Old Hans Jogged his elbow. Tne stranger’s 
eyes were unclosing slowly. 
He looked around. First at the brown, unfa¬ 
miliar wall, at the ruddy Are, at the two kindly 
fishermen, and from thence to the face of IIagar. 
Their eyes met; It was a strange, fateful look. 
Hagar sank back slowly. John Romalne's eyes 
followed her face with a mixture of bewildered 
pleasure and surprise. 
“ where am I he said, feebly. 
“ with friends,” anawered old Hans cheerily. 
He rateed himself up, and pressed his hand to 
his forehead lu a bewildered way. 
“ And the yacht?” 
“ it’s gone under, air.” 
Ronratoe sank back, remembering then. 
“ Poor fellows 1” he said faintly. 
“ We laid their bodies m the boat-house,” said 
old Hans, *‘ Steve shall go to EarnscllfTe and 
t ill the squire. Here’s a drop of wine for you, 
sir.” 
Rough hearts, but kind ones. An hour after, 
and John Romalne was leaning hack In his 
chair before the old fisherman’s fire, Idly talking 
with Hans of the disaster, and glancing admir¬ 
ingly at the still, slender figure which sat apart 
in the shadow, with her gorgeous Southern face 
howed listlessly on her hand. Ifld he guess that 
she was a listener to every word that tell from 
his Ups? It was a brief story, related politely, 
graciously, yet with something In the young 
aristocrat's manner that showed how unused he 
was to such an audience and such surroundings, 
lie was a guest at EarnscllfTe. The men who had 
perished with the yacht were the squire's ser¬ 
vants, and the pushingout of the frail craft from 
Shipping Polut. in the night-storm had been a 
freak of desperate boldness—that was all. 
And the still figure in the shadow ? With her 
burning cheek pressed to the pane, and the dark 
eyes watching one pale, watery star Just broken 
out from the windy clouds, she sat listening to 
the voice that was the deepest and the sweetest 
she had ever heard from mortal lips. No one 
spoke to her, no one heeded her, except, perhaps, 
Romalne: and presently he arose to say “good¬ 
night.” She heard him, hut did not turn her 
head. 
“ What shall I call you?” he said, beside her 
chair. 
“ Hagar Eckhart.” 
He looked down at her with puzzled blue eyes. 
“ Then, good-night, Miss Hagar.” 
“Good-night." 
The storm passed. With the morning there 
was sunshine, and wide streaks of blue sky tan¬ 
gled In with the gray clouds overhead, and the 
wind blew strong and steady from the west. 
nohu Romalne astonished himself by rising In 
time to see from the window of his low room the 
fierce, crimson daybreak stream over the light¬ 
house on the Point, and the high gray walls ot 
Eirnscllffe proudly and sullenly facing the sea. 
He shrugged Ills broad, handsome shoulders. 
“I wonder If Miss Edith has thought of me 
since yesterday. Whew! what a night It was, 
though!” 
He went down. Old Hans met him with a 
cheery “ good-morning ” in the little dark 
kitchen. 
“ I’ve sent Steve to Earnscllffe to let them 
know where you are," he said; whereupon Ro- 
raalne sat down to breakfast. 
It was a neat, woll-spread hoard —even the 
young patrician's tastldlous taste could find no 
fault with it. He sipped his coffee, toyed with a 
cluster of water-lilies chat some one had placed 
in a glass at his right hand, and wondered where 
the graceful gtrl-flgure was that he had seen In 
that room the night before. She waa gone* cer¬ 
tainly. 
“ a spirit of the surf, perhaps,” he said to him¬ 
self. “Faithi she was handsome enough for 
one.” 
He knew that the Earnscllffe carriage would be 
sent for him at once, and rising from the table he 
went to the window and looked off down the 
beach. 
“ She fanned my life out with her soft little eigbSi 
She hushed me to death with her face so fair,’’ 
sang a full, clear voice Just outside the window. 
Romalne caught up the words: 
“ 1 was drunk with the light of her wild blue eyes, 
1 was strangled dumb In her long gold hair.” 
He leaped out and stood by the singer. She was 
sitting In the low porch, In the shadow of a silver¬ 
leaved poplar, with needle and mesh-block, and a 
pile of nets at her side. Her shining head was 
bowed; her graceful brown fingers were flying 
through her work like mad. 
“ Little beauty 1” muttered. Romalne, under his 
breath. 
She looked up. 
“Do you read Owen Meredith?” he said, lean¬ 
ing, handsome, and smiling, against the frame¬ 
work of the porch. 
“ Sometimes.” 
Romalne lifted his eyebrows. 
You are not,” he began—" that Is—Hans Is 
not-” 
She understood him. Her voice had a touch of 
bitterness in it. 
“ Hans is my father; Stephen my brother." 
“ Jove! what a rreak ot lortune 1” he exclaimed 
to himself. 
She went on with her work silently. Romalne 
was gravely looking down Lho beach to the sea. 
“Are you never lonely?” he said, “This Is 
the dreariest place In the world, I think.” 
“ is It ? 1 never knew any other place.” 
“And are you always alone here?” asked llo- 
malne. 
She made a quick, slight gesture. 
“Always." 
He watched her latently. There was a carriage 
rolling su itUy across the beach In tLe morning 
sun, and he knew It. 
“1 must thank v.ou, MI93 Hagar, tor your kind¬ 
ness to me last ulglit, 1 shall never lorget that I 
owe my lire t” your father and brother.” 
Her wide, black eyes opened. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ There is no need of thanks: they would have 
done the same lor any one.” 
Romalne hit his Up, halt-smlllDg beneath his 
heavy mustache. 
“Say good-by to me, Miss nagar.” 
Hagar looked up, A light open carriage, drawn 
by a pair of superb gray horses, had stopped at 
the very door. It had two occupants—one, a (all, 
gray-haired man of fifty, perhaps, with a cold, 
aristocratic face; the other a youDg girl—Squire 
Earnscllffe and Ills daughter, Hagai knew. 
Romalne leaped down from the porch. One 
moment of quick, gay greeting, and he had Edith 
Earnscllffe’s exquisitely-gloved hand In his own; 
he was looking into her smiling, pearly lace. It 
was clear-cut, beautilul, with hair the color of 
ash and gold, eyes blue, and bright, and scornful, 
and thin lips, scarlet red. She leaned forward, 
with the long white plumes ot her hat dancing 
about It enviously. 
“ We were martyrs at Earnscllffe last night- 
one and all. 1 shall never forgive you." 
“Never,’’ said Romalne, gallautly raising the 
slight hand to his lips. “ Then 1 had better have 
drowned.” 
“Gome Into the carriage!” she commanded, 
8mUlng. 
Squire E.irnsellfle turned the gray horses, and 
made room for Ronidlne among the crimson car¬ 
riage cushions. 
“How have thesepeople treated you,” he said. 
Romalne paused W ith his foot on the step. 
"With all due hospitality. Here Is my host: 
let me make my adieu.” 
Earnscllffe looked around him for the first time 
with something like interest. The first object 
that met his sight was llagar, mending her uets 
In the old porch as com nosed as It the figures In 
that guttering carriage were so many crabs from 
the sands below ; tue next, old Hans, standing In 
the door watching bun. 
It might have been the dark, wonderful beauty 
of the girl, it might have been the keen, merciless 
gaze ot the old fisherman, but .Squire EarnscUffe’s 
thin, haughty face crimsoned and paled; he 
clutched at one side ot the carriage a moment, 
then grew suddenly calm. They looked straight 
In each other’s eyes, Hans and the rich purse- 
proud squire. The face of the- fisherman was 
grave and stolid, unreadable, loo, as hiero¬ 
glyphics ; but a faint line of tremulous whiteness 
came out on Squire Earnscllffe’s Ups. He bowed 
stiffly, Hans' upright head gave him no answer¬ 
ing salutation; there was something In his face 
that made It for a moment as stately as a king’s. 
He stood and watched him. 
Romalne leaped into the carriage. It dashed 
off madly down the beach. 
“ Is that man's name Eckhart?” said the squire. 
“ Yea,” carelessly from Romalne. 
“ And that girl ?” 
“ Ills daughter.” * 
Edith tapped his shoulder Ughtly, whispering 
behind her finger-tips: 
“What a lovely facet Were you making love 
to her?” 
He laughed. 
“ Non, mademoiselle." 
He did not know that Hagar Eckhart had 
dropped lur work lu the old porch, and was 
watching the retreating carriage with large, rest¬ 
less eyes. The shadow ot the silver poplar tree 
stretched at her feet dark and heavy, and another 
smaller shadow. 
“ Hagar!” said old Hans. 
She started as U she had been dreaming, nans 
was looking dowu at her with knitted brow. 
“My girl,” he said, sternly, “I hate Squire 
Earnscllffe, I hate his house, and he hates mine. 
W1U you remember it?” 
Her eyes dilated. 
“And, Hagar—” 
“Father?" 
“That boy must never come here again; his 
hands are too white, his face too handsome. Do 
you hear?" 
“Yes, father.” 
“ Then go In.” 
She turned like an empress, with a bright spot 
on either cheek, and obeyed him; and old Hans 
stood outside in her place, sullen and silent, look¬ 
ing darkly off towards Earnscllffe. 
CHAPTER II. 
September on the shore. The blank day was 
dying out, in a fiery sunset or tan and scarlet. 
Hagar Eckhart, crouching on a point of rocks a 
half mile down the sands, saw the windows of 
EarnscUffe flaming weirdly In the light which 
Bhotoff at last Into the pine-tops nodding above 
them like a brotherhood of cowled friars. The 
serf was creeping up the sands. It was with a 
tinkle of sparkling crystals, a splash of black, 
wind-swept waves, a roar. Stephen's great dog 
bounded from It up the rocks, dripping, and 
crouched down with wistful eyes at llagar’s 
feet. 
The spot had become very dear to Hagar. 
Sheltered In among the hollows of the brown 
rocks, she passed houis in watching sea and 
clouds, and thinking her own wild thoughts. 
Stephen had the Inn: Hans, his pipe and boon 
companions;—who knew or oared! 
A sound or volcesand low laughter rose sudden¬ 
ly from the sands below'. Hagar held the growl¬ 
ing dog with both hands and looked down. 
A pn-tty, brightly-painted row-boat had just 
grated against the shore, audits occupants, two 
or three stylish masculine figures, and a group of 
ladles lu a gleam Of rich Indian shawls, plumed 
caps, and shining dresses—were lundloggaily on 
the wet, Pllppery shingles—ladies and gentlemen 
from Earnscllffe, of course. Such a gay picture 
as they made on that, dark desolate beach! It 
was like a glimpse ot fairy-land; and foremost 
among them, In t he clear sunset light, stood the 
tall, dashing form of Romalne, helping some one 
up the rotors— a fair bloude, with a bunch of wild 
flags in her hand. 
It was Edith Earnscllffe. The long golden liaR, 
streaming In loose curls on the wind, tne exquisite 
figure, the slow grace of movement, could belong 
to no other. 
A moment, and Romalne had drawn the boat 
up the sands, secured It, and was sauntering off 
towards Earnscllffe with the fair blonde on his 
arm. The rocks were aloue once more with 
their pet children, Hagar Eckhart and the sea¬ 
gulls. 
SUe dropped her face against the rough rock, 
and sank motionless—nSyba rite, with herstarved 
life stinging her like a scorpion. At Earnscllffe 
there were luxury, refinement, beauty—that she 
knew. At borne, were bare walls, Hans and 
Stephen. Was the heiress of Earuscllffee better 
than she that such a gulf of difference should lie 
between them? But the pain passed In a mo¬ 
ment. There was good blue blood In llagar’s 
veins—proud blood, too. She lifted her head, and 
stroked Stephen’s great dog with her graceful 
brown hands. 
“ I don’t care!” she said stoically. 
He growled. At the sumo moment a bright, 
glancing object fell from the rocks above into her 
lap. it was a cluster of gorgeous, velvety cardt- 
nal-flowere—the last of the year. 
“1 thought nothing but sea-gulls ever came 
here,” said John Romalne, springing down to her 
side. “ Miss Eckhart, you look Uke Undine her¬ 
self sitting among the foam-bells." 
“ Do I?” said Hagar, dryly. “ 1 never saw Un¬ 
dine.” 
She rose up as he spoke, fairer than a half- 
dozen Undines. That pure Geeek face, with Its 
dark, drooping eyes, and raven braids, and scar¬ 
let Ups. Romalne's intent, gaze brought, no flush 
to it., but the mouth curved haughtily, and he un¬ 
derstood and looked away. 
“1 saw you from the boat," he said, “lbave 
haunted this shore for weeks just to see you 
once.” 
Frank, at least. She answered in the same dry 
tone: 
“ I am sorry.” 
“You need not be—my reward has come at 
last.” 
Her eyes looked wicked as she glanced up at the 
cold, gray clouds. 
“It Is going to rain. Boatswain, you and I 
must go home.” 
Boatswain poked his cold nose Into her hand, 
ready and willing. Romalne was not. 
“ Walt!” be pleaded. “ May I not see you some¬ 
times, Miss Hagar? Let me he your Irlend.” 
She drew back proudly. 
“ You are very klud, but-” 
“What?" 
“Never try to see me. Your place Is at Earns- 
cllfle—mine, in that humble fishing-hut over the 
marshes.” 
She turned Imperiously, and calling to the dog, 
leaped down from her perch and ran away up the 
bo.ieh, leaving John Romalnestandlng half-angry, 
yet admiring old Hans Bekhan's daughter more 
profoundly than he had ever admired mortal 
woman before. 
"Jove! ’ he muttered, starting off towards 
EarnscUffe, “she ought to have been born a 
queen," 
Hagar went on her way, swinging her sun-bon¬ 
net in her hand, her black eyescastdown, and her 
red lips pressed tightly together. It was growing 
dark, and the tide was coming rapidly In behind 
her, and the wind whistled shrilly across the 
sauds. She looked back ouco, but tho taU, hand¬ 
some figure had disappeared. 
“ llagar!" caUed a voice, Stephen came across 
tho shingles, hurried and pale. “ I’ve been hunt¬ 
ing Cor you, Hagar. Come home.” 
She grasped his arm, paling to the Ups, his 
voice was so strange and ominous. 
" What Is it, Stephen ?” 
He rubbed his jacket-sleeve across his eyes. It 
was a warm heart. 
“Father,” began Stephen, Jerking the words 
out laboriously,—“ he’s In a bad way —he Is, 
llagar,” 
She stared at him dumbly. 
“He started for the harbor with Skipper Gale 
just arter noon,” Stephen went on; “and the 
skipper rowed back afore sunset with him In the 
bottom of the boat face up’ards, and he ha’n’t 
spoke or stirred since.” 
One. low, pained cry, and Hagar was rushing up 
the path, panting hoarsely through white Ups. 
Lone, dark shore, and lonelier, darker sea, danced 
before her. She loved her old father m spite of 
all. 
The door of the little low dwelling was open. 
She went In noiselessly, llans lay on his bed 
with closed eyes, and his worn old face upturned 
In the dying light. She threw herself down be¬ 
side him. 
“Father!” 
A low groan. Stephen came In and stood at the 
foot of the bed with the old hamlet doctor. The 
latter shook his head vaguely. 
“ He’s got a fit—bad. Folks die In 'em some¬ 
times.” 
Hagar crouched low at the bedside, and took up 
the hard, cold hand ot tho old fisherman, caress¬ 
ing it mutely. Three weeks before, In that, very 
room, Romatuo had lain, one dreadful night,, 
senseless and half-drowned. Did she remember 
It? 
The d-trk crept In thickly. An ominous woerul 
dark It seemed to Hagar. Tho dull, red firelight 
flickered feebly on the wall, a gust of wind howl¬ 
ed through the poplars; then tne old man’s Ups 
moved—It was only a whisper, but Hagar heard 
It— 
“ EarnscUffe f ” 
She touched hla rough hand with her lips. 
lie groaned out the word again. 
“leather!” cried Hagar. 
fi’he glazed eyes opened slowly and turned on 
her face. 
“ llagar—little girl I" In a faint whisper. 
She bent oown to him. utsold face grew so 
strained and wild lu hla effort to speak. 
“ Can you go to EarnscUffe, llagar ?” 
“Yes, father.” 
©ST. 42 
He gasped: “ Tell the squire 1 want him.” 
“Yes, father.” 
“He will know.” 
The gray head fell back. Hagar leaned over 
and kissed him madly, despairingly—the next 
moment sho was out in the night. 
A wild way—a long, dark, desolate way. It 
was ralnlDg, too. llagar started from tho door 
like a hunted wild creature. The mist came 
driving in from seaward, the waves dashed 
fiercely across the bar, and down on the shore, 
tho red, unwinking eye of the lighthouse was 
watching sleeplessly. She ran on across the 
marshes, along the sandy beach-road, through 
the dwarfed black piues, till she reached the 
arched gateway that led to the EarnscUffe 
grounds. 
From the windows opening upon it a broad 
patch of light was streaming across the veranda 
which shaded the tiont, of the house. Some one 
was pacing to and fro there, smoking a cigar 
whose subtle Cuban odor filled the misty air with 
fragrance. Hagar sprang upon the veranda la 
the broad patch of light, and stood face to face 
with Johu Romalne. 
Such a picture as she made! Romalne uttered 
an exclamation, and dashed his cigar Into the 
shrubbery. 
“ Miss Eckhart. 1 Is It possible ?” 
The great wild eyes looked up to his. 
“ Where la Squire EarnscUffe ?” 
Romalne drew her into tho haU. 
“ Do you want to see him ?’’ 
“ Yes.” 
lie 11 UDg open a door at the foot of the stair¬ 
case. 
“Come In.” 
It was a room, long and low, and paneled with 
carved oak. The floor was hidden In a soft, thick 
carpet, green as swamp-mosses, and across the 
tall windows amber satin curtains were sweeping 
In heavy shimmering folds. There were low, 
easy-chalra ot polished scented Indian w r ood, up¬ 
holstered with deep green leather, standing here 
and there, and sofas, piled with amber satin pU- 
lows that looked Uke sunshine sleeping on some 
green June hill. A fire burned lu the grate, and 
on the mantel of Egyptian marble a cluster of 
waxen camellias stood in an exquisite Indian 
vase, over them, halt In light, half in shadow, 
hung the only picture In the room—a purple, 
tropic sea, sleeping In misty moonlight, witu two 
milk-white sea-gulls perched on a gray, w rinkled 
reef. 
Two figures there. Squire EarnscUffe, pacing 
to and fro before the fire, with his hands crossed 
behind him; and his daughter, sitting near in an 
evening dress of violet silk, with Its wide sleeves 
falling away from her bare white arms, ana her 
golden hair gathered Into a knot of shining curls 
at the back of the lovely head. 
squire EarnscUffe stopped short In his prome¬ 
nade as the door opened. Romalne held It for 
llagar to pass through. 
“Miss Eckhart!” 
He knew her. His thin nostrils dilated. Hagar 
stood, still and pallid, on the threshold. 
“1 came to ask you to go to my father, Squire 
EarnscUffe. He Is 111—he sent me to tell you.” 
A flush shot across Squire Barnscliffe’s face. 
He repeated the word mechanically. 
“Ill?” 
“ Yes,” catching her breath. 
He looked at her strangely. 
“ Did you come all the way lor tne alone ?” 
“ Yes.” 
“ You are a brave girl!” 
Hagar felt herself drawn forward Into a chair. 
A moment afterwards Squire Earnseliffo was 
standing beside her with his cloak on and his hat 
over his brow. 
“ Remain here till I return," he sold; “ It will 
not be long.” 
She comprehended, and tried to rise up, but he 
held her back. 
“ 1 am going alone. Stay here and rest 1” 
Something In his manner cowed and frightened 
her. Miss EarnscUffe was looking at them both 
with wide-open eyes. 
“ Papa, It is raining.” 
" I know.” 
“Then I would not go.” 
He looked at her darkly. The Jewelled hand, 
holding his cloak together at the throat, trem¬ 
bled. 
“You would not? There are some voices I 
must follow if they call me to perdition.” 
“ Papa?” 
“ Ue quiet. I will come back In an hour.” 
His heavy-booted foot stirred the echoes In the 
hall a moment, then the door clauged sullenly be¬ 
hind him. He was gone. Hagar sat alone with 
the htlress of Eai usclirre. 
The blue, scornful eyes surveyed her from head 
to foot with a sort or latent wonder that was half 
admiration. la the fire-light, llagar'a face had 
taken a feverish beauty that was almost painful. 
Miss Earnscllffe's clear, contemptuous voice 
broke the silence. 
“ What has that—that person to do with Squire 
EarnaclUfe ? Do you know ?” 
** How should I know v" 
“ Has he told you nothing more?” 
“Nothing.’’ 
Miss Karnsclllle settled back In her chair, with 
half-closed eyes, the golden lashes drooping, and 
baud and bracelet Hashing in the light. She was 
mystified, annoyed ; and she was hoping John 
Romalne would not come In to play chess with 
her while Hagar sat there. Ho did uot. Uls quick 
step echoed lu tliu hall, passed the door, and went 
on up the stairs till It was lost In Bllcnce. 
An hour passed so,—a dreadful, silent hour. It 
seemed an eternity to Hagar. Would the squire 
never come ? Why was she sitting quietly under 
the root of the man her father hated, while down 
on the desolate shore he lay dying, perhaps ? She 
started up, 
The door was flung open, and Squire Earnscllffe 
came In. Rain was dripping from hlsjfloak,— 
