The Fog Princes. A novel ... Second edition

Front matter

PRICE ONE SHILLING A LOYELY SKIN, ■oft and delicate face and hands obtained by using ROWLANDS' KALYDOR, An Emollient Miik which removers Freckles, Tan, Snnbum, Bedneas and Roughness of the Skin, soothes Cbapa, Chilblains and all irritation of the Skin, and produces a beautiful and delicate complexion. Bottles, 4s. 6d. ; half-bottles, -Is. 3d. ROWLANDS' ODONTO, A non-gritty Tooth Powder, whitens th© Teeth and prevents Decay. ROWLANDS' EUKONIA, A pure Face Powder, free from metallic poibons; in three tintswhite, rose, and cream, 2*. 6d. per box. Bold by Chemists and A. ROWLAND & SONS, 20, Hatton Garden, London. Ward & Downey's New Shilling Books SUSPICION. By Christian Lys DR. BERNARD ST. YINCENT. By Hume Niseet. WHAT WAS IT? By Fitzjames O'Brien. THE FATAL HOUSE. By Alice Corkran. THE MYSTERY OF CLOOMBER.

By A. Conan Doyls DEYLIN THE BARBER. By B. L. Farjeon. THE YOYAGE OF THE ARK. By F. M. Allen. SCHOOL BOARD ESSAYS. By Emanuel Kink. PROPOSALS: Being a Maiden Meditation. A HOUSE OF TEARS. By E. Downey. WARD & DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. WARD & DOWNEY'S CHEAP NOYELS. SIX SHILLING NOYELS. THE WYVEEN-MYSTEKY. Bv J. Sheridan Le Fance. DESPERATE REMEDIES.* By Thomas Hardy. MRS. RUMBOLD'S SECRET. By Mrs. Macquoid. THE NUN'S CURSE. Bv Mrs. Riddle. GRETCHEN. By Rita. LUCK AT THE DIAMOND FIELDS. Ev D. J. Bei..;i;av__. JOHN 0' LONDON. By SoJŒEvniB Gibney. THE STORY OF ANTHONY GRA^E. By G. Manville Fenn. AT THE RED GLOVE. By K. S. Macquoid. A BIRD OF PASSAGE. By B. M. Ceoker. A TERRIBLE LEGACY. By G. W. Appleton. THE MASTER OF THE CEREMONIES. By G. Manville Fenn. IN JEOPARDY. By G. Manville Fenn.

THE ALIENS. By Henry F. Keenan. AS IN A LOOKING GLASS. By F. C. Phxlits. A LUCKY YOUNG WOMAN. By F. C. Philips. TEMPEST DRIVEN. By Richard Dowling. A MENTAL STRUGGLE. By the Author of "Molly Bawn." Lllr LORIMER. By. Theo Gift. THE CHLLCOTES. By Leslie Keith. THREE-AND-SIXPENNY NOYELS. DIANA BARRINGTON. By B. M. Croker. THROUGH GREEN GLASSES. By F. M. Allen. THE LAST HURDLE. By F. Hudson. THE FOX AND THE GOOSE. By J. P. Glvnn. A MODERN CIRCE. Bv the Author of " Molly Bawn." MARVEL. By the Author of " Mollv Bawn." CATCHING A TARTER. By G. W* Appleton. THE TRAGEDY OF FEATHERSTONE. By B. L. Fae.teon. PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF A LADY. By Hamilton Aide. IN LUCK'S WAY. By Byron Webber. MISS ELVESTERS GIRLS. By M. W. Paxton. WHERE TEMPESTS BLOW. Ey M. W. Paxton. THE DLU10ND LENS. By Fitzjames O'Brien.

Chapter I

Among the noblemen's seats of the United Kingdom there are many more imposing, many more ancient, than Llancader Castle ; but there are none better adapted to the requirements of modern life, none where.lifts and electric bells combine more haimoniously with old tapestry and heavily-decorated ceilings. It is built in the hybrid classical style of the Jacobean period, and is pleasantly placed among lawns and trees and artificial fishponds not far from the banks of the River Wye. The Earl of St Austell, by far the largest landowner in this part of the country, and possessor of estates rich in relics of the past, knew how to avail himself of all the resources of the present. He had the reputation in the country of being a good and beneficent landlord ; while in town, in the green rooms of the theatres where ballet was the principal attraction, he had a reputation for munificence of quite another sort.

Lady St Austell was an amiable and still handsome woman, easy-going to a fault, whose chief grief and grievance was, not her husband's peccadilloes, but the fact that she had not born him an heir. In their three daughters the earl took but slight interest ; and the countess, being allowed full liberty to conduct their education on what principles she pleased, tried to makeup for their not being sons by giving them the sai-we education as if they had been. If these young ladies had possessed brains or strength of character out of the common, this system might have answered A very well. Unluckily, however, they were commonplace girls, and their unusual training only served to foster a belief in their own superiority, and thus to emphasise a certain .ack of feminine grace and charm which, considering their parentage, was difficult to account for.

On a warm afternoon in early August, the eldest and the youngest daughter were sitting at work in a pleasant room, panelled with light oak and hung with large-flowered cretonne, which looked out on to a wide lawn dotted with trees and brightened with flower-beds. In the distance could be seen through a clearing made specially in the thick groves which line the banks of the winding Wye, the rugged grey walls of ruined Carstow Castle. "Where's Marion?" asked Lady Catherine suddenly, looking up from a Latin exercise she was preparing for her tutor. Lady Catherine was a reddish-haired freckled little girl of sixteen, very plump and very merry-looking. " Oh, wherever Rees Pennant is, I suppose," answered her eldest sister, Elizabeth, glancing out of window between the stitches of the crewel work over which she was bending.

Lady Elizabeth was, like her youngest sister, round-cheeked and blue-eyed ; she had a fair complexion, golden hair, eye brows, and eyelashes, a self-satisfied expression, and a figure which all the back-boards, reclining-boards, and dancing masters in Europe could never have saved from being round-shouldered and "dumpy." Lady Catherine burst into a merry laugh, and from a sofa in the shadier depths of the long room a plaintive, but cracked, voice wailed out a request in French that " miladi Katte " would be quieter, and would remember that " madame la comtesse," her mother, wished her to overcome her propensity to unladylike outbursts of merriment. Mademoiselle de Laval, the duenna of the earl's daughters, had been specially chosen for the post for her abnormal ugliness, Lord St Austell holding that women's virtue was always in in verse proportion to their beauty.

He had overreached himself, however, for mademoiselle, being a martyr to neuralgia and rheumatism, and finding herself very comfortable in her Welsh home, would not for worlds have endangered her situation by any indiscreet prying into the amusements of her charges. Lady Kate, with a grimace in her direction, crossed the room to her sister, and sat down on a footstool at her side with a scandal-loving expression on her face. " Rees Pennant ! " she repeated in a hissing whisper " do you think she is in love with him ? " " I'm sure of it ! " cried Elizabeth, with all the superiority in such matters which twenty possesses over sixteen. Lady Kate chuckled to herself with intense amusement. " Of course he isn't in love with her," she suggested, with a sister's partiality. " Marion is so gawky, and Rees is so hand some.

It would be like a figure of Raffæle falling in love with an Anglo-Saxon saint." " What's the use of their falling in love, either of them ? " said Elizabeth, prosaically. " They can't marry." "Why not? He is the eldest son, and Captain Pennant's family is as old as ours. And look at us ! We're not beauties, and I know papa doesn't mean to give us very handsome for tunes, or else you would have had an offer before this. You're twenty, you know." " Certainly. And I don't want any offer," answered her sister, not without a pardonable suspicion of tartness. " But I certainly shouldn't condescend to flirt with a man beneath me in rank, and without a penny. And there must be madness in the family, or Captain Pennant would never have adopted a fisherman's baby, and brought it up as his own child."

" Deborah's very pretty," said Lady Kate, thoughtfully. " If we were half as good-looking we should have been photographed all over the place as beauties." " Pretty ! Do you think so?" asked her sister, with an air of matter-of-fact impartiality. " I don't admire those big coarse looking women. I like a face which shows signs of the higher intelligence, a face which lights up. And Deborah has no con versation. I can't admire a girl without conversation. " Papa can though," said Kate, rather maliciously. " He admires Deborah, and I'm sure you can't say he likes coarse looking women." " A gentleman's ta^te in beauty is not the same as a lady's," said Elizabeth, moving restlessly, and wishing that her per sistent little sister would let her change this awkward subject. " I know it isn't. I expect some women would admire Mademoiselle de Laval," whispered Kate, glancing towards the dozing French governess, whose wide nose and mouth, leathern complexion, and well-defined moustache, formed a combination of feminine attractions rarely to be met with.

" But do you know, Betty, after mature consideration of the subject, I woflld rather be pretty according to the gentlemen's standard than according to the ladies'." Lady Elizabeth, who, although extremely erudite, was rather dull, did not perceive all the point of this speech, but felt that the pert girl was slyly laughing at her. She was too good tempered to grow cross, however ; she only grew didactic. " You can't expect much refinement from a fisherman's daughter, of course," she said, in an obstinate tone. " I've al ways pitied poor Mrs Pennant — who comes of one of the oldest i families in England, better than her husband s— for having to submit to such an absurd caprice of his She feels it, poor thing, dreadfully." " Yes, and turns up her eyes over it, and acts quite a pretty pantomime of resignation over it still, though Deborah s been one of the family eighteen years.

The consequence is that the boys have never learnt to look upon her as a sister, and so they're falling in love with her. Godwin, and Hervey— yes, and Rees too, whatever Marion may like to think." " So much the better. Then Rees can marry the girl, though I think one of the gamekeepers would be a more suitable match." " Betty, how can you ? You talk just like an ordinary spiteful girl. Deborah is as much a lady as we are ourselves." " Very well then. Don't let's talk any more about it. We shall only quarrel. And all about a girl who thinks that a smat tering of French, German, and the piano form a good education." There was a pause. But Kate, who always liked to worry a subject to death, soon broke out again, — " Betty, why do you think papa wouldn't let Rees marry Marion ? He's so fond of Rees, he really treats him almost as if he were his own son."

" You don't understand papa," said Elizabeth, with authority. "He always seems so easy-going that people don't guess that he's just like a rock underneath. Nobody thinks so much of class distinctions and money distinctions — those are almost the same thing nowadays — as he does. Rees would have no more chance as a son-in-law than — than Amos Goodhare," she ended con temptuously. Lady Kate laughed, and pretended to shudder. " Oh, old Amos," she cried, with real disgust. " Don't speak of that man. I can't bear him. I think he has such shifting eyes and such a bad, horrible face. I never could understand why papa allowed such a man into the house at all." " He is really a well-read man, and he looks just such a man as a librarian ought to look," said Elizabeth, in a reserved tone, as if she knew more than she intended to tell.

Kate looked hard at her siste'r, and then edged her footstool close up to her side. " Betty," she whispered, with a very curious expression, " did you ever notice the extraordinary likeness there is between Mr Goodhare and — papa?" " Nonsense, child," said Lady Elizabeth, blushing violently, and trying to rise. But Lady Kate, who was a sturdily built girl, with little fat, but muscular hands, held her down. " Of course he looks much older, because he doesn't dye his hair and moustache, as papa does, and because he wears a beard. But really, do you know, Betty, I've sometimes thought — " But here Lady Elizabeth, who was also a robust young woman, disengaged herself, with no great gentleness, from her sister's clasp, and with an almost frightened, " Hush, Kitty, hush ; you mustn't let your tongue run on so," left her to form her own opinion on the subject of this sudden closure of the discussion.

Lady Kate mused for some time on this point, until at length it occurred to her to get a peep at Mr Goodhare by the light of her new suspicions. She knew where he was to be found, for, to do him justice, the librarian loved his books, and appeared to live for nothing else. He had lately been employed in collecting papers and documents and books of reference bearing on the history of Carstow Castle, of which most interesting ruin Lady Marion proposed to compile an exhaustive chronicle. No subject more fascinating could well have been chosen. The old place, after having suffered many vicissitudes of fortune under Plantagenets and Tudors, had been almost destroyed during the Great Rebellion, when it was held for King Charles by a brave little garrison, who did not surrender until all hope of escape had been cut off by a fearless Puritan soldier.

Swim ming across the river with a knife in his mouth, he cut adrift the boat on which the defenders of the Castle counted for their flight. Some years later a tower of the desolated Castle was patched up into a prison for one of the " regicides," who pas5ed there a pleasantly mitigated captivity, and was buried in the churchyard of the quiet little old town. From these events Lady Marion had determined to construct a strictly impartial chronicle, which should, however, illustrate in a marked manner her own strictly impartial views on the subject of hereditary monarchy and the powers of Parliament. Therefore, Amos Goodhare, the librarian, had been for the past few weeks employed in digging out, from the vast hoards of accumulated records of the past with which not only the library, but various comers of roomy Llancader were filled, such docu ments as seemed likely to be of use to the young lady in her vast undertaking.

It was among the nooks and crannies of the castle, therefore, that Lady Kate set about her search for the librarian ; and it was in one of the dustiest corners of a scarcely-used wing of the building that, after a long hunt, she found him. There was here a little awkward staircase, which led up to a tower, long since given up, for its draughtiness, to the bats and the mice. Underneath this staircase was an oddly-shaped recess, as large as a small room, where, behind some boxes, boards, and similar lumber, a rough chest, full to the top of yellow and musty papers, had that very day been unearthed by the indefatigable librarian. Lady Kate, creeping about the corridors and staircases with careful feet, heard the rustle of papers as soon as she entered the passage in which the tower staircase was.

She stopped, listened, advanced on tip-toe till she was close to the outer pile of lumber. She did not at first dare to peep round at Amos Goodhare, for she wanted to get an opportunity of studying his face unseen by him. She knew he was there, though, for whenever Amos found anything which interested him, he emitted a series of low grunts of satisfac tion. And now he was grunting at a great rate. Lady Kate, after half choking with suppressed laughter at his curious little cries and murmurs of excitement, decided that he was too deeply interested in something he had discovered to take any notice of her. So, with cautious steps, holding her breath, she crept through the space between the piled-up boxes and the staircase. He could not have been more favourably placed for her proposed inspection.

A long lancet window lighted the staircase, and the bottom panes came low enough to illuminate the space below. Standing close under the little patch of dusty glass was the librarian, holding in his hands some large sheets of paper, which Lady Kate perceived to be old and yellow-looking. He was far too intent upon decipher ing the contents of the papers to notice the plump and curious girl's face peering up at him a couple of feet from the floor. Lady Kate's design of comparing the librarian's face with her father's was forgotten with her first glance at Amos Goodhare, who was a tall, slender, eminently gentlemanly-looking man, with grey hair and beard, grey eyes which gazed habitually on the ground, and slightly stooping shoulders. For she saw his usually composed features lighted up with excitement so strong that his nostrils were dilated, his breath came fast, and his eyes looked fierce, wide open, and almost lurid.

His long white hands shook as he clutched at the yellowing papers, or passed his fingers in feverish restlessness through his still thick and curly grey hair. Little Lady Kate's plump face grew white with horror ; she thought the librarian had gone mad. Over-devotion to the books had done it, she supposed. At any rate, she was too much frightened to stay and speculate as to the cause of this horrible event. She crept back into the passage on all fours, as she had come, and fled away as softly as she could. On the floor below she met her sister Marion, who had just come in, and who was, as Kate afterwards described it, " looking sentimental." Lady Marion was, on the whole, the least attractive of the three sisters. She had not the stolid, but " comfortable," look of the eldest, nor the merry eyes and laughing little pursed-up mouth of the youngest.

She was a tall, bony, angular girl fair like the others, but without the pink colour they had in their cheeks. Her hair was a little darker than theiis, and of an un pleasing length, as it had been cut quite short, and then allowed to grow, the result of which was that little ends and tufts stuck out straight in all directions from the tiny little knob she wore at the back of her neck. Her nose was long, her mouth was wide, and her 'L'*-' u'"" eyes were without fire. Nevertheless there was a certafii'_3_vJ«, _iot only of good nature, but of gentleness and affection, in her face, which made her affectation of masculine manners and speech rather pathetic Foi Lady Marion had the warmest and deepest nature of the three sisters, therefore it was on her that their anomalous education had worked the most disastrous effects.

She was always yearning to show "strength of mind," when, as a matter of fact, the strength her character really possessed did not lie at all in mental attributes, but in the more womanly qualities which she despised. When her younger sister fell against her, whispering fear somely, " Oh, Marion, Mr Goodhare's gone mad I " Lady Marion instantly assumed a manly and devil-may-care front, and said, in a deep voice : "Where is he?" Whereas, if she had been really a person of much common-sense, she would have decided at once that her sister's statement was a wild exaggeration. Lady Kate briefly described where and how she had found him. Then a happier idea crossed Marion's mind. " Perhaps he's got hold of something," she mused. "And I believe he's quite capable of keeping back important papers, and bringing out a rival work to mine, compiled from authorities he has kept from me."

For Lady Marion shared the common mis trust of Amos Goodhare, which was, perhaps, only a result of his extreme reserve. " He looks wickeder than ever, at any rate," murmured Kate, as the sisters went softly up the stairs together. " Look here," whispered Marion, when they had reached the upper floor and come in sight of the tower staircase at the other end of a long, dark corridor. " You call him out suddenly, as if something had happened, and I'll watch him on the stairs from the space between the staircase and the window. Then I'll see what he does with the papers, and try to get in and have a look at them." " All right," whispered Lady Kate. And they stole along the corridor to the further end. CH APTE i »■ The two girls carried out their plan beautifully. Marion crept softly up the tower staircase as far as the window.

Then, crouching down, she managed to peep between the dusty panes and the side of the staircase, and saw the top of the librarian's head, which moved from side to side as he scanned the pages of a djvscoloure "1 MS. Si denly, ringing down the corridor came a cry in a high, girlish voice, which caused Amos to start and mechanically to hide away under his coat the paper he was reading. Marion noted this action with a suspicious eye. " Mr Goodhare, Mr Goodhare I Where are you ? Come I Quick ! " the second young conspirator was crying lustily. " Here I am, your ladyship, at your service," called out the librarian, as the girl's voice sounded nearer and nearer. At the same moment he opened the old chest he had been ransacking, and thrust the document he had been reading deep down among a mass of other old papers, from which the dust rose in a cloud as his hand moved them.

To Lady Marion'3 delight, he had dropped the last page on the ground. But she had scarcely congratulated herself on the fact when, turning, he perceived the missing leaf, and not having time to put it in the chest with the rest, dropped it into his pocket. Then he hastened out of his corner to meet the young girl, and addressed her in his usual suave, respectful, and dignified manner : " What can I do for your ladyship ?" " I want you to help me with my Latin exercise. There are some dreadfully hard words in it this time." " I shall be delighted," said he, as he followed the young girl downstairs. But in his grave and beautifully modulated voice Lady Marion detected a tone of impatience at the trivia lcause of this interruption. She was by this time already in the nook under the stairs, making the most of her time, for she guessed that it would not be long before Amos would find an excuse for return ing to the occupation which had absorbed him so deeply.

She flung open the chest with a violence which caused its old hinges to creek and little splinters to fly off the worm-eaten wood while she, half choked by the dust, groped blindly among the mass of mouldering, musty parchments, pamphlets, and papers. It was some minutes before the air was clear enough, and her eyes sufficiently used to the obscurity of the ill-lighted corner, for her to begin her search in earnest. Deep down into the withered looking heap she dived, and. after many a futile plunge, fished up at last a crumpled pap*—, -. hich she felt sure was the one on which Amos had been en^r :d. It was part of an old letter, undated, but bearing every sign, in its yellowish paper, faded ink, old-fashioned handwriting, and voluminous style, of having been written long before the introduction of the penny post.

The page containing the signa ture was missing, but the commencement, " My dear Oswin," showed that it was written to one of her ancestors — Oswin being a family name — and internal evidence proved that it was from one intimate friend to another. The writer began by regretting that his own health was so bad, not having been improved by a long voyage he had recently taken to improve it, that he was unable to come to see his friend Oswin, who, he was sorry to hear, was also far from well. He wrote in the strain of a man who thinks the end of his own life is approaching. " And now," so the letter went on, " before the end of my own days shall come, I have somewhat on my mind which I would fain impart to you. Of late, being unable to follow my accustomed pursuits, and compelled to endure a sedentary life, which suits me but ill, I have been studying the history of our own land, and more especially such part of it as concerns the reign of our late martyred King Charles, of blessed memory.

In the course of my researches (if I may bestow on my poor studies so honourable a name) I have read much of the valiant defence of your own fair Castle of Carstow, that now lies ruined, and have noted a thing which may have escaped your eyes. You know, doubtless, being well versed in the history of this notable and loyal fortress, that shortly before the siege by the rebels, under Essex, the Queen Henrietta Maria did send to her own country of France a trusty messenger, charged straitly to entreat the king for help for her ?.nd her lord, and also bearing certain rich jewels of hers for sale in the Netherlands, that the proceeds thereof might be used for payment of troops. And it is known that this messenger did return in safety to England, and that he did reach Carstow, and was there detained by the siege on his way to join the king.

But what became further of that noble, the Lord Hugh of Thirsk, never was known, nor was ever aught heard of the treasure he brought back, or the treasure he carried away with him. Yet was he as valiant, and trusty, and honour able a knight and gentleman as ever drew sword, ncr was capable of any treachery nor unfair dealing whatsoever. But no mention of moneys reaching the king about this time was ever made, but that he was hard pressed and had to borrow and beg from his faithful courtiers is certain. Now, we know that there has always been among men, during all time, a great and most marvellous avidity for lost treasure, which appeals to the imagination most strangely, and that little of such treasure has ever been recovered. Yet, since we know that here is plain evidence of a knight, bearing treasure, reaching your Castle of Carstow ; and since we have no evidence whatsoever of his being seen thereafter, or the riches he carried ; is it not just to suppose that such treasure may never have left the precincts of the Castle, which was then so close besieged, but that it may have been concealed from the besiegers, and thereafter either forgotten, or, the concealer being killed its existence not known ?

You, with your grave discernment, not carried away by impulse, may judge my plan fantastic and unworthy your thought. But I pray you consider the suggestion I have to set before you. It is founded on a study of the Castle as I made it minutely some years ago, and may lead, I think, to a discovery of importance. You will remember that, on passing under the great gateway, with its square tower to the south, you have before you a wide open space, now grass grown, which — " Here the bottom of the second sheet was reached, and here Marion, who was devouring the MS., with its crooked and sprawl ing handwriting, in the same state of feverish excitement as the librarian had suffered, was forced to come to a standstill. " And the rest is in his pocket," she said to herself, with fiery impatience. "The most interesting part, too, the plan he had conceived for the finding of this treasure I I must go and find Amos Goodhare ; I must force him to give it to me."

But she was spared that trouble. Springing to her feet — for she had sat down on a pile of lumber to consider the dazzling prospect which the letter opened to her girlish imagination — she found herself face to face with the librarian himself. The sun had gone down low in the sky while she was occupied in making out' slowly, letter by letter, the old-fashioned spelling and the scrawling handwriting. Now there came, through the corner of the window, the last red rays of the sunset. They fell on the face of the librarian, gave a lurid light to his grey eyes, and a diabolical cast to his complexion ; so that Lady Marion, seeing him thus unexpectedly, belied her assumption of strength of mind by uttering a shrill cry. Perhaps it was the heat into which the letter had thrown her imagination; perhaps it was only the effect of the shadows thrown by the ivy outside ; but it seemed to the girl that his features were distorted by passion so violent as to render him for the time scarcely human • she actually cowered as she stood, afraid that he would strike her, or that his very look would work upon her some mischief.

She went through a moment of horror which she never mentioned, yet never forgot, in which the tall, spare man, with his flashing eyes and threatening attitude, the brown rafters overhead, the great piles of lumber on either side, and the thick, choking dust over all, were stamped upon her mind in a weird and vivid picture. The next moment, as if in a dissolving view, the picture had faded away, and Amos Goodhare, the grave and courteous librarian, stood before her with his head bent and his usual stoop, in a most respectful attitude. " I have found some papers here to-day, Lady Marion, which I believe will interest you greatly," said he, in his bland, measured voice. But Lady Marion had received a shock from which she could not in a moment recover. " I — I — thank you. You can show me presently," she said, with a dry mouth and unsteady voice.