CHAPTER VII.

THE TWO COMPANIONS.

JAMES hastened out of the house, by a back entrance. He crossed the little bridge that separated Sir Alfred's demesne from Col. Digby's, and turned into the walk we have so often noticed by the river side. Under the tree where Charles St. Laurence and Caroline had parted so many years ago, he sat. The moon was shining brightly, as he drew the fatal parcel from his pocket and untied the cord. He took out the dagger and carefully examined it. "Ah! this has been cleaned. How did she get it? Could she have found it? No matter; it answers my purpose.' He wrapt it carefully up, tied the cord, and put it into his breast. He sat musing for a moment. "I must have another hand," he said; "but who?—who? Tom Scott; ay, Tom is the very man." Then he sprang up, and walking very fast, crossed the bridge again, and left his master's demesne by a gate which led to a road over a steep hill. This was a beautiful road, shaded at both sides by trees. It wound round to the back of the hill, the aspect of which presented a contrast to the side he had just left. It was perfectly barren; a bare plain or valley lay between this and another hill, or rather mountain beyond. This valley was quite secluded. Neither house nor cabin could be seen for miles around. James struck off the main road into a narrow path that lay between two fields. He followed this path till he came to a miserable hovel, so wretched, that from the outward appearance, no one could imagine it to be the habitation of a living being. With his stick he knocked twice at the door; he bent down to discover whether his sum

mons had been heard, but his inspection seemed to be unsatisfactory, for with a muttered curse, he gave a low whistle, and was preparing to leave, when his attention was arrested by a movement within. A voice demands in a surly tone: "Who is there?"

"A friend," was the laconic reply, when a bolt was withdrawn, and James entered with a coarse invective. He asked why he had been kept so long at the door; and then followed his companion through a narrow dark passage into a low roofed apartment, which, though there was no candle, was brightened by the light of a fire that burned on the hearth. The floor was carthen; a wooden table was in the center of the room, between which and the hearth was a low stool. A box at the further end completed the furniture of the apartment.

"You have a smell here that might feast the fairies," remarked James, as he followed his friend into the room. His host, with a grim laugh and a nod, pointed to the box which he meant James to draw over to the fire and use as a seat. Tom Scott, for he it is whom we are now introducing to our readers, had a short, thickset figure. His head was large, with a quantity of red hair and whiskers; and he had a sharp, cunning eye, which he had a peculiar habit of winking. His countenance was otherwise heavy, though with a dash of cunning. He drew the single stool that the room afforded towards the fire, and resumed the process of cooking, which had been interrupted by the knock.

"What in the name of goodness have you there? You feast in royal style," said James, as he looked over his friend's shoulder.

"Ah! time for me," said Tom. "I have had to do with small fry long enough.”

"I am not so particular as that, when a friend asks," said James, drawing his seat forward. His host placed a large bottle on the table, the fragrance of which filled the room. After helping his friend and himself to his satisfaction, he resumed his seat, and said: "Old Sam, indeed. Do you think that I am mad, to let that old fool know my concerns, or where I deal for my marketing? Not I, indeed. Why, don't you remember Michaelmas six years? I forgot-you were abroad. It was the night Colonel Digby's nephew was killed."

"Bless my soul. Do you know any thing about him?" said James, hardly concealing his inense curiosity.

Tom nodded this head and winked: "I know what I know."

"Oh! ay, you know every thing, and things that never happened."

"Things that never happened, indeed. Ay, but one thing that did happen."

"Tell me what it was; you say he was killed. How, and by whom?" said James.

"You are going to hear all about it, are you? I never tell tales out of school."

"I would not care if all the Digbys were hanged or drowned. I hate the whole lot and stock of them," said James.

"No, no," answered his companion, "I say nothing. A wise man never found a dead man.'

James perceived that Tom really did know more than at first he gave him credit for, and he hoped to draw out his knowledge. It might be of infinite use to him; but he saw the moment was not yet come. He was too clever to impart an important secret without some very considerable inducement, at least while he was sober. His hopes lay in the bottle before them. He determined himself to take as little of the contents as he could, without raising the suspicion of his companion, and thought that when his friend became exhilarated he might also become communicative. With this prospect he determined to betray no curiosity on the subject of his story.

"How do you like playing secondfiddle at your place up there ?" said Tom, laughing, "since you got a lady at the head of the house ?"

"Don't talk of her. I hate her like poison," said James sulkily.

"Likely enough., A spirited bit of goods she is, and can be in a passion, ay, and worse nor that," answered his companion mysteriously.

"What do you know of her? Did you ever speak two words to her in your life ?"

"Ay, did I, and there's a secret that none but she and I know," answered Tom, winking one eye, and grinning like a demon.

James's curiosity was almost breaking all bounds; but with a wonderful effort he controlled himself. He thought Tom had nearly arrived at that state of intoxication in which he would communicate freely, if he thought that he was really indifferent about it, and would be tempted to tell his own story, for the purpose of exciting his friend's interest and astonishment at his boasted knowledge. James seeing the time was ripe wished to strike while the iron was hot; and knowing exactly his companion's state, he rose as if about to leave.

"Good night, Tom " he said." I must be off."

"Not going yet," said his companion; "why, it is only now I am getting jolly. Sit down there, and I will tell you something about that mistress of yours that you are so fond of, which will make you love her more."

business brought me into Colonel Digby's that hour of the night? A poor fellow must live, and so I dropped it; and you are the first I ever told it to."

"Now, Tom, would you swear it, if there was another that could side with you in it ?"

"I could swear it; but I don't want to swear away a woman's life that never did me any harm, and, I confess, I like the girl's spirit."

"No; but perhaps, if you get the reward, or the half of it-eh ?"

"I should be sure of that. There is no doubt charity begins at home; and though I do like a spirited girl, it was cruel of her to get this poor fellow murdered after all. Do you know any thing about it, as you say that? Indeed, I might have guessed you had something to say to me, as you never come to see a poor fellow like me unless you have a dirty job on hand."

"Not at all; it is a long time since I saw you; and on such a fine evening I took the opportunity. I have nothing particular to say; but I'll think on what you have told me; it is a most extraordinary story. Good night, Tom, and thank

you."

So saying he left the cabin. He had come there determining to get Tom Scott's assistance; but how had chance favored him, though he had affected incredulity? When he heard Tom's story, he was certain every word that he said was true; but his own plans were not matured enough for him to impart them. to his friend. He had no intention of taking any mortal into his confidence; he trusted too much to his own judgment and discrimination; he was one who knew exactly his own capabilities; it was necessary that he should have Tom's assistance, but only as a blind instrument in the carrying out of his plot.

On leaving the cottage he walked hastily home, absorbed in deep thought. "What the deuce brought her there the second time? Tom said, to meet some one could it have been himself? Pooh! Nonsense. Every word the fellow said is true-true as gospel; but she did want to meet some body, no doubt ?" And so he meditated, stopping occasionally, pressing his hand to his lip as a particular thought seemed to puzzle him, and then being satisfied with his solution, hasten on again. He arrived home very

late; and raising the latch, he quietly entered, without one twinge of remorse at his diabolical plans. There was but one thought in his mind, one hope in his heart, revenge, bitter, black revenge; he would sell his soul, body, all he possessed, to be revenged.

CHAPTER VIII.

AN ARREST.

A FEW evenings after the events recorded in the last chapter, Caroline had retired to her room earlier than usual, and had placed herself under the minis trations of Flora. Had she been less occupied with her own sorrowful thoughts, she would have perceived that her maid was bursting with some important news, and was only watching a favorable moment to communicate it. Still Flora had a certain misgiving about introducing this wonderful subject. She could make free with her mistress, more so, perhaps, than one could imagine a person of Caroline's naturally proud disposition would allow; but there were certain topics that she had been peremptorily silenced about. She had an instinctive feeling that the news she burned to communicate trenched on forbidden ground; but the innate desire to relate the marvelous overcame all scruples, and she ingeniously first introduced an irrelevant topic, or, perhaps, it would be better to say, "she beat about the bush."

"Do you think, my lady, Miss Julia will engage James's sister?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Caroline.

"I never saw a young lady so changed since your marriage, my lady; she is so lively, in comparison to what she was; and so very attentive to the poor

master."

"Is she? Yes; I believe so."

old

"I hope Jane will suit her; she used to be a kind mistress; but then, indeed, she did not mind; she was easily pleased. I think she has got over it all; and it will be so dreadful now to rip up the whole business."

"Yes," said Caroline absently.

"Only too dreadful; the poor thing, my heart bleeds for her."

Caroline had not been attending to a word she had said; and now she turned impatiently to her

Caroline started from her seat, pale as death, her hair falling over her shoulders.

"That is a lie; who says Captain St. Laurence was murdered? He never was; he is, he must be living," and pressing both her hands to her side; "yes, I know he lives; I will swear it."

The girl was terrified at her mistress's strange look and excitement, and approached her; when Caroline turned wildly to her.

"Tell me every word you heard, as you value your salvation-every word you know-quick, quick."

Flora repeated what she had said. "Information had been given, nobody knew by whom, that the murderer of" "Stop, girl; there is no-don't use that horrid, lying word." When quieter, she said: "Go on-quick, quick."

"Of Captain St. Laurence is discov ered; they say the body has been found," continued Flora, hesitatingly.

One deep, low groan, at this new discovery, was the only outward token of the agony that was breaking Caroline's heart. She leant a moment with both her hands on the table, as if to support herself; then, very calmly, she went to her desk and wrote a few lines; this she put into an envelope, and sealed; then, turning to Flora, she said:

"You must get James-mind, no one

Flora, crying, gave her mistress every assurance, and added, "not to fear; James should go without delay."

And Caroline went to her husband's study.

He was writing at his bureau, with his back to the door, and did not turn as she entered. She locked the door, and came over to him. Gently, very gently, she laid her arm on his shoulder, saying: Alfred, my own Alfred."

He started.

"Gracious heavens, Caroline, you look deadly pale. Are you ill, darling ?"

His unsuspecting manner, his ignorance, his solicitude for her at that moment, entirely overcame her. She was sure that he would have divined the cause of her coming; but now she should have to tell him. This aspect had never presented itself to her mind. She had imagined various others, she had thought of all possible positions in which she might be placed when the fatal hour should arrive, and had acted over in imagination how she would shield him. But she had never thought she should have to repeat in words to him what she dared not breathe to herself. She was sure that thought must ever be uppermost in his mind, and that any extraordinary occurrence would at once connect itself with it. Now, how different. She could not speak. He rose and lifted her to the sofa by the fire; and, kneeling beside her, rubbed her cold hands between

his own.

She lay conscious, acutely so, but with an utter inability to move or speak; her eyes closed; she could not even raise the lids. Apparently lifeless, but with an intense agony of feeling, knowing every moment she lay there was more precious than her life.

"My precious child, Caroline, look at me; tell me, darling, are you ill? 0 Caroline! dearest, speak, but once."

She had a tight grasp of his hand, but could not speak. She heard every word; they went as daggers to her heart. He