WANTED — A WIFE, WITH MONEY.

CHAPTER I.
A LOVER'S DREAMS.

"THE world is full of wants. Where will you find the man — or woman either — who doesn't want something? Tell me that, Freddy Bent."

       A big wave struck the foundation of the pier, lapped idly against the steps, and sent a light shower of reminders to the gentleman who said this that he would do well to mount higher. He was not in any hurry to accept the warning; he took the cigar from his lips and stared down at the shining steps as though he had been a modern Canute waiting to rend a lesson to his followers. He was a tall gentleman, with black hair and moustaches, features pale but well cut, and grey eyes at once keen and indolent.

       "Come up on deck, old fellow," responded Freddy Bent, "or one of your wants will be dry clothes. Look out, Carisford, there's another coming."

       Sir Guy Carisford, thus apostrophised, raised his head slowly. He saw distant sails, tiny sheets of gleaming white in some sudden sunbeam; ripples of foam on the blue water for away; crags shining coppery red in the evening light, and the muscular figure of his friend Freddy Bent leaning carelessly over the chains of the pier.

       "What is your want, David?" said Sir Guy.

       Freddy laughed.

       "Haven't you forgotten that? I'm not like David now, Carisford."

       "No, it would take a good many years of sheep-feeding in the wilderness to develop all that muscle and bronze. I asked a question, David."

       "What is my want? Rather what isn't it, Guy? Well, principally I think it is that beautiful hazy uncertainty and delusion, a place under government."

       "Pshaw!"

       Sir Guy moved up the steps and began to walk up and down speculatively.

       "From bare boards to matting, from matting to carpet and greatness, Freddy, or to be made a queen's messenger; that is your want. Never fear, you'll get it in time. Now for mine. Isn't it written on my forehead?"

       "No; but I can tell you what it ought to be. You should marry, Guy Carisford."

       "Exactly. So I would if I could find a wife with the requisite qualifications."

       "Meaning ——"

       "Meaning money, Freddy Bent."

       "Money is a good thing," said Freddy, slowly, "but ——"

       "Love is better, eh, young Corydon?"

       "Yes."

       Sir Guy stopped in his walk and flung his cigar into the sea.

       "I wonder what it's like — that stuff that very young boys and girls profess to feel before they get married. Tell me five years hence, Freddy. Men and women marry, and the world goes on, a jaded old mill-horse but game to the last, so for as the wheel is concerned; but how many marriages do you think have any love in them? No, no; it's a mutual-benefit association, old fellow. What you haven't got you want, and must look for a wife who has it."

       "You don't mean all that, Guy; you know you don't."

       "But I do mean it, David. It was impressed upon me in my cradle, and given to me in my pap — if ever I took the compound. My father mortgaged his acres and spent the money right royally; and I was brought up to marry an heiress. Why shouldn't I?"

       But Freddy was thinking of a time long ago when this man nursed him through a sharp illness as tenderly as a woman could have done; and he did not answer. You see he was romantic, and thought it a horrible thing for a man to aim deliberately at marriage for money.

       "Look there, Freddy," said Sir Guy, "that little pink boat about marks the spot we plunged from this morning, What a lot of muffs the bathers are here! but they don't come to bathe. I saw one great fellow tottering out with a rope in his hand. You and I have seen some swimmers in our time, haven't we? Come, Freddy, this is getting stale."

       The two gentlemen passed through the toll-gate towards the end of the esplanade. The road was thronged with carriages, and they had to wait a little before they could cross to get to the hotel. While they waited, one in the line of carriages stopped, and Freddy Bent ran up to it.

       Sir Guy leaned against the iron partition watching his friend, and I am afraid that the curl of his handsome lip was a little sarcastic. Freddy seemed so very much in earnest about everything; and there he was talking and laughing as if his whole heart were in it, as a pale glove was held out to him, and a pleasant young face under a straw hat smiled down upon him.

       "The Saltouns, I suppose," said Sir Guy, when the carriage had passed on.

       "Yes, they do the thing in style, you know; a house in its own grounds — not much of grounds, by the way, to speak of. I say, you can't dine yet; let's have a climb over the rocks."

       Sir Guy shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Thank you — I've outgrown that sort of thing. These Saltouns, Freddy; two young ladies, a papa and mamma, so far as I could see. But the young ladies are not sisters, only cousins. Which is Miss Saltoun, the heiress? the one who spoke to you last?"

       "Yes. What do you know about them?"

       "Simply that I came down here to marry Miss Saltoun."

       Freddy recoiled a step and stared at his companion.

       "That is, of course, if I could persuade her to have me," added Sir Guy, calmly.

       "You!" stammered Fred. "You don't even know her."

       "No, but I hope to do so."

       "May one ask how?"

       "Certainly. Through your means, David."

       "I — I'm afraid I can't promise, Sir Guy."

       The baronet put his hand on Freddy's shoulder and smiled.

       "Well, go for your walk, David. You will be late for dinner."

       Freddy turned away in his perplexity and walked a few steps. But Sir Guy and he had been friends for many years, and Freddy was softhearted. The baronet was a great man in his estimation, as, indeed, he was in the estimation of others. Matchmaking mammas were affectionately disposed towards him, notwithstanding that report said he was an embarrassed man. Report might lie, and if not, he was a baronet; he contrived to live in society, and would doubtless contrive to support a wife. Men of mark looked after him when he passed, with interest and curiosity. If report told the truth, how did he live? He was seen everywhere; he had travelled; he must spend money. There was only one solution of the problem whispered occasionally by daring lips; did he gamble? But Sir Guy only smiled when the whisper reached him; no, he never gambled; he practised the strictest economy, and took the best possible care of his affairs, that was all. He had no taste for vice in any form; he liked all that was good and honourable and upright; only he was straitened for means, and he had been brought up to marry an heiress, and clear his estate.

       When Freddy Bent had walked those few steps he repented, turned back, and took his friend's arm.

       "We won't quarrel, old fellow."

       "No, David."

       And Sir Guy's tone had a certain musical kindliness in it which Freddy had heard before and fancied he understood.

       "You like to paint yourself in ugly colours, Guy. I was a fool to be touchy, but you see I shouldn't like Alice Saltoun to fall a victim to n — fortune-hunter. I'll get you the introduction, and I'll warn her against you."

       "As what?"

       "As a man with no heart," said Freddy, laughing. "And then if you should fall in love ——"

       "Hush, David; that's a stupid way of speaking, I'm not going to fall in love with anybody: don't believe in it. I'm going to try for a wife, that's all — with money. You don't think that I shouldn't be good to her, do you?"

       "Carisford, you are thirty; six years older than ——"

       "Five — and — twenty, believe me; that has been my age for the last five years. Postpone your walk, David; I take your offer. You shall introduce me to Saltoun père, and we'll talk about the Colonial Restriction Bill, or how the last gridiron fared in Committee, or some other weighty matter on which we are both profoundly ignorant, and consequently profoundly wise. And now let us dress and dine. Wasn't there a concert to be walked through?"

---

CHAPTER II.
FREDDY BEST MAKES A BLUNDER.

       "Sir Guy, and once again Sir Guy!" said Mrs. Saltoun to herself. "A fortnight ago we did not even know the man, and now this is the third riding party, to say nothing of walks and boating excursions, which keep me in perpetual terror. Where are you bound for, young people?" she added through the open window.

       "The downs, mamma."

       "The downs! Well, you know best, of course, but there's nothing to see there except a big goose-pond, is there?"

       "No, nothing to see. I wish you would come too. A good breezy gallop would freshen you up for the day."

       "I dare say, Charlotte. I'll take it vicariously, my dear, if you please. Sir Guy will return to luncheon with you, of course?"

       The baronet took off his hat, with an expression of regret that he had letters to write, and should be obliged to go back to the hotel.

       "She never asks me," murmured Freddy, in an aside to Miss Saltoun.

       "Because she knows it isn't necessary."

       "Give me a minute or two, Alice," said Freddy, in a low tone. "There is no speaking to you in these days, and I have something to say."

       "Let them go first, then, and mind the hurdy-gurdies."

       Sir Guy saw the little manœuvre and made no effort to change his position. He was very thoughtful and grave, and there was no trace in his manner of the careless nonchalance which had offended Freddy Bent a fortnight ago. When they got away from the streets, the hurdy-gurdies, and German bands, and performing monkeys, and reached the open common, he might have fallen back to join the two in the background, according to custom, but Sir Guy did not do this. Charlotte Saltoun spoke to him, and he roused himself to answer, but was astonished to find how the necessity irritated him. A great level down lay before them, and in the distance a low line of hills, all purple and gold in the sunlight; but it was not their beauty that made the baronet thoughtful. He was wondering what Freddy Bent had got to say to Alice Saltoun. Was it possible that Fred had any such views as his own, after all, or was it, as he had believed hitherto, nothing but a boy and girl friendship? Anyhow Sir Guy caught himself condemning it. He was anxious and uneasy; his usual composure and self-possession were unattainable; and polite as his companion found him he wished more than once that she was a hundred miles away.

       "Here's mamma's goose-pond," said Charlotte Saltoun, suddenly, as the whole flock swept flapping and screaming across the path. "And now I wish those geese were all swans, for my horse isn't going to stand that. Don't trouble, Sir Guy, I shall manage very well."

       Sir Guy looked after her and acquiesced, only following at a slower pace than hers, and uttering a low vituperation against the goose-pond. He did not know that he should feel positively friendly towards it when he came back.

       "Charlotte is a perfect horsewoman," said Miss Saltoun, "and your friend knows what he is about, Freddy."

       "Tell me what you think of him, Alice," said the young man, abruptly.

       Miss Saltoun sent a curious glance into his face and laughed.

       "I think, Freddy, that he would look better if he cut off his moustache."

       Freddy uttered a hasty ejaculation, and then went up close to Alice.

       "You never speak in that light way to Carisford," he said, reproachfully.

       "I haven't known him quite so long as I have known you, Freddy Bent."

       "That's true. We have always been on good terms, Alice, haven't we?"

       "To be sure we have; I hope we always shall be. What's the matter, Fred?"

       "I don't know. I don't want you to lose your heart to Carisford, Alice."

       The expression of Miss Saltoun's face ought to have warned Freddy that he had better be quiet, but he was looking down, and did not see it.

       "Of course your wishes would be sufficient in any case. May I ask why you express them?"

       "Because he has no heart to give in return."

       "What an uncomfortable state of things! I suppose you mean that he is already appropriated?"

       "No, I don't."

       "Then he has been engaged, and she is dead, or has jilted him. What a shame!"

       Freddy shook his head.

       Alice, Carisford is a very good fellow, and my friend, but ——"

       "A very friendly part you seem inclined to act," she retorted, turning upon him with a little scorn. "Did you ever hear the aspiration, 'Save me from my friends!' Freddy Bent? If you don't take your hand from my bridle I'm afraid I shall be obliged to hurt it. You and I know how we stand, of course, but the rest of the world may not be so wise."

       It was just at this juncture that Sir Guy reined in his horse and looked round. He turned away quickly, and spoke to his companion with a slight smile.

       "Perhaps we had better not go back that way, Miss Saltoun."

       "You don't know how you minister to my self-importance, Sir Guy," returned the young lady. "I was Miss Saltoun once, before my cousin came to us. I have fallen, you see. I am simply Miss Charlotte, a person of no consequence at all. Why are we not to go back that way?"

       "Well, I thought perhaps we might be de trop."

       Charlotte gave him a puzzled glance, and then laughed.

       "Oh dear, no; we never think of Freddy in that way. We were children together, you know. He is like a brother; only brothers won't always be made useful; besides, poor Fred has a weakness."

       "A weakness!"

       "Yes, it is the best term I can think of; the others are all commonplace. But you, his friend, and not know that!" added Charlotte, raising her eyebrows. "Shall we join them now, Sir Guy?"

       A strange sort of light came over Sir Guy's face, like a reflection from the golden gleams on those distant hills.

       "Yes," he said, "let us go back. Poor old David! So he has a weakness!"

       "Stop, Sir Guy; I had no business to let it out. I thought, of course, that what David knew, Jonathan must know. You will promise not to tease him or betray me."

       "I promise — anything."

       "Anything?" said Charlotte, quickly. "Then you will come to the ball at the assembly-rooms?"

       "Of course I will."

       "Freddy said you hated balls, and he knew that you would not punish yourself."

       "Freddy was right," said the baronet gravely. "I would not punish myself willingly; and in a general way I am not fond of balls, but ——"

       "It is different at the seaside, is it not? One is apt to get dull; but really we do pretty well here."

       And then they rode on; and somehow it fell to Sir Guy's lot to be near Alice when she dismounted in the little shrubbery of the "house in its own grounds." Freddy Bent saw Sir Guy stoop slightly to say something as she gathered up the folds of her riding-dress; but her head was turned away, and he only knew by that strange gleam of light which passed again over Sir Guy's face that she had answered him at all. Freddy gave a little groan, and washed his hands of them all.

       "You told US a fib, Freddy," said Charlotte, looking after the baronet. "Jonathan is the most fascinating man I ever saw, and he is coming to the ball."

       "Two of them!" murmured Freddy, lifting up his hands. "What is there about this man that draws everybody towards him? And if they only knew what I know, what would they think of him then?"

---

CHAPTER III.
"WAS IT QUITE PRUDENT?"

       Mrs. Saltoun put the question to herself first, and then to her husband. She could not always go out with Charlotte and Alice; it was impossible. They would wear her out. And Mr. Saltoun shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Let them alone, they're old enough to take care of themselves. As for Carisford, he's one of the most sensible men I ever met; and surely you're satisfied to trust them with Freddy Bent."

       And then Mrs. Saltoun gave up the point, and thought a little bit about the days when she was young, and should have enjoyed the rambles on these sunny days as much as any of them.

       "Well, I have had my summer," she said, with a little sigh. "It's very short to look back upon, and I'm a sober old woman, and know that there never was a day in it as bright in possession as fancy and anticipation had pictured it beforehand. They have got all this to find out — those light-hearted young people who think life is made of roses."

       Perhaps they had; but if so it did not seem to trouble them much. To Freddy Bent, who had known Sir Guy so long, the change in him was wonderful. All his affectation of indolent carelessness was gone, and he could perform feats of rowing and scaling dangerous crags for wild flowers, which his friend would never have conceived possible. And then poor David had blundered, and was aware of it. If Alice had been totally indifferent to Sir Guy before, she would have thought of him after those broken, mysterious hints of Freddy's. A young girl is always sorry for a man who has had some disappointment or grief to bear; and she could not or would not draw any other inference than this from Freddy's words. She was a little indignant at them too. It was hardly her idea of a true friendship, that one of these two should throw out hints concerning the other; and Freddy's hesitating, "Carisford is a good fellow, but ——" recurred to her constantly as pitiful and unworthy of him.

       They were to meet at the assembly rooms, she knew, for this had been the purport of Sir Guy's speech when she stood in the drive gathering up her riding dress. Alice was hardly conscious herself of the subtle element which had begun to steal into her thoughts about this man. If you had asked her what she thought of him, she could not have told. She would have said, perhaps, that he interested her because he was unlike other men, because his talk was not frivolous, but had often in it a power and beauty which made her grave by its very fascination. She never said those small nothings to him which formed great part of her conversation with other gentlemen. She never parried his occasional appeals to her with a smart rejoinder or a sarcasm; and she had not examined herself sufficiently to find out why this seaside holiday had a certain source of interest which other holidays had wanted. Freddy's innuendoes might have passed unnoticed perhaps, but that Alice was getting used to such warnings, and understood too well what they generally meant. She had been obliged already to answer some half-dozen aspirants for her hand, i.e. her fortune; but then these things were so patent that they gave her no pain. This was another affair altogether.

       As she leaned out of the window of her own room, thinking about it, watching the chalky glitter of the white houses in the sun, Sir Guy's face came before her. There was truth and nobleness in it, she thought. How was it possible to suffer any mean, ungenerous suspicions to take possession of her mind? Besides — and at this "besides" a slight smile stole to her lips, and a colour, which was not the reflection of any sunbeam, came into her face. It was of no use to say "besides," for Sir Guy's manner had been such as no woman could mistake. She should see him again at the ball. It is to be feared that this was principally the substance into which poor Freddy's well-meant hints resolved themselves.

       "Lady Downham is jealous of you, Alice," said Charlotte Saltoun, as she stood arranging her dress before the glass. "She told Colonel Brand that you rouged, and asked him to introduce Sir Guy. By the way, I can't conceive why you persisted in putting on that white thing again. Lady Downham will recognise it. You, who might have a dress for every day in the year if you liked."

       "I wear this dress because white suits me," responded Alice; "and what is the use of getting a new one when this is just as good as new?"

       Charlotte made a little grimace of dissent.

       "Upon my word I think the fates have made a mistake this time; you don't know how to spend your money in the least."

       "No, Charlotte, I don't think I do. I'm not at all sure that it's a happy thing to be an heiress."

       "Some ladies wouldn't object to try," said Charlotte drily. "Why isn't it happy?"

       "I said I wasn't sure about it. People seem to think it ought to make one suspicious, a thing that I hate. I wish you wouldn't talk so much about it."

       "Who has made you suspicious now, Alice; Sir Guy?"

       Charlotte was occupied with her dress, and did not see the sudden colour that rose over her cousin's face at the name.

       "What is Sir Guy to me?" said Alice, shortly; "or to you either, Charlotte, that you are always bringing him forward? He is ——"

       "Ready, children?" broke in Mrs. Saltoun, rousing herself. "We are very late."

       "Coming, mamma, in one moment. Well, Alice, finish if you please. What is Sir Guy?"

       But Alice had lost her vivid colour, and answered with cool indifference,

       "I don't know; a disappointed man, perhaps. It is nothing to us."

       "Well, I wouldn't be sure of that. The hypothesis explains a look of 'patient sadness,' which I have seen on his face, certainly, but —— Yes, mamma, we are quite ready."

---

CHAPTER IV.
A LITTLE TABLEAU VIVANT.

       The tide was rising; it crept on over the sand, and rustled amongst the pebbles on the beach; higher still, and it lapped against the rocks under a smart green balcony, into which the windows of the ball-room opened. Then the moon got up and turned her light upon two people who had come out of the hot crowded ball-room into the balcony. These were Sir Guy Carisford and Miss Saltoun. Alice wore a white cloak, fastened at the throat with a clasp that glittered and flashed in the moonlight. The flowers in her hair were white, and her bouquet was white. Within the ball-room the musicians were playing a "spirit valse," and Sir Guy smiled as he reared his tall form against the wall and looked down upon her. He would have said that there was no romance in his temperament only a fortnight ago, and now he began to wonder what kept him silent, as though by force, in the presence of this young girl, whom he had openly avowed his determination to marry. A pang passed through Sir Guy's heart at the thought, he did not know why. He did not like to remember that speech of his to Freddy. Alone here in the great silent night, under the stars, with the restless sea rustling and sweeping quietly over the pebbles and the rocks beneath; something not in the scene or the hour, though these helped, had roused Sir Guy to a strange consciousness of wrong and hardness in his past life, and of something infinitely better and greater than he had ever dreamed of, which might come into his future to glorify it. Do him justice. He forgot at this moment all his plans, all the counsels which had been impressed upon him from his boyhood. He looked down upon that shadowy figure all in white, with the moonbeams falling about her like a pale halo, and did not remember that she was an heiress.

       Sir Guy changed his position, leaning forward, with one knee on the balcony and one arm over it, pointing to a distant light.

       "Many a good ship has gone down there," he said quietly. "Many a cry of strong despair risen up from mother and father, husband and wife. Did you ever see a wreck? I suppose not. A sight to haunt one for life. This great strong turbulent sea has much to answer for, and yet how quiet and smiling it is now! Do you know what a long sea voyage is like. Miss Saltoun?"

       "No; at least not from experience. But I should like to know. I have never lost sight of land."

       Sir Guy turned towards her quickly. Was he going to tell her then that it would be the crowning triumph of his life to bear her away over those waters and witness her pleasure in the wonderful sights, which were old indeed to him, but which would be fresh and glorious again with her at his side? Some such thoughts passed through his mind, but they went no further. As Alice spoke, a sudden glare of light from the ball-room fell on them, and Freddy Bent, stepping out with his partner, saw the little picture too late to retreat.

       "Never lost sight of land!" repeated Freddy, conscious of a little awkwardness, and trying to cover it. "Don't tell him so, if you like peace. He has seen everything that is to be seen, from clouds of flying fish to the saddest sight one can look at — a dead companion digging his own grave with a single stroke on the water. He has been everywhere, I do believe, and done everything. Why looks he so? With his crossbow he shot an albatross, measuring — who knows what?"

       "I wish he had brought it home," said Charlotte Saltoun. "I have a great curiosity to see one."

       "Or if you want inland scenery," pursued Freddy, "he can take you up the dangerous but mighty Hooghley; he will stretch out before you vast masses of cocoa-nut trees, dates, bananas, and show you buffaloes grazing under them. Natives will come under his hand from Indian villages, and gesticulate, and clatter their silver rings for you; or he will take you to Barrackpore and show you the scene of the mess-room tragedy, and thence into the jungle, where you will hear the most unearthly sounds that mortal ear can listen to. Will that do?"

       "Freddy Bent is going to give a lecture at the Mechanics' Hall," said Charlotte, "and he is rehearsing. Alice, do you remember what I told you about Lady Downham? Well, I have just heard her talking about you. Did any one ever hear such a voice as that woman has, I wonder. And then her odious yellow face, and her red hair with a parrot tulip stuck in it! But everyone knows what her husband married her for."

       A little indescribable sensation of fear checked the smile on Miss Saltoun's lips as her cousin finished this speech.

       "What was it, Charlotte?"

       "Her money, to be sure. Do you suppose a man like that would have married such a vulgar old creature for anything else? And he never goes out anywhere with her. But the money doesn't do him much good, people say, for she leads him an awful life at home."

       "So he ought to have an awful life," said Alice in a low tone. "It's a sin one could never forget; it rouses one's utmost detestation and disgust."

       "What does, Alice?"

       "Marrying from base motives. I hope people who do that are always punished."

       Charlotte laughed.

       "Suppose you were hard up, as gentlemen call it, pinched and in debt ——"

       "I would beg first, Charlotte, or starve."

       "Starvation is a nice pleasant thing, easy to talk about."

       "Starvation before dishonour," said Alice, abruptly.

       Freddy Bent had the grace to turn his head away. No one looked at Sir Guy: no one saw how the light and kindly warmth and greatness — for there was greatness in him — faded out of his face, and left it white and cold; a rigid face, staring out into the far distance. If he had forgotten for a few brief moments, he could forget no longer. He who, a few minutes ago, had looked out into the starlight with his heart full of tender thought, stood convicted of this sin which could never be forgotten. He had put before himself money as the first, indeed the only desirable object in marriage. The wife he would be obliged to take, of course, as a troublesome appendage, with her money, and he should have to bear with her as best he could. No voice could have been harsher with him just now than his own, no contempt more supreme that that which he poured upon himself. If they would only go away, all of them, and leave him! If someone would at least break this terrible silence which had fallen upon them all!

       "You have put a spell upon us, Alice," said Charlotte Saltoun at last, with a shiver. "You do get so terribly in earnest. But I don't think we are any of us doing right," she added; "and I am quite sure that you are not. Besides, it is time to go home; mamma is looking very jaded, and I think I am a bit tired too. Will you come in, Freddy?"

       They went away, and Alice got up to follow. Then Sir Guy started from the half-kneeling position which he had been too proud to change when Freddy came out and discovered the tableau.

       "Must you go?"

       His voice sounded very strange to Alice; to himself it was like a funeral bell. He was bidding her good bye in his own heart, and the knowledge only drew him infinitely nearer to her. To think that he might have won her for his own, and yet that he dared not try!

       "Yes," said Alice. "It is getting late. Good-night, Sir Guy."

       But he only stood looking down upon her, white and irresolute, as though he hardly dared to touch the hand she held out to him.

       "Good-night," repeated Alice.

       "Good bye," responded the baronet. "I hope that you may be as happy as you deserve to be always."

       When she was gone Sir Guy stooped down as if searching for something. The light from the ball-room still fell upon him, but he did not notice it. He had seen, a little time ago, a single white blossom fall from her bouquet upon the balcony, and now he picked this up and put it to his lips. He could not know that Alice saw the movement, but she did; and then the light was shut out, and he was alone. I don't think Sir Guy saw anything of the stars, or the moonlight, or the vast sheet of water sleeping under them, as he stood there, staring seawards. Alice was before him, everywhere. He saw the white flowers and the glittering clasp of her cloak; he saw the light falling upon her softly, and knew how beautiful she was, and how he loved her. This he had never known fully until to-night. And then he saw her face turn to him, and change into the face of an accusing angel.

       The ball-room emptied of its guests, but still Sir Guy stood motionless where Alice had left him. He thought that if she had been there still, he, in his desperation, would have told her all, and thrown himself upon her mercy; but it is probable that he miscalculated his courage. His thoughts came and went with a strange desultory indistinctness; thoughts of those days when he wandered to and fro on the earth and saw its wonders; before this great passion and remorse had come near to wither his energies. Could he go back to his old life? And if he did, would it be possible to forget, and be as he was before? Many faces which he had known rose up before him out of foreign lands, as he listened to the retreating tide; many recollections of wild adventure and daring indifference to peril; but they never hid for a moment the desperate shame and self-disgust which had come upon him to-night. He was a fallen man. He thought of his friend, and humbled himself. David, whose simplicity he had smiled at, was a wiser and better man than himself, after all. He remembered every word of the conversation which had so nearly terminated in a quarrel between them. As if he were not already sufficiently tortured, he repeated it again mentally; and when he came to this, "Simply that I came down here to marry Miss Saltoun," Sir Guy covered his face, into which the shame had risen burning red. He would never see her again.

       The tide sank away from the rocks and back over the sand into the distance. Sir Guy leaned over the balcony, held his pilfered flower for a moment suspended, and let it drop on the rock below. Then he passed into the empty ball-room, through the few lounging figures that still surrounded the doors, and went home.

---

CHAPTER V.
SIR GUY TAKES DOWN THE ADVERTISEMENT.

       "Sir Guy Carisford!"

       Sir Guy sat at a writing-table with a pen in his hand, and he was revising a somewhat lengthy-looking epistle. He took the note from the salver which the waiter presented to him, and put it aside.

       "Wait a moment," said Sir Guy. He finished his revision, folded, sealed, and addressed his letter.

       "Let that be taken at once," said Sir Guy, looking at the man. "Let a messenger go with it now. You understand?"

       "Certainly, Sir Guy."

       Then the baronet opened the envelope which he had put on one side. How was he to be sure that he could keep his resolution if he did not place it beyond breaking?

       "I know what that is," said Freddy Bent from the opposite side of the room. "I've had one. You will go, of course?"

       Sir Guy did not look up, but he bit his lips, and if Freddy had been near enough, he would have seen that the hand which returned the missive to its envelope shook a little.

       "I am afraid not," replied Sir Guy. "I leave here for town by the mail this evening."

       "Town!" ejaculated Freddy. "Leave here! You can't be serious."

       "Very serious indeed, Freddy."

       Freddy hesitated a moment, and then went up to Sir Guy's table.

       "Old fellow, something has happened. Can I do anything, or go anywhere for you?"

       "No, David."

       Sir Guy's tone was gentler than usual, and Freddy lingered. Sir Guy, confident and self-assured, was one person; Sir Guy in some unknown difficulty another.

       "If I could, you know; why you have a right to my services, Guy."

       Then the baronet put down his pen and looked straight into Freddy's face.

       "David, I have been a fool. I am punished."

       Freddy's first thought was that Alice had refused him, and with a curious inconsistency he felt both sorry for Guy and angry with her. But Sir Guy read this, and shook his head with a faint smile.

       "No, David, it isn't that. I cannot have the baseness to ask her or see her again. I've learnt my lesson a bit later in life than you, that's all."

       "You would actually marry Alice Saltoun because you love her?" asked Freddy.

       Sir Guy nodded.

       "If I married her at all, which I never shall do. Hush, David, it's too late! By this time, if my orders were obeyed, she is reading my letter — the hardest work I ever accomplished; only a bare statement of facts."

       "Carisford ——"

       "Don't," interrupted Sir Guy. "Old fellow, you remember the advertisement that I told you was written on my forehead? Well, it's taken down. My estates will never be cleared in that way. Now go away, David; I've more letters to write."

       Sir Guy wrote his letters, and went out. He went first to the rocks under the balcony of the assembly-rooms, and stood there, thinking. As the tide had crept up last night, so it came on now, and swept across the rocks with a quiet remonstrance as he turned away. From there he passed on upwards and sat on a ledge overhanging a little bay in which they had wandered together searching for seaweed. There was no weed to be seen now; deep water covered it all, even as deep water hid the pleasant days it spoke of. I think if a judge had been appointed to mete out Sir Guy's punishment, nothing harder could have been found than this letter which he had just written. The story looked so hateful in his own eyes as he wrote it; the hero of it so mean and base. He had not spared himself a single detail, and he never asked for any hope or any answer. In that, perhaps, he was wrong, since it would be impossible for Alice to answer a letter in which no question was asked. But as Sir Guy had gone to an extreme in his previous notions concerning marriage, so he went straight to the opposite extreme now. There was one more place which he meant to visit in his spirit of self-torment. This was a sort of natural terrace up amongst the hills; where they had held a sort of pic-nic, and had been supremely happy under the usual pic-nic discomforts. He could not go round by the ordinary path to this place, but made one for himself, springing from crag to crag like a wild huntsman.

       Well, the sun shone on the hills just as brightly as ever, only the music of voices and light laughter was not heard on the terrace. He sat down and called the scene back again. He looked away along the purple moorland and the line of blue hills in the distance. A haze of sunlight over all; over the quivering leaves of the low trees; the grass, burnt brown in patches, and the wealth of wild flowers scattered about amongst the crags.

       He remembered that Alice had wished for one of those bits of heath growing high up in a fissure above his reach, and that he had climbed the rock to get it for her. He remembered Freddy's indolent raillery, and how little he had minded it; and then he thought of Alice with a great pang, and wondered what she thought of him. "If she cared for me ever so little then, she doesn't now. And yet I swear that if she were penniless, I would choose her before the whole world."

       Sir Guy was destined to be tried a little harder still. At this moment he sat alone on the terrace, kicking the loose stones about moodily, and wondering at the indefatigable tourists on the rocks above him, in the blazing sun; at the next, Charlotte Saltoun and her cousin turned the corner of the rock, and stood suddenly before him.

       Sir Guy's face grew white, as it had done last night on the balcony. When Charlotte Saltoun accosted him lightly, and told him that she had heard from Freddy of his shameful conduct, an insane suspicion flashed across him that Freddy had made everything public, and he did not dare to speak.

       "But are you really going. Sir Guy? We made sure of you for Thursday."

       "You are very good," responded the baronet. "I'm afraid it will be impossible for me to stay."

       "Well, perhaps you will come back again," said Charlotte, moving on. "At any rate, we shall see you before you go."

       Alice never said a word, never looked at him; so he knew that she had read his letter. This was just the one drop too much in Sir Guy's cup. He could have borne to go away without an answer to his letter, indeed he had told himself that he did not even hope for one; but now that Alice was there before his eyes, he could not go without speaking to her. Sir Guy had rarely in all his life acted from any sudden impulse, but he did so now. He started forward and stood beside her, looking down.

       "May I say one word to you. Miss Saltoun? I have no right to ask it, but ——"

       And then he paused. Charlotte just looked at them, turned away, and went on down the hill. She knew nothing about Sir Guy's reasons for going away in such hot haste; she did not even know that he had written to her cousin; but she did know that no one wanted her up there on the terrace.

       "I told mamma how it would be last night," said Charlotte; "and now there's an end to all fun. When two people get engaged, there's never any good to be done with them."

       And then she turned the corner of the rock, and was out of sight of the terrace.

       "I cannot part with you in this way," said Sir Guy. "I meant to go away without seeing you again. I never would have sought you out; but now that you are here, I cannot let you pass away for ever, and stand by silent. Say at least that you forgive me."

       "If there is anything for me to forgive, Sir Guy — yes."

       "And believe, if you can, that my love for you is sincere, and that I am punished as I deserved to be. If — if you were poor instead of rich it would be the dearest hope of my heart to win you for my wife. Is this too hard for you to believe?"

       "Sir Guy," said Alice, "if you had asked me to be your wife, without telling me all this; if afterwards I had heard it, even from your own lips, you would have darkened my whole life; as it is ——"

       Sir Guy turned round with a sudden hope lighting up his face.

       "As it is?" he repeated.

       As it was, Sir Guy did not get punished as the sternest moralist would have had him punished, for he won his wife. Perhaps the very frankness of his confession, and the chivalry with which he gave up all right to be heard, were powerful agents in his favour — anyhow, he won his wife. What they found to talk about up on the hill for the next hour or two, and what the indefatigable tourists thought of them, must remain amongst the unsolved mysteries of life. When the baronet got back to his hotel, the tide was a good way out, and Freddy Bent began to warn him that he would miss the train. Sir Guy looked at him in the utmost astonishment, and then he put his hand on Freddy's shoulder with a smile.

       "I had forgotten all about it. Never mind the train. Old David," said Sir Guy gravely, "I am not going to town. You and I are going to the Saltouns this evening, and every evening until further notice. There are people in the world more merciful than you, and I am going to marry Alice Saltoun."

(THE END)