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"I did not know you had carriage-friends, Mr.
Sutherland," said sh^, with a toss of her head.

"Neither did I," answered Hugh. "But I will go
and see who it is."

When he reached the street, he found Harry on
the pavement, who having got out of the carriage, and
not having been asked into the house, was unable to
stand still for impatience. As soon as he saw his
tutor, he bounded to him, and threw his arms round
his neck, standing as they were in the open street.
Tears of delight filled his eyes.

"Come, come, come," said Harry; "we all want

"Who wants me?"

"Mrs. Elton and Euphra and me. Come, get

And he pulled Hugh towards the carriage.

"I cannot go with you now. I have pupils here."

Harry's face fell.

"When will you come?"

"In half-an-hour."

"Hurrah! I shall be back exactly in half-an-hour
then. Do be ready, please, Mr. Sutherland."

"I wiU."

Harry jumped into the carriage, telling the coach-
man to drive where he pleased, and be back at the

David Elginbrod. II, 1 5

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same place in half-an-hour. Hugh returned into the

As may be supposed, Margaret was the means of
this happy meeting. Although she saw plainly enough
that Euphra would like to see Hugh, she did not for
some time make up her mind to send for him. The
circumstances which made her resolve to do so were

For some days Euphra seemed to be gradually re-
gaining her health and composure of mind. One
evening, after a longer talk than usual, Margaret had
left her in bed, and had gone to her own room. She
was just preparing to get into bed herself, when a
knock at her door startled her, and going to it, she
saw Euphra standing there, pale as death, with nothing
on but her nightgown, notwithstanding the bitter cold
of an early and severe frost. She thought at first she
must be walking in her sleep, but the scared intel-
ligence of her open eyes, SQon satisfied her that it was
not so.

' "What is the matter, dear Miss Cameron?" she
said, 2is calmly as she could.

"He is coming. He wants me. If he calls me, 1
must go.''

"No, you shall nof go," rejoined Margaret, firmly.

"I must, I must," answered Euphra, wringing her

"Do come in," said Margaret, "you must not stand
there in the cold."

"Let me get into your bed."

"Better let me go with you to yours. That will
be more comfortable for you."

"Oh! yes; please do."

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Margaret threw a shawl round Euphra, and went
back with her to her room,

"He wants me. He wants me. He will call me
soon/' said Euphra, in an agonised whisper, as soon
as the door was shut. "What ska// I do!"

"Come to bed first, and we will talk about it

As soon as they were in bed, Margaret put her arm
round Euphra, who was trembling with cold and fear,
and said:

"Has this man any right to call you?"

"No, no," answered Euphra, vehemently.

"Then don'/ go."

"But I am afraid of him."

"Defy him in God's name."

"But besides the fear, there is something that I
can't describe, that always keeps telling me — no, not
telling me, pushing me — no, drawing me, as if I could
not rest a moment till I go. I cannot describe it. I
hate to go, and yet I feel that if I were cold in my
grave, I must rise and go if he called me. I wish I
could tell you what it is like. It is as if some demon
were shaking my soul till I yielded and went. Oh!
don't despise me. I can't help it."

"My darling, I don't, I can't despise you. You
shall not go to him."

"But I must," answered she, with a despairing
faintness more convincing than any vehemence; and
then began to weep with a slow, hopeless weeping, like
the rain of a November eve.

Margaret got out of bed. Euphra thought she
was offended. Starting up, she clasped her hands,
and said:

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"Oh Margaret! I won't cry. Don't leave me.
Don't leave me."

She entreated like a chidden child.

"No, no, I didn't mean to leave you for a moment.
Lie down again, dear, and cry as much as you like.
I am going to read a little bit out of the New Testa-
ment to you."

"I am afraid I can't listen to it."

"Never mind. ' Don't try. I want to read it,"

Margaret got a New Testament, and read part of
that chapter of St. John's Gospel which speaks about
human labour and the bread of life. She stopped at
these words:

"For I came down from heaven, not to do mine
own will, but the will of him that sent me."

Euphra's tears had ceased. The sound of Margaret's
voice, which, if it lost in sweetness by becoming more
Scotch when she read the Gospel, yet gained thereby
in pathos, and the power of the blessed words them-
selves, had soothed the troubled spirit a little, and she
lay quiets

"The count is not a good man. Miss Cameron?"

"You know he is not, Margaret. He is the worst
man alive."

"Then it cannot be God's will that you should go
to him."

"But one does many things that are not God's

"But it is God's will that you should not go to

Euphra lay silent for a few moments. Suddenly
she exclaimed:

"Then I must not go to him," — got out of bed,

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threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and hold-
ing up her clasped hands, said, in low tones that
sounded as if forced from her by agony:

"I won't! I won't! O God, I will ;iot. Help
me, help me!"

Margaret knelt beside her, and put her arm round
her. Euphra spoke no more, but remained kneeling,
with her extended arms and clasped hands lying on
the bed, and her head laid between them. At length
Margaret grew alarmed, and looked at her. But she
found that she was in a sweet sleep. She gently dis-
engaged herself, and covering her up soft and warm,
left her to sleep out her God-sent sleep undisturbed,
while she sat beside, and watched for her waking.

She slept thus for an hour. Then lifting her head,
and seeing Margaret, she rose quietly, as if from her
prayers, and said with a smile:

"Margaret, I was dreaming that I had a mother."

"So you have, somewhere."

"Yes, so I have, somewhete," she repeated, and
crept into bed like a child, lay down, and was asleep
again in a moment.

Margaret watched her for another hour, and then
seeing no signs of restlessness, but that on the con-
trary her sleep was profound, lay down beside her, and
soon shared in that repose which to weary women and
men is God's best gift.

She rose at her usual hour the next day, and was
dressed before Euphra awoke. It was a cold grey
December morning, with the hoar-frost lying thick on
the roofs of the houses. Euphra opened her eyes
while Margaret was busy lighting the fire. Seeing that
she was there, she closed them again, and fell once

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more fast asleep. Before she woke again, Margaret
had some tea ready for her; after taking which,- she
felt able to get up. She rose looking more bright and
hopeful than Margaret had seen her before.

But Margaret, who watched her intently through
the day, saw a change come over her cheer. Her
face grew pale and troubled. Now and then her eyes
were fixed on vacancy; and again she would look at
Margaret with a woebegone expression of countenance;
but presently, as if recollecting herself, would smile
and look cheerful for a moment. Margaret saw that
the conflict was coming on, if not already begun-^
that at least its shadow was upon her; and thinking
that if she could have a talk with Hugh about what he
had been doing, it would comfort her a little, and
divert her thoughts from herself, even if no farther or
more pleasantly than to the count, she let Harry know
Hugh's address, as given in the letter to her father.
She was certain that, if Harry succeeded in finding
him, nothing more was necessary to insure his being
brought to Mrs. Elton's. As we have seen, Harry had
traced him to Buccleuch Terrace.

Hugh re-entered the house in the same mind in
which he had gone out; namely, that after Mrs. Ap-
pleditch's behaviour to him before his pupils, he could
not remain their tutor any longer, however great his
needs might be of the pittance he received for his

But although Mrs. Appleditch's first feeling had
been jealousy of Hugh's acquaintance with "carriage-
people," the toadyism which is so essential an element
of such jealousy, had by this time revived; and when

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Hugh was proceeding to finish the lesson he had be-
gun, intending it to be his last, she said:

"Why didn't you ask your friend into the drawing-
room, Mr. Sutherland?"

**Good gracious! The drawing-room!'' thought
Hugh — but answered: "He will fetch me when the
lesson is over."

"I am sure, sir, any friends of yours that like to
call upon you here, will be very welcome. It will be
more agreeable to you to receive them here, of course;
for your accommodation at poor Miss Talbot's is
hardly suitable for such visitors."

"I am sorry to say, however," answered Hugh,
"that after the way you have spoken to me to-day, in
the presence of my pupils , I cannot continue my rela-
tion to them any longer."

"Ho! ho!" resnorted the lady, indignation and
scorn mingling with mortification; "our grand visitors
have set our backs up. Very well, Mr. Sutherland,
you will oblige me by leaving the house at once.
Don't trouble yourself, pray, to finish the lesson. I
will pay you for it all the same. Anything to get rid
of a man who insults me before the very faces of my
innocent lambs ! And please to remember," she added,
as she pulled out her purse, while Hugh was collect-
ing some books he had lent the boys, "that when
you were starving, my husband and I took you in and
gave you employment out of charity — pure charity,
Mr. Sutherland. Here is your money."

"Good morning, Mrs. Appleditch," said Hugh;
and walked out with his books under his arm, leaving
her with the money in her hand.

He had to knock his feet on the pavement in front

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of the house, to keep them from freezing, for half-an-
hour, before the carriage arrived to take him away.
As soon as it came up, he jumped into it, and was
carried oflf in triumph by Harry.

Mrs. Elton received him kindly. Euphra held out
her hand with a slight blush, and the quiet familiarity
of an old friend. Hugh could almost have fallen in
love with her again, from compassion for her pale,
worn face, and subdued expression.

Mrs. Elton went out in the carriage almost directly,
and Euphra begged Harry to leave themu alone, as she
had something to talk to Mr. Sutherland about.

"Have you found any trace of Count Halkar,
Hugh?" she said, the moment they were by them-

"I am very sorry to say I have not. I have done
my best."

"I am quite sure of that. — ^I just wanted to tell
you, that, from certain indications which no one could
understand so well as myself, I think you will have
more chance of finding him now."

**I am delighted to hear it," responded Hugh. "If
I only had him!"

Euphra sighed, paused, and then said:

"But I am not sure of it. I think he is in Lon-
don; but he may be in Bohemia, for anything I know.
I shall, however, in all probability, know more about
him within a few days."

Hugh resolved to go at once to Falconer, and
communicate to him what Euphra had told him. But
he said nothing to her as to the means by which he
had tried to discover the count; for although he felt
sure that he had done right in telHng Falconer all

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about it, he was afraid lest Euphra, not knowing what
sort of a man he was , might not like it. Euphra , on
her part, did not mention Margaret's name; for she
I had begged her not to do so.

' "You will tell me when you know yourself?"

"Perhaps. — I will, if I can. I do wish you could
get the ring. I have a painful feeling that it gives him
power over me."

"That can only be a nervous fancy, surely," Hugh
I ventured to say.

I "Perhaps it is. I don't know. But, still, without

that, there are plenty of reasons for wishing to recover
it. He will put it to a bad use, if he can. But for
your sake, especially, I wish we could get it."

"Thank you. You were always kind."

"No," she replied, without lifting her eyes; "I
brought it all upon you."

"But you could not help it."

"Not at the moment. But all that led to it was
my fault."

She paused; then suddenly resumed:

"I will confess. — Do you know what gave rise to
the reports of the house being haunted?"


"It was me wandering about it at night, looking
for that very ring, to give to the count. It was shame-
ful. But I did. Those reports prevented me from
being found out. But I hope not many ghosts are so
miserable as I was. — You remember my speaking to
you of Mr. Arnold's jewels?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"I wanted to find out, through you, where the ring
was. But I had no intention of involving you."

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"I am sure you had not."

'* Don't be too sure of anything about me. I don't
know what I might have been led to do. But I am
very sorry. Do forgive me."

''I cannot allow that I have anything to forgive.
But tell me, Euphra, were you the creature in white
that I saw in the Ghost's Walk one night? I don't
mean the last time."

"Very likely," she answered, bending her head yet
lower, with a sigh.

"Then who was the creature in black that met you?
And what became of you then?"

"Did you see her?'^ rejoined Euphra, turning paler
still. "I fainted at sight of her. I took her for the
nun that hangs in that horrid room."

"So did I," said Hugh. "But you could not have
lain long; for I went up to the spot where you vanished,
and found nothing."

"I suppose I got into the shrubbery before I fell.
Or the count dragged me in. — ^But was that really a
ghost? I feel now as if it was a good messenger,
whether ghost or not, come to warn me, if I had had
the courage to listen. I wish I had taken the warn-

They talked about these and other things, till Mrs.
Elton, who had made Hugh promise to stay to lunch,
returned. When they were seated at table, the kind-
hearted woman said:

"Now, Mr. Sutherland, when will you begin again
with Harry?"

"I do not quite understand you," answered Hugh.

"Of course you will come and give him lessons,
poor boy. He will be broken-hearted if you don't/'

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"I wish I could. But I cannot — at least yet; for
I know his father was dissatisfied with me. That was
one of the reasons that made him send Harry to

Harry looked wretchedly disappointed, but said

"I never heard him say anything of the sort."

"I am sure of it, though. I am very sorry he has
mistaken me; but he will know me better some day."

"I will take all the responsibility," persisted Mrs.

"But unfortunately the responsibility sticks too fast
for you to take it. I cannot get rid of my share if I would."

**You are too particular. I am sure Mr. Arnold
never could have meant that. This is my house too."

"But Harry is his boy. If you will let me come
and see him sometimes, I shall be very thankful, though.
I may be useful to him without giving him lessons."

"Thank you," said Harry with delight.

" Well, well! I suppose you are so much in request
in London that you won't miss him for a pupil."

"On the contrary, I have not a single engagement.
If you could find me one, I should be exceedingly
obliged to you."

"Dear! dear! dear!" said Mrs. Elton. "Then you
shall have Harry."

"Oh! yes; please take me," said Harry, beseech-

"No, I cannot. I must not."

Mrs. Elton rang the bell.

"James, tell the coachman I want the carriage in
an hour."

Mrs. Elton was as submissive to her coachman as

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ladies who have carriages generally are, and would not
have dreamed of ordering the horses out so soon again
for herself; but she forgot everything else when a friend
was in need of help, and became perfectly pachyder-
matous to the offended looks or indignant hints of that
important functionary.

Within a few minutes after Hugh took his leave,
Mrs. Elton was on her way to repeat a visit she had
already paid the same morning, and to make several
other calls, with the express object of finding pupils
for Hugh. But in this she was not so successful as
she had expected. In fact, no one whom she could
think of, wanted such services at present. She returned
home quite down-hearted, and all but convinced that
nothing could be done before the approach of the
London seeison.



They^Il turn me In your arms, Janet,

An adder and a snake ;'
But baud me fast, let me not pass,

Gin ye would be my maik.

They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

An adder and an aske ;
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

A bale that burns fast.

They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,

A dove, but and a swan ;
And last, they'll shape me in your arms

A mother-naked man :
Cast your green mantle over me —

And sae shall I be wan.

Scotch BaUad: TanHane.

As soon as Hugh had left the house, Margaret
hastened to Euphra. She found her in her own room,

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\ STRIFE. 237

a little more cheerful, but still strangely depressed.
This appearance increased towards the evening, till
her looks became quite haggard, revealing an inward
conflict' of growing agony. Margaret remained with her.

Just before dinner, the upstairs bell, whose sum-
mons Margaret was accustomed to obey, rang, and she
went down. Mrs. Elton detained her for a few minutes.
The moment she was at liberty, she flew to Euphra's
room by the back staircase. But, as she ascended, she
was horrified to meet Euphra, in a cloak and thick
veil, creeping down the stairs like a thief. Without
saying a word, the strong girl lifted her in her arms
as if she had been a child, and carried her back to
her room. Euphra neither struggled nor spoke. Mar-
garet laid her on her couch, and sat down beside her.
She lay without moving, and, although wide awake,
gave no other sign of existence than an occasional low
moan, that seemed to come from a heart pressed almost
to death.

Having lain thus for an hour, she broke the silence.

"Margaret, do you despise me dreadfully?"

"No, not in the least." ^

"Yet you found me going to do what I knew was

"You had not made yourself strong by thinking
about the will of God. Had you, dear?"

"No. I will tell you how it was. I had been
tormented with the inclination to go to him, and had
been resisting it till I was worn out, and could hardly
bear it mor^. Suddenly all grew calm within me, and
I seemed to hate Count Halkar no longer. I thought
with myself how easy it would be to put a stop to this
dreadful torment, just by yielding to it — only this once.

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1 thought I should then be stronger to resist the next
lime; for this was wearing me out so, that I must yield
the next time, if I persisted now. But what seemed to
justify me, was the thought that so I should find out
where he was, and be able to tell Hugh; and then he
would get the ring for me, and perhaps that would
deliver me. But it was very wrong of me. I forgot
all about the will of God. I will not go again, Mar-
garet. Do you think I may try again to fight him?"

"That is just what you must do. All that God
requires of you is, to try again. God's child must be
free. Do try, dear Miss Cameron."

"I think I could, if you would call me Euphra.
You are so strong, and pure, and good, Margaret! I
wish I had never had any thoughts but such as you
have, you beautiful creature I Oh, how glad I am that
you found ^e! Do watch me always."

"I will call you Euphra. I will, be your sister-
servant — anything you like, if you will only try again."

"Thank you, with all my troubled heart, dear Mar-
garet. I will indeed try again."

She sprang from the couch in a sudden agony,
and grasping Margaret by the arm, looked at her with
such a terror-stricken face, that she began to fear she
was losing her reason.

"Margaret," she said, as if with the voice as of one
just raised from the dead, speaking with all the charnel
damps in her throat, ^Uould it be that I am in love
with him still?"

Margaret shuddered, but did not lose her self-pos-

"No, no, Euphra, darling. You were haunted with
him, and so tired that you were not able to hate him

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any longer. Then you began to give way to him.
That was all. There was no love in that.**

Euphra's grasp relaxed.

"Do you think so?**


A pause followed.

"Do you think God cares to have me do his will?
Is it anything to him? *'

"I am sure of it. Why did he make you else?
But it is not for the sake of being obeyed that he
cares for it, but for the sake of serving you and mak-
ing you blessed with his blessedness. He does not
think about himself, but about you.**

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! I must not go.**

"Let me read to you again, Euphra.**

"Yes, please do, Margaret.**

She read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah , one of her
father*s favourite chapters, where all the strength and
knowledge of God are urged to a height, that they
may fall in overwhelming profusion upon the wants
and fears and unbelief of his children. How should
he that called the stars by their names forget his

While she read, the cloud melted away from
Euphra's face; a sweet sleep followed; and the par-
oxysm was over for the time.

Was Euphra insane? and were these the first ac-
cesses of daily fits of madness, which had been grow-
ing and approaching for who could tell how long?

Even if she were mad, or going mad, was not this
the right way to treat her? I wonder how often the
spiritual cure of faith in the Son of Man, the Great
Healer, has been tried on those possessed with our

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240 DAVID ;elginbrod.

modern demons. Is it proved that insanity has its
origin in the physical disorder which, it is now said,
can be shown to accompany it invariably? Let it be
so: it yet appears to me that if the physician would,
like the Son of Man himself, descend as it were into
the disorganized world in which the consciousness of
his patient exists, and receiving as fact all that he
reveals to him of its condition — for fact it is, of a
very real sort — introduce, by all the means that sym-
pathy can suggest, the one central cure for evil, spi-
ritual and material, namely, the truth of the Son 6f
Man, the vision of the perfect friend and helper, with
the revelation of the promised liberty of obedience —
if he did this, it seems to me that cures might still be
wrought as marvellous as those of the ancient time.

It seems to me, too, that that can be but an im-
perfect religion, as it would be a poor salvation, from
which one comer of darkness may hide us; from
whose blessed health and freedom a disordered brain
may snatch us; making us hopeless outcasts, till first
the physician, the student of physical laws, shall inter-
fere and restore us to a sound mind, or the great
God's-angel Death crumble the soul-oppressing brain,
with its thousand phantoms of pain and fear and hor-
ror, into a film of dust in the hollow of the deserted

Hugh repaired immediately to Falconer's chambers,
where he was more likely to find him during the day
than in the evening. He was at home. He told him
of his interview with Euphra, and her feeling that the
count was not far oflf.

"Do you think there can be anything in it?" asked
be, when he had finished his relation.

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"I think very likely," answered his friend. "I will
be more on the outlook than ever. It may, after all,
be through the lady herself that we shall find the
villain. If she were to fall into one of her trances,
now, I think it almost certain she would go to him.
She ought to be carefully watched and followed, if that
should take place. Let me know all that you learn
about her. Go and see her again to-morrow, that we
may be kept informed of her experiences, so far as
she thinks proper to tell them."

"I will," said Hugh, and took his leave.

But Margaret, who knew Euphra's condition, both
spiritual and physical, better than any other, had far
different objects for her, through means of the unholy
attraction which the count exercised over her, than the
discovery of the stolen ring. She was determined that

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