Early in the last century one of the picturesque race of robbersand murderers, practicing the vices of humanity on theborderlands watered by the river Tweed, built a tower of stone onthe coast of Northumberland. He lived joyously in theperpetration of atrocities; and he died penitent, under thedirection of his priest. Since that event, he has figured inpoems and pictures; and has been greatly admired by modern ladiesand gentlemen, whom he would have outraged and robbed if he hadbeen lucky enough to meet with them in the good old times.

His son succeeded him, and failed to profit by the paternalexample: that is to say, he made the fatal mistake of fightingfor other people instead of fighting for himself.

In the rebellion of Forty-Five, this northern squire sided toserious purpose with Prince Charles and the Highlanders. He losthis head; and his children lost their inheritance. In the lapseof years, the confiscated property fell into the hands ofstrangers; the last of whom (having a taste for the turf)discovered, in course of time, that he was in want of money. Aretired merchant, named Delvin (originally of French extraction),took a liking to the wild situation, and purchased the tower. Hiswife--already in failing health--had been ordered by the doctorsto live a quiet life by the sea. Her husband's death left her arich and lonely widow; by day and night alike, a prisoner in herroom; wasted by disease, and having but two interests whichreconciled her to life--writing poetry in the intervals of pain,and paying the debts of a reverend brother who succeeded in thepulpit, and prospered nowhere else.

In the later days of its life, the tower had been greatlyimproved as a place of residence. The contrast was remarkablebetween the dreary gray outer walls, and the luxuriouslyfurnished rooms inside, rising by two at a time to the loftyeighth story of the building. Among the scattered populace of thecountry round, the tower was still known by the odd name given toit in the bygone time--"The Clink." It had been so called (as wassupposed) in allusion to the noise made by loose stones, washedbackward and forward at certain times of the tide, in hollows ofthe rock on which the building stood.

On the evening of her arrival at Mrs. Delvin's retreat, Emilyretired at an early hour, fatigued by her long journey. Mirabelhad an opportunity of speaking with his sister privately in herown room.

"Send me away, Agatha, if I disturb you," he said, "and let meknow when I can see you in the morning."

"My dear Miles, have you forgotten that I am never able to sleepin calm weather? My lullaby, for years past, has been the moaningof the great North Sea, under my window. Listen! There is not asound outside on this peaceful night. It is the right time of thetide, just now--and yet, 'the clink' is not to be heard. Is themoon up?"

Mirabel opened the curtains. "The whole sky is one great abyss ofblack," he answered. "If I was superstitious, I should think thathorrid darkness a bad omen for the future. Are you suffering,Agatha?"

"Not just now. I suppose I look sadly changed for the worse sinceyou saw me last?"

But for the feverish brightness of her eyes, she would havelooked like a corpse. Her wrinkled forehead, her hollow cheeks,her white lips told their terrible tale of the suffering ofyears. The ghastly appearance of her face was heightened by thefurnishing of the room. This doomed woman, dying slowly day byday, delighted in bright colors and sumptuous materials. Thepaper on the walls, the curtains, the carpet presented the huesof the rainbow. She lay on a couch covered with purple silk,under draperies of green velvet to keep her warm. Rich lace hid her scanty hair, turning prematurely gray; brilliant ringsglittered on her bony fingers. The room was in a blaze of lightfrom lamps and candles. Even the wine at her side that kept heralive had been decanted into a bottle of lustrous Venetian glass."My grave is open," she used to say; "and I want all thesebeautiful things to keep me from looking at it. I should die atonce, if I was left in the dark."

Her brother sat by the couch, thinking "Shall I tell you what isin your mind?" she asked.

Mirabel humored the caprice of the moment. "Tell me!" he said.

"You want to know what I think of Emily," she answered. "Yourletter told me you were in love; but I didn't believe yourletter. I have always doubted whether you were capable of feelingtrue love--until I saw Emily. The moment she entered the room, Iknew that I had never properly appreciated my brother. You _are_in love with her, Miles; and you are a better man than I thoughtyou. Does that express my opinion?"

Mirabel took her wasted hand, and kissed it gratefully.

"What a position I am in!" he said. "To love her as I love her;and, if she knew the truth, to be the object of her horror--to bethe man whom she would hunt to the scaffold, as an act of duty tothe memory of her father!"

"You have left out the worst part of it," Mrs. Delvin remindedhim. "You have bound yourself to help her to find the man. Yourone hope of persuading her to become your wife rests on yoursuccess in finding him. And you are the man. There is yoursituation! You can't submit to it. How can you escape from it?"

"You are trying to frighten me, Agatha."

"I am trying to encourage you to face your position boldly."

"I am doing my best," Mirabel said, with sullen resignation."Fortune has favored me so far. I have, really and truly, beenunable to satisfy Emily by discovering Miss Jethro. She has leftthe place at which I saw her last--there is no trace to be foundof her--and Emily knows it."

"Don't forget," Mrs. Delvin replied, "that there is a trace to befound of Mrs. Rook, and that Emily expects you to follow it."

Mirabel shuddered. "I am surrounded by dangers, whichever way Ilook," he said. "Do what I may, it turns out to be wrong. I waswrong, perhaps, when I brought Emily here."

"No!"

"I could easily make an excuse," Mirabel persisted "and take herback to London."

"And for all you know to the contrary," his wiser sister replied,"Mrs. Rook may go to London; and you may take Emily back in timeto receive her at the cottage. In every way you are safer in myold tower. And--don't forget--you have got my money to help you,if you want it. In my belief, Miles, you _will_ want it."

"You are the dearest and best of sisters! What do you recommendme to do?"

"What you would have been obliged to do," Mrs. Delvin answered,"if you had remained in London. You must go to Redwood Halltomorrow, as Emily has arranged it. If Mrs. Rook is not there,you must ask for her address in Scotland. If nobody knows theaddress, you must still bestir yourself in trying to find it.And, when you do fall in with Mrs. Rook--"

"Well?"

"Take care, wherever it may be, that you see her privately."

Mirabel was alarmed. "Don't keep me in suspense," he burst out."Tell me what you propose."

"Never mind what I propose, to-night. Before I can tell you whatI have in my mind, I must know whether Mrs. Rook is in England orScotland. Bring me that information to-morrow, and I shall havesomething to say to you. Hark! The wind is rising, the rain isfalling. There is a chance of sleep for me--I shall soon hear thesea. Good-night."

"Good-night, dearest--and thank you again, and again!"