poison into your blood and breath. You may well shudder, — but you know, only too well, how completely my scheme succeeded. You know how thoroughly you emptied your mind of every other idea, and how absolutely you gave yourself over to myself and my daughter, and the subjects which we discussed. But, this is wearisome. Last night, my work was accomplished. When, under the influence of that potent perfume you filled Minna Walstein's goblet and met the glance of her eyes you completed my design — my daughter's life was saved, and I have now two living poisons to assist me in, what you may call, my ambitious aims. Look calmly, if you can, at your fate — you will poison and kill every living creature you come in contact with, except my daughter Minna. Her you cannot hurt, and there can be no affinity between you and anyone else in the world. I quote your own theory. As she is of my own flesh and blood, I soon discovered a mode by which I could approach her with impunity, but you are different. I feel that it might be fatal to me if I came near you. But it is still possible that you do not believe me. I am unable to approach nearer to you than where I stand, but I break off this rose from the trellis, and fling it to you. If you wish proof of what I say raise it to your lips and watch the result."

       I heard the flower fall on the carpet beside the couch, but I did not move, I scarcely breathed. The terrible words that he had just uttered confirmed the vague apprehension that I had formed, and I felt more dead than alive. Still through all I had an overpowering belief that my only chance of safety depended upon my silence, and upon guarding my eyes from his basilisk gaze.

       The doctor seemed to wait for a movement on my part for some time, but, seeing that I made no sign, he again spoke:

       "I have tried to show you your utter powerlessness, and have pointed out your only hope. I now appeal to other feelings. I fear that your obstinacy and indifference may seriously affect my daughter. Her life now depends upon yours, and I know not how your present disposition may affect her being. At this very moment —"

       While he spoke I heard a voice far down in the garden, calling to the doctor to come at once, for the love of Heaven. I recognised the voice of Cosmo, the servant. Doctor Walstein muttered an oath, and called out from the window that he could not come.

       "But, master, master, you must come!" said Cosmo, as he came up to the house; "the young lady — Miss Minna — is dying down yonder amongst the rocks by the sea-shore."

       "Dying, do you say?"

       "Yes; she is weaker and more prostrate than she was even yesterday. When I approached her where she lay, amongst the wet shingle and sea-weed of the rocks, she waved me back, saying, 'Do not come near me, but tell my father to come to me at once. I am dying. Tell him also that he is deceived in young Haughton, he only thinks of me with loathing — the thoughts of his heart are elsewhere.' Then she turned paler than before, and fell back fainting. I was afraid to go nearer, master, for you told me —"

       "Silence, Cosmo! Return at once to your mistress, and keep watch until I come. I will be with you immediately."

       I heard the sound of Cosmo's footsteps, as he ran through the garden towards the cliffs, and then Doctor Walstein's voice:

       "We have had enough of this trifling, youngster. Your fate is in your own hands, and I am the only person who can save your life. It seems that I have miscalculated, and that you have not given your mind and reason so completely into my power as I had supposed. It would appear that, through the rapport which exists between my daughter and yourself, you are able to weaken the power of life in her. If this is the case, I warn you not to try that power too far, or it will be a fatal day for you. Will you answer me?"

       I was silent; but through the still air, far away, could be heard the voice of Cosmo, calling for help piteously.

       The Doctor remained irresolute for a moment, and then hastened away in the direction of Cosmo's voice. I lay for some time without venturing to unclose my eyes; at length feeling assured that I was alone, I looked around. Was it all a dream? Were those cruel words, which I had heard, lies? The last remarks of the old man I cared nothing for, — what were he and his daughter to me? But there on the floor beside me lay the rose that Doctor Walstein had thrown to me, and it was within reach. I picked it up languidly and carried it with difficulty to my mouth, and breathed upon it. Merciful heaven? It seemed as if I had held the flower over some corrosive acid. The petals shrank up — brown and black, and in a few seconds I held in my hand only a few twigs and withered leaves.

       It was true. I was the hateful, poisonous wretch that the old man had depicted. I buried my face in my hands, and bitter, scalding tears filled my eyes. I thought of the dismal time that had passed, and my mad infatuation for the doctor and his daughter. How truly, as he said, I had emptied my mind of every other thought except of him and her. How I cursed my madness and folly. Then, as I lay there despairing, there came shining into the blackness of my thoughts the image of a sweet pale face that I loved, and the tender glance of soft dark forgiving eyes. And then sweet, as the tinkling of fairy bells, came that strange warning, echoing back from long ago. Of what use was it to me to upbraid myself for not heeding it now? Of what good was it to me now to remember how often the recollection of it might have turned me from my perilous course? None. Yet why had I for one moment forgotten that loving heart that trusted so truly in me? . . . . . One thing, however, I knew, — forgetful I might have been — mad — foolish — but unfaithful to my love, never. As these thoughts passed through my tortured mind, I dashed my hands from my face and clenched them till my nails nearly entered the flesh. Heavenly powers! Was it possible my strength had returned? Could it be so, that as I had been rendered powerless by the thought of this old man and his hateful offspring, so now my strength was regained by the remembrance of Cousin Polly's pure and tender love? It must be so! I sprang from the couch, and as I did so a passing breeze swept through the room, and seemed to bear away with it the last traces of the poisonous perfume. I felt assured that the baneful vapours had left my breath, but to make doubly sure, I plucked a spray of jasmine and carried it hurriedly to my lips. My heart beat wildly with joy — the little white stars gleamed as brightly and healthfully as before. Ah, Cousin Polly, why did I ever forget you for a second? — but you had not forgotten me, for the precious jewel of your love, hid in my heart, proved my talisman against powerful and deadly enemies.

       But I had no time to throw away, and I determined to make my escape before the return of the doctor, his daughter, or his servant. Through bye lanes and over slimy marshes and wild moorlands I wandered all day, and late at night I arrived at the town of —–, worn out with fatigue and excitement, and before morning I was delirious with fever.

* * * * *

       It was some weeks before I recovered sufficiently to recognise Fred Holdsworth, who was waiting upon me, and through whose exertions my life was saved. From him I learned the history of events. He had noticed my change of manner, and when I disappeared from London he immediately conjectured that I had gone to visit Doctor Walstein. He still laboured under the delusion that the doctor's daughter was my attraction. Several letters came for me, and as he grew uneasy he resolved to set out and find Pwlldu House himself. When he arrived at —– he put up at the same hotel where I was then prostrated with fever. He stayed with me, and nursed me as tenderly as any woman could have done, and he was there in daily expectation of the arrival of my uncle.

       He did arrive in a few days, bringing with him Cousin Polly. I will not describe our meeting. Uncle Mark never heard this narrative, — he is long since dead; and Cousin Polly had been for years my loving little wife before I told it to her.

       All that I ever heard again of Doctor Walstein was from Holdsworth, who told me that two nights after I escaped from the old man's clutches the scattered inhabitants of that part of Gower were startled at seeing a great conflagration at Pwlldu House. When discovered, the building was burning in every part. There was little water in the neighbourhood, and every now and then during the fire there were terrific explosions, which drove back those who tried to extinguish the flames or save any of the property. It was also said that dense fumes of a nauseous and poisonous character came from the flames, causing faintness and giddiness to those who inhaled them. The house was burned to the ground, and everything was destroyed. Nothing was ever seen of the inmates; but there was a report, never properly confirmed, that traces of human bones had been found amongst the charred and calcined débris.

(Concluded.)

A. G. G.