Elinor Clare; or, the Haunted oak. By the authoress of the 'Cottage Girl' [i.e. Mary Bennett] ... Illustrated by numerous engravings

Front matter

No. 2 Given Away with No. 1. A Beautiful Engraving, entitled " The Tired Gleaner," presented with No. 2. OK, THE HAUNTED OAK. WEEKLY, ONE PENNY. PUBLISHING OFFICE: 147, FLEET STREET, E.C. ELINOR CLARE; OK, THE HAUNTED OAK. BY THE AUTHORESS OF THE "COTTAGE GIRL," ETC, ETC. Illustrated foj Numerous Engravings. 2.ntvoon : NEWSAGENTS' PUBLISHING COMPANY, 147, FLEET STREET. 1868. RESULT OF THE "ELINOR CLARE" PRIZE DRAWING. [Winners of Prizes residing in the Country must enquire of their Bookseller the name of his London Agent, and forward the same to our Office, in order that the Prizes may be sent through them to the Bookseller, who will give them to the Winner, on the receipt of the counterfoil of the Prize Ticket.]

The Winners of the Prize Gloves. 8957 Mrs. Smith, 5, Russell Street, Sydenham. 26246 Frances Ann Barton, 22, Union Street, Deptford. 11756 Henry Apps, 9, Clark's Place, Bishopsgate Street. 19897 Henry Clarke, 42, Chapel Road, Southampton. 10224 Annie Elliott, 54, Lucas Street, Commercial Road East. 11553 Abraham Hewitt Wharton, 2-1, Back Quay Street, Manchester. 16229 B. H. Harris, 18, St. Margaret's Street, Canterbury. 29008 James Hibbitt, 6, Russell Place, Gravesend. 13526 C. W. Knight, 34, Windsor Road, Upper Holloway. 4304 Joseph Ashburn, White Hart Yard, Alnwick. 22026 William Smith, 7, Carlisle Square, N.E. 21840 MisB E. Greenwood, 104, St. George's Fields, Kidderminster. 14800 Annie Kirkwood Miller, 41, London Street, Glasgow. 28352 Elizabeth King, Stokes Bay, Gosport. 8961 E. Murfett, 3, Cooper's Court, Seward Street, St. Luke's, London. 9453 Maria Lister, West End, Horsforth, near Leeds. 7061 Frank West, 83, King Street, Blackburn. 4313 Susan Cripps, 17, Artillery Place, Woolcot. 27978 William Fielding, Friendly, Ovenden, Halifax. 12833 A. Ritchie, 87, Drury Lane. 18423 James Arundall, 18, Church Street, Hunslit, Leeds. 16848 Miss Rowe, 4, Hill Street, Upper Clapton. 8046 Emma Chadwicke, Wormwood House School, Shepherd's Bush. 14202 Mary Ann Shaw, 89, North Street, Leeds. 28454 Mrs. Crisp, 79, St. John's Road, Hoxton. 24988 M. A. Clarke, 71, Adelaide Road, Camden Town. 17358 S. Cole, 3, Plumber Row, Fieldgate Street, Whitechapel. 19492 Margaret Nicholson, 4, Riddell Street, Gateshead. 28652 Mrs.

Betsy Gledhill, 12, Bridge Terrace.'.Holme Head, Carlisle. 10938 George Scarborough, 61, South Main Street, Cork. 28515 John Dobbie, 51, West Milton Street, Glasgow. 7386 Mrs. Mary Tempest, 16, Cato Street, Bank, Leeds. 4431 Miss E. L. Parry, 68, Roscommon Street, Liverpool. 1214 John Fuller, 98, Rolls Road, Old Kent Road, S.E. 29340 Emma Dowsett, 15, St. Matthew's Street, Cambridge. 345 Robert Osborn, 63, Forest Road, Dalston. 21547 Frederick Hume, 10, Albert Street, West Hartlepool. 1084 David Strachan, 6, Garthland Lane, Paisley. 16873 Eliza Collins, Frogmore House, Wandsworth. 14153 Carrie Joy, 74, Hempsted Street, Ashford, Kent. 7603 Miss Charlotte Smith, 15, Cannon Street, Jersey. 720 Josephine Appleton, 141, High Street, Atterclifie. 24655 Miss E. Keynes, 11, Freeschool Street, Northampton 8582 Jane Pearson, 9, Ellison Street, Gateshead. 7992 Cicely Stanford, Westow Street, Upper Norwood, Surrey. 20562 Donald Ross, 52, McLean's Court, Gallowgate, Aberdeen 27275 Mrs. Hurley, 99, Great Dover Street, S.E. 20470 Harry Wibberley, 8, Queen's road, Nottingham. 16794 Miss Thorogood, 9, Lampeter Street, Islington. 9007 R. Crawford, 7, Doughty Street, W.C. 10145 Mrs. Evans, 3, North Cottages, Stockwell. 13311 Jesteua Newland, 12 Thomas St. Stamford St. Blackfriars Road. 23530 Mrs. E. E. Boyer, 10 Moreton Place, Pimlico. 22673 Mrs. M. Murray, 51, Maitland Street, Cowcaddens, Glasgow. 1322 Edwin Packham, 2, Woodville Cottages, Golding Street, Calverley Road, Tunbridge Wells, Kent. 4379 W.

Chapter I

'• There is oft told A melancholy record of this grove." " Do, pray, let us go back, dear Isabel ; I am frightened to death, I am, indeed : consider how dangerous it is to be so far from any house at this time of the night, and the gipsies, too, have pitched their camp not more than half a mile from here, and should any of them be straggling about and discover us — and there is the Haunted Oak, too, right in the path we are going; and, besides, if my poorialtetshould wake, and find that we have left home ' /^^_!k^__\ -t*>i- /&___.?;_* _>. " I will not go back, Annie ; I told you before we came out that I had a firm belief that I should find him here, dead or alive, and I will not go back while I have strength to continue the search." The person who uttered this speech was a fine, tall girl, with a dark, expressive countenance, and eyes that seemed to flash with fire, as she spoke, while her lips quivered with emotion.

She to whom her speech was addressed was much younger, and of a less marked character ; her fair complexion, blue eyes, and flaxen ringlets, bespeaking nothing hut mildness and timidity ; but there was a third, who was silent, whose beauty far sur passed that of the two sisters, while the earnest gaze which she from time to time cast around her, and the evident total abstraction of her thoughts from the conversation of her com panions, showed that her mind was deeply interested in some important subject. Elinor Clare, the cousin of Isabel and Annie Copeland, was only in her seventeenth year, though early sorrow and habits of deep reflection had given her lovely features a tinge of pensiveness, that to a cursory observer made her appear older. Not so tall as Isabel, she was just the height that best becomes a female.

Her form, moulded with the purest symmetry, was only exceeded by the intellectual beauty of her face, which, faultless as were the features, owed its chief charm to the look of blended sensibility and sweetness, which, when she was at ease, dimpled round her mouth, and added lustre to her brilliant yet dove-like eyes. Nothing, indeed, could equal Elinor, when she was in a pensive mood, except Elinor in moments of sportive mirth and archness, and those, though "few and far between," did even now, when she had "fallen upon evil days," sometimes occur to startle and fascinate the beholders. At the moment we have chosen to introduce them to our readers, the two sisters, with their cousin, were in the very heart of a wood, so vast, that it might almost have been entitled to the name of a forest.

It was a fine summer night, and the moon, now struggling through the thick and interlaced boughs, seemed shedding a silvery shower on the green sward beneath, and then, where there was open space, threw a broad flood of light over every object, rendering the surrounding darkness the more black and impenetrable. To those, however, who were threading the seeming labyrinth of this secluded spot, every path, almost every tree, was familiar. Isabel and Annie were born in the farm-house which their father still tenanted on the edge of the wood, and Elinor was Oil, THE HAUNTED OAK. too young, when first she became an inhabitant of her uncle's house, to retain any distinct recollection of another home. They had passed many happy summer days, engaged in the various sports of childhood, under the umbrageous shelter of those leafy recesses, and many a moonlight night had they " made the woods vocal" with their joyous voices and ringing laughter.

Alas ! with what different feelings did they now pace along the intricate paths, peeping on each side into the nooks, now starting at a shadow, and then stopping and holding in their breath, in the expectation of hearing some sound repeated, which had indistinctly reached their ears, and which would sometimes prove to be only the flitting of a night-bird, disturbed from its haunt by their unwonted presence, or the distant bleat of sheep on the common. They had proceeded in this manner for nearly half a mile, when Annie's courage failed, and she entreated her sister, as before related, to return, but in vain. Isabel still kept on determinately, Annie clinging to her arm, while Elinor followed silent and thoughtful. Suddenly Annie uttered a scream ; she had seen a figure glide across the path, she declared, only a few paces ahead of them, and as if going towards the Haunted Oak which stood a little out of the path on their right hand.

"I cannot go on, I cannot pass it for the world!" she ex claimed, trembling, and speaking with difficulty. " Oh, Isabel, dear Isabel, do not ask me to go any further if you do not wish me to lose my senses." " It would be cruel to wish it, I am sure," said Elinor, warmly, advancing at the same time and raising the terrified girl from the ground on which she had thrown herself at the feet of her sister. "Do, Isabel," continued Elinor, "be per suaded to relinquish your wild project and return home." "You may go if you please, Elinor, and take Annie with you," returned Isabel, coldly. "I knew, though she persisted in coming with me, that she would only be an incumbrance ; for myself, my mind is made up, and I will proceed alone." " Listen to reason, Isabel," replied Elinor. " During the day your father and his men have searched every part of the wood without success.

Is it likely that what they failed to discover in the full light of day will be revealed to you by the uncertain light of the moon?" "Elinor, it is in vain to talk; Walter is within the boundaries of this wood, and I will find him before I return home," ex^ claimed the headstrong and fearless girl. " Merciful Heaven, preserve her !" softly ejaculated Elinor ; " series and anxiety have unsettled her brain. And this poor clnld, too," looking at Annie, who, with her frock thrown over her head to shut out all surrounding objects, sat weeping and trembling at her feet on the grass. " Will you go back part of the way, then, Isabel," she demanded, " with your sister, and wait while I see her safe to the door; and then I will hasten back to you and accompany you wherever you wish to go?" "No, I will not go back; but I will sit down here, if you will, and await your return," said Isabel.

" As to danger, I do not fear any to me " " But I saw some one, indeed I did, Isabel," interrupted the fearful Annie, "and for what purpose, but that of mischief, could any one be wandering about in such a place as this and at such a time of night?" " They might say the same of us," returned Isabel ; " but, however, you may set your mind at rest, that which you saw can threaten no danger to me, for it was only a poor pony, strayed, I suppose, from the gipsy camp ; and look, here it comes again to prove that I am right." It was with difficulty that Annie was persuaded to look up at the harmless object of her recent alarm, which was quietly grazing along under the trees ; but when she did so, instead of acknowledging the folly of her fears, she shook her head and murmured — " That was not what I saw, it was a tall figure, not " "This is sheer obstinacy, Annie," observed her impetuous sister.

" I saw from the first what it was ; but do pray rise and let Elinor see you home as she has kindly proposed, for every moment that you remain here is so much time lost." Annie was too long habituated to obey the commands of her sister to protract longer her stay; with Elinor's help she arose, and, clinging to the arm of the latter, declared that she was ready to go. "But, ohl Isabel," she continued, in a tone of pathetic entreaty, "do promise that you won't move a step from this place till Elinor comes back. You are so daring, and so thoughtless ; but Elinor is quite the contrary, and she — • — " "Yes, Elinor is the contrary," interrupted Isabel, with some thing of bitterness in her manner, "for Elinor is not looking for a dear, a beloved brother, a more than brother. Oh ! Walter Walter," and she wrung her hands and burst out in the accents of despair, "none, none can feel your loss like your unhappy sister, Isabel."

"I will say nothing of your injustice to me, Isabel," observed Elinor, calmly, in reply; "but I will ask you to remember the greyheaded parent, bereaved of his only son, and still in un certainty of his fate, before you parade your affliction, and recollect, too, how much his sufferings will be increased should his daughter endanger, by any foolish act, her own safety. Come, Annie, let us no longer lose time," she continued ; " I will see you to the outskirts of the wood, to the tree where our swing used to hang in those happy days, that have, I fear, gone for ever, when none accused Elinor of indifference to her friends, and especially to the brother of her adoption." She turned away without waiting for Isabel's reply, and half leading, half forcing Annie forward, hurried through the path by which they had come.

Numerous were the instructions, and most impressive the charges, which Eleanor poured into Annie's ear, as to how she was to act when she got home to avoid awakening and alarming her father, who, after a night and day's fearful and harassing exertion, had been persuaded to retire to bed, and had, from absolute exhaustion, fallen into a deep sleep before they had ventured to leave him. " I will be very careful, indeed I will, Elinor," returned the gentle and simple-hearted girl ; " but, oh ! dear, I cannot help thinking how unjust anybody must be to accuse you of not caring " " Hush, hush," interrupted Elinor, putting her hand on Annie's mouth, "that will be all set right one of these days. God bless you, dear girl, I will leave you now, for you will not, of course, be afraid to cross the field in the open moonlight, and I must hurry back to your sister."

" Oh, yes, and I will run as fast as I can across the field, I shall be almost home before you are out of sight," replied the timid Annie, who did not altogether like being left, even though she was within sight of home. Elinor, however, waited not to hear any more, for she was too anxious to return to Isabel, and as quick as her light feet could run, she set off back again through the wood, fearless of all danger to herself, though certainly quite as much, in reality, exposed to it as her whom she was so desirous of protecting. She had nearly reached the spot where she had left Isabel, when the moon became obscured, and at the same moment some person darted across her path among the trees. For an instant, she hesitated whether to proceed, but a faint thought crossed her miad that she recognised the figure to be one with which she was well acquainted, and, determined to be satisfied, she exclaimed — " You need not avoid me, for I know very well who you are."

" Elinor, dearest Elinor," returned a voice, and in an instant, the speaker, a tall young man, bounded to her side ; but at that moment several persons were heard, conversing, as they seemingly approached the spot, and the young man, in apparent agony, exclaimed — "Ha! they have missed me already; I cannot stay, Elinor, to inquire by what chance you are here alone at this time of night ; but for Heaven's sake hasten home instantly, if you value your safety, your very existence. I would go with you, but that would be to draw danger upon you which you may otherwise escape. Elinor, I am, at this moment, one of the most wretched of created beings, do not ask me why ; promise me only one thing, that should we never meet again — but no, forget me, Elinor ; forget that such a wretch as I ever existed."

" Edward, what is the meaningof all this ?" demanded Elinor, with the most violent agitation, " speak, tell me." "I can tell you nothing, Elinor," he replied, hastily; " Heaven protect you." He was rushing away, in spite of the weak attempt she made to detain him, when a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he turned back. " You are not alone here, are you, Elinor ?" he hastily de manded. " No, Isabel — -" " Ah ! I guess how it all is," he interrupted her, before she could finish the sentence. " Walter — Yes, yes, I know all about it ; but promise me one thing, Elinor ; solemnly promise that you will not tell — that you will not reveal to any one that you have seen me to-night." " I will — I do promise," returned Elinor, " if it is your wish ; but why this mystery, Edward ? why should you shun " " Ask me no questions, Elinor, if you do not wish to drive me to distraction," he replied, and then starting, he added, " Hark they are coming ; I must prevent it by hastening to meet them.

Farewell, Elinor, a long, it may, be a last farewell." He strained her violently to his bosom, and then rushed from her, while Elinor, rivetted to the spot, stood lost in alarm and amazement. By degrees the sound of footsteps and voices which she had plainly heard approaching, receded, and all was still again. Calm and collected as Elinor usually was in the most trying circumstances, her fortitude and self-possession on this occasion entirely failed her ; a thousand dreadful surmises rushed into her mind, but one thought, one master-grief usurped dominion over all others. " Edward had gone, had bidden her farewell for ever, and had avowed too that he was miserable." To Elinor it seemed as if there could be no sorrow in the world to equal this, and for some minutes she gave way to the full tide of her anguish.

" What a selfish, unfeeling creature I am," she suddenly exclaimed, starting, " I have forgotten Isabel, and she thinks, probably, I shall not return." Not another instant did she hesitate, but darting down the path soon reached the spot where she had left her cousin, and where the latter had promised to wait for her ; but no Isabel was there, and again reproaching herself for having lingered until she exhausted the patience of her impetuous relative, she proceeded onwards in the path which she considered the latter had most likely taken, stopping every two or three minutes to listen ; but not a sound reached her ear, except the sighing of the wind through the branches, and the heavy black clouds that from time to time flitted across the moon's pale face, and obscured her light, gave notice of a coming storm.

It was at one of these moments when, by the intervention of a cloud, all around her was veiled in thick darkness, that Elinor approached the Haunted Oak, so well known as the object of fear to herself and her companions in childhood, and which even now was regarded with awe by the simple peasantry of that neighbourhood, who would sooner make the compass of the wood than pass " The Oak " after twilight. In Elinor's mind not a vestige of superstition existed ; but there was a tale of horror connected with this tree, which she had often heard repeated by the rustics in her uncle's kitchen, until it was engraved on her memory, and always caused an involuntary shudder, when, as upon the present occasion, accident compelled her to pass it. Pre-occupied as her mind was now, by a series of melancholy and harassing circumstances, and anxious as she was to overtake the rash and headstrong Isabel, she might probably have passed the spot without bestowing a thought upon it, had not her attention been suddenly arrested by a noise resembling the low whine of a dog, followed by that of the accents of a human voice, which, though scarcely above a whisper, appeared to her attentive ear to utter a command to the animal to he silent.

" Merciful God, protect me," mentally prayed the startled Elinor, who now trembled so violently that she was unable t.o proceed, and was compelled to lean against a tree for support. A pause of utter silence ensued ; the affrighted girl could hear nothing but the throbbings of her own heart, which she vainly tried to still by forming various conjectures as to the sounds she had heard ; but the moon again shone out with unclouded lustre ; it poured the full splendour of its rays on the large open space in which stood the monarch of the wood, the " Haunted Oak," and involuntarily she turned up her eyes towards it. " Power of mercy ! could it be possible ; was she not dreaming ? Oh ! no, too surely, surely it was true : it was Walter Copeland, her dear Cousin Walter, lying at the foot of the tree, senseless, immoveable.

Alas ! too truly her fears predicted — he was dead." Yet not till she had raised his head in her arms, had knelt by him, and called distractedly on his name, and conjured him to answer her, and found the face cold, the form rigid, and the ear deaf to her voice, could she give .up all hope ; but it was indeed no longer to be doubted, and in an agony of grief she sunk down by the corpse on the grass, unable to collect her thoughts or resolve how to proceed. " His father, his poor father," she murmured, with trembling lips ; " this will indeed be an awful termination to his suspense ; and Isabel, how will she bear the confirmation of her worst fear for her beloved brother ?" A flood of tears came to her relief, as her imagination depicted the sorrow and anguish of the heart-broken father, thus bereft of his son, who was the pride and solace of his declining years, and to whom he looked as the protector and guardian of the two motherless girls, Isabel and Annie, when he should be laid low in the grave ; but from these thoughts Elinor soon wandered to a more appalling subject.

That Walter had been murdered was the dreadful suspicion that crossed her mind, and a slight examination of the body but too forcibly confirmed the suspicion. The hands were clenched, and the features distorted, while even by this uncertain light she could discover that his shooting dress was torn, and soiled with blood and earth, as if he had been dragged along the ground to the spot where he now lay. Not there had he been murdered, for there must have been evidences around of the death struggle, yet there nothing was disturbed, and as he lay with his face upon the verdant turf, lie looked so calm and peaceful that a passer by might have concluded he was sleeping. That he had been brought there, and recently brought by his murderers, was Elinor's fearful conviction. Until the twilight had put an end to the search, the father of the unhappy young OR, TnE HAUNTED OAK. man, his servants and neighbours, had all been engaged in the fruitless search for him.

Every corner of the wood had they explored, and it was an utter impossibility he could then have been lying there, not ten yards from the beaten path, without their discovering him. Nor was it, indeed, probable that Isabel could have passed the spot without seeing the object of her anxious search. He must have been brought there, then, within a few minutes — perhaps, even now, the murderers were lingering within a short distance of her. The voices she had heard recurred to her mind, and with fearful anticipation she raised her eyes and gazed around ; but the next moment she sunk down again and clasped the cold lifeless form of Walter, as if he could protect her, for her eyes had met the dark glare of the assassin from behind the tree, and at a few paces only distant from her. The next moment she heard his retreating footsteps plunging through the thick underwood, crunching it beneath his feet, and tearing away the branches that impeded his progress.

An inspiration of thankfulness burst from Elinor's throbbing heart, and she arose from the ground resolving to return home instantly, and summon the assistance of the farm-servants to convey the body of Walter to his late home, and take what measures they thought advisable for the discovery of the murderer. " But Isabel, where can Isabel be?" was the thought that suddenly darted into her mind, after she had proceeded a few paces, and was followed by a thousand dreadful surmises. But one course, however, could she pursue, for it would, she felt, be madness were she alone to attempt to discover what had become of Isabel, and on the wings of terror she flew back to the farm, and succeeding in rousing Philip, Mr. Copeland's principal man, who, almost as much interested in the affairs of the family as if he had himself been a member, had, for the two nights that Walter had been missing, refused to retire to bed, or to pull his clothes off, but lay stretched on the settle before the kitchen fire, " that he might be ready," as he said, " to start up at a moment's warning, if he was wanted."

It was with difficulty Philip restrained within bounds his expressions of consternation and surprise, when he awoke from the heavy sleep which the day's fatigue had induced, in spite of grief and anxiety, and beheld Elinor standing before him, with a candle in her hand, displaying her features ghastly pale, and her eyes beaming with horror and dismay ; but still more diffi cult was it for him to repress his exclamations, when, with quivering lips, she related to him her discovery of the body of Walter, and Isabel's strange disappearance, entreating him to lose no time in calling up the men to accompany her to the spot where the corpse lay. Fortunately for Elinor's plan, as she thought of concealing from the bereaved father the extent of his misfortune until the morning, when it could be gradually broken to him, the servant men slept in a building detached from the farm-house, so that Philip was enabled to get them together without disturbing his master, though even after they had all, to the number of seven, passed through the gate, in to the lane which led to the wood, the former could not divest himself of the idea that either Elinor had dreamt what she had told him, or that grief and anxiety had deranged her mind, and she had fancied the tale she had repeated to him, and he hesitated to follow her, until he had prevailed on her to repeat all she had witnessed.

" It must be true," he exclaimed, when he found that she did not vary from what she had before told him ; and directing the men to keep close together, and make as little noise as possible, he hurried on to the wood, Elinor, in spite of his entreaties to the contrary, keeping by his side. A burst of lamentation and threats of revenge broke from the men the instant they beheld the corpse of Walter, whioh was lying precisely as Elinor had left it. There was no motive here for repressing the full expression of their feelings, and the wood echoed with their noisy exclamations and suggestions. On one point only they were agreed — that the murder had not been committed there ; for on the very spot where the corpse now lay, had their master (the father of the unfortunate murdered young man) chosen to rest that very afternoon, when he sunk overpowered with fatigue and sorrow.

" Yes, yes, I know the place well enough," observed one of the men, shuddering, and casting a fearful glance around him. " I didn't mind it then," he continued, " though I tried to per suade master to come a little further towards home, even when it was daylight, but it's awful now." The panic seemed to spread, aud even Philip appeared afraid to look around, while he gave directions to the others to form a litter of boughs, which they tore down from an opposite elm avoiding, as by mutual consent, touching the tree which had been so long the object of their awe. Upon this the corpse was placed, and the mournful procession was about to move, when a sudden exclamation was heard, ami the next moment Isabel rushed among them, pale and speechless aud evidently in a state of the most violent excitement.

" My prayers have been heard !" she exclaimed, " I have found him, and I have found his murderer too ; he has escaped for the present; but I knew him, and will pursue him to the world's end." Every voice was instantly loud in demand, how or where she had made the discovery, and who was the person she alluded to ; but Isabel was deaf to all their questions, her eyes were fixed on Elinor with a look of fearful meaning, and when they at length moved on towards the farm she seized the arm of the latter, and in a low voice, whispered — " Elinor, 'twas Edward Hatherleigh who basely, foully mur dered my brother." For a moment Elinor was struck dumb ; a thousand circum stances corroborative of this assertion rushed upon her mind ; but it was but for a moment ; the next she exclaimed — " It is false, Isabel ; false as heaven is true."