John Marchmont's Legacy, Volume II (of 3)   By: M. E. (Mary Elizabeth) Braddon (1835-1915)

BY [M.E. Braddon] THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," ETC. ETC. ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

Published by Tinsley Brothers of London in 1863 (third edition).

CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. MARY'S LETTER. CHAPTER II. A NEW PROTECTOR. CHAPTER III. PAUL'S SISTER. CHAPTER IV. A STOLEN HONEYMOON. CHAPTER V. SOUNDING THE DEPTHS. CHAPTER VI. RISEN FROM THE GRAVE. CHAPTER VII. FACE TO FACE. CHAPTER VIII. THE PAINTING ROOM BY THE RIVER. CHAPTER IX. IN THE DARK. CHAPTER X. THE PARAGRAPH IN THE NEWSPAPER. CHAPTER XI. EDWARD ARUNDEL'S DESPAIR. CHAPTER XII. EDWARD'S VISITORS. CHAPTER XIII. ONE MORE SACRIFICE. CHAPTER XIV. THE CHILD'S VOICE IN THE PAVILION BY THE WATER.

JOHN MARCHMONT'S LEGACY.

VOLUME II.

CHAPTER I.

MARY'S LETTER.

It was past twelve o'clock when Edward Arundel strolled into the dining room. The windows were open, and the scent of the mignionette upon the terrace was blown in upon the warm summer breeze.

Mrs. Marchmont was sitting at one end of the long table, reading a newspaper. She looked up as Edward entered the room. She was pale, but not much paler than usual. The feverish light had faded out of her eyes, and they looked dim and heavy.

"Good morning, Livy," the young man said. "Mary is not up yet, I suppose?"

"I believe not."

"Poor little girl! A long rest will do her good after her first ball. How pretty and fairy like she looked in her white gauze dress, and with that circlet of pearls round her hair! Your taste, I suppose, Olivia? She looked like a snow drop among all the other gaudy flowers, the roses and tiger lilies, and peonies and dahlias. That eldest Miss Hickman is handsome, but she's so terribly conscious of her attractions. That little girl from Swampington with the black ringlets is rather pretty; and Laura Filmer is a jolly, dashing girl; she looks you full in the face, and talks to you about hunting with as much gusto as an old whipper in. I don't think much of Major Hawley's three tall sandy haired daughters; but Fred Hawley's a capital fellow: it's a pity he's a civilian. In short, my dear Olivia, take it altogether, I think your ball was a success, and I hope you'll give us another in the hunting season."

Mrs. Marchmont did not condescend to reply to her cousin's meaningless rattle. She sighed wearily, and began to fill the tea pot from the old fashioned silver urn. Edward loitered in one of the windows, whistling to a peacock that was stalking solemnly backwards and forwards upon the stone balustrade.

"I should like to drive you and Mary down to the seashore, Livy, after breakfast. Will you go?"

Mrs. Marchmont shook her head.

"I am a great deal too tired to think of going out to day," she said ungraciously.

"And I never felt fresher in my life," the young man responded, laughing; "last night's festivities seem to have revivified me. I wish Mary would come down," he added, with a yawn; "I could give her another lesson in billiards, at any rate. Poor little girl, I am afraid she'll never make a cannon."

Captain Arundel sat down to his breakfast, and drank the cup of tea poured out for him by Olivia. Had she been a sinful woman of another type, she would have put arsenic into the cup perhaps, and so have made an end of the young officer and of her own folly. As it was, she only sat by, with her own untasted breakfast before her, and watched him while he ate a plateful of raised pie, and drank his cup of tea, with the healthy appetite which generally accompanies youth and a good conscience. He sprang up from the table directly he had finished his meal, and cried out impatiently, "What can make Mary so lazy this morning? she is usually such an early riser."