The Flower of the Forest. A romance

Front matter

Crown 8vo., cloth extra, for the Library, 3s. 6d. each. THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. popular bv tfjt itst Sutl)---. By HENRY KINGSLEY. Number Seventeen. | Oakshott Castle. By MRS. ALEXANDER. Maid, Wife, or Widow ? By justin McCarthy. Waterdale Neigh- A Fair Saxon. bours. Dear Lady Disdain. My Enemy's Daugh- Miss Misanthrope. ter. Donna Quixote. Linley Rochford. Comet of a Season. By WALTER BESANT & JAMES RICE. Ready-Money Mor- By Celia's Arbour. tiboy. Monks of Thelema. My Little Girl. 'Twas in Trafalgar's The Case of Mr. Lu- Bay. craft. The Seamy Side. This Son of Vulcan. Ten Years Tenant. By MRS. MACDONELL Quaker Cousins. With Harp & Crown. The Chaplain of the The Golden Butterfly. Fleet. By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. Lost Rose. I The Evil Eye. Bv ROBERT BUCHANAN. A Child of Nature. | God and the Man.

By FLORENCE MARRYAT. Open ! Sesame ! I Written in Fire. By MRS. H. L. CAMERON. Deceivers Ever. [ Juliet's Guardian. By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. Touch and Go. By WILKIE COLLINS. By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. Antonina. Miss or Mrs. ? A Life's Atonement. | Joseph's Coat. Coals of Fire. Basil. The New Magdalen. Hide and Seek. The Frozen Deep. By MRS. OLIPHANT. The Dead Secret. The Law and the Whiteladies. The Queen of Hearts. Lady. Mv Miscellanies. The Two Destinies. -..*. __- *_ tttt_;__ nT__ TT- . 1 TT-+_I By JAMES PAYN. The Woman in White The Haunted Hotel. Lost Sir Massingberd Less Black than The Best of Husbands we're Painted. The Moonstone. The Fallen Leaves. Man and Wife. Jezebel's Daughter. Poor Miss Finch. The Black Robe. Fallen Fortunes. High Spirits. Halves. A Confidential Agent Walter's Word. Carlyon's Year.

What He Cost Her. From Exile. By MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. Archie Lovell. By Proxy. A Grape froma Thorn Under One Roof. For Cash Only. By M. BETHAM EDWARDS. Felicia. By CHARLES READE. It is NeverToo Late The Course of True By R. E. FRANCILLON. Olympia. I Queen Cophetua. to Mend. Love. Hard Cash. The Autobiography Peg Woffington. of a Thief, etc. Christie Johnstone. Put Yourself in His By EDWARD GARRETT. The Capel Girls. Griffith Gaunt. Place. By CHARLES GIBBON. Robin Gray. 1 In Honour Bound. The Double Marriage Terrible Temptation Love Me Little, Love The Wandering Heir. Me Long. A Simpleton. Foul Play. A Woman-Hater. For Lack of Gold. Queen of the Meadow In Love and War. In Pastures Green. What will the World A Heart's Problem. Say? The Flower of the Cloister and Hearth. Readiana. For the King.

Chapter I. Before The Curtain Rises

Seventy years ago the waters of the Clyde flowed darkly between grassy banks on which the gigantic shadows of trees broadened and faded. The waters swept by the village of Bothwell, murmuring plaintive music as they passed beneath the old bridge. The summer sun was sink ing in the west, and the village was very still. The gloam ing fell over it like a veil, and the cry of the corncrake was heard from the fruitful plains mingling with the evening songs of the birds which swarmed in the then thick wood around the ancient castle. In a pretty cottage near the bridge, the wife of Mr. Robert Imrie had given birth to a daughter. Mrs. Jessie Imrie was only twenty years of age, and had been married a year. She was singularly handsome. The pale, soft face that lay amidst a profusion of dark hair on the pillow was touching in its childish maternity. ' Lizzie,' murmured the young mother, as the shadows of night were darkening the room. ' I am here,' answered a low, clear voice. ' Has Robert come back yet V ' Not yet,' was the reply.

The last speaker sat in an armchair by the window, with her back to the bed. She was a young woman of twenty five, and bore a strong resemblance to her sister Jessie. But Elizabeth Gordon's face wanted the tenderness of Jessie's expression. The lips were finely formed, but were drawn together tightly, as if with bitter chagrin ; the chin was square, significant of strong will ; the eyes were bright but cold, and the whole expression in repose was unpleasant. She had loved her sister's husband, Robert Imrie. For months, and even weeks previous to the marriage, she had hoped that she had won his affection ; but she was mistaken. His heart had been given to the gentle Jessie. When at last Elizabeth ascertained that her dream was hopeless and that her love was slighted, all the fierce passion of her nature was aroused.

Hate took the place of love. Time passed, and this night came, when she was sitting alone in the growing darkness with the mother and babe. Frequent were the inquiries of Mrs. Imrie as to her hus band's arrival, and every time the answer was in the negative. Mr. Imrie was cashier to the firm of Weir and M'Kay, of the Alton Foundry, and his duties compelled him to pass the greater part of the day in Glasgow. His wife's delicate health had been the cause of their removal to a residence so distant from his place of business. In his absence the child had been born ; Mrs. Imrie's attendants being Dr. Innes, the medical man of the village, an old nurse, and the sister Elizabeth. The doctor had gone home, leaving his patient in an excellent way of recovery ; the nurse had retired to obtain a little repose. 'I wish he would come,' moaned the young mother fretfully. ' It is a quarter to nine now,' said Elizabeth, in her hard voice. ' The coach does not go by till a quarter past.

You must be patient. Rest.' BEFORE THE CURT AT N RISES. 3 The white face on the pillow brightened. ' How proud he will be !' Elizabeth did not answer. To all outward seeming she loved her sister and respected her sister's husband. So she had been always a welcome guest at that happy hearth. She approached the bed now and smoothed the pillows. Jessie looked up gratefully as if about to speak again. Elizabeth stopped her. ' Robert will not be here for half an hour. You must not look ill when he sees you. Here, I will take the child, and you must try to sleep.' ' You will waken me as soon as he comes. 'Yes, yes.' Jessie pressed one long lingering kiss upon her child as Elizabeth took it up in her arms. Then the wearied mother turned on her pillow and closed her eyes, smiling. Elizabeth carried the child to the arm-chair and seated herself 'with it on her knee.

The minutes glided away, and the mother slept. Inexpressibly beautiful in her joyful, wifely innocence Jessie looked ; but no feeling of pity or sisterly love lit the dark eyes that watched her. Elizabeth Gordon knew no sentiment save one — that of resentment for an imaginary wrong. She turned away from the bedside, moving softly toward the door. ' The time has come, bairn,' she said under her breath, and with flashing eyes, ' and you must be the instrument of punishment. You shall cast a shadow over her new-found joy, and you shall stab his selfish heart. Ay, ay, my bairn with the gipsy eyes, you shall become your mother's sorrow, not her joy ; your father's curse, not his blessing. I would hate you for being their child, if I did not love you for being my avenger. Stealthily the woman glided from the room. 1—2 THE FLOWER Oh THE FOREST. 4

Chapter II. The Yetholm Gipsies In Jervis Wood

Lanark was a very small village sixty odd years ago, and its environs were thickly wooded. The sun glanced brightly on the green leaves, weaving a thousand fantastic shapes out of the shadowy verdure, and drawing paths of gold on the thick sward that gathered at the tree-roots. The boughs were full of motion; birds flew hither and thither, singing loudly ; and squirrels hopped with chirps from tree to tree. About a mile from the town of Lanark, and in the very heart of the Jervis wood, the trees fell apart and formed an open grove. Here, on a green sward freckled with buttercups and daisies, a picnic party was assembled. The loud, happy laughter of the merry company of ladies and gentlemen rang along the woody aisles of the forest. On a high knoll, above the rest of the company, sat a beautiful girl of eighteen.

Her bonnet had been thrown off, and a chaplet of field flowTers was placed upon her brow like a crown. Her features were well formed, though not perfectly regular ; her eyes were bright with youthful joy- Kate Imrie was as good as she was well-favoured. On the sward around her sat the rest of the company, which consisted of Mr. Imrie, a tall, handsome man of forty-five ; Mrs. Imrie, his second wife, a comely matron ; Frank Imrie, Kate's twin brother, a handsome youth of eighteen ; and Allan Durris, the younger son of a baronet. Mr. Imrie, who had amassed considerable wealth, resided on a small estate at Lanark, and one of his near neigh bours was Sir Fraser Durris. In those days Lanark was more rural than at present, and there were only one or two houses on the borders of the forest. Under the circum stances, the Imrie and the Durris families became inti mate.

At a short distance from the knoll was an unpacked hamper, on the contents of which the company had just feasted, and whose remnants were being devoured by a thin, wiry man-servant. 'It is a pity,' said Allan merrily, ' that we have come here a month too late ; otherwise Miss Imrie would have made a charming Queen of the May.' Kate laughed. ' Among scenes like this,' said Frank, who was slightly given to poetry, ' one longs for the bold immunities of the outlaw's life — such a life as the banished duke, in "As You Like It," lived under the greenwood tree.' ' Do you think so V cried Kate. ' Then I should advise you to be off and join the gipsies.' ' Are there gipsies in the forest ?' inquired Allan. 'Yes, Mr. Durris,' said Mr. Imrie, 'and I regret the fact. A set of vagabonds and thieves infest these fine woods, and commit all sorts of depredations.

Either Mr. Robin Hood has been mispraised, or these imitators of his are sadly de generated.' At this moment a loud childish laugh was heard. ' What can that be V inquired Kate. Durris was the first to reply. ' I don't know, unless you will consent to be superstitious, and believe that it is some fairy of the woods.' 'Nonsense !' said Mr. Imrie, ' it is a child.' All followed the direction of his eyes. The boughs moved with a rustling sound, and there burst into the open grove a boy of twelve, meanly clad. On seeing the strangers he stopped short, and gazed at them wonderingly. ' Why, I declare it is one of the gipsy children !' exclaimed good-natured Mrs. Imrie. Mr. Imrie looked severe. He was a strict man, and could not tolerate vagrants. ' Come here !' cried Allan. The boy hung back. ' Come,' said Kate, beckoning and smiling.

Reassured by her manner, the boy approached. ' Well, my boy, who are you ?' asked Mr. Imrie. The child seemed perplexed. He was relieved by the low, kind voice of Kate. ' What is your name . ' Willie,' was the reply. ' Where do you live V He nodded at the siurounding forest. ' With the gipsies . A nod. ' Do you work V ' Sometimes. I make baskets, sir, out of rushes ; and Mother Elspeth, she sells them.' ' Who is Mother Elspeth V inquired Kate. Before the boy could answer, two new characters appeared on the scene, in the persons of an old woman and a young girl. They appeared suddenly from among the bushes, and were in the midst of the party before anyone was aware. The boy nodded to them and laughed, while the company eyed them in wonder. They were a strangely contrasted couple. The body of the old woman was bent almost double, and she leaned on a thick crutch.

She seemed weak and feeble. Her dress was a heavy cotton gown ; and a cloak, the hood of which was drawn closely over her wrinkled face. Yet, in spite of these symptoms of decay, the close ob server would have been puzzled to tell this woman's age. For her hands were neither skinny nor bony, and her neck was smooth and round. It was in her face, however, that one perceived the greatest incongruity. In spite of the deep, dark wrinkles, the face did not seem like that of a very old woman. The mouth was large and red, the eyes black and piercing, the hair jet black. The black hair and the great eyes, allied to a face so wrinked and worn, made the old gipsy look hideous. But to turn the eye from her to her companion was like walking from a dark room into the full blaze of the sunshine. Imagine a tall, well-shaped figure, just developing into womanhood.

A pretty face, dark hazel eyes, raven hair, and cheeks browned by the sun. The girl's dress was the simple light bodice and skirt of the gipsy tribe. Flowers were woven in her hair, and in her hand she carried a tambourine. This was the gipsy girl, Jessie Grant. What wonder that Allan Durris's face glowed with admiration, and that even unselfish Kate felt a twinge of envy 1 A third person appeared upon the scene. This was a man of about thirty-five years, clad in tight-fitting trousers, and shooting-jacket. His face was brown as a berry, and forbidding with its fierce dark eyes, thick, passionate mouth, and black eyebrows. The man's name was Murphy Flynn, an Irishman, and he was one of the members of the famous Elspeth Faa Grant's gang. While the two women approached the ladies and gentle men, the man hung moodily in the background, where he was soon joined by a troupe of gipsies. ' Good-morrow, sirs and madame !' said the old woman, writh a dry chuckle.

Jessie courtesied, and shook her tambourine. ' What do you want, woman ?' sharply inquired Mr. Imrie, whose strong prejudices were trebled by the for bidding aspect of the speaker. ' Want, sir !' returned the old woman. ' Bless your kind heart, good gentleman, we are poor — very poor. Shall I tell the fortune of yonder pretty miss, with her blue eyes and her yellow hair ? Shall I tell her of a rich husband, who is not far off at this moment ; and of a gay bridal, and a bonnie wedding-ring . Kate blushed. Mr. Imrie rose to his feet. ' We want none of your fortune-telling and your lying ! Be off!' The old woman chuckled. ' Give us money, kind gentleman, and we will go !' she pleaded. ' Not a farthing !' ' One little piece of silver ?' 'No!' Murphy Flynn stepped forward, and pushed the old woman aside. ' Leave them alone, Elspeth !' he muttered, with a strong brogue. ' Oho !' chuckled Elspeth, with her eye still fixed on Mr. Imrie.

At this moment the gipsy girl, as if desirous of turning the tide in their favour, shook her tambourine, and began to dance. A wild fantastic dance, and all eyes watched her. Even Mr. Imrie followed her movements with surprise. At last, blushing and panting, she paused and courtesied. ' Bravo !' cried Allan Durris, and all the company joined in the plaudits. Meantime Elspeth and Murphy stood apart, conversing in whispers. Blushing deeply, Jessie Grant approached Allan and held out the tambourine. ' You have earned your reward,' he said, and he flung a piece of silver into the tambourine. Frank Imrie followed his example. Then Jessie approached Kate. She took out her purse, and put some silver into the tambourine. The gipsy was moving away, when Kate called her back. She paused and courtesied. ' What is your name . ' Jessie Grant, miss.' ' Do you like the life you lead . 'Yes, miss.' ' It is a very wild and strange one for a girl so young and beautiful.' ' Do you think so, miss ?

I have been taught to love it. I like the open air, the green trees, the fresh flowers, the sunshine ; I love the liberty of my people. I was born in Yetholm ; but my grandfather was a great king of his tribe far away in sunny Spain.' ' You become such a royal descent,' observed Kate, smiling. ' Are your parents alive . 'My father is dead, and yonder is my mother.' And she pointed to the old woman. ' She — your mother .' exclaimed Kate in a surprised tone. ' Yes, miss.' Here Willie came creeping up to Jessie's side, and took her hand. Jessie looked down upon him fondly. ' Your brother ?' inquired Kate. ' No, miss ; but we are very fond of each other, WiUie and I. Are we not .' Mr. Imrie was advancing towards them. ' Where does this boy come from . he asked. ' He is an orphan, sir,' replied Jessie.

Mr. Imrie looked serious. He had been intently watch ing the girl's face whilst she was speaking ; and he felt an inexplicable interest in her slowly rising in his breast. Though a man of quick temper, he possessed, as a counter balance, a warm heart. ' And would you not like to go up to Glasgow and learn some trade, my boy . the old gentleman inquired. ' What for . asked the boy. ' Why, so that you might earn your bread and live re spectably, instead of vagabondizing about the country all your life.' ' Could Jessie go with me .' THE FLOWER 01 THE FOREST. 10 ' I'm afraid not — you could not support her just yet ; and perhaps she would not leave her people.' ' Then I won't go.' ' Why .' ' Because I am weel enough now with Jessie.' ' But think, my lad ; you might become in time the Provost of Glasgow.' 'I wouldn't leave Jessie to be King of Glasgow.' And the boy's eyes flashed as he wound his arms more tightly round her waist. ' Then I am sorry I can do nothing for you,' said Mr. Imrie. ' Should either of you ever want a friend don't forget Mr. Imrie of Corkskie House.' Jessie courtesied and Willie stared.

Elspeth and Murphy had been during the above standing a little apart watching the proceedings. The other members of the tribe, who had been conversing in the background, now began to move slowly away. ' My good woman,' said Mr. Imrie, advancing to Els peth, ' I am sorry that I spoke so hastily just now. Here.' The woman took the money in her hand. ' Humph !' she muttered, sneeringly ; ' you first kick a beggar and then offer him money.' ' What do you mean V ' I mean, Robert Imrie, that I know you — know you to be cold and callous ; that you have done me wrong — wrong to-day — wrong years ago ! I bide my time and my triumph is near.' Mr. Imrie drew back, thinking the woman mad. Elspeth, casting the money from her, moved swiftly away, and joined her people. The gipsy girl, on first observing the vehemence of her mother, had stared with amazement.

But as she caught some of the wild words that the woman spoke, the colour mounted to her beautiful face, and clasping little Willie tightly by the hand, she crept away from the place. Mr. Imrie had been too much astounded to attempt to stop Elspeth as she was leaving him. His family and Allan Durris now approached him, astonishment on every countenance. He turned to them with a pale face and a perturbed manner. 'What is the matter, Robert, inquired Mrs. Imrie hastily. Mr. Imrie repUed in an uneasy manner, and somewhat testily : ' Nothing, nothing, my dear ! We will go home now, if you please !'

Chapter III. Accepted And Rejected

Corkskie House was a handsome building, of the Italian style of architecture. It was large enough to enable Mr. Imrie to entertain about a dozen guests at a time, and that was aU he appeared to desire. His wealth would have justified him in keeping a much larger establishment, but though a liberal and hospitable man, Mr. Imrie could never shake off those habits by which he had principally acquired his large fortune — namely, a wise regard for the value of money, and an utter repugnance to aU waste. A short avenue led up to the house, and at the entrance gate was placed a neat little porter's lodge, of bee-hive shape. The grounds were considerable, and tastefuUy laid out. For this a great deal was due to the head-gardener; but something was also due to the fair Kate. And now the golden sun was setting in his sea of fire, and the brief hour of gentle twilight had arrived.

There was a tremulous stillness in the air ; the birds were piping softly the dirge of another day, and the peasants were hastening home from toil. Appearing and disappearing among the trees were two figures — Kate Imrie and Allan Durris. These two walked side by side — slowly, very slowly. They seldom talked, and only in low hushed voices, as if they feared being overheard. And yet they seemed to enjoy it, these two. They seemed rather to Uke walking side by side, and saying nothing. It was a long, long walk, yet they thought it short. They had been all round the grounds several times, and they were again nearing the house. Then Kate felt a hand grasping her own. ' Kate !' It was a subdued manly voice, very soft in tone. She did not answer — she did not look round at the speaker ; but oh, such a delightful Uttle maidenly tremor passed over her fine form ! ' Kate !' It was the same voice. ' Allan !' That was another voice, very sweet, very low, almost timid.

What music of heaven or earth was Uke it to him who listened ! How his heart beat ; how madly the blood leapt up in his veins ! Then he folded his arms around her — heart beat close to heart — and all the world's delights, hopes, and joys were centred in themselves — for them there was no greater bliss than love. ' My own !' he murmured, ' all my own !' The answer was the fair head falling confidently upon his shoulder. ' Till death !' he murmured again. ' Till death !' ACCEPTED AND REJECTED. 13 ' Allan ! — Allan !' shouted a voice from amongst the trees. A very discordant voice, according to the notions of the lovers at that particular moment. Kate blushed and looked confused. She disengaged her self hastily from Allan as her twin brother Frank suddenly appeared before them. ' I say, AUan, I thought you were going home early this evening . said Frank.

But as he spoke he saw that his arrival was most in opportune. ' Yes, I'll be going presently,' returned Allan flurriedly. ' That's all right,' cried Frank, turning about and speak ing over his shoulder ; ' I only thought I'd teU you that it was getting late, because I want to take a stroll over with you. But don't hurry; you'll find me in the drawing room.' ' I'll come for you.' ' Very well.' And Frank stuck his hands into his pockets and walked off, whistling, as if he had not observed anything at all particular — not he. Allan and Kate soon followed him into the house. They did not wish to prolong their absence, when its length had been already so much noticed as to bring Frank out looking for them. Allan, with a light heart, took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Imrie ; and then Frank and he sallied forth.

Presently Frank turned to his companion with an abrupt question : I say, Allan, wasn't that gipsy girl a beauty ?' ' Was she V inquired Allan innocently. His thoughts were in a very different direction. 'Why, you don't mean to say,' cried Frank warmly, that you did not see that she was a beauty ?' ' Oh yes — of course — of course ! she is very beautiful.' ' I think so ; I can't get her face out of my mind. I've been thinking of her ever since I saw her to-day.' And the two young men blithely continued their journey. And Kate 1 She could not rest ; she could not touch her piano ; she could do nothing. What maiden just after the first confession of her first love ever did rest 1 Kate walked about the room ; she sat down and got up again ; she took up books and laid them down again. ' Dear me, child, how you do fidget me !' exclaimed Mrs. Imrie fretfully, as she lay trying to get a nap upon the sofa. ' I think, mother,' said Kate timidly, ' I think I will take a turn in the garden.' ' Do, my child ; it will perhaps quiet your nerves.

You are very nervous, Kate !' was the easy reply. Kate put on her garden-hat again, and went forth. She wandered pensively along the winding paths, and slowly turned into the one which she had but recently traversed with him who was very dear to her. Suddenly the figure of a taU, dark man stood in her path. She was startled, and timorously peered up at the man through the dusk. She became reassured, but not altogether satisfied. ' Ewen Durris !' she exclaimed, in surprise. - The reply was in a deep-toned voice, in which there was something strangely harsh, something that grated upon the ear. ' Ay, Miss Imrie, Ewen Durris the miserable !' Kate thought something had happened to his family. 'What is the matter, she inquired, kindly. 'Is not your father well . ' As well as he will ever be. ' Then, how is it you are miserable .

You seem well enough.' ' Seem ! How poor is seeming ! Ay, Miss Imrie, I am miserable — truly miserable ! But my misery is no grief of ACCEPTED AND REJECTED. 15 my family ; the sorrow and pain of this affliction are all my own. I alone bear — I alone endure !' Kate half guessed the meaning of his words, and her former fright returned. But she tried to answer lightly. ' I do not understand !' she said. He bent forward. She could feel his warm breath burn ing upon her cheek. The answer came in a deep, hot whisper. ' I love !' A strange quiver passed over the form of the young girl. Still she endeavoured to sustain her assumed lightness of manner. ' In love ! And why should that make you miserable . ' Because I fear my love is unrequited.' ' Indeed !' ' Because I fear she will not listen to my suit.' ' Perhaps she has good reason !' Ewen Durris continued, unheeding this observation ' Because I fear that she has listened to the foul tongue of slander, and despises me.' ' Then seek another.

You wrong yourself and her in per sisting in a hopeless love.' ' I know it — I know it ; and yet I cannot resign her,' cried the man passionately. ' She has wound herself around my soul ! She has closed upon my heart, and shut out all other light ! Happiness is inseparable from her ! With her is paradise ; without her all is utter darkness !' He suddenly seized the girl's hand. She struggled hard to disengage it, but the man's grasp was firm. ' Mr. Durris, pray — pray release me !' He continued wildly, unheeding. ' Miss Imrie — Kate, dear Kate, do not cast me from you!' ' I cannot listen to this !' ' You will drive me mad !' THE FLOWER OF THE FOREST. ' As you are a gentleman, let me return to the house !' He threw himself passionately upon his knees ; he now held both her hands. 'Kate, Kate ! think of the misery, the life of agony you are heaping upon me !

Think of what I must have suffered before I could be brought to address you thus ! Oh Kate, I have watched you morning and evening ; I have stood all night beneath your -window, happy in the thought that I was near you; happy in dreaming that I was your pro tector, that no harm could come to you whilst I was by ! I have been mad, I have been wUd, I have been reckless ! I know it — I know it ; but my life shall prove my truth !' ' No — no — impossible !' ' In time you will love me !' ' Time cannot change my heart. I love another !' With a sharp cry of rage or pain, or the two commingled, the hands of Ewen Durris dropped powerlessly by his side ; and he remained kneeling upon the green sward in the dim dusk of the evening as one thunder-stricken. Kate finding herself free, immediately turned and fled.

She reached the house, hurried to her bedroom, and securely locked the door. Kate was young, and her heart was very tender. Though she loved Allan deeply, truly, she could not help being sadly pained by the unhappy passion of Ewen. The intensity of her first love made the knowledge of the grief of which she was the cause the more bitter and hard to bear.