

### About the Book

Freda Beresford is an aspiring young writer whose work is constantly rejected. Her young brother wants to go to university, but money is scarce. One day Freda receives a letter from a distant aunt, congratulating her on getting a story published in a leading literary journal. Enclosed is a large cheque and a promise to help Freda to a literary career. The money would mean that her brother can go to university, and Freda begins to feel famous at last. Unfortunately, Freda did not write the story, but she accepts the cheque and the deception starts. What begins as a light hearted novella, from one of White Tree Publishing's favourite authors of fiction, gets darker as Freda's deception has far reaching consequences. Readers will share Freda's unease as her initial deception leads her deeper and deeper towards the inevitable disgrace.

### Freda's Folly

### Margaret S. Haycraft

1855-1936

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published 1890

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2018

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-02-5

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Freda's Folly is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

### Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Author Biography

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

More Books from White Tree Publishing

About White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

### Author Biography

Margaret Scott Haycraft was born Margaret Scott MacRitchie at Newport Pagnell, England in 1855. She married William Parnell Haycraft in 1883 and wrote mostly under her married name. In 1891 she was living in Brighton, on the south coast of England, and died in Bournemouth, also on the south coast, in 1936. She also wrote under her maiden name of Margaret MacRitchie. Margaret Haycraft is currently our most popular author of fiction.

Margaret was a contemporary of the much better-known Christian writer Mrs. O. F. Walton. Both ladies wrote Christian stories for children that were very much for the time in which they lived, with little children often preparing for an early death. Mrs. Walton wrote three romances for adults (with no suffering children, and now published by White Tree in abridged versions). Margaret Haycraft concentrated mainly on books for children. However, she later wrote several romances for older readers. Unusually for Victorian writers, the majority of Margaret Haycraft's stories are told in the present tense.

Both Mrs. Walton's and Margaret Haycraft's books for all ages can be over-sentimental, referring throughout, for example, to a mother as the dear, sweet mother, and a child as the darling little child. In our abridged editions overindulgent descriptions of people have been shortened to make a more robust story, but the characters and storyline are always unchanged. Eliza Kerr is another Victorian writer whose stories deserve to be republished, and White Tree Publishing is releasing several of her books in abridged form.

A problem of Victorian writers is the tendency to insert intrusive comments concerning what is going to happen later in the story. Today we call them spoilers. They are usually along the lines of: "Little did he/she know that...." I have removed these when appropriate.

£100 in 1890 may not sound much, but in income value it is worth £12,000 pounds today (about US$15,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are only 8 chapters in this short book. In the last half are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

### Chapter 1

"To Be, Or Not To Be?"

"I cannot wait, I must know," cried Freda Beresford, pulling up her blind after an agitated night full of algebraic problems, literary laurels, and the architectural beauties of the church that in coming years would belong to her schoolboy brother. "What dreams I have had! But this morning will settle the matter one way or another. I shall know today if our hopes and our mother's hopes have been vain -- it is sure to be in the paper. By breakfast time poor Leo will know if he is to enter upon a college career or -- turn into a saddler. How dreadful! I do believe a week at Dutton Brothers would kill the boy -- the idea of throwing his genius away upon a cooped-up hole like that!"

Freda pulled on her clothes with trembling, impetuous fingers, and nearly threw Aunt Tim to the bottom of the stairs as she burst out of her room. It was not Freda's wont to rise at 6:30. Aunt Tim prepared the lower room, and got breakfast as a rule, for Freda was a brain-worker, and she quite agreed with the old lady that such labours with the intellect were exhaustive, and needed plenty of cosy repose in bed.

Aunt Tim had a little rheumatism, however, and she was glad to see her niece springing downstairs like an embodiment of energy.

"I'm afraid you will tire yourself, lassie, before the children come; but if you could just get the fire going, and take a duster round the schoolroom----"

"Oh, yes, auntie, directly I come back; but I must get the Brightwood Chronicle this morning. Don't you remember this is the 25th? In the paper today there will be the High School examination lists, and we shall know whether Leo has won the university scholarship."

"Freda, I would not raise my hopes too high if I were you. I doubt if the dear boy has been successful this time. Would not Dr. Campbell have let us know if good news like that were waiting for us?"

"Dr. Campbell is away," said Freda. "I don't see why the masters should tell us. It was always understood that the lists would be in the paper. Oh, auntie, don't say Leo is not first! The scholarship is his only hope of going to college and getting to be famous and useful, and everything Mother wanted him to become. It is simply throwing him away to make a saddler of him."

"Still, lassie, it was good of our neighbour, Mr. Dutton, to offer him a clerkship on leaving school, and your dear mother would have said her boy could be good and useful even in a saddler's office."

"Oh, yes," said Freda, tugging at her boots impatiently, "but he must be a clergyman. If it is good news, Aunt Tim, I'll wave my umbrella from the corner. You be looking out in about twenty minutes;" and, oblivious of fires and dusters, she disappeared down the garden.

Old Mrs. Timson had been for some years a widow, living on a small annuity and the proceeds of such fruit and vegetables as she could grow in the little garden, which, together with Myrtle Cottage, was her own. The cottage and mistress seemed alike in their spick-and-span neatness, and all the year round there was on their faces the glow of a lingering light. Freda and Leo Beresford loved the old-fashioned flowers, the quaint nooks, shrubberies and arbours round Myrtle Cottage, but they loved the white-haired mistress better. Scanty as was her store, she had always a kindly word, a bit of cake, a lozenge for their lips.

People wondered that after living in quiet so long, she had opened her home to the children of her niece, Mrs. Beresford, who had lately died. This lady had been well provided for by her husband's will, but she invested her fortune imprudently, and Leo and Freda were absolutely shelterless when their affairs were settled. Aunt Tim remembered them as pretty, pampered children in laces and velvet; they came to her as well-grown specimens of healthy youth, aged respectively sixteen and fifteen, inconsolable at first for their mother's loss, and all in all to each other.

"Schoolboys are worse than wild beasts," said friends to Aunt Tim. "Your tidy rooms will be spoilt; the marks of Leo's boots will be everywhere. Boys never will wipe their boots on the mat."

All this, and Freda's impetuous ways, which were trying now and then to the peaceful old lady, Mrs. Timson had patiently borne for two years. She had grown fond of "the children," and their love and respect for her were warmer than could have been guessed sometimes from their daily lives.

"Aunt Tim is A1," they declared, setting appreciative teeth into her gingerbread and potato-cake; but Freda calmly permitted her aunt to get the meals, and Leo felt himself quite a hero when he assisted with a scuttle-full of coals occasionally. It was not enjoyment that filled their thoughts, but sheer hard work. Leo had conscientiously toiled for the University Scholarship, which would take him to college and start him on the clerical career that was his heart's desire, and Freda kept herself in gloves and boots by a little Kindergarten that gathered every morning in a room at Myrtle Cottage that Aunt Tim had given up for the purpose.

Freda was an author -- an embryo one as yet, save in her dreams. Packets of MSS. were continually issuing from that little cottage schoolroom, and, unfortunately, as often returning to the Myrtle Cottage letterbox, "Declined with thanks." Still Aunt Tim and Leo thought a great deal of Freda's compositions, and faith goes a long way. Our authoress, too, never failed to comfort herself with the reflection that there are always obstacles for genius to overleap, and that Charlotte Bronte had many a disappointment before she shone on the literary horizon. The Artist's Bride, or At the Cannon's Mouth, would sooner or later make the name of Freda Beresford world-renowned. While Leo was preaching in a stately church with classic columns, to crowded congregations, she would sit in a prominent pew, the observed of all observers, as the "Miss Beresford who writes in all the leading magazines."

At present, however, Freda was lingering on the brink of the crossing that led to the newspaper shop in Brightwood. Myrtle Cottage stood a little way out of the town, but her quick steps had done the distance in about ten minutes. She was endeavouring to screw her courage to the point of demanding a copy of the Chronicle, when a hand was laid on her arm, and she turned round to see her brother's handsome, excited face.

He looked so full of life and power as the morning breezes stirred his fair hair. The flush of exercise was on his face, and a glow of pride filled Freda's heart as she gazed on the boy. It would be a sin, she thought, to condemn one so good-looking and so clever to the establishment of -- a saddler.

"Freda, I can't go in and buy one. The old chap behind the counter knows as well as I do that I've been counting on the scholarship. I couldn't stand people's looks if I have to give up the idea of college. I've been making all sorts of plans through the term with fellows who are going there. I do think one of the masters might have let me know before this."

"They wanted you to have the joyful surprise of seeing your name at the head of the list in the Chronicle" said Freda. "Leo, you are sure to be first. Didn't Dr. Campbell tell Aunt Tim you had the best chance of all?"

"Yes, but Duncan has been working like a house on fire. You know there is a large family of them, and his father cannot pay the college fees."

"Duncan? You don't suppose you would be beaten by a red-haired boy like that? Why, he squints; and as for the way his sister does her hair -- I never did see anything in that Peggy Duncan."

"Freda, what has Peggy Duncan to do with my being a clergyman or a saddler? I hate the smell of Dutton Brothers' place. Oh, Freda, do go in, and you read the lists. Don't tell me if Duncan's first; just give my arm a squeeze or something. I feel as if I were choking."

"Today's Chronicle, please," said Freda, holding her head very high, and speaking as carelessly as possible, for there were many High School boys in the bookseller's shop, eagerly perusing the lists.

"I'm awfully sorry, Miss Beresford," said a frank-faced lad coming forward, even before she opened the sheet. "We all wanted Beresford to win. Hope he won't be cut up over the matter. You see, Duncan's such a dab at mathematics."

So Freda knew the worst before her eyes swept the list. Her brother's name stood second, but several marks below that of Jamie Duncan, who would consequently proceed to the university. Freda knew now how confidently she had reckoned in her heart on Leo's success. A mist seemed to rise before her, through which her mind dimly discerned her golden-tressed brother selling whips and saddles. The bookseller brought her a glass of water, but she was too proud to give way to her feelings before the boys.

"I have heard before now," she said with dignity, "that Duncan has a friend at court in the headmaster," and having fired this parting shot most unjustly, she rejoined Leo, who was perusing an almanac at the grocer's round the corner.

"Leo, my poor, precious Leo," she began, passing a tender hand within his arm and squeezing it with sympathy as enjoined. The next moment he glanced in her face, and reading the truth, snatched the Chronicle from her and shot down a lane that led to the cricket ground. Freda pictured him there, prone on the grass, resigning himself henceforth to a musty fragrance of leather and old ledgers.

The sight of Jamie and Peggy Duncan across the road kept her from breaking down. They were hurrying home, thankfully, to breakfast, but Freda took no notice of their greeting. Her head was in the air, her gaze contemplated the sky.

"It is their day of triumph now," she thought, "but the time is sure to come when Leo's genius will trample such brains as Jamie's underfoot."

However, this victorious proceeding in the future could not console Freda as she came in sight of Myrtle Cottage and saw Aunt Tim waiting anxiously for the signal of the jubilant umbrella.

"It is all over with poor, dear Leo," she exclaimed, sinking on the seat in the porch. "That red-haired Duncan has won the scholarship, and now my precious brother must go and waste his talents with Mr. Dutton's musty fusty clerks."

"Don't cry, lassie; whatever is, is best. Who knows what good may come to the poor, struggling Duncans through Jamie's success? And it may turn out that a steady business life is the best one for Leo. I have feared sometimes whether our dear boy's character is quite firm enough for the temptations of college life. But we must comfort him, dear Freda, and if indeed he has taken such a strong dislike to Mr. Dutton's proposal, perhaps some other opening may offer itself. Come, my dear, the coffee is ready. You must get some breakfast to keep up your strength before your little pupils arrive."

"I don't want breakfast," said Freda drearily. "Has the postman been, Aunt Tim?"

"Yes, dear," hesitated the old lady. "Don't worry yourself about it now, but I think one of your stories has come back. It is always so hard for beginners to secure appreciation."

"A packet and a letter," said Freda, hurrying to the breakfast table; "I suppose it is the old announcement: 'The Artist's Bride' is not quite suitable for the pages of the paper; I'm just as much a failure as Leo. I don't believe I have the heart to write any more. No -- no, Aunt Tim, it is not a returned MS. These are proofs \-- proofs of my little story for children, 'Janetta in Fairyland!' Oh, Aunt Tim, I have had a story taken at last," and this time they were tears of gladness that coursed down Freda's cheeks.

"I always said you would succeed, dear child. Fancy seeing your story in print. It does look grand. This is the beginning of a literary life for you, Freda. Ah, my dear, it's a wonderful gift -- a wonderful gift!"

Inside the packet was a note to say that the editor would be glad, at Miss Beresford's convenience, to see another fairytale for children. Freda fairly hopped to her desk, and was about to take pen in hand immediately, when her aunt directed her attention to the other letter, yet unopened, and at the same time hurried off to boil two eggs, congratulatory and consolatory, for "the children."

"Whatever does it mean?" exclaimed Freda in bewilderment, as a scented crested sheet of notepaper came to light, and something that looked like a cheque rustled down on to the floor. "Your affectionate Aunt Augusta -- oh, yes, of course, this must be papa's aunt, who never answered Aunt Tim's letter as to our poverty. I have heard she is very clever and very rich, but dreadfully eccentric and fanciful. Whatever makes her write to me now?"

Dear niece,

Mrs. Timson, who communicated with me some time back -- when my poor Bijou had rheumatism, and I was obliged to visit the South of France -- mentioned that you possess considerable literary talent. I too am gifted in a similar manner, and only yesterday, when poor Pompey breathed his last, I composed on the spot some elegiac verses to the memory of my lost favourite. I am proud to see that you have launched yourself so ably in the pages of the Magnetic. Everyone is talking of your story. You are young to hold such thoughtful and remarkable views, but genius runs in the family. I have surprised and delighted my friends by a promise to introduce them to the author. You must come to me at once on a visit, and you shall share my writing room where every arrangement has been made for the flow of soul. I can see that ours are sister-minds. I enclose a cheque which will be sufficient to improve your wardrobe suitably for the visit, but you may consider yourself under my charge henceforth. A popular career lies before you, and it is ridiculous for you to remain at Brightwood. I shall expect you next Wednesday by the train reaching Dysart Junction at 5 p.m.

Your affectionate aunt,

Augusta.

P.S. -- I think I heard something about your having a brother. You can, of course, use part of the sum enclosed for his benefit if wished. It is a free gift to you, in recognition of the talent displayed in your story.

"How noble! How generous!" exclaimed Freda, almost losing her breath as she found the amount of the cheque to be twenty pounds. "Why, this will start Leo at college, and as Aunt Augusta has adopted me, I shall no doubt be able to keep him there. I have heard mamma say Aunt Augusta is very, very rich, and that a number of relations are always trying after her money. It is quite like a story on a book! How kindly she speaks of my story -- and yet -- how is it 'Janetta in Fairyland' is in the Magnetic? I have only just received the proofs; and besides, I sent it to the Infants' Playmate. I wonder what has made the editor pass it on to the Magnetic. I thought that was a magazine for grown-up people. I must get a copy after dinner. How tiresome it is to have to keep school this morning! Oh, there is my poor young brother. I really believe he has been crying \-- he is turning away his head from Aunt Tim. Leo! Leo! You can go to college after all!"

"I say, drop that, Freda. What's the use of reminding a chap of his worries! I shall go and see Mr. Dutton today."

"No, no, read this letter. Read it aloud to Aunt Tim. I'm adopted by Aunt Augusta Dysart, and every penny I get shall come to you."

His face was a study as Leo read the letter and examined the cheque; his look of despair changing to wonder and joy. Freda was full of delighted importance, and Aunt Tim regarded the young genius almost with reverence. Her heart was sad at the prospect of losing her children, but she would not damp their spirits by her own graver feelings; and breakfast was a wildly happy one.

Leo was all impatience to break the news to his school chum, Lloyd. His first term at college was certainly provided for, and Aunt Augusta's bounty might be trusted to keep the purse of her protégée generously lined, and to reach in time to the career of that protégée's clever brother. There seemed no cloud on the horizon to the young folks.

Aunt Tim had been kind indeed to welcome them to Myrtle Cottage. They would take care in their brilliant fortunes to recompense her richly, but after all, it was grand to have a relation like Aunt Augusta recognizing talent so munificently.

"How is it that a juvenile tale like 'Janetta' got into the Magnetic?" asked Leo.

"It may be one of my other stories," said Freda. "I have a great many going about, and these editors are all connected."

School hours seemed as if they would never end that day. Immediately after dinner, Freda rushed to the Brightwood library and obtained the current number of the Magnetic. Which of her productions would meet her eye? She recognized none of the stories, but on closer examination she found that the first one, profusely illustrated, was signed "Freda Beresford." She bent over it with eager scrutiny. Even a cursory perusal showed "A Modern Tantalus" to be most powerfully written, but alas, neither title nor story had she ever beheld before.

### Chapter 2

Downward Steps

WHO was her namesake? Freda's first feeling was one of bitter indignation against her as the cause of the mental complication that made her head throb and ache. What right had another author to her name? Had someone borrowed it out of spite, to tease and annoy her, whose compositions had never yet enjoyed the opportunity of exciting the reading public? Could it possibly be Peggy Duncan, whom Freda had always treated with a certain degree of hauteur, as related to Leo's competitor in the school?

No, Peggy was a good hand at a darn or a pudding, but with these invaluable attributes she did not unite much imagination. There was power in every page of "A Modern Tantalus," and Freda vainly envied the ease with which the plot was drawn to an unexpected but charming consummation.

"She doesn't get stuck for ideas," thought Freda ruefully, remembering how often in the little schoolroom her much-enduring pen had been meditatively sucked. "It's some horrid old maid in spectacles -- quite an old hand at it. How could Aunt Augusta suppose I had written a story like this?"

But what about the twenty pounds? The means for Leo's first term at college were in her possession -- unknown help and favours awaited her. Why should she deliberately turn her back on the only road whereby her clever brother could be advanced?

Freda sat in a corner of the library that afternoon, ostensibly studying a point-lace pattern in a lady's journal, but in reality fighting the battle between honesty and deceit.

"Tell the truth whatever the consequences may be," said a voice within her. "Disclaim the authorship of this tale and return the money. Leo had better never enter college than pass in across the path of an acted lie."

"Aunt Augusta is so rich," argued inclination in reply. "What are twenty pounds to her? Surely it is her duty to render some help to her nephew's children. Aunt Tim's means are straitened, and in charity to her we ought to leave Myrtle Cottage. Besides, my abilities have very little scope while I teach every morning. At Dysart, amid congenial society, I shall make certain progress with my pen. And after all, I have made a beginning, for the editor who has taken 'Janetta in Fairyland' asks for more.

"Aunt Augusta offers to receive me as a sister-writer; it cannot matter about this particular tale. When she has seen 'Janetta' in print she will understand she was not mistaken as to my gift. Of course I shall not tell her I composed 'A Modern Tantalus,' though I daresay if I attempted a similar vein, I could produce something quite as striking. I must think out a plot, and send out a tale about the same length to the editor of the Magnetic."

The steps that left the library were hesitant and undecided, and Freda inwardly resolved to put off answering Aunt Augusta's letter till the morrow. It was exceedingly annoying that the world of literature should contain two Freda Beresfords. "Perhaps she will get the credit of 'Janetta,'" thought Freda jealously. "After all, my description of the garden in Fairyland is every bit as poetic as that paragraph about Naples. She is nothing so wonderful after all. I don't believe Aunt Augusta cares specially about the story. It is my gift for composition that she wishes to recognize. Of course, if she makes particular inquiry, I shall plainly tell her this does not happen to be one of my productions."

"Freda, I really must congratulate you. Mrs. Timson has just told me you are now on the staff of the Magnetic. Dr. Campbell contributed an article years ago, and they paid most liberally. It will be greatly to your credit if through you Leo can yet go to college."

"Yes, would it not be a sin to put him to business, Mrs. Campbell? Leo would make such an eloquent preacher."

"That is a serious matter, dear, and could be left for consideration till later on. Leo has striking abilities, Freda. He is more gifted than young Duncan, and if he only possessed equal perseverance I think he would have gained the scholarship. I am so glad on his account that the Magnetic people have taken you up. Your pen will be an important instrument in his career."

Freda felt that her importance in Brightwood was swelling visibly. From contributing to the Magnetic, Mrs. Campbell's imagination had somehow placed her on the staff; but the sensation of literary dignity was new and sweet, and Freda could not bring herself to look so foolish in the eyes of the headmaster's wife as to confess that her pen was by no means yet distinguished.

To Freda's heart this sudden appreciation came with bewildering charm. She felt certain she could write powerfully if she had a mind to, and with the proofs of "Janetta" already corrected for the Infants' Playmate, surely no amount of public interest and congratulation could be premature.

"Oh, you darling, what a dear, delicious story!" cried her friend Cecilia Bateman, making a dart at her in the next street. "Leo came over and told us you had a tale in the Magnetic, and I rushed off to buy a copy. Mamma says it is wonderfully clever, and she thinks you are a second Grace Aguilar. You know how beautifully she wrote when she was nineteen. And how much money will you get for it, darling?"

"They haven't paid me yet," hesitated Freda. "Cecilia, I can't stop today. I shall come round and see you before I leave Brightwood. I am going to live with another aunt of ours: Miss Dysart, of Dysart Towers."

"That sounds grand, Freda dear, but I am afraid fate is moving you into another sphere, but you will not forget the friend of your girlhood?" asked Cecilia sentimentally.

"No, of course not, but I'm really in a hurry," said Freda, not liking to be hugged and kissed quite so openly.

"Goodbye, then, dear one; but, Freda, you will do me one little kindness? You know my little poem written on the occasion when our cook fell downstairs, poor thing! It gave me such a shock to see her lying stunned at the bottom. The verses 'To Elizabeth' came to me quite impromptu. Mamma thinks they are a little in the style of Blake, but the rhyme is after Southey. I shall send them round this evening. I want you to get them into the Magnetic. Just enclose them with a line from you, dear. A beginner no doubt wants influential introduction."

"I don't think I can," said Freda, colouring uncomfortably. "I doubt if I have influence like that, Cecilia."

"Oh, yes, you have. Mamma says they must think a lot of you to have had all those illustrations specially designed for your story. Promise me you'll get 'To Elizabeth' inserted."

"I'll try," said Freda faintly. She had yet to learn that taking charge of the efforts of another too often means the estrangement and end of friendship. It was flattering to reflect that she was credited with so much influence, and it would only cost her a stamp to send Cecilia's poem for the approbation of the editor.

Bound the corner came Lady Wynward, who lived at Harts, an old family seat along the Brightwood road. Freda was a devoted admirer of her costumes, her pony-carriage, and above all of her gentle face and gracious bearing. But the two had never exchanged a word, and Freda's heart throbbed high with excitement when her ladyship stopped the pony and called Freda to her side with a cordial smile.

"Excuse my stopping you, Miss Beresford, but I am anxious to verify my suspicion that Brightwood contains an authoress. We are charmed with this month's Magnetic, and seeing your name -- well, it is too bad to make you confess. I know that young writers are shy, but I do believe a most brilliant career lies before you. How long have you been addicted to composition?"

"I was always making up stories even as a child," said Freda, truthfully and readily.

"I thought so. Such fluent English only comes from long and continuous practice. But, Miss Beresford, I hope you will not think me very impertinent if I ask who is the original of Licorish?"

"Licorish?" Freda dimly remembered such a name in "A Modern Tantalus," but she had read the tale in such an agitated manner that she could not now recall his identity. Was it the hero -- or the villain -- or the rich grandfather whose eccentric will discomforted the characters?

"Now, confess, Miss Beresford, is not the description of Licorish taken from our new mare? Princess might have stood for her portrait, so faithfully does the horse in your tale represent her beauties, and I can assure you that your opinion of Princess only does her justice. Sir Harold and myself feel you have paid us a compliment in giving our new purchase a place in your story."

Freda murmured something incoherent, and pitying her blushes, Lady Wynward drove off, having shaken hands in a very friendly manner. Several passersby had observed the conversation and handshake, and Freda reached home with pride and elation struggling with the sinking at her heart.

"Aunt Tim has made a stunning good cake for tea," cried Leo, who seemed overflowing with boisterous spirits. "I say, Freda, isn't it funny to think that you and I are really leaving this tumble-down place? Not but what we've had good times here, too; but, hurrah for the days ahead! You will walk in silk attire and silver have to spare, and thanks to you and Aunt Augusta I shall be qualifying for a graduate most distinguished. I say, Freda, how strangely things have come about. When I left the cricket field this morning I had almost got used to the notion of grinding away at old Dutton's, but it's jolly to feel I'm off to college with the rest. Lloyd and I are going to have lots of fun. Oh, yes, of course I'll work hard, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know, Freda. I say, I've been thinking about Mother. Wouldn't she have been glad for me to enter on my college course?"

Freda turned away her head. She dared not give place in her thoughts to the gentle mother, who, if somewhat overindulgent, had yet taught her children how terrible is the first step along the crooked path of untruth, and who had never seemed so grieved and distressed as once when Freda, to secure a coveted prize, was guilty of falsehood.

"Well, lassie," said Aunt Tim, laying a goodly slice of the iced cake on Freda's plate. In her eyes, Freda was but a bairnie still, and the young folks were quite as fond of good things as she imagined. "Well, lassie, is it 'Janetta' that your Aunt Augusta has seen, or one of your other stories? Were you able to get a look at the Magnetic?"

"Oh, I've seen it," cried out Leo, "I saw it at the Lloyds.' You kept it awfully quiet, Freda, about your 'Modern Tantalus;' but I didn't read it through. It looked a jolly sight too deep for me. Don't believe you're right about magnetic currents though. Girls shouldn't meddle with science."

"Do leave off talking about my compositions," said Freda, rather pettishly, for truly she was wearied of the subject; and as to magnetism, she knew nothing whatever about it. Leo, however, was really interested in that special portion of "Tantalus," and worried her with questions and arguments as to the earth's currents and electromagnets and primary coils, till she could have burst into hysterical tears.

Whilst they were still at tea, a note arrived from their physician, asking if Miss Beresford, "whose vivid description of Neapolitan scenery was so remarkable a word-picture," could recommend private lodgings in Naples for a patient who was proceeding thither.

"Tell him she's never been to Naples. She prigged it from the guide-book," called out Leo, aggrieved at Freda's refusal to discuss electricity, but Aunt Tim sent a polite message to the effect that her niece had no personal knowledge of Italy, but that her pen had drawn its inspiration from various sources.

Dr. Kay looked in during the evening, and expressed the greatest astonishment that Freda was no traveller. "Her descriptive power is marvellous," he said. "My wife and myself seemed to be gazing upon the Bay of Naples as we read. Our young friend is undoubtedly a literary jewel of the first water."

After such a day as this, how could Freda damp the spirits of Aunt Tim and Leo by denying any connection with the Magnetic? She had almost begun to believe that the story really was her own. Certainly she wished, over and over again, that immediately on discovering the mistake she had made it known to others, but as she went up wearily to bed she argued that it was too late to make a fuss about "Tantalus" now. Doubtless in a month or two one of her own stories would be in the same paper, and she would have earned a right to this new experience of admiring popularity.

Beneath Freda's pillow lay the slip of paper which represented Leo's hopes. In the adjoining room, the lad was emitting musical sounds which told of hearty slumber, but Freda tossed from side to side almost till the morning broke. Uneasy lay the head of which half Brightwood had discoursed the previous evening. The young teacher had never before been so impatient with her little scholars. The sweet voices of the children singing their innocent melodies grated upon her nerves, and as one by one they lifted their guileless faces for a farewell kiss at dinnertime, a sharp consciousness came to her that she was unworthy to touch those rosy lips.

Yet she could not help looking forward to the afternoon, when she and Aunt Tim were to visit the draper's and choose certain additions to her wardrobe out of the cheque. Directly school was over she hastily penned the following note, and hurried out with it to the post office:

Dear Aunt Augusta,

Thank you very much for the cheque so kindly sent. I have ventured to lay aside part of it towards my brother's expenses at college. Leo is very clever and talented, and Aunt Tim talked about his being a saddler. I am getting some new clothes, and I shall be delighted to come to Dysart. I am very fond of composing, and I write both prose and poetry.

Hoping to come by the train you named,

I remain, dear Aunt Augusta, your affectionate niece,

Freda Beresford.

The succeeding days at Brightwood were quite an ovation to Freda. Everyone heard that owing to her literary genius she was adopted by a wealthy relative, and perhaps her coming riches as well as her talents had something to do with the invitations that flowed so thickly to Myrtle Cottage. The editor of the Brightwood Chronicle asked for a contribution to his paper, and Freda sent a poem in blank verse, "To the Harvest Moon." It was rather obscure, but everyone pronounced it wonderfully clever, and the editor sent Freda a paperknife as recognition of her compliance with his request.

By this time Freda's naturally buoyant spirits had asserted themselves. She sent the written contents of her old desk hither and thither with renewed energy, and the postmaster looked on reverently as she stamped many a thick packet that had gone on a like journey fruitlessly before. Public enthusiasm almost rose to the height of voting her a testimonial on her departure.

Cecilia Bateman's mamma thought a group of the Muses in electro-plate would be chaste and appropriate, and Cecilia, full of hope as to her own production, "To Elizabeth," went so far as to collect subscriptions amounting to nearly five shillings.

Just then, Leo took the lead of the "Harmonious Wanderers," a vocal society very popular among the youth of Brightwood, and the "Wanderers" rendered themselves so objectionable by voluntary performances in the gardens of the inhabitants, that the name of Beresford suddenly sank in public esteem, and the plated Muses remained unpresented.

It was not so easy to say goodbye to Myrtle Cottage after all. Freda was newly attired from top to toe, and she was not unaware that her broad straw hat was most becoming -- still, when her trunk was strapped, and she stood on Brightwood platform looking over the fields in the direction of the cottage, her dark eyes were dewy, and her voice quivered as she exclaimed, "Aunt Tim, I shall never, never forget you. The first thing I buy at Dysart will be a black silk dress for you, and I shall always be writing to you and sending you presents. Goodbye, darling Auntie. And, Leo, mind you write as often as you can. I know you will carry off all the laurels at college."

Aunt Tim fairly broke down as the train steamed off. Leo had turned his face towards an advertisement of furniture polish, but Freda could see how he was feeling the parting. They had never been separated before. A great feeling of desolation and loneliness came to her, and tears welled up and threatened to roll down her face, but Aunt Tim had begged the three maiden ladies who were her fellow-travellers to "have an eye to her," and the trio now began to represent to her the sinfulness of not being resigned and contented under all circumstances of life. After this Freda did not like to cry; and besides, she remembered that the tears might stain the silk handkerchief that encircled her neck.

Aunt Tim had put up plenty of sandwiches and cake, and Freda beguiled the journey at intervals by refreshing her inner nature; but she could not lunch continuously, and she soon grew sleepy and tired. One of the maiden ladies was an enthusiast on scenery, and was constantly rousing her, as a poet, to notice some "charming bit," or "some delightful peep," of cattle, river, or trees.

They passed places beautiful enough to inspire the soul, but Freda was scarcely bard enough to drink in the whispers of beauty here and there. She thought a great deal more about her grey dress, slightly stained in one place by a ham sandwich; and her aspirations just then were neither to mountain or vale, but to a pony-carriage just like Lady Wynward's. Would it be possible to persuade her aunt into making her the owner of such?

"Dysart Junction," was shouted at last, just when Freda, asleep in the corner, was dreaming that a three-volume book of hers was advertised in large letters on Brightwood platform in place of the furniture polish.

"This is your destination, Freda Beresford," said old Miss Langworthy. "We go on to the next station. Good evening to you, and may your life at Dysart Towers be virtuous and exemplary."

A footman in livery touched his hat to Freda. This quite suited her preconceived notions of things, and she graciously indicated that her luggage consisted of a trunk and two hatboxes. She very much approved of the carriage and pair waiting outside the station -- the horses elevating their heads almost as proudly as Freda herself, as she noticed some of the other passengers looking on.

"Home," said Freda to the footman, quite unnecessarily, as the coachman had no intention of driving anywhere else; but it was delightful to feel like Lady Wynward, and to control the direction of so splendid an equipage. The horses tossed their heads, the wheels moved forward, and Freda noticed with complacency the subdued aspect of certain small boys looking on, when suddenly one of those boys became vociferous and excited, and rushed after the carriage, shouting, "Here's another \-- you've been and left one of them behind."

"You are mistaken," said Freda with annoyance, putting her head out of the window; but just then the carriage drew up, and a female voice exclaimed indignantly, "Insufferably careless. Madam shall hear of this -- to drive on without me when all day long I've been matching my Cousin Dysart's Pompey!"

### Chapter 3

Dysart Towers

AN angular lady, dressed in mourning, seated herself opposite to Freda, and surveyed with evident disapproval the fresh, girlish face and bright, eager eyes of Madam's new protégée.

"So you're a writer?" she began, rather snappishly. "I don't hold with that kind of thing for a woman. It's woman's work to handle a broom and make shirts, not to go about telling a lot of untruths in print."

"I can make shirts," said Freda, trying to conciliate her new acquaintance, but wondering who she might be; "but I think the gift of imagination is a glorious one, and I am proud of my authorship."

"Don't make too sure of your footing here, though. Cousin Dysart has taken a fancy to your 'Tantalus,' but she's as likely as not to change her mind tomorrow. She never changes to me; but then we suit each other, and I've been a comfort to her now this five years."

Freda would have liked to ask a string of questions as to Dysart Towers, but there was a look of real dislike in the elder lady's face, as if in this young writer she recognized a possible rival.

"Yes, I have been Cousin Dysart's constant companion for years. This very day I've been for hours in town ordering her mourning."

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry. Has aunt lost a relation?"

"Did she not tell you that Pompey was dead? She loved that dog like a brother. Both of us are wearing black for him."

Freda pronounced no opinion, lest it might be repeated to her aunt, with whom, young as she was, she was politic enough to wish for peace, but she could not help the thought that while Pompey had been loved as a brother, Leo and herself had been left to the compassion of Aunt Tim.

"I think I've matched Pompey today," said the other, complacently. "I have been to the dogs' refuge, and they are sending over another rough grey terrier in a basket. They call him Trap, but he and Pompey might be twin brothers."

"Are you very fond of dogs?" asked Freda.

"Are you?"

"Not very. I am so frightened of hydrophobia."

"Ah, well, then you will not care for Dysart Towers. Dogs and cats are my cousin's particular hobby."

With such converse as this filling the time, they came in sight of iron gates, surmounted by the family crest of the Dysarts, and Freda was much impressed by the low curtsy dropped by the woman who came out of the lodge.

"Welcome to the Towers," said Freda's companion, somewhat grimly; "but I warn you that you will never stop here. One by one they have tried to rob my poor cousin; but she is very clever, very keen-sighted, and one by one she clears the Towers of harpies."

"What do you mean? Are you insinuating----"

"My dear, I am not speaking of you, save as one of the numerous relatives that have visited and departed. I am sure I hope you will enjoy yourself, but it is only right to warn you my Cousin Dysart gets tired of her guests -- of course I myself am like a sister to her."

Freda found it quite a relief when a motherly-looking person, whom she afterwards knew as her aunt's confidential maid, met her in the broad, cold-looking hall and escorted her upstairs to the room prepared for her. It was indeed an ideal apartment. Freda's artistic soul rejoiced in the paper, the hangings, the armchairs, the dainty knickknacks scattered so profusely here and there, and the well-stocked davenport in the corner made her long to commence at once the sequel to "Janetta."

"That woman in the carriage quite depressed my spirits," she said to herself, resting in the armchair with keen enjoyment, and contrasting the luxurious room with her tiny chamber at Myrtle Cottage; "but she is only jealous of me, and anxious to shorten my stay here. I never imagined so beautiful a room as this -- oh, how happy, how thankful I am! I know I shall compose famously here, and aunt will be delighted, and interest herself for my sake in my brother Leo, and he will outstrip that Duncan at college, and be the prizeman of his year."

Here her reflections were interrupted by the welcome appearance of tea and bread and butter, brought by Mrs. Ellis herself. Miss Dysart's maid had never been married, but enjoyed the "Mrs." as a title of honour in the household. Her kindness contrasted so vividly with the coldness of her aunt's cousin, that Freda became quite confidential, and whilst sipping her tea, poured out her hopes and wishes concerning Leo.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a brother, Miss Beresford. A fine, handsome, young fellow, I'll be bound," and she glanced admiringly at Freda's bonny face.

"Yes, he is, and the cleverest boy you can imagine. Everyone says he will make his mark in the world."

"Just the one that Madam should choose for her heir, Miss Freda. Now I come to think of it, he is the nearest male relation that Madam has got; but of course she can leave her money where she pleases, and it's sad to see one and another trying after it."

Freda's face had flushed excitedly at the thought of this broad park, this mansion as Leo's inheritance. Perhaps if Aunt Augusta got really fond of her, Leo would be invited there, and who could withstand his fascinations?

"Who was the lady that rode with me from the station?" she asked of Mrs. Ellis. "Isn't she dreadfully cross?"

"Oh, you mean poor Miss Sabina. She lives here. She has no money of her own. I call her poor, Miss Freda, because she has such an unfortunate temper. Madam has ordered her away again and again, but she has taken pity on her because she is a distant cousin, and makes up powders and medicines for the dogs. Her brother was a veterinary surgeon."

The tea and a refreshing wash revived Freda's spirits, and when the dinner bell sounded she sailed downstairs in her evening dress of white with cerise ribbons, looking a very pleasant adjunct to the stateliness of the Towers.

So thought many of the guests gathered in the drawing room, for Miss Dysart was very fond of company, and gave frequent entertainments.

Freda had expected to see a venerable lady, shawled and capped; but her aunt wore a flaxen wig, coiled classically around her head, and Freda was startled by her upright, energetic figure. Evidently Freda made a very favourable impression on her aunt. Miss Dysart had never been known to kiss a living creature, saving the deceased Pompey, and Miss Sabina's face darkened as the owner of the Towers touched Freda's blushing face with her lips. Mrs. Ellis, too, witnessed the salute through the open door, and she shook her good-humoured face in the direction of Miss Sabina, as if to say her chances were small after this.

"Major Cameron, will you take my niece down to dinner? You will be astonished to hear that you have in your charge the young author of 'A Modern Tantalus,' Freda Beresford."

Freda coloured painfully to the roots of her hair. The major started, as well he might, for the tale was the talk of society, and "the young author" was not yet twenty.

"Is that really your name?" he asked, fixing upon her his grey eyes with so keen a look that Freda felt uncomfortable, even while she smilingly replied in the affirmative. The major was a better listener than talker. He was grave, quiet, middle-aged. He had been through the severest experiences of field and campaign, and Freda, hearing the rattle of conversation around her, found him somewhat dull, and wished Miss Dysart's neighbours, the Cresswells, had left their visitor at home. Pleased with many a lively sally made in her hearing, Freda forgot all about "Tantalus," and faltered visibly when her aunt addressed her, proudly wishing to "draw out'' her clever niece.

"Upon what particular work are you now engaged, my dear Freda? I am sure that after 'Tantalus' you must be beset by requests from publishers. Oh, I know just what it is. I remember some years ago both our local paper and a manuscript magazine circulating among my friends wanted poetry from me. Such over-pressure is most exhausting to the brain. Now how long did it take you to write 'Tantalus,' Freda?"

"I ... don't quite remember," faltered Freda, seeing all eyes fixed upon her with expectancy and interest.

"Did you burn the midnight oil?" asked Major Cameron, trying to put her at her ease. Certainly genius in this case was most painfully shy.

"Oh, no; Aunt Tim never let me sit up to write. I had to do everything between dinnertime and nine o'clock in the evening."

"How fresh and unaffected!" murmured a lady friend of Miss Dysart's, Mrs. Langley, who was doing her best to secure a place in Miss Dysart's sympathies. "To think that such a young mind should have evolved 'Tantalus!' But genius runs in the family."

"Of course," said Major Cameron, "you will continue to contribute to the Magnetic?"

There was quite a chorus of imploring exclamations. "Dear Miss Dysart's niece," must not forsake the Magnetic, however pressing the calls upon her. "Tantalus" had so whetted the public appetite for further stories from her pen.

Intoxicated by so much notice and the smiles of her aunt, who beamed from the head of the table like the queen of diamonds, Freda graciously promised the continuance of her favours to the Magnetic, and soon after this the ladies of the company retired, consoled, from the room.

Major Cameron sat fingering the nut-crackers in thoughtful silence. Once or twice he shook his head, and when Mr. Cresswell inquired into the nature of his meditations, he replied: "I knew that girl's father, Cresswell. He was my colonel once. Splendid fellow -- shot straight as a die -- true as the day."

"Well, don't fret, old chap; he's better off now."

"I am not sorry for him," said Major Cameron turning away to the window, and watching the pure moonlight with every sense awake to its hallowed influence.

Despite the splendour of the drawing room, that was a trying evening to Freda, and more than once she thought half wistfully of the snug parlour at Myrtle Cottage, where by lamplight Leo had pursued his studies, and she had lost herself and her surroundings over sheets of foolscap paper, whilst dear old Aunt Tim at their side had done their mending. She played and sang creditably, and everybody wondered how, with the publishers besieging her, she found time to practise. After leaving the piano, quite a coterie of girls circled her chair, discussing "Tantalus" with great appreciation, and insisting on knowing the ultimate destinies of every character mentioned therein, till Freda wished such a tale had never entered into her namesake's head.

"And how do you weave your plot, my dear?" asked her aunt. "For my own part, when I sit down at my desk I never know what I am going to write about. Do the words come to you spontaneously, or is your plot all arranged beforehand?"

"I generally think of it first in bed, Aunt Augusta."

"Well, my dear, the final chapter in 'Tantalus' does not quite content me. I think Virginia should have fallen into a decline -- don't you, Major Cameron?" (for the gentlemen had now re-entered the drawing room).

"Don't see how she could -- her appetite kept up -- eat crab in the last chapter."

"No, no, filleted soles!" cried one of the girls round Freda. "I don't believe it was crab -- was it, Miss Beresford?"

"I'm sure I forget," said Freda confusedly.

"It was crab," said Major Cameron. "I remember every page of your story, Miss Beresford."

"And that is high praise," said Miss Dysart, much gratified. "The major is not much of a story-reader -- is he, Mr. Cresswell?"

"No, and my wife and myself are the more anxious to hear particulars of this tale that seems to be stamped on his memory. We have never seen 'Tantalus.' Is the story to be published separately?"

"You must make good terms with the publishers, Freda," said Miss Dysart. "That story must be reproduced. If you do not write to them about it, I shall."

"Oh, no, no," cried Freda hastily, "don't you write, Aunt; I will. Indeed ... indeed it shall be reproduced."

"I hope you will insist upon it, Freda. I will promise to take some hundred copies. But, my dear Mrs. Cresswell, you really should read 'Tantalus.' I propose that we shall listen to it from the lips of the author. No one can deliver a composition like the writer. Sabina, go and fetch my copy of the Magnetic. I let Trimmer have it for his pillow in the hamper last night. We can all bear to hear 'Tantalus' once more."

In vain Freda -- conscious that the tale contained some Italian words she could not pronounce -- pleaded that she was tired and that she read very badly. Aunt Augusta had set her heart on hearing the story read by the author, and reminded her that in one of Mrs. Timson's letters listing Freda's accomplishments, reading aloud had been specially commended. Freda had taken a school prize for elocution, and as a rule was proud of her delivery, but she stumbled so miserably through the first two pages that, instead of the wet eyes Aunt Augusta had expected, there arose, much to her annoyance, a subdued tittering.

Nor did the Cresswells seem at all struck by the mumbled, scarcely audible words. At last Freda made a frantic effort at a dialogue in Italian with the guide and broke down, looking as if she would fain have rushed from the room.

"Do you not know Italian?" asked her aunt in some displeasure.

"Not fluently, Aunt Augusta. A friend, Cecilia Bateman, helped me with the dialogue," said Freda, naming Cecilia at random, and plunging almost unconsciously into direct falsehood.

"Permit me to finish the story," said Major Cameron, who had seemed ill at ease during the delivery of the opening scene. "Miss Dysart, your niece seems really fatigued."

"Composition is so trying to the system," murmured Mrs. Langley.

Miss Dysart graciously signified assent, and the major turned back to the beginning. Even Freda, became enthralled as, in a voice alive with feeling, he seemed to make the characters of "Tantalus" pass before them, and the pictured scenes to waken in living beauty. Oh, if in reality she could write like that! But young as she was, Freda had a dim consciousness that the author must have experienced life's various changes, and drawn therefrom lessons of truth which only an earnest spirit could perceive.

"My dear," said Mrs. Cresswell at her side, in a voice subdued to a whisper, as the last paragraph of the tale left the room in a hush, "I had no notion you were talented in such measure. My husband's brother publishes the Metropolitan Annual. I will bring this story to his notice; you will hear from him. Such a gift of painting nature gives you a place at once in contemporary literature."

The Metropolitan Annual! Could she really write a tale for this high-class periodical? Freda was beginning to feel a little humbler than when she arrived, but remembering "Janetta" she took heart to say she would be pleased to hear from the editor of the Annual. How she wished that some of the visitors would make a move, and that she might quietly seek the solitude of her room. "Tantalus" would doubtless haunt her dreams, but at least she would be free for a season from human voices echoing that wearying title.

Miss Dysart's visitors seemed in no hurry to depart. There was a great deal of music, and some delicious ices were handed round, and Mrs. Langley gave a comic recitation, greatly to the indignation of Miss Sabina, who saw that Miss Dysart was appreciating the widow's efforts to entertain her. At another time Freda would have enjoyed all this, and treasured up the flavour of the ices and Mrs. Langley's attempts at humour for an amusing letter to Leo -- now there was such a weight at her heart, and such a streak of falsehood stretched across the future that she looked indeed a "melancholy maid."

At last the visitors one by one took their leave, with the exception of Mrs. Langley, whom Miss Dysart (to irritate Miss Sabina) invited to spend the night at the Towers. The house became quiet, and Freda brushed her hair, wondering if it were worthwhile to secure improved prospects at the cost of falsehood like this. Such a bedroom was charming enough to bring her some comfort, however, and if she only kept Aunt Augusta's favour, Leo's inheritance might be princely.

A low knock came to the door, and Mrs. Langley entered, smooth-tongued and complimentary. "My dear, your story haunts my memory. What picture by Correggio do you allude to in the final chapter?"

"I forget its name," faltered Freda. "After travelling, one feels so confused," and she tried to smile.

Mrs. Langley departed presently, and Freda gratefully bolted the door. Just then she became conscious of a sound under her bed. Was there a burglar lurking to attack her? Two eyes watched her from beneath the drapery, but those teeth were not a burglar's, and Freda faintly perceived a tail. How was she to get into bed when ready? The small, sharp, yellow-haired dog peeping out resented the presence of a stranger, and growled furiously when she tried to draw near.

Freda opened the door and peered into the dark landing, inviting the dog by every pet name, though she was shivering with fright, to leave the room. He refused to stir, and not liking to take the liberty of ringing up the servants, Freda sank, cold and helpless, into an armchair. It was all very well for Aunt Augusta to keep a family of dogs, but Freda shed tears as she perceived before her but a choice of evils -- either to sit up all night, or to run the risk of a dangerous bite.

She must have sat there lamenting about half an hour when, to her unspeakable comfort, she heard her aunt's voice calling: "Trimmer! Trimmer!"

"Here he is, aunt!" she cried loudly, and soon after, Miss Dysart joined her in her nightcap, holding a lighted candle.

"Naughty little truant," said Miss Dysart tenderly. "The dogs sleep in hampers in a large room near mine, and Trimmer is apt to be wakeful and whine. I missed his whine and could not sleep; I felt sure he had wandered away. Trimmer, my sweet, come to your poor mistress, then!"

But Trimmer heeded not his mistress, and Freda had to take a light down to the dining room and secure the biscuit box before Trimmer, succumbed to ginger nuts, consented to follow Miss Dysart along the corridor.

"Don't lock your door, Freda," said Aunt Augusta. "I have something to say to you directly Trimmer gets into his hamper. I daresay you can guess what I am going to ask you."

"If I wrote 'Tantalus,'" thought Freda, with a throb of shrinking fright. "Well, it will be a relief to say no! She can't turn me out till the morning."

Freda waited in suspense while Trimmer, loudly protesting, was consigned to his blanket and basket. This took so long that, had she dared, she would have drawn the bolt and turned down her gas. At last she heard her aunt's footsteps, and never before had she felt such a coward.

"My dear, how pale you are! I shall not be in bed for an hour -- a poem has just struck me: 'To Genius.' I shall send it to our local paper, with a footnote, 'Inspired by my niece, author of 'Tantalus.'"

"Aunt, you were going to ask me something."

"Yes, my dear; you promised to bring 'Tantalus' out as a volume by itself. You must see that the binding, print, and illustrations are perfect, and then I will buy a stock of copies. But, as you may suppose, I want the book dedicated to me as your patron and helper. In gratitude to me, Freda, it ought to be so."

Freda promised faintly, and at last laid her aching head upon her pillow, telling herself that in the morning, when she felt better, she would tell the truth and undo this increasing tangle.

### Chapter 4

"Four Rosebuds"

MORNING brought a different frame of mind. To Freda's comfort-loving nature it was charming to breakfast in bed, with Mrs. Ellis pouring out the tea into dainty china, and pressing delicious morsels of fish upon the appetite of the young authoress. No teaching awaited her now; all that was put by for ever. Her new morning dress was laid out upon the bedroom couch, and Mrs. Ellis said it was a beautiful morning for a drive, and no doubt "dear Miss Freda" could have the carriage.

Freda drew up the blinds and saw the sunlight flooding the lawns and trees. She would have liked to ramble freely among the park and gardens, dreaming of her brother as heir to all the loveliness, but it would be still more enjoyable to adopt Mrs. Ellis's suggestion and drive out. She only hoped her aunt had a spirited little pony such as had been her own and Leo's in the days of their parents' prosperity. Freda knew she was a good whip, and longed to wrestle again with an animal possessing some spirit and life, especially if it drew a dainty chaise that would excite the admiring regard of onlookers.

"Aunt, can I drive out in the pony chaise?" she asked, entering the morning room where Miss Dysart sat writing a fair copy of her new poem "To Genius." Sitting up late composing had not improved Aunt Augusta's temper, which Freda soon found to be of uncertain quality.

"Pony chaise? It has not been used for years; it is all to pieces. I wish to be alone, for I cannot get my peroration flowing enough to content me; so you and Miss Sabina and Mrs. Langley may take the carriage and fetch my new dog."

Certainly they rode out in state, with a pair of horses and attendant footman, but the day turned warm, and the cushions seemed stifling to Freda's young blood. Boys and girls opened their eyes as the grand conveyance rolled by, leaving a cloud of dust, but at last Freda almost envied their healthy exercise, and would have pleaded to get out and walk, only she feared Mrs. Langley might not consider such a preference ladylike.

Then Trap, though in a basket, snapped and yelped in such a threatening manner that Freda was continually dreading he might escape, and held her skirts away from the basket in fear and terror. Miss Sabina, wishing to make friends with the dog before the tender hands of Miss Dysart let him loose, kept dropping bits of sugar within the basket, and Trap's frantic efforts to twist himself round and get the sugar made the drive a misery to Freda, for she feared every moment he would burst the lid. Still, despite these inconveniences, it was a new sensation to bowl along in a carriage and pair, and when Freda went to the writing room to pen a note to Aunt Tim, announcing her safe arrival, the luxury of the appointments therein more than consoled her for the alarming noise downstairs, where Pompey's successor was reported to be doing battle with the whole array of petted cats.

The mid-day post had brought the weekly number of the Infants' Playmate, with her fairy tale therein. Freda admired the story in its new dress so much that she had only time to write two or three lines to Aunt Tim, and then the luncheon bell rang, and she rushed down to exhibit "Janetta in Fairyland."

"I suppose you did that a very long time ago," said Miss Dysart, who had been agitated by Trap, and annoyed because the last verse in her poem would not come right. "It seems to me rather childish. Don't you think so, Mrs. Langley?"

"It is wicked to write about fairies," said Miss Sabina grimly. "There are no such creatures anywhere."

"It is a simple little bit of writing enough," said Mrs. Langley, "but, of course, such things never do occur."

Freda flushed. Such criticism of her one accepted composition was almost unbearable to her.

"I have seen the same idea before, somewhere," said Aunt Augusta. "In one of the children's primers they use in the village school, I think."

"No, no!" burst out Freda indignantly; "it is quite original, and it is not wicked to write about fairies, and I have read somewhere that only clever people can write simply -- at least, I don't mean to say I am clever, but there is a deal of art in composing with simplicity. It is too bad to say such things of the only story I have ever had in print."

"My dear," said Mrs. Langley, "you forget 'A Modern Tantalus.'"

"Except 'Tantalus,' of course," said Freda, colouring, and passing her plate unconsciously for beetroot \-- a salad to which she was specially averse. She had to finish it, however; for Mrs. Ellis had been chatting to her during the cosy breakfast of her aunt's peculiarities, amongst which she mentioned great displeasure if anyone partook of food and then left a portion uneaten.

Aunt Augusta was lavish enough on certain points, but very saving concerning others. On one occasion she had pursued a gentleman guest halfway down the avenue with a partially demolished slice of bread and butter. So Freda had to endure the beetroot, and to meet her aunt's reopened attack as to the necessity of a letter to the publishers of the Magnetic (requesting "Tantalus" to be brought out in book form) by a faltering declaration that she would write by and by; but Mr. Allen, the head of the firm, was away travelling. Freda had seen his name on the cover of the Magnetic, and hoped, by pretending he was absent, to gain time till her whimsical aunt should forget all about the matter.

A short time back, had anyone shown Freda the track of falsehood in which she was treading, she would have indignantly denied such a possibility; now, one step seemed to load on to another, and she dared scarcely think of the position in which she was now placed.

Major Cameron had left his pocket-hook at Dysart Towers, after showing some sketches he had made of old castles of the Rhine. He rode over for it that afternoon, and took occasion to speak to Freda of her father, who had been to her as a hero, and whose praises brought to her face a flush of tender pride.

"The only time I ever knew him lose his temper," said Major Cameron, "was with a regimental cook who deliberately lied and cheated in order to gain a larger grant of money for something or other. Your father, Miss Beresford, hated deceit with his whole heart. He was one of the most honourable straightforward men I have ever been privileged to know."

"Freda says Mr. Allen, publisher of the Magnetic, is away travelling," said Miss Dysart, who longed to impart the promise of the dedication, "but on his return she will ask him to bring out 'Tantalus' as a book: and to whom do you think it is to be inscribed?"

"I think I can guess,'.' said the major with a bow. "But, Miss Beresford, are you quite sure Mr. Allen is travelling? I thought I saw his name last week as speaker at a meeting in the city."

"He went on Monday," said Freda, bending her head to caress her aunt's pug, that, being fast asleep, resented the interference, and woke up much irritated.

Between the dogs and affrighted cats -- much inconvenienced by the belligerent Trap -- and sharing with Ellis and Miss Sabina her aunt's most trying vagaries of temper, Freda's life would have been an unenviable one had not the Cresswells and other friends taken care she had plenty of amusement, and prevailed upon Miss Dysart to launch her young niece fully into "society."

Here Freda found it rather oppressive to be regarded as a genius. She had grown to like lying in bed late and spending the day in light reading, and then dancing into the small hours -- at least she liked all this for a time. After some weeks it began to tire. But when ladies and gentlemen tried to get at the deeper recesses of her mind, feeling sure that the writer of "Tantalus" must have "something in her," Freda became more and more conscious of the lack of genius, and her interrogators were apt to feel surprised and disappointed.

Human nature somehow finds a charm in rich dresses, luxurious food, and plenty of sightseeing. Freda gave herself up to these delights, but her happiest day was that whereon she heard that Leo had entered college, and that he had drawn up a most exemplary timetable of daily studies, a copy of which he sent for the gratification of Aunt Tim and Freda.

"I hope he will not work himself into an illness," said Freda proudly to Miss Dysart. "You have no idea, Aunt Augusta, how brilliant Leo can be. I do hope he will be able to stay at college."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Well, aunt dear, I gave him the first term out of what you sent me, and I think Aunt Tim managed to add a little to it."

But Miss Dysart was not to be coaxed into promises by this hint. She objected to boys -- a lad of sixteen had once tied a kettle to Pompey's tail, and ever afterwards the race of masculine youth was prohibited from visiting at the Towers. Even the timetable, written like copperplate, did not move her to declare that Leo's university course should be her care; and Freda, whilst inwardly lamenting that going into society made so many drains on the pocket money her aunt allowed her, could only hope for the best, and prophesy to the friendly Mrs. Ellis that Leo would bear away triumphantly all the laurels that the academical groves could afford.

Mrs. Cresswell did not fail to introduce Freda's talents to the notice of the editor of the Metropolitan Annual. He had already been struck by "Tantalus," and he kept the new writer in mind.

About a month after she came to the Towers, there was a thick packet for Freda one morning on her breakfast tray. It looked very much like a returned manuscript, several of which, Aunt Tim informed her, had found their way back lately to Myrtle Cottage. She did not like to open it before Mrs. Ellis, in whom she did not believe quite so enthusiastically as at first. Several confidences to Ellis had come most mysteriously to Aunt Augusta's ears, and Freda was beginning to think the agreeable-looking attendant might be a little double-faced.

Directly Ellis had disappeared, Freda opened the packet, intending to hide it beneath her pillow should her fears be realized. To her surprise, there were seven beautiful illustrations on thick paper, and a letter from Mr. Fullerton, editor of the Annual, asking her to oblige him with a tale, written in a lively vein, which should introduce the pictures, weaving them all into one connected history.

Freda esteemed such a request a great compliment, and resolved to use the payment towards Leo's educational expenses.

"I must get to work, Aunt Augusta," she exclaimed, seeking Miss Dysart by and by with an air of importance. "I have only written one story since I have been here -- the children's tale requested by the Playmate; but now I shall shut myself up regularly every morning for professional work."

"I should like you to introduce poor Pompey into the story," said Aunt Augusta. "This dog in number three picture is very like him; only Pompey was no particular breed, and this is a St. Bernard. I must describe to you some of poor Pompey's ways, for they would amuse the readers of the Annual. You had better draw up an outline of each chapter, and submit the abstracts to me. Innate talent is all very well, but of course I have had more literary experience, and I shall be delighted to help you. Perhaps we could sign our names as joint authors. United compositions are quite fashionable."

Freda was greatly alarmed at the notion; she longed to distinguish herself in the Annual. Such an opening had never been presented to her before, and she had no great opinion of Miss Dysart's efforts, which filled several portfolios here and there. Whilst endeavouring to explain that Mr. Fullerton would expect the tale to be her own unaided work, she received another packet from Ellis, found at the bottom of the letter bag brought to the Towers. This was her little story, "Honest Ben," written for the Playmate, and far from fairy-like in its nature. Perhaps Freda's conscience had been at work and somewhat cramped her pen. "Honest Ben: a Tale for the Young" certainly read somewhat heavily, and the editor "regretted he could not avail himself of the accompanying manuscript, by the offer of which he was much obliged."

As he had requested further contributions for the Playmate, Freda had looked upon the sale of "Honest Ben" as a certainty, and its return to her, witnessed by her aunt and Ellis, was a sad blow to her pride. Miss Dysart had regarded Freda as a triumphant genius, and as she had no sympathy with struggling workers, the editor's rebuff had its effect on her own behaviour. She treated her niece more coldly than she had hitherto done, and Freda felt that to regain her aunt's favour she must take care that the story in the Annual turned out a remarkable success.

It was the day that the mistress of the Towers washed the dogs and a white Persian cat, by which she set special store. The discord produced by the bathers might have effectually precluded the workings of an abler brain than Freda's. As it was, she set the pictures before her, and wondered helplessly however she could make them "fit in" to a narrative. Pens, inks, rulers, blotting pads, and the daintiest of desks were there, with superfine paper and every accessory dear to the heart of a scribe, but ideas would not come. The music of last night's waltzes rang in Freda's ears, and the bewildering decision between tulle and grenadine for the Cresswells' Cinderella dance next week overcame at last all hope of composition.

"After that party," she decided, "I will get to my work for the Annual. I have no more invitations just now, and a fortnight will give me plenty of time to compose my story and to copy it out." Genius has been denned as "hard work:" Freda knew she was quite willing to work hard, could she only have originated the ghost of a notion how to deal with those pictures.

Day after day passed by \-- the party was over, and still she could make no satisfactory beginning; for though perhaps she could have dealt with one picture, she was wholly unable to unite them in the brilliant ranges of fancy to which her longings aspired.

Freda had heard of an author who did his work under pressure at the last moment, and she represented to her aunt that the story would "come to her" like a flash of lightning,; when the time given her had all but expired. Had it not been for the positive proof of "Tantalus" to the contrary, Aunt Augusta would have inclined to the belief that Freda's pen was a very mediocre one. Miss Sabina lost no opportunity of describing how she had looked through the writing room window and seen the young author regarding her manuscript in hopeless perplexity, and even Mrs. Ellis told with compassion that Freda had confessed with tears those varying pictures were "dreadfully puzzling."

"She has none of my bright, intuitive wit, I am afraid," said Miss Dysart to Mrs. Langley; and the latter answered, with a shake of her head, that of course the editor of the Annual would have done far better had he begged for a contribution from Miss Dysart, but that he knew, as mistress of that property, there must be countless claims upon her time.

"I must sit up tonight, and it will all be done by the morning," said Freda resolutely, when the last evening arrived. Anxious to keep up the family reputation for genius, Miss Dysart ordered her to be provided with a little gas stove, plenty of wraps, coffee and biscuits, and advised her to fold a wet cloth round her head to cool the brain during the arduous task.

Freda was forced to produce some kind of a story in time for the early post, and by six a.m. she had written several pages, but she knew in her heart that this was by no means the striking composition with which she had intended to take the literary world by storm.

"I've tried to bring in the pictures," she soliloquized, "but three of them I know don't fit in easily; and that last one, where the parents and children are embracing, actually has a child too many. What can I do? I cannot rewrite my tale. Perhaps people will not notice there is an extra daughter in the picture. I think it is a pretty idea of mine to trace the daily life of four girls, all differing in character; but dear me, isn't it too much after the style of 'Little Women'? I did want this story, 'Four Rosebuds,' to be so specially uncommon. Well, it will have to do. I am tired out, and, besides, I am not in a composing humour. I have read somewhere that minds ought to lie dormant now and then. One cannot always possess the same power of beautiful language."

It seemed to Freda that she had only just gone to bed when Ellis was at her side with her breakfast and letters.

"Well, my dear, and so you've done your work? I see it is all ready for the post."

"Yes," said Freda wearily, "I adopted the title Aunt Augusta suggested -- 'Four Rosebuds.'"

"That will please her, Miss Freda. She says she is going to take Castor and Pollux over to the town to be measured for new collars, so you can lie in bed as long as you please. Here are two letters for you. I'm glad you have heard from your dear brother, as it is a long time since he last wrote."

Freda kept Leo's letter as a treat in reserve, and opened the envelope addressed by Aunt Tim. It contained the proof of a little poem, "Sail on, O Sun!" which she had sent to a magazine for ladies. The editor said she did not pay for poetry, but was willing to insert the lines. After the title had been printed in large letters, "By the Author of 'A Modern Tantalus.'"

That story in the Magnetic seemed to crop up at every turn. Freda regarded the heading with deep vexation. How was she to stop the printed lie? She resolved that she would forbid the appearance of the poem, saying it could not go without payment, but "Sail on, O Sun!" looked so fascinating in print that this determination, like many others, finally proved "unstable as water," and the proof went back with only an ink line through the heading, of which the editor took no notice, attributing the correction to overweening modesty.

Then came Leo's letter, which surely would comfort her for the many "cataracts and breaks" which of late had ruffled the tide of her existence. It was very brief, and written with a shaking, agitated hand.

Freda,

You must send me ten pounds by return of post. Never mind what it's for, that's my secret. I'll tell you when I see you. I know you've lots of money, and my pockets are empty, Freda. Do help me this once. I've made an ass of myself. Duncan warned me against Lloyd, and his words have come true. I'm just in despair. If you don't send it directly all I have done will come to the Proctor's ears, and Lloyd says I shall be turned out of the college. Mind you catch the next post. You don't know how miserable I am."

Terrified and bewildered as she was, Freda jumped out of bed and examined her purse, which she knew to be in a low state, as she had provided herself with a most expensive bouquet for the Cresswells' party. She turned it out and searched her desk, and found that her united funds were less than one pound, and she dared not ask her aunt. A request for money was unpardonable in the esteem of the mistress of the Towers.

### Chapter 5

An Unlooked-For Visitor

WHAT had Leo done? How had his hero, Lloyd, misled him? Freda's heart was sore within her as she reflected that perhaps some mere boyish indiscretion might disappoint all her dreams for her brother. He was so full of fun, so easily led. He could not be seriously to blame. She read and re-read his plea for money. This time she must help him, but she would warn him that she really had not the means to respond to such demands. The only friend she could think of was Ellis, to whom perforce she poured out the whole of her trouble, and besought for the loan of ten pounds.

"Aunt Augusta is sure to remember my need of money soon," said Freda. "If not, I will sell my ball dresses and my gold watch that Aunt gave me to pay you. I know you have some money, dear, dear Mrs. Ellis, for Miss Sabina often says you are saving up. Do, do help me, and I will never forget your kindness."

Ellis felt that the money was secure enough, for Miss Dysart would pay her in the end if Freda failed; and the possession of the secret of Leo's ill-behaviour was dear to her, as Miss Dysart had occasionally dropped a hint of remembering the boy in her will, should his career be satisfactory.

Mrs. Ellis, despite her sweetness of manner, was the most inveterate fortune-hunter who had ever entered the Towers, and it was her desire to estrange all other attachments from her mistress, and to share Miss Dysart's favours with none. One by one she had contrived to prejudice Miss Dysart against various connections. Miss Sabina she tolerated, feeling sure she was not attractive enough to be much of a rival, but of Freda and Leo she had been slightly afraid.

"Yes, I'll lend you the money, poor child," she said compassionately, "but I'm afraid Master Leo is a gambler; and they never come to any good, Miss Freda."

"Oh, I'm sure he is not, Mrs. Ellis. Father had such a horror of gambling, and Leo knows it. Father knew so many in the army who got into trouble that way. Thank you ever so much. Now I will write you a little memorandum saying I owe you ten pounds."

Freda wrote what Mrs. Ellis dictated, and the latter carefully put away the acknowledgment of the debt. Freda spent half the morning writing to Leo, coaxing, scolding, and pleading, and finally telling him that if he drank or gambled, his career would be ruined, and she would "remain, his broken-hearted sister, Freda."

To this letter there came a prompt and grateful reply in Leo's liveliest vein. He loaded Ellis with praise, and said he could repay the debt with interest, for "a fellow" had laid a wager with him that his sister did not write "Tantalus." He declared only a man could have penned the scene of the fencing bout, and the stakes would be Leo's when Freda wrote a letter affirming the authorship.

"So send one by return," wrote Leo, "and make yours affectionately a Croesus."

Freda felt ruffled by this letter. She told herself she was vexed because Leo did not reassure her as to his steadiness, but in reality it was the name of "Tantalus" that clouded the sunshiny morning for her. What right had Leo to bet on the subject?

She filled a sheet of foolscap paper with a dissertation on the evils of betting, and refused to be a party to any kind of wager. Mrs. Ellis applauded her virtuous decision, but was very indignant against the young student for doubting Freda's authorship.

"Why, it was the very tale that made your dear aunt notice you, Miss Freda. I call that story your masterpiece."

"I should be very sorry to think I should never do better than that," said Freda, rather irritably. It was most annoying to hear such praise lavished on her unknown namesake, while the success of her own productions seemed still so uncertain and precarious.

One day she found Miss Dysart in great excitement. A fresh "lion" was in store for her entertainment.

"Freda, you must have been mistaken about Mr. Allen's travels," she exclaimed, greeting her niece on the return of the latter from taking five dogs for a constitutional. "He is staying with the Wycombes, who had already accepted invitations to my dinner party on Thursday. I have asked them to bring him. Yes, I mean your Mr. Allen, publisher and editor of the Magnetic. I will take care to give you an opportunity, during the evening, of asking him to bring out 'Tantalus' as a book. I hear he is very popular and well-informed. I believe you have never seen him?"

"No," said Freda faintly.

"All your arrangements were made by letter? I thought so. It will be quite an interesting meeting between editor and contributor."

A wild notion flashed across Freda's mind that she would describe Aunt Tim as very ill and declare she must go and nurse her; but she knew that Miss Dysart somewhat resented allusions to Aunt Tim, and would probably not notify that the Towers were open for her return. It would be madness to forfeit her own life-chances and those of Leo, just because Mr. Allen was in the neighbourhood. Most probably he would be unable to come, and if he accepted, Freda could feign indisposition at the last moment.

Mrs. Wycombe said that her guest was very busy, but would be pleased to accompany them if possible.

On the morning of the dinner party Freda begged to be excused, pleading a headache. Miss Dysart declared her indisposition most aggravating. She had set her heart on showing her off; and, fearful of giving mortal offence to her aunt, Freda protested by and by that she felt a little better, and took her place in the drawing room, sick at heart and full of forebodings.

Major Cameron was her companion at dinnertime. She was glad of this, for her father's old friend evidently noticed her poor appetite and the dark rims under her eyes, and did not occupy her with innumerable questions about her compositions, as was the case with so many of Miss Dysart's acquaintances.

Her aunt had begged Mrs. Wycombe not to let Mr. Allen know that his clever contributor was in the neighbourhood. She wanted to let him into the secret herself. Consequently she prepared everybody for the scene of surprise, and after dinner led Freda up to a keen-eyed, black-bearded gentleman of diminutive stature, and introduced her niece as "the Miss Beresford."

Freda was quite prepared to hear him denounce her deceit, and her hands went tremblingly up to her burning face. To her surprise he only said kindly, "I am delighted to meet you, Miss Beresford. You have always thrown such a veil of mystery around your genius that I must not afflict you by compliments, but my partner and myself have often wished to know you personally. As for our respective wives, they would, I think, walk many a mile to see the author of 'Tantalus!'"

"Now I will leave you together," said Miss Dysart, well pleased at the little sensation she had created. "Freda, my dear, you know that little matter of business to be mentioned to Mr. Allen...."

"I think I can guess what your good aunt means," said Mr. Allen. "The story is not paid for yet. But you will remember, Miss Beresford, that there was no address on the manuscript sent us, and when we wrote to the address of the postmark -- Bexham -- your name was not known there. We have long been waiting for a communication from you. Of course, I will write you a cheque tomorrow."

"Oh, no, please don't!" cried Freda, terrified. "I would much rather leave it a little while -- besides, I don't want money for it."

"You must not increase this child's headache, old friend," said Major Cameron coming up to them. "She is poorly tonight, Allen, and scarcely fit for business."

"Well, well, I will see you another day, Miss Beresford; but let your aunt understand we really had no clue to your identity before, so could not pay you."

"Aunt did not mean that," said Freda, hastily. "She wants 'Tantalus' published by itself as a book."

"Allowing you a royalty on the sale, Miss Beresford? Or are you desirous of selling the copyright? My partner would not, I think, object to consider such a proposal."

"I must ask Aunt," said Freda, looking frightened, for she began to feel that dealing in another person's money matters was dangerous work. "I think Mrs. Cresswell wants me to sing."

"One moment, Miss Beresford," said Mr. Allen. "I am an extensive reader, but 'Tantalus' contains a beautiful quotation concerning the changes of empires and governments -- you remember the words, they are used by the prince's advocate -- and it will greatly ease my mind to know the source."

"I got the lines out of a book of quotations," said Freda desperately.

"What book?" said the major, in tones that seemed to her unwontedly sharp.

"I forget the name. It got burnt one day."

"I fancy those lines are original," said the major. "I have never seen them in print before."

"Is she a poet as well as an author, then?" asked Mr. Allen, while Freda at the piano essayed to sing an effusion of her maiden aunt's, set to music by the admiring mind of Mrs. Langley.

"Oh, maidenhood, pure as the snowdrop

And guileless as lily-flowers white,"

"I think she writes verses sometimes," said Major Cameron shortly; "I knew her father. Pity she isn't more like him."

"Well, she's a genius, Cameron. As years go on, she ought to be a celebrity. Think of a young girl of nineteen writing a powerful tale like 'Tantalus!'"

"So you like the story, Allen?''

"It is the best we have had for many a day, and the Magnetic sold famously that month; but it never entered my head that it was woman's work, much less that it was written by a young girl. Do you know the notion that came to me once? I fancied you might have written it, and sent it under another name, knowing that I should be partial to any work of my old friend's! Yes, I really at one time attributed the tale to you! I know you can write, and I wish you would pen for us some of your Egyptian experiences."

"Do you, indeed? Here comes Cresswell ... let me introduce you, Allen."

Major Cameron looked a little redder than usual beneath his bronze, and Mr. Allen explained he had accused the warrior of dabbling sometimes with literary work; but the major persistently changed the subject and opened a discussion on politics that became at last animated enough to interest listeners far more than the lengthy verses through which Freda was singing.

The girl thought herself wonderfully fortunate that Mr. Allen in reality had no personal acquaintance with his contributor, and her confidence in the smiles of fortune revived. All she had to do was to write something for the Magnetic as good as "Tantalus," and then, surely, her fast-fading fear need never return.

Perhaps the mysterious "Freda Beresford" was dead. If so, was it any sin to build on her reputation? Freda's conscience told her whether it were wrong or right; but it was becoming easier and easier to stifle conscience, and the little inward voice had almost sunk to silence.

"Sail on, O Sun!" reached her in a few days in all the glory of its heading, "By the author of 'Tantalus,'" and Miss Dysart bought several copies for distribution amongst her friends. Mr. Allen had been summoned to town on pressing business, through the illness of his partner, but Major Cameron read the poem, and showed Freda that "south" did not rhyme with "forth," and that her metre was imperfect, and, finally, that it was the earth that sailed and not the sun.

"Poetic license is all very well," said he, "but the poem starts from a false conception."

"Surely the poet's imagination may think of the sun as a traveller," said Freda indignantly. She began to think Major Cameron was not such a true friend as she had believed, and it was very unkind of him to look out for slips -- but, after all, why should she care for his criticisms? Let him try to write a composition himself, before he found fault with hers!

Freda had not heard again from Leo, and as Mrs. Ellis wanted a little money on account, she said, to pay for her life insurance. She mentioned that her life was insured in favour of a poor, crippled relative, and Freda looked out anxiously for every post, hoping for payment of "Four Rosebuds," the story she had written to bring in the seven pictures. At last there came to her an envelope from the city, with the words Metropolitan Annual at the back. How much were they sending her? She had heard they paid most liberally, and these were honestly her own earnings. Would there be enough to help materially in Leo's next term at college?

"Guess the amount of the cheque," said Freda playfully to Mrs. Ellis. "My 'Four Rosebuds' was quite a long story, you know."

"Perhaps there is no cheque inside," suggested Mrs. Ellis. "Hadn't you better make haste, dear Miss Freda, and open the envelope? My mistress is coming, and she is in a hurry for you to comb the white cat."

Hearing her aunt's voice, Freda hurriedly took her advice, and out dropped an editorial communication indeed, but, alas, no signs of the hoped-for enclosure.

Dear Madam,

We have given our best consideration to the tale you kindly wrote to the illustrations forwarded to you. We regret that we find it impossible to make use of the MS. with which you favoured us. The plot does not strike us as particularly fresh, nor is it very clearly worked out. In addition, you have ignored various important points in the designs. 'Four Rosebuds' is far below our standard of publication. We therefore beg, with many thanks for the trouble you have taken, to return your MS. by book post.

"It will come by the next delivery," said Ellis, who had perused the letter with great interest over Freda's shoulder. "Don't give way, my dear! Bless me, where's Madam's smelling bottle? I'm just telling Miss Freda, ma'am, she must not take on just because one of her stories isn't good enough to be printed."

"I told you how it would be, Freda," said Miss Dysart. "You sat down quite alone and wrote off that story by yourself. Did I not advise you to submit it to my criticism? There are many defects in your style to which a candid friend must take exception, and I should have deemed it a labour of love to correct such faults. But you are justly punished for your obstinacy. I prophesied all along that the editor of the Annual would be dissatisfied."

Miss Dysart was quite complacent over the fulfilment of her prediction, and Freda mentally contrasted her lack of sympathy with the tender comfort always administered on a like occasion by Aunt Tim.

Freda went off sulkily for a walk, after the white Persian had been combed to the accompaniment of similar warnings against "neglecting good advice," succeeded by lamentations from Ellis concerning her inability to pay the premium of her life insurance. Freda met the postman on his next round, and possessed herself of the packet he carried addressed to "Miss Beresford, Dysart Towers." She had no wish to see her unfortunate "Four Rosebuds" again, and securing a stone to the packet with a bit of twine from her purse, she threw the MS. into the deepest part of the wayside pond.

"Here is your tale, like a bad shilling, back again," said Miss Dysart, ungraciously, as she and her niece were sitting that evening with Mrs. Langley and Miss Sabina, and the footman entered the room with a sealed parcel on his tray. "Really, Freda, for a popular author, you seem to find it difficult to get your productions placed. I am beginning to fear you will never write another tale like "Tantalus!'"

"This is not 'Four Rosebuds.' I had that story at twelve o'clock," said Freda, opening the packet with some curiosity. Her blood seemed chilled as the contents came to light. This certainly was "Four Rosebuds," the MS. returned from the Metropolitan Annual. What, then, had she thrown into the pond? What could it be that was now reposing amid the oozy depths and slime of the stagnant pool? How foolish she had been to throw away the packet without removing the wrapper and making sure of its real nature. "It might have contained proofs of some tale that has been accepted," she thought in wretched suspense. "Oh, dear! I do wish I knew where that packet this morning came from."

She turned round to possess herself of "Four Rosebuds," with a view to the kitchen fire, but Miss Sabina's irritating disposition prompted her to ask to hear it, and till the tea things appeared, Freda had no choice but to read her ill-fated tale to the trio of ladies, bearing their running comments upon her compositions as best she could.

Was it worthwhile, after all, to endure this kind of thing just for the sake of faring sumptuously every day?

"It is for Leo," she told herself, "that I put up with Aunt Augusta's whims. His only hope is in her favour, and once he has gained university laurels, all anxiety as to his career will be over forever. When he is successful and eminent, I shall feel I did not undergo all this in vain."

"Miss Freda," said Ellis, whispering in her ear as she ostensibly brought a wrap for Miss Dysart, "there is somebody to see you in the breakfast room. I think it is your brother. I fancy something has happened."

Miss Dysart glanced up in surprise and displeasure as Freda started from her chair, overturning part of her tea on the loudly lamenting pug. Freda stayed not to apologize or to comfort the dog. She was down the corridor like a whirlwind, but she could scarcely believe the pale, shame-faced youth before her was her own handsome, laughing-eyed Leo.

"Tell me the worst!" she said faintly. "Oh, Leo, what have you been doing?"

### Chapter 6

Her Ladyship's Bequest

FREDA'S anxiety made her heedless that the mysterious gestures of Mrs. Ellis had awakened the curiosity of the ladies, and all three of them, with Ellis herself, were by this time in the breakfast room.

"Do not be angry with the poor young creatures, ma'am," said Ellis soothingly. "Certainly he seems as if he had been sowing his wild oats, but----"

"My brother has done nothing wrong," said Freda, irritated by her oily tones. "Perhaps Aunt Tim is ill, and you have travelled here to tell me so. Oh, Leo, she is living still?"

A gush of tenderness towards the old lady at Myrtle Cottage welled up in Freda's young heart, and she trembled as she waited for his answer.

"I suppose she is all right," said Leo drearily. "It would break her heart to know what I have done. I was mad ... mad ... when I began to spend my evenings in gambling with Lloyd, for fear he should call me a milksop like Duncan."

"Ah, it is in the blood," said Miss Dysart, shaking her head. "There was a Beresford in the last century who ran through a fortune at cards."

"It is not in the blood," said Freda. "Father detested gambling. Leo, I was always certain Lloyd was no true friend. How could you be so weak, so wicked?"

"And to worry his poor sister for money just to throw it away at cards," put in Ellis, holding up her hands. "Yes, ma'am, I must speak now. It is my duty to tell you all I know. Poor dear Miss Freda had to borrow ten pounds from me just to pay his gambling debts, and now I suppose the money is lost to me, and my poor dear crippled cousin will never get my life insurance money, for I cannot pay the premium. Still, I could not say 'No' to Miss Freda, ma'am. She was so cut up about her brother."

"Freda," said her aunt sternly, "you have acted a most deceitful part. You have led me to believe your brother was working hard at college, whilst all the time you were borrowing money right and left to assist his evil courses."

"Aunt Augusta, indeed I did not know he was gambling."

"All boys are the same," said Miss Dysart. "Not a single boy shall ever be remembered in my will. They are fit for nothing but smoking and cards and taking more than is good for them. I shall leave my money to found a hospital for dogs and cats. When did a dog of mine ever throw away good money at cards? Confess now, Leopold Beresford, not only have you been gambling but you have given way to drink. I read it in your look of illness."

"Only once," said Leo desperately, "and that was the night before last. I paid Lloyd the ten pounds, else he threatened that my tutor should know of my debt, and the old man is so severe I should have been publicly disgraced. Lloyd would have slunk out of the blame somehow. He always does. After that my luck changed, and I got a run of good fortune; but the evening before last things turned against me again, and my money got into Lloyd's pockets. I had always kept my head clear before, but somehow or other I got drinking with the fellows there, and when they chaffed me about empty pockets I laid down a five-pound note out of my pocket-book, and I lost it. Freda, it was not mine. My tutor, Mr. Barker, had given it to me that morning to settle his bookseller's bill. I often did errands for him -- I was a favourite of his."

"Does he know?" asked Freda hoarsely.

"Yes, I remembered it all when I woke next morning, and I went straight to him and told him. You know how strict they are there. He sent me up before a lot of chaps yesterday, and they tried to get me to tell who had been at the tavern with me, but I wouldn't do that. I'll leave Lloyd to his conscience, if he's got any. Then they told me to pack up and go home. They would rather I did not study in that college. So you see, Freda, I'm just ruined, and all through my own stupid notions about getting in with a manly set."

"And pray, why have you come here?" asked Miss Dysart. "My house is no shelter for criminals."

"I wanted to see Freda," said the boy, "and I came to beseech you to send Mr. Barker the five pounds. He might have sent me to prison if he chose. I will work -- I don't care what I do -- to pay you back."

"Your promises are no doubt very valuable," said Miss Dysart, "but I have already to pay ten pounds on your account. Mrs. Ellis must not lose her money because her compassionate heart prompted her to help my unworthy relatives; but remember, Ellis, next time another begging letter comes to my house, you must at once acquaint me with the contents."

"Very well, ma'am; I have been unhappy ever since I kept the secret from you, in compassion for these two," said Ellis, wiping her eyes.

"Aunt Augusta, won't you lend him the five pounds?" said Freda, between her sobs. "It is so dreadful to think of all this. At least let Mr. Barker get back his money."

"I will not lend him five pence, nor spend a coin on his behalf," said Miss Dysart. "Your much vaunted brother appears to me a most worthless fellow."

"With no principles," murmured Mrs. Langley.

"I am worthless," said Leo bitterly; "but the last two days have shown me I must learn to say 'No' if I am ever to be worthy of Father's name. Freda, I'm going to begin again, and I don't care if they make fun of me or not. I'm going to work hard, and stick to the right. I won't be ruined even now, whatever Aunt Augusta says or thinks."

"But how are you to get to Aunt Tim's?" sobbed Freda. "You must go there -- she will nurse you. Do, Leo, you look so ill. Aunt Tim will know what you had better do. But my purse is empty, and how are you to travel there?"

"I'll walk it," said Leo sturdily. "I only wanted to see you, and ask Aunt if she'd send Mr. Barker the money. Aunt Tim will, but I'm fairly ashamed to take it from her."

"May he have some supper, Aunt?" whispered Freda, but the answer was delivered aloud, "No thief shall feed beneath my roof."

For an instant Freda felt as if she could leave all the expensive dresses, the daily luxuries, and fair surroundings behind her, and wander away with her erring brother whose suffering face touched her unspeakably; but she told herself it was for his sake she must still propitiate Miss Dysart.

"Badly as he has behaved," she thought, "this may be a lesson to him all his life. Leo was always too easily led. If he can only keep steady, he may yet rise high in life."

Her own conscience was sore as she clung to her brother, bidding him seek Aunt Tim. "I don't believe I could have kept you at college," she said drearily. "Aunt has never given me another cheque. You could only have stayed by gaining some valuable exhibition. Oh, if she would only take a liking to you -- if only you were heir to this estate!"

"I want nothing from her," said the boy bitterly. "I would not even break bread beneath her roof."

Freda cried herself to sleep that night, but it afterwards came to her knowledge that her visions of Leo as tramping hungry by the dark wayside were mistaken. The gardener's boy had remarkably quick ears, and had picked up a good deal of the talk in the breakfast room, and he had shared his supper of bread and cheese with Leo, and given him out of sheer pity shelter in the loft where he slept.

Next day, Leo started, refreshed by sleep, on his long, long tramp; and though nobody paid tangle-haired Dick for the board and lodging freely vouchsafed, the boy went about his work with a merrier whistle because he had held out a helping hand to one in need.

Towards the end of the week there came the following letter in Leo's writing:

Got here at suppertime, nearly startled Aunt Tim into fits. She isn't well -- rheumatics or something. Held out her arms to me, and I blubbered away as if she'd been Mother. Freda, I'm glad Mother is safe in Heaven, but old Aunt Tim's bound to get there too. She's a brick. If she hasn't sold her armchair and sent the five pounds to Barker with a few words about his forgiving me as he has been forgiven! That settled me as to going into business. I'm a clerk at Dutton's now. I don't like it, but it's good of the old chap to give me a trial; and if I don't buy Aunt Tim the cosiest chair to be had for money before I am a year older, my name is not "Leo Beresford."

"P.S. There's a clerk here who wanted me to go shares in a bet on a racing horse, but I've promised Aunt Tim to have done with that kind of thing. I mean to look after her and make her jolly happy, but I wish you were here, and away from that ----------"

Leo had drawn his pen through the expressive word, and substituted "Aunt Augusta."

Cecilia Bateman sent frequent news of Myrtle Cottage, and mentioned in one of her letters that Major Cameron had called there to renew his acquaintance with his old friend's son.

Freda thanked him gratefully when next he came to the Towers, and listened with a glowing cheek as he told how Leo's face recalled that of his former colonel.

"There is yet the making of a fine fellow in your brother," said he. "I inquired into his prospects, and he broke fairly down and told me of his sin. There is always hope, Miss Freda, where there is a sense of truth and honour."

"It is a pity he is only a saddler's clerk," said Freda, turning away lest conscious guilt should be read in her eyes.

"Steady business habits will do him good,'' said the major. "I must tell you, Miss Freda, I first heard of his misbehaviour at college from your aunt and Miss Sabina, and I noticed how very unwell you appeared to be at the time. Your dear father was a sterling friend to me. I longed to be a friend to his children, and therefore I sought Leo out, and his candour gave me comfort and hope. I have told him that if he can show a year's excellent report as to business, I may see my way to article him to the bookselling and publishing trade -- a proposal which seemed to please him much."

"Oh, how good you are!" exclaimed Freda most thankfully. "Leo is so fond of books. That is ever so much better than the saddlery business. And do tell me all about Myrtle Cottage. What were they doing? And did you see anyone else?"

"I saw Miss Bateman," said the major. "She is very anxious about her poem 'To Elizabeth.' She thinks the author of 'Tantalus' should have got it into the Magnetic before this. By the way, my friend Mr. Allen tells me you have forgotten to send him a receipt for the cheque he sent you in payment for 'Tantalus.' I do not want to seem intrusive, but you are only a very youthful writer, so I may mention it is usual to send acknowledgments of payments."

"I received no cheque," said Freda hastily. "I assure you Mr. Allen never paid me for 'Tantalus.'"

"Think again," said the major, and his tones seemed to have acquired an accent of sternness. "Mr. Allen told me he sent you on the 15th of last month a packet containing specimens of type, binding, et cetera, that you might make selections with a view to 'Tantalus' as a book. Within the packet was a letter making business arrangements as to producing the book, and enclosing a cheque for use of the tale in the magazine. My old friend Allen told me all this, and wondered you had not replied. The packet should have reached you on the 16th."

"The 16th!" exclaimed Freda. "The very day Leo came here. I remember now. I thought the packet was only returned MSS., and I threw it in the pond. Perhaps it is still lying there, all soaked through. Oh, Major Cameron, what am I to do?" and she covered her face with her hands.

" Allen can cancel that cheque and send you another."

"No, no! I cannot, I will not be paid for 'Tantalus!'"

"Allen is not likely to accept the story as a free gift. Do not be unreasonable, Miss Freda. Write to him and explain about your throwing away the packet. The pond can be dragged, and all that is left can be brought to the surface. It will be better for you to destroy the old cheque."

"Major Cameron, I don't understand business at all, but indeed I don't want to be paid -- not for a long time yet."

"Why not, Miss Freda?"

"Oh, I should only spend the money."

"You could put it into the savings bank or give it to your old aunt at Myrtle Cottage; I fear her means are straitened."

"Oh, you don't understand; I must not, will not take money for 'Tantalus.'"

Perhaps, in her agony of fear as to receiving the dues of another in hard cash, she thought she might then tell the truth, for there was a look of real compassion in Major Cameron's face as he watched her anxiety; but Miss Dysart entered just then in a great state of agitation, because Ellis had forgotten to give the pug gravy with his cutlet, and this omission, combined with the fact that Miss Dysart had found a letter written by her maid in which she was called "the ancient dowager," had secured the maid's summary dismissal.

Ellis was in hysterics, but her mistress was inflexible, and a conveyance for her boxes was at the door. Many similar departures Ellis had witnessed; now she herself had to bid farewell to the dreams of greatness she had too confidently indulged.

"You must minister to me, dear Freda," said her aunt, "till I can replace this woman of whose companionship I am quite wearied. Sabina is so awkward, but your young fingers are pliant enough to braid my hair. Henceforth my toilet is in your charge. I can see you will be a great comfort to me."

She spent the afternoon in giving Freda old dresses, and the girl was so elated by this accession into high favour that Mr. Allen's desire to pay her passed from her mind.

Scarce a week had passed before Miss Sabina returned to her native haunts, having chastised Pompey's successor for tearing her alpaca skirts; and about the same time Miss Dysart discovered Mrs. Langley to have mimicked her manner of sailing into her drawing room, for the benefit of the guests one evening at Langley Lodge.

Ready tongues brought the tale to the Towers, and Miss Dysart sat down at once and wrote a perfumed note of indignation. Freda alone retained her aunt's good opinion, and this gave her such a footing in society that during these halcyon weeks she was much sought after, and enjoyed the sweets of popularity to the full.

"The author of 'Tantalus' shall be my heiress,'' said Miss Dysart one day in a burst of patronage, Freda having coiled her hair with really artistic taste.

The words sank deep into Freda's heart. Henceforth her fancy rearranged the Towers at her own sweet will, and she determined to leave no stone unturned to retain the affections now tenderly lavished upon her. Miss Dysart made no inquiries about Leo. She considered him a disgrace to the family, and always looked dissatisfied if she found Freda writing to Myrtle Cottage.

"Your poor relations have sponged upon you quite enough," she said. "You are too pretty, too brilliant to be wasted on any obscure sphere; but they must quite understand that in adopting you, I do not adopt your connections."

And though she often longed that Aunt Tim and Leo might share her daily comfort, the life at the Towers was so much more agreeable than teaching, that Freda was quite content to avoid mention of Myrtle Cottage as far as possible.

"Have you written to Mr. Allen about the packet you inadvertently threw away?" asked Major Cameron one day.

"No ... no," said Freda, "I have been too busy."

"Well, Miss Freda, I shall be in town tomorrow, and I shall tell him the cheque never reached your hands. I suppose he will write again as to arrangements for 'Tantalus' as a book. Everyone thinks it will be a lucrative venture for you."

"I do not want money," faltered Freda. "Tell Mr. Allen that Aunt Tim gives me all I need."

"Well, there are plenty of charities that would be thankful for your assistance."

Freda shrank from the notion of giving stolen money to charities. It had never occurred to her at first that payment for her namesake's work would be offered to her, and this complication caused by her deceit seemed the most terrible of all. She could only hope that something would prevent Mr. Allen from sending the cheque. If it really came, why then she would keep it in her desk unchanged.

If the real "Freda Beresford" were dead, as seemed most likely, she could not see that there was much harm done by her receiving the money and locking it up. It occurred to her that the writer, if deceased, might have heirs entitled to the money, but their invitation list was full just then, and she would not worry her pretty head by giving place to such discomforting suggestions of conscience.

Miss Dysart's cup of triumph seemed full to the brim when Lady Rosemont, a most exclusive dame who traced her pedigree back to remote ages, drove over one morning to the Towers, introduced herself as most anxious to know the lady who was "such a gifted contributor to the Magnetic;" and finally begged that Freda would write some descriptive verses to be spoken during a series of tableaux at Lady Rosemont's fancy-ball.

"Here is a list of the tableaux," she said. "I want a few exquisite lines for each. I know Miss Beresford will oblige me, and she can name her own price."

"Writing is not a matter of money with my niece," said Miss Dysart, putting that part of the subject away with a wave of her hand. "A devotion to literature characterizes our family. Freda, like myself, has a most gifted pen."

"Indeed?" said Lady Rosemont, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting with any of your works. Thank you -- another time," as Miss Dysart put her hand out towards a bulky portfolio. "I am anxious to know if your niece can undertake the verses, and of course we shall hope to see you both at the costume ball."

Freda hesitated. Could she write lines good enough to be delivered in public at Rosemont? She glanced at her aunt's elated face, and felt she dared not refuse.

"What an opportunity for you, Freda!" exclaimed her aunt, directly her ladyship's carriage had rolled away. "All the elite of the county will be there, and your name will be in everybody's lips. Such exclusive people as they are, too. Our invitation to the fancy-ball will make the Cresswells and Wycombes dreadfully jealous; and as for Mrs. Langley, she will be full of spite. We will go as 'Spirits of the Spring.' A crown of daffodils will go very well with some of my diamonds as dewdrops, and your special flowers can be snowdrops. I will lend you my sapphires."

Freda's eyes sparkled at the prospect of wearing these treasures of her aunt's jewel case, and she could not help a thrill of excitement at the thought of an invitation to Rosemont; but her Muse had not been propitious of late, and some of the tableaux demanded the descriptive power of a Scott or Longfellow.

Freda knew her effusions to the sun and moon were all very well for village "poet's corners"; but would that kind of composition stand the full blaze of publicity, so eagerly anticipated by Miss Dysart, in the crowded drawing rooms of Rosemont Hall?

### Chapter 7

Flora Hedley

SWIFTLY spread the news that the author of "Tantalus" had written the poetry to be recited during the tableaux at Rosemont, and Miss Dysart's friends came up in numbers that gladdened her heart to inspect the fancy dresses and to hear the poetry.

Somewhat to Miss Dysart's chagrin, the Cresswells had likewise been invited; and Major Cameron, who was now stationed in the neighbouring garrison town of Wharnhampton, was also going with several of his brother officers.

The fancy dresses were ready for inspection long before the verses. It is said that the Muse soars sweetly aloft amid the shadows, but life was so rose-coloured with Freda now that she felt it almost impossible to produce a "grand, sweet song" while she and her aunt were continually interviewing the dressmaker or choosing becoming styles of hair from the various fashion plates.

Then Lady Rosemont and her daughters were frequently to be seen driving up to the Towers, contributing items of information concerning the tableaux that might help Freda's composition. The ladies seemed rather astonished that the writing appeared to lag behind; but they felt sure that Freda's brain was much occupied, and only begged for the verses in time for them to be learnt by the professional elocutionist whom they had engaged.

"The night of your triumph approaches," said Miss Dysart, when both dresses had been tried on to their satisfaction. "These billowy clouds of white and green are most becoming to me, and it was a happy idea of yours to cast a faint tint of blue across your costume. Everybody will want to be introduced to you, Freda. Really, I think we must give a ball ourselves, and invite the Rosemont set in return."

Freda was very doubtful whether the "Rosemont set" would not plead prior engagements on such an occasion. Miss Dysart and Lady Rosemont had never become so confidential and friendly together as the former inwardly desired.

The evening of the ball was close at hand when Freda's MS. went at last to the address of the elocutionist. How Freda had wrestled with rhymes and metres may be guessed from a stanza on "Mary, Queen of Scots:"

A jewel in the Stuart's crown,

Now despairing and alone,

And sadly wiped her lovely eyes,

And none to sympathize;

and from certain verses on "Philippa entreating Edward III to spare the citizens of Calais":

"Do not hang them!

Do not hang them!"

Softly did the lady say,

"Take pity, Royal Edward!

And send them safely on their way."

But the king, he bent him from his throne,

And on his brow an icy frown.

In her own heart Freda felt such poetry was unworthy of the subject and the occasion, but her genius prompted her to no higher flight, and she could only feel thankful that her aunt, on her behalf, had refused any payment for the composition.

Miss Dysart said "Freda was only too pleased in any way to oblige dear Lady Rosemont."

At the last moment "dear Lady Rosemont" decided to add a scene representative of the spirit of Poetry, crowned with roses and laurel, and bearing a classical-looking lyre. Freda's lines commencing,

O Posey! for thee I hold my pen,

were pronounced to be really fine; but unfortunately they were borrowed from a volume of Keats, in fear and trembling, for Freda could originate nothing but an ode where "singer "and "ringer" so constantly re-appeared, that at last she destroyed it in despair.

She felt she must sustain her reputation by a really musical outburst, and she devoutly hoped that the guests at the Hall would be thinking too much of their fancy dresses to recognize the literary theft.

But her anticipations of the ball were far less glowing than those of Miss Dysart. How long and how brightly she had looked forward to some little festivity when at Myrtle Cottage!

Lady Rosemont's entertainment far exceeded any previous experience of Freda's life. It was the dread of discovery, rising up at once when she had impetuously borrowed the lines, that made the prospect so miserably clouded to her eyes.

The dresses were ready, the MS. had been learnt with some reluctance by the elocutionist, who privately considered the greater part of it doggerel; but toothache made a fierce assault on the senior "Spirit of the Spring." At first Miss Dysart struggled against it, and declared that, despite her neuralgia, she would not disappoint Lady Rosemont; but the pain spread to her head, and when she should have been dressing for the ball she was lying on the sofa, whilst the housemaid ministered to her with hot fomentations.

"Do let me stay and nurse you, Aunt Augusta," pleaded Freda, shrinking more and more from the evening before her.

"How can you be so unreasonable, Freda? I have just sent to ask Mrs. Cresswell to call for you. It is bad enough to be compelled to stop away myself, and my poor Persian so rheumatic, too! There must be something in the air -- but for you, the guest of the evening, to dream of being absent! I shall want to hear all about the dresses and what people said of your poetry, and all the Rosemonts talked about, and what kind of a place they have. I shall expect you in my room directly you come home."

Freda felt quite satisfied with her appearance when she started off in pale blue and white, with snowdrops and sapphires adorning her young fairness. Mrs. Cresswell was proud of her charge, who was soon singled out for notice by Lady Rosemont, and followed by respectful eyes as the author of the lines to be recited by and by.

"You must have a front seat for the tableaux," said her ladyship. "I know you are very retiring in disposition, but I have promised my friends they shall see the writer of 'Tantalus,' so you must not disappoint us."

Freda was therefore ensconced in state between two ladies of title, dressed as Minerva and Moonlight. What would Aunt Tim have said to behold her "lassie" in such company? But the luxurious lounge might have been a bed of thorns, so uneasy was Freda as her companions congratulated her on "Tantalus," asked how the notion of the plot first came into her head, and begged for a sequel to the narrative.

At last the satin and lace curtains were drawn back, and Philippa was seen imploring the lives of the citizens. Not all Mr. Logan's eloquence could impart life and glow to the words Freda had put into Philippa's lips, the guests waited patiently for the poetical beauties which they expected to hear every moment, and feasted their eyes on the costumes of the actors. But some of them had too keen a sense of humour to listen to Freda's verses with unmoved faces, and when she raised her eyes she saw signs of amusement that she could not mistake.

Lady Rosemont had been too busy with the details of the ball to think much of the recitations, except that they would surely be safe, left to Freda and Mr. Logan. Now she opened her ears, and could not fail to recognize productions remarkably crude and remote from glory.

"A most gelatinous composition!" were the words Freda overheard from the whispering lips of her neighbour, Minerva. She resolved to search the dictionary for the word "gelatinous." She was afraid it could scarcely be a compliment to her poetry, for Mr. Logan had reached the worst part of all, where, searching in vain for a rhyme to "month," she had contented herself with "front," "hunt," and "once."

"There are some exquisite stanzas on 'Poesy,'" said Lady Rosemont, looking bewildered and annoyed as she discerned suppressed giggling around her. "My Constance is the Muse, and her costume, like the rest, was designed by a Royal Academician."

The giggling ceased when the lines, "O Posey," were uttered, and they obtained a hearty round of applause which scarcely gratified Freda as much as her friends supposed, seeing that particular passage was the one adopted child of her pen. "Mary, Queen of Scots," caused considerable pleasantry. Mr. Logan retreated to the back, looking gloomy and irritated, and was heard to declare that never again would he deliver "such stuff," even at the entreaty of Queen Victoria herself.

A buzz of conversation arose immediately the tableaux were over. The dresses, the surroundings, Mr. Logan's fame, were discussed by one and another, but there was silence concerning the poetry. A good-natured maiden sister of Lady Rosemont's nodded to Freda as she passed, with the words, "Very good of you to take the trouble, to be sure;" and Major Cameron remarked, "The lines on 'Poetry' were really striking, and he was sure Miss Freda was tired and wanted an ice;" but Minerva and Moonlight had evidently changed their opinions about the young genius, and troubled their heads no more as to her intellect.

The grounds looked like fairyland as they blazed with artificial light. Music and dancing were commenced with spirit, and all went merry as a marriage bell; only Freda's heart was troubled and heavy as she realized that she had been a failure, and longed to get home and weep away her disappointment and embarrassment.

"People are saying you did not give yourself time enough over your verses, Miss Freda, dear," said a familiar voice beside her. "It's a good thing Miss Dysart is not here to listen to some of the spiteful things they're a-whispering; but don't you mind, Miss Freda, you'll do better another time."

"Ellis! I did not know you had taken another situation. I am just going to Mrs. Cresswell, and I have no time to talk now."

"Ah, Miss Freda, it's all very well to hold your head so high; and wearing my poor mistress's sapphires, too. Fine feathers make fine birds, but pride goes before destruction, and I don't know whether some folks are so wonderfully clever over book-writing after all."

Freda turned away with annoyance, vexed that Ellis should have heard remarks to the disparagement of her verses. Ellis would take care Miss Dysart heard of the low esteem in which the poetry was held, but Freda's aching head warned her not to think of the future. Could she not enjoy herself amid the brilliancy of the present?

A few scalding tears of shame and weariness fell during the homeward drive as Freda dreaded the questions of her aunt. Miss Dysart was wide awake, and Freda tried to paint the ball as brightly as possible, passing over the poverty of her own production and the amusement of the listeners.

Miss Dysart was delighted to hear of the magnificence of Rosemont, but during the quiet evening she had conceived the notion of displaying the ability of the Towers to compete with Rosemont even in the matter of entertainment.

"Those people have looked down upon me too long," she said. "I intend to celebrate your birthday, on the 15th of next month, by such a ball as these grounds have never witnessed. It must be a costume ball, as I have not yet worn my fancy dress. You can consult Madame Olive as to your attire. Spare no expense, Freda. Whatever may be the wealth of the Rosemonts, they cannot purchase genius! I fancy Dysart Towers has the advantage of Rosemont in that respect."

During the following week Miss Dysart drove over to Rosemont to pay a complimentary visit after the ball. If Freda's late hostess were disappointed in the literary contributions to the entertainment, she had too much grace to betray her feelings, and sent a message of thanks to Freda, who was at home shampooing the rheumatic cat.

Lord Rosemont had whispered to his wife a suspicion that the lines on Poetry were borrowed. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that Lady Rosemont and her daughters were engaged on the evening of the l5th, when Freda's birthday party was to eclipse all that the neighbourhood had ever done in the way of festivity.

"They are too proud to accept my hospitality," said Miss Dysart, much annoyed. "The fact is, Freda, they are jealous of your popularity in society. Those Rosemont girls are sadly plain, and lack brilliancy and sparkle. There is sure to be a full account of our doings in the county paper. Madame Olive thinks you will look well as 'Hearts-ease.' She has in stock an exquisite fancy dress of purple and gold. She says Lady Rosemont wanted it for her Constance, but objected to the price. It shall be yours, Freda, and they will be white with envy. I have made a selection from my jewel case for your birthday present, but I shall not tell you yet whether diamonds, rubies, or emeralds are to be yours on the 15th!"

Freda rightly thought there must be some special reason for such good humour and graciousness towards herself, even while the note from Rosemount declining the invitation lay before her aunt. The next moment, Miss Dysart with a playful smile, drew her attention to the Micklewood Courier, the most widely-circulated paper in the county:

We have reason to believe that Flora Hedley, the world-renowned authoress, will stay a night at Micklewood Hotel next week on her way to the south coast. It has been suggested that a public reception should be given to this lady, and that one of our local celebrities should present her with a bouquet. Need we add that public opinion points to the beautiful and accomplished writer of 'A Modern Tantalus' as eminently fitted to present the flowers?

"No wonder you are excited, Freda," said Miss Dysart. "I know that Mrs. Hedley is quite a heroine to you, and indeed everyone knows and loves her writings. Directly I saw this paragraph I wrote to her, for I knew she was staying in Stoke Western. I mentioned to her that a kindred spirit in the author of 'Tantalus' would be overjoyed to welcome her, and I begged her to use the Towers instead of Micklewood Hotel. I have had a letter from Mrs. Hedley speaking most warmly of your remarkable story, and saying she quite longs for a chat with you."

Freda thought of Aunt Tim's love for Mrs. Hedley's helpful works. Aunt and niece had often wondered what the writer could be like; but now, as the interview drew near, Freda would fain have avoided it. The prominence into which she was thrust was becoming almost unbearable. She seemed walking over a mine that might explode at any moment and ruin all hopes from Aunt Augusta as concerned herself and poor Leo, whose last letter told of a cosy armchair he had bought triumphantly at an auction for Aunt Tim, "who looks so comfortable," he said, "nestled down among the chintz pillows."

Freda suspected that Leo had most probably disposed of his gold studs and links, bought impetuously out of a small legacy left to the boy by a brother officer of his father's, and precious, unspeakably, in Leo's sight for years.

"Aunt Tim must think me horribly ungrateful," she meditated. "I have never even sent her the silk dress I promised. But Aunt Augusta keeps a strict outlook on my expenditure now. I think she dislikes the very name of Myrtle Cottage. Oh, dear, it is not much use being rich if we cannot help those we love. Fancy Leo and Aunt Tim rejoicing over an old chintz-covered armchair, when this house contains so many expensive lounges and seats that every dog or cat can repose in luxury!"

Two other pieces of news Leo's letter contained: Jamie Duncan had been the means of substantially aiding his struggling father. Despite the taunts of many, he had stood out as champion of a delicate lad on whom thoughtless spirits were trying to play all kinds of practical jokes. This lad's father had called to thank Duncan, and discovered in him the son of an old friend and schoolfellow. It was not long before this gentleman learnt a great deal of the Duncan's family history, and now Mr. Duncan had received an appointment which meant the end of years of hard work and anxiety.

"Old Jamie deserved his good luck," wrote Leo. "He was always ready to do a good turn to a chap; and that fellow Lloyd has had his deserts likewise. There has been a grand row in the neighbourhood because he was found cheating at cards. He has won no end of money that way. He was publicly expelled from the college, and the affair is in the papers. Freda, it is true enough what poor father used to say so solemnly, 'Be sure your sin will find you out!' Things do come out, somehow, even though chaps who are going all wrong seem to be succeeding for a time."

The Micklewood Courier had the following paragraph concerning the arrival of Mrs. Hedley in the neighbourhood:

"A fashionable assembly gathered yesterday afternoon to welcome Flora Hedley in our midst. Prominent amongst the notables were Lord and Lady Rosemont, who were desirous of extending their hospitality to the gifted visitor; but Mrs. Hedley had arranged to stay at Dysart Towers, the residence of Miss Freda Beresford, whose verses have more than once adorned these columns. The talented author of 'A Modern Tantalus' was the observed of all observers as she gracefully handed a symbolical bouquet of roses and laurel to her sister-scribe."

Highly elated at carrying off Lady Rosemont's coveted guest, Miss Dysart called her dogs to rest around her in the evening, and listened, well pleased, to the converse of her niece with Mrs. Hedley, an elderly lady, cultured, gentle-featured, and much interested in the literary debutante.

"I have never written for the Magnetic," she said. "Did you send an outline of your story first, or submit the MS. as it stood?"

"Just as it stood," murmured Freda.

"Dear me! Now I heard that Mr. Allen always liked to receive a skeleton of any story intended for his pages; but he made an exception in your case, no doubt. Did you receive any introduction to him, or did he take the story entirely on its own merits?"

"On its merits, I think," said Freda, uncomfortably. "Aunt, shall I take Trimmer out and brush him? His hair is in his eyes."

"He prefers it so," said Miss Dysart. "Tell Mrs. Hedley, my dear, that we wish 'Tantalus' to come out like one of her own sweet volumes. Is it not about the same length?"

"I used one hundred and twenty sheets of foolscap paper in my 'Rough Diamonds,'" said Mrs. Hedley. "How many sheets did you use for 'Tantalus?"

"Ninety-five," said Freda, desperately. "I must tell you what Aunt Timson says of' Rough Diamonds.'"

"Yes, but first of all, dear, let me tell you something about 'Tantalus' that will give new inspiration to your writings. I can judge from that story that your pen is not moving only for money or fame, but to help and benefit your fellow creatures. Remember, such a gift as yours carries with it great responsibility. A poor young crippled girl of my acquaintance was roused to new hope and energy by the example of your hero, and begged me, if ever I met you, to thank you for the lifelong aid of your inspiring creation. I feel it a privilege, Freda Beresford, to bear you a message like this."

She laid her hand, like a blessing, on Freda's head. The girl started suddenly from her seat. The dress of purple and gold had just been brought home. Admiring its glittering folds, she tried to lose remembrance of the words her namesake would have held so precious.

### Chapter 8

(Last Chapter)

The Major's Present

THE morning of the 15th dawned in peaceful beauty, waking Dysart Towers to a pleasant bustle. Little sleep had Freda known during the night. She loved jewellery intensely, and she grew keenly excited over the uncertainty as to Aunt Augusta's birthday gift. Would she be the possessor of the dazzling rows of diamonds, or of the lustrous sapphires?

She had not long to wait. She had been invited to share her aunt's breakfast tray that morning, and Miss Dysart was already up, sitting in her dressing gown beside a table literally loaded with birthday offerings.

"Oh, Aunt Augusta, how kind you are!" cried Freda, as the sparkling sapphires were revealed to her gaze.

"They become you to perfection," said Miss Dysart affectionately, "and they have always belonged to the mistress of the Towers. At supper this evening, Freda, I intend that your health shall be drunk as my adopted child and heiress."

Freda felt almost intoxicated with the bright draught life seemed to hold to her lips.

"But you must not forget your business letters," said her aunt. "Perhaps this one is from Mr. Allen. Really those Magnetic people are very dilatory. 'Tantalus' should long since have come out as a book, with the inscription in old English characters, 'To my aunt and patron, Augusta Mathilde Dysart.'"

A cloud came over Freda's face as she opened the letter with the City postmark. Delay had aroused the hope that Mr. Allen had forgotten his debt to her, and that "Tantalus," so suddenly popular, would quietly drop to oblivion.

Dear Madam,

Pressure of business has prevented my communicating with you ere this. Pray accept my sincere apologies for the delay. I hear from Major Cameron that my last letter, owing to an accident, failed to reach you. I trust the present enclosure may be more fortunate, and that you will find the accompanying cheque satisfactory. It is important that definite arrangements as to the republication of "Tantalus" should be made in time for the coming season, and we have drawn up a form of agreement, which perhaps you would kindly peruse, suggesting any alterations that may occur to you as advisable. My partner, Mr. Vynes, will be in your neighbourhood tomorrow, the 15th, and will have the pleasure of calling upon you about noon with the agreement, which can be left for some days for your consideration, if desired. We think there are certain arrangements he could explain more easily verbally. Hoping to see your signature again in the Magnetic before very long, I remain,

Yours faithfully,

Arthur Allen.

"Oh, aunt," exclaimed Freda, twisting the cheque nervously in her hands, "need I see Mr. Vynes today? I want to forget business on my birthday, and there all the flowers to arrange."

"You have the day before you, Freda," said Miss Dysart. "The flowers can be seen to after lunch, or the maids can fill the vases. You must certainly see this gentleman. I long to see 'Tantalus' as a book, and I must not forget to show him those beautiful lines recited at Rosemont."

The tasty fish-ball on Freda's plate lost its flavour; her lips trembled as she put down her untasted coffee. Surely the head of the publishing firm would recognize the piracy from Keats! Shame and confusion of face would cover her on the day of this longed-for fete! She knew where Miss Dysart kept her copy of the lines. The verses must be destroyed before Mr. Vynes arrived.

"I shall soon get rid of him," said Freda to herself. "I shall tell him we are expecting company, and ask him to leave the agreement."

"On your birthday, Freda, too," remarked Miss Dysart. "I think I know what will complete your happiness. You do not need the cheque yourself, but I have no objection, as a special birthday celebration, to your sending that money to your relations at Myrtle Cottage. Major Cameron tells me Mrs. Timson lives very humbly, and really she seems to be a good sort of person."

Another time Freda would have felt delight that there seemed some chance of Miss Dysart's generosity reaching Myrtle Cottage, but she could not give away stolen money!

"Come, Freda," said her aunt, "you shall write Mrs. Timson a nice little letter after breakfast, saying the money is sent with my permission. Or would you prefer to contribute the cheque towards the bazaar for afflicted children? You know Mrs. Cresswell is going to get up a bazaar in a few weeks on their behalf."

"I will keep the money for the afflicted children," faltered Freda, devoutly hoping that long before the bazaar, her aunt would forget her promise to contribute; for that money must not be spent. Why, the real "Freda Beresford" might rise up and claim it at any time!

"Very well, I must say it would perhaps be unwise to encourage further hopes of help in old Mrs. Timson."

Indignant defence of Aunt Tim rose to Freda's lips, but Miss Dysart had now finished breakfast, and bade her carry away the "spoils of genius," as she laughingly termed the presents.

The sapphires had lost their gleam in Freda's eyes. Was another scene in this miserable deception to be enacted today? How long would she be able to blind her aunt's eyes to the lack of the literary success attributed to her? Freda felt weary of all the scheming and contriving. Better, a thousand times better, the old life of teaching, than a life of luxury purchased by deception!

"I must find aunt's copy of the tableaux verses," she thought. "Mr. Vynes shall not see them. I know they are in the top drawer of her wardrobe, with Pompey's old collar, and a riband worn by the grey kitten that got drowned in the tank."

For once this drawer was locked, and Freda was not prepared for the emergency. For a while she hesitated, and though she felt like a burglar, she stole away softly and fetched her own keys to try if one would fit. The key of her small portmanteau opened the drawer with some difficulty, and there, on Kitty's riband, lay a perfumed copy of the tableaux verses. Freda seized the paper, but nothing would induce the key to turn again, so she pulled it forcibly away, hoping Miss Dysart would forget she had locked the drawer.

Freda was filling the epergnes in the dining room when her aunt entered, much ruffled in temper.

"I did hope nothing would vex me on your birthday, child, but that tiresome under-house-maid has actually been at my keys."

"Who, Ellen? Oh, no, Aunt Augusta, I don't think she would do such a thing."

"Oh, I am sure it is Ellen. Her last mistress discharged her for going to her drawers, but afterwards found her children had been the culprits. I took Ellen out of charity, but as her mistress gave her no character I have never felt at ease concerning her. I locked my top drawer, thinking she might covet my poor lost Pompey's silver collar. Now I find the lock has been forced and spoilt. I suppose she heard someone coming before she had time to take the collar. I have packed her off, bag and baggage."

"Did she not deny it?" asked Freda faintly.

"Yes, but she has been dusting the dressing room this morning, and indeed nobody has been there but myself and Ellen. So I am confident she has been trying to steal."

Freda thought of the sick father of whom Ellen had told her, and of the grief her dismissal would bear to her home. Was Ellen's career to be ruined through an act of her own?

"I will tell Aunt I went to the drawer another time," she thought. "If I tell her now I shall have to explain that I wanted the paper, and she will grow suspicious as to my reasons for keeping it from Mr. Vynes. Let the party go by successfully, and tomorrow I shall assure aunt of poor Ellen's innocence."

Wherever Freda went, the face of the accused and dismissed servant seemed to follow her. She felt it rather a grievance that such complications should have occurred on this day, that was to have been unalloyed enjoyment. "It is a mistake ever to build up one's hopes," she reflected drearily.

Noon passed by, and Mr. Vynes did not arrive. Freda drove out on errands for her aunt, and the fresh air seemed to blow away all traces of depression, though she could not control an uneasy wonder that Aunt Tim and Leo had omitted to send her birthday letters.

Freda grew horrified when, on her return, she found Mr. Vynes comfortably lunching with her aunt. He was a shrewd-looking old gentleman, exceedingly fond, he said, of studying human nature. With this view, perhaps, he accepted Miss Dysart's pressing invitation to the ball, and the hostess was charmed, feeling that his presence would enhance the literary reputation of the Towers.

"Now, Miss Beresford, for a little chat about business," said he, when luncheon was cleared away.

"Oh, if you will leave me the agreement," said Freda, "I can read it over quietly. Today we are all so busy."

"My dear," said her aunt reprovingly, "business first and pleasure afterwards. You have fully an hour and a half of leisure now. Mr. Vynes is needing some Christmas poetry for the Magnetic. I cannot find your tableaux verses. I fear our dishonest maid has misappropriated them, but I have long intended to recite some favourite portions that I know by heart this evening, so Mr. Vynes will be able to judge of your poetic gifts. My dear niece is so very shy, Mr. Vynes, but she must not hide her light under a bushel."

'"Tantalus' made a real sensation," said Mr. Vynes, "but, Miss Beresford, we want you, if possible, to write an additional chapter. 'Tantalus' as it stands is not exactly the length for a one-volume book, and we feel it could be enlarged most advantageously to another chapter."

"Virginia must go into a decline," whispered Miss Dysart to Freda.

"And we find your legend as to the Neapolitan relics has been questioned in several reviews. Perhaps in your preface to this book you could give your authority. I was almost forgetting that I have a card for you from the Electric Institution. Your remarks on magnetism have made the committee very anxious for a paper in their next edition."

"Aunt," said Freda, feverishly, "here comes Major Cameron, and here is Mr. Cresswell. They are bringing such beautiful orchids. Oh, yes, Mr. Vynes, I will write the chapter and preface and things, but my head aches and I can't stay now."

"Though an author," said Miss Dysart, "she is but a girl, and her head is turned by today's excitement. Another time, Mr. Vynes, she will discuss 'Tantalus' with you calmly."

Major Cameron met Freda in the hall, and handed her a small packet, saying gravely it was his birthday gift. She was tired of her presents by this time, and hurried up to her room where she longed for a little sleep. But the appeal of the attire there waiting diverted her thoughts from her trouble. She could not wait till the time to dress arrived, but arrayed herself in purple and gold as "Heart's-ease," and donned her sapphires.

"There will be no dress like this in the room," she meditated, adjusting her silken train. Just then she remembered Major Cameron's packet, and she unfastened the wrapper. It was a portrait of her father in military attire. The likeness was startlingly true, and the soldier's earnest, tender eyes seemed to search her through and through.

The gorgeous raiment began to fade away. She had loved her father passionately, and as she pressed the portrait to her lips, she was again a little child, sitting on his knee as he taught his boy and girl out of the old family Bible. Father and mother had passed away. If consciousness of earth remained to them now, could they believe their daughter's clinging hands had spun this tissue of long and growing falsehood?

The eyes of her dead father rested on her, not in reproach, but in yearning love. Every false step rose up before her anew -- "Impostor -- story-teller -- thief!" she moaned, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, Father, Father! I have perjured my honour in order to rank among the great and fashionable!"

"Miss Freda, here is some tea. Mistress wants you to rest till six o'clock," said a servant at her door. Rest? Would her conscience ever rest again? Like a long-forgotten clarion the words from Isaiah chapter 48 rang to her heart, "There is no peace -- no peace \-- unto the wicked!"

"Where is Freda?" asked Miss Dysart, as, radiant with smiles, she received her guests, a richly-bejewelled "Spirit of the Spring." The drawing room was filling fast with guests dressed as troubadours, gypsies, cavaliers, shepherds, and gentle nymphs of every description; and the band could be heard tuning up for festive strains. But nobody could answer her repeated inquiry.

"Perhaps something is wrong with her dress?" thought Miss Dysart anxiously, and sent a maid at once to her niece's bedroom. The servant came down with a frightened face, and gave her mistress a letter she had found on Freda's dressing table.

"Please, ma'am, I cannot find Miss Freda, but Johnson says she has been waiting ever so long to help Miss Freda dress. We went into her room together, and she has not put on her dress yet, ma'am. And, please, ma'am, we found this letter."

Miss Dysart, fearful of scandal, had the presence of mind to enter the music room alone before she read the letter, written in a trembling, agitated hand:

I have deceived you, Aunt Augusta, but I cannot bear to carry on the falsehood. I cannot live another day and act such untruths. Tell Major Cameron his present \-- father's picture -- is more than I can stand. Those eyes of Father's look so loving, so grieved. And all this time I have been sinning, oh, so terribly. I think my conscience went to sleep, but Father's portrait has wakened it at last. Aunt, I never wrote "Tantalus." I do not know the "Freda Beresford" who composed it. I have taken advantage of your belief that I wrote it, to enjoy your gifts and your home. Thank you, thank you, for your goodness to me; but I have roused at last to see that rest of conscience is worth more than wealth and comfort. Please tell Mr. Vynes, and give this cheque back to him. Ellen did not touch your drawer. I went to it, and took out my verses. I had copied some from Keats, and I thought Mr. Vynes would find out. I wonder no one found out at Rosemont. You cannot think too badly of me, Aunt. I am wicked and wretched. Please take back all the jewellery and dresses. I have left all my presents but father's picture. I am going back to Aunt Tim to work for my living. It seems so long, so long since I was poor and free from this burden of guilt. Oh, forgive me! You would, if you could see how wretched I am.

There was no fancy ball at the Towers that evening. Miss Dysart was found in the music room insensible, and owing to her illness the wondering guests soon dispersed. Next day her old maid, Ellis, now employed at Rosemont, came to bring her the news that she had heard it whispered at his lordship's that Miss Freda's poetry was not her own. Someone had found the same piece in a volume in the library, and Ellis thought "poor dear Miss Dysart ought to know." But Ellis was sent off so suddenly and contemptuously, that all her hopes of restoration to favour evaporated for ever.

Miss Dysart informed her friends that she had cherished a viper in her bosom, and it had turned and stung her, and she requested that the name of Freda Beresford might never more be mentioned in her hearing.

A few days after, Major Cameron entered the porch of Myrtle Cottage and came upon a pleasant peep of quiet home life. Aunt Tim, looking almost her old self again, was resting in the armchair. Leo was reading aloud to her, and Freda, in one of the long-discarded plain dresses of old, was leaning against her knees. At sight of Major Cameron, Freda sprang towards the door, but he took her hand and led her back, smiling gently clown into her shamed, bowed face.

"How are my old friend's children?" he asked, holding out his hand to Leo. "So, Freda, the portrait did the work I so earnestly hoped."

"She has suffered so much," said Aunt Tim, in a tender whisper. "Freda, my darling, do not cry. All is forgiven, lassie. The best of us have erred and gone astray. Thank heaven, you repented and drew back from the road of untruth!"

"Whatever she's done, Major," said Leo, flushing in loyal love to his sister, "I have been the worse of the two, and you didn't scold me, and I don't believe you have come to scold her now. She is making herself quite ill over what she has done. I was trying to nurse Aunt Tim through a dreadful time of rheumatism when she arrived, but Freda took all the trouble off our hands. If she isn't an author, no matter. Her pupils are coming back. So she and I mean Aunt Tim to sit at ease for evermore."

"She has heard from Miss Dysart," said Aunt Tim, handing to the major the following lines:

Never attempt to address me again. I have done with you and yours. I have made a will, leaving all I possess to a convalescent home for dogs and cats, to be called the Augusta Dysart Sanctuary.

"Whether your aunt ever forgives you or not," said Major Cameron, "you are happier, Miss Freda, since your confession than in her luxurious home. I longed that the striking likeness of your father might induce you to tell the truth. You see, I was in the secret, for 'A Modern Tantalus' is a creation of my brain. I sent it to my old friend Allen under the name of my much loved and long lost sister, who was christened Freda Beresford. I did not know she had a literary namesake."

Aunt Tim and Leo exclaimed in astonishment as he avowed his authorship, but Freda drooped her head like a broken lily, unable to breathe a word of her sorrow and her shame.

"Take courage, Miss Freda," said Major Cameron gently. "You and Leo have made a fresh start in life. Our God would not have you despair. There is Divine forgiveness. See, after this evening's storm and showers, what a rainbow lights the hills. Lift up your head, dear child, and be of cheer. From the tears of true repentance will assuredly arise heart's-ease, peace, and hope!"

THE END

### Publisher's Note

Although not in the original, Bible quotes have been added in square brackets [thus] to enable the reader to confirm the words, or check them in another version.

There are 19 chapters in this book. In the second half are advertisements for our other books, so this book may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the book finishes, please take a look at the other books we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

### More Books

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More books than those shown here are available in non-fiction and fiction, for adults and younger readers. The full list of published and forthcoming books is on our website www.whitetreepublishing.com. Please visit there regularly for updates.

White Tree Publishing publishes mainstream evangelical Christian literature for people of all ages. We aim to make our eBooks available free for all eBook devices, but some distributors will only list our books free at their discretion, and may make a small charge for some titles -- but they are still great value!

We rely on our readers to tell their families, friends and churches about our books. Social media is a great way of doing this. Take a look at our range of fiction and non-fiction books and pass the word on. You can even contact your Christian TV or radio station to let them know about these books. Also, please write a positive review if you are able.

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Younger Readers

Return to Table of Contents

## Christian Non-fiction

### Four short books of help in the Christian life:

So, What Is a Christian? An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

Starting Out -- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

Help! -- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

Running Through the Bible -- a simple understanding of what's in the Bible -- Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

Chris Wright

There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate on God's many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord's loving arms.

Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.

As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

116 pages 5x7.8 inches

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary." A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.

The author says, "In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."

In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.

This book was written shortly before the author's death in 1985. The Simplicity of the Incarnation is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

160 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

J Stafford Wright

In a fascinating look at real people, J Stafford Wright shows his love and scholarly knowledge of the Bible as he brings the characters from its pages to life in a memorable way.

Read this book through from A to Z, like any other title

Dip in and discover who was who in personal Bible study

Check the names when preparing a talk or sermon

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – no one is spared. This is a book for everyone who wants to get to grips with the reality that is in the pages of the Bible, the Word of God.

With the names arranged in alphabetical order, the Old and New Testament characters are clearly identified so that the reader is able to explore either the Old or New Testament people on the first reading, and the other Testament on the second.

Those wanting to become more familiar with the Bible will find this is a great introduction to the people inhabiting the best selling book in the world, and those who can quote chapter and verse will find everyone suddenly becomes much more real – because these people are real. This is a book to keep handy and refer to frequently while reading the Bible.

"For students of my generation the name Stafford Wright was associated with the spiritual giants of his generation. Scholarship and integrity were the hallmarks of his biblical teaching. He taught us the faith and inspired our discipleship of Christ. To God be the Glory." The Rt. Rev. James Jones, Bishop of Liverpool

This is a lively, well-informed study of some great Bible characters. Professor Gordon Wenham MA PhD. Tutor in Old Testament at Trinity College Bristol and Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Gloucestershire.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

314 pages 6x9 inches

Note: This book is not available in all eBook formats

### Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

There is an increasing interest and fascination in the paranormal today. To counteract this, it is important for Christians to have a good understanding of how God sometimes acts in mysterious ways, and be able to recognize how he can use our untapped gifts and abilities in his service. We also need to understand how the enemy can tempt us to misuse these gifts and abilities, just as Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.

In this single volume of his two previously published books on the occult and the supernatural (Understanding the Supernatural and Our Mysterious God) J Stafford Wright examines some of the mysterious events we find in the Bible and in our own lives. Far from dismissing the recorded biblical miracles as folk tales, he is convinced that they happened in the way described, and explains why we can accept them as credible.

The writer says: When God the Holy Spirit dwells within the human spirit, he uses the mental and physical abilities which make up a total human being . . . The whole purpose of this book is to show that the Bible does make sense.

And this warning: The Bible, claiming to speak as the revelation of God, and knowing man's weakness for substitute religious experiences, bans those avenues into the occult that at the very least are blind alleys that obscure the way to God, and at worst are roads to destruction.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

222 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Howell Harris

His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

Howell Harris was brought up to regard the Nonconformists as "a perverted and dangerously erroneous set of people." Hardly a promising start for a man who was to play a major role in the Welsh Revival. Yet in these extracts from his writings and diaries we can read the thoughts of Howell Harris before, during and after his own conversion.

We can see God breaking through the barriers separating "church and chapel", and discover Christians of different denominations preparing the country for revival. Wesley, Whitefield, Harris. These great 18th century preachers worked both independently and together to preach the Living Gospel. This book is a vivid first-hand account of the joys, hardships and struggles of one of these men -- Howell Harris (1714-1773).

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

### From the Streets of London

### to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by

Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

A printed copy is available directly from Brother Clifford -- thejesusbus@hotmail.co.uk

This is the personal story of Clifford Edwards, affectionately known as Brother Clifford by his many friends. Going from fame to poverty, he was sleeping on the streets of London with the homeless for twenty years, until Jesus rescued him and gave him an amazing mission in life. Brother Clifford tells his true story here in the third person, giving the glory to Jesus.

### Seven Steps to

### Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

How is your Christian life going? Finding it hard and not sure why? Wherever you might be, Seven Steps to Walking in Victory is a very short book to help you see where you are in the Christian life, and help you keep on the right path to the victory that comes through walking closely with Jesus -- to live the Christian life you always wanted to live!

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

God has a special plan for each and every one of us -- that includes YOU! He has given all of us unique gifts. Not sure what that might mean for you? Seven Keys to Unlock Your Calling is a very short book that will help you discover how to explore those gifts and encourage you to go deeper into all that God has for you.

### English Hexapla

### The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Published to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the Authorized King James Version of the Bible, this book contains the full text of Bagster's assembled work for the Gospel of John. On each page in parallel columns are the words of the six most important translations of the New Testament into English, made between 1380 and 1611. Below the English is the original Greek text after Scholz.

To enhance the reading experience, there is an introduction telling how we got our English Bibles, with significant pages from early Bibles shown at the end of the book.

Here is an opportunity to read English that once split the Church by giving ordinary people the power to discover God's word for themselves. Now you can step back in time and discover those words and spellings for yourself, as they first appeared hundreds of years ago.

Wyclif 1380, Tyndale 1534, Cranmer 1539, Geneva 1557,

Douay Rheims 1582, Authorized (KJV) 1611.

English Hexapla -- The Gospel of John

Published by White Tree Publishing

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Size 7.5 x 9.7 inches paperback

Not available as an eBook

### Roddy Goes to Church

### Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

No, not a children's book! An affectionate, optimistic look at church life involving, as it happens, Roddy and his friends who live in a small town. Problems and opportunities related to change and outreach are not, of course, unique to their church!

Maybe you know Miss Prickly-Cat who pointedly sits in the same pew occupied by generations of her forebears, and perhaps know many of the characters in this look at church life today. A wordy Archdeacon comes on the scene, and Roddy is taken aback by the events following his first visit to church. Roddy's best friend Bushy-Beard says wise things, and he hears an enlightened Bishop . . .

Bishop David Pytches writes: A unique spoof on church life. Will you recognise yourself and your church here? ... Derek Osborne's mind here is insightful, his characters graphic and typical and the style acutely comical, but there is a serious message in his madness. Buy this, read it and enjoy!

David Pytches, Chorleywood

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

46 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches paperback UK

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

"I go to prepare a place for you." This well-known promise from Jesus must cause us to think about the reality of heaven. Heaven is to be our home for ever. Where is heaven? What is it like? Will I recognize people there? All who are Christians must surely want to hear about the place where they are to spend eternity. In this abridged edition of William Branks classic work of 1861, we discover what the Bible has to say about heaven. There may be a few surprises, and there are certainly some challenges as we explore a subject on which there seems to be little teaching and awareness today.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

Roger and Janet Niblett were just an ordinary English couple, but then they met the Lord and

their lives were totally transformed. Like the Bethlehem shepherds of old, they had a compulsion to share the same good news that Jesus Christ had come into the world to save sinners. Empowered by the Holy Spirit they proclaimed the gospel in the market place, streets, prisons, hospitals and churches with a vibrancy that only comes from being in direct touch with the Almighty and being readily available to serve Him as a channel of His grace and love. God was with them and blessed their ministry abundantly. Praise God! (Pastor Mervyn Douglas, Clevedon Family Church)

The story of Roger Niblett is an inspiration to all who serve the Lord. He was a prolific street evangelist, whose impact on the gospel scene was a wonder to behold. It was my privilege to witness his conversion, when he went forward to receive Christ at the Elim Church, Keynsham. The preacher was fiery Scottish evangelist Rev'd Alex Tee. It was not long before Roger too caught that same soul winner's fire which propelled him far and wide, winning multitudes for Christ. Together with his wife Janet, they proceeded to "Tell the World of Jesus". (Des Morton, Founder Minister of Keynsham Elim Church)

I know of no couple who have been more committed to sharing their faith from the earliest days of their journey with the Lord Jesus Christ. Along the way, at home and abroad, and with a tender heart for the marginalised, Rog and Jan have introduced multitudes to the Saviour and have inspired successive generations of believers to do the same. It was our joy and privilege to have them as part of the family at Trinity where Janet continues to serve in worship and witness. Loved by young and old alike, they will always have a special place in our hearts. (Andy Paget, Trinity Tabernacle, Bristol. Vice President, International Gospel Outreach)

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Also available as a paperback

(published by Gozo Publishing Bristol)

paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

New Abridged Edition

William Haslam

(1818-1905)

You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon! Well, this is man -- William Haslam. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851. He later wrote his autobiography in two books: From Death into Life and Yet not I. Here, in Leaves from my NoteBook, William Haslam writes about events and people not present in his autobiography. They make fascinating and challenging reading as we watch him sharing his faith one to one or in small groups, with dramatic results. Haslam was a man who mixed easily with titled gentry and the poorest of the poor, bringing the message of salvation in a way that people were ready to accept. This book has been lightly edited and abridged to make reading easier today by using modern punctuation and avoiding over-long sentences. William Haslam's amazing message is unchanged.

Original book first published 1889

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

### Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

### Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

New Edition

This book will confirm (or restore) your faith in the Gospel records. Clearly the Gospels were not invented. There is too much unintentional agreement between them for this to be so. Undesigned coincidences are where writers tell the same account, but from a different viewpoint. Without conspiring together to get their accounts in agreement, they include unexpected (and often unnoticed) details that corroborate their records. Not only are these unexpected coincidences found within the Gospels, but sometimes a historical writer unknowingly and unintentionally confirms the Bible record.

Within these pages you will see just how accurate were the memories of the Gospel writers -- even of the smallest details which on casual reading can seem of little importance, yet clearly point to eyewitness accounts. J.J. Blunt spent many years investigating these coincidences. And here they are, as found in the four Gospels and Acts.

First published in instalments between 1833 and 1847

The edition used here published in 1876

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each chapter are questions for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because: "From many earnest hearts there is rising a cry for more power: more power in our personal conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil; more power in our work for others. The Bible makes the way to obtain this longed-for power very plain. There is no presumption in undertaking to tell how to obtain Fullness of Power in Christian life and service; for the Bible itself tells, and the Bible was intended to be understood. R. A. Torrey (1856-1928) was an American evangelist, pastor, educator, and writer whose name is attached to several organisations, and whose work is still well known today.

"The Bible statement of the way is not mystical or mysterious. It is very plain and straightforward. If we will only make personal trial of The Power of the Word of God; The Power of the Blood of Christ; The Power of the Holy Spirit; The Power of Prayer; The Power of a Surrendered Life; we will then know the Fullness of Power in Christian life and service. We will try to make this plain in the following chapters. There are many who do not even know that there is a life of abiding rest, joy, satisfaction, and power; and many others who, while they think there must be something beyond the life they know, are in ignorance as to how to obtain it. This book is also written to help them." (Torrey's Introduction.)

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

### Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

### Musings on Life, Scripture

### and the Hymns

Marty Magee

Samuel, Mephibosheth, and a woman on death row -- people telling of our Savior's love. A chicken, a dinosaur, and a tarantula -- just a few props to show how we can serve God and our neighbors. Peanut butter, pinto beans and grandmother's chow-chow -- merely tools to help share the Bread of Life. These are just a few of the characters in Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends.

It is Marty's desire to bring the hymns out of their sometimes formal, Sunday best stuffy setting and into our Monday through Friday lives. At the same time, she presents a light object lesson and appropriate Scripture passage. This is done with the format of a devotion book, yet it has a light tone and style. From Ebenezer to Willie, Marty's characters can scarcely be contained within the pages of this whimsical yet insightful volume.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Also in paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

ALSO BY MARTY MAGEE

### Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

### A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

Will a purple bedroom help Marty's misgivings about Christmas?

As a kid, Martha Evans didn't like Christmas. Sixty years later, she still gets a little uneasy when this holiday on steroids rolls around. But she knows, when all the tinsel is pulled away, Whose Day it is. Now Marty Magee, she is blessed with five grandchildren who help her not take herself too seriously.

Do you know the angel named Herald? Will young Marty survive the embarrassment of her Charley Brown Christmas tree? And by the way, where's the line to see Jesus?

Twenty-Five Days Around the Manger goes from Marty's mother as a little girl awaiting her brother's arrival, to O Holy Night when our souls finally were able to feel their full worth.

This and much more. Join Marty around the manger this Advent season.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### The Gospels and Acts

### In Simple Paraphrase

### with Helpful Explanations

### together with

### Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing presents a paraphrase in today's English of passages from the four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- relating Jesus' birth, life, death and resurrection in one continuous narrative with helpful explanations, plus a paraphrase of events from the book of Acts. Also in this book is a brief summary of the Epistles and Revelation. For readers unfamiliar with the New Testament, this book makes a valuable introduction, and it will surely help those familiar with the New Testament to gain some extra knowledge and understanding as they read it. Please note that this is not a translation of the Bible. It is a careful and sensitive paraphrase of parts of the New Testament, and is not intended to be quoted as Scripture. Part 2 is a short introduction to the whole Bible -- Running Through the Bible -- which is available from White Tree Publishing as a separate eBook and paperback.

Translators and others involved in foreign mission work, please note: If you believe that this copyright book, or part of this book, would be useful if translated into another language, please contact White Tree Publishing (wtpbristol@gmail.com). Permission will be free, and assistance in formatting and publishing your new translation as an eBook and/or a paperback may be available, also without charge.

Superb! I have never read anything like it. It is colloquially worded in a succinct, clear style with a brilliant (and very helpful) running commentary interspersed. I have found it a compelling read -- and indeed spiritually engaging and moving. Canon Derek Osborne, Norfolk, England.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

### Faith that Prevails

### The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each of the seven chapters are questions by Chuck Antone, Jr. for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because Smith Wigglesworth, often referred to as the Apostle of Faith, putting the emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, writes, "God is making people hungry and thirsty after His best. And everywhere He is filling the hungry and giving them that which the disciples received at the very beginning. Are you hungry? If you are, God promises that you shall be filled."

Smith Wigglesworth was one of the pioneers of the early Pentecostal revival. Born in 1859 he gave himself to Jesus at the age of eight and immediately led his mother to the Lord. His ministry took him to Europe, the US, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, the Pacific Islands, India and what was then Ceylon. Smith Wigglesworth's faith was unquestioning.

In this book, he says, "There is nothing impossible with God. All the impossibility is with us, when we measure God by the limitations of our unbelief."

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

### The Authority and

### Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

When we start to think about God, we soon come to a point where we say, "I can discover nothing more about God by myself. I must see whether He has revealed anything about Himself, about His character, and about the way to find Him and to please Him." From the beginning, the Christian church has believed that certain writings were the Word of God in a unique sense. Before the New Testament was compiled, Christians accepted the Old Testament as their sacred Book. Here they were following the example of Christ Himself. During His ministry Jesus Christ made great use of the Old Testament, and after His resurrection He spent some time in teaching His disciples that every section of the Old Testament had teachings in it concerning Himself. Any discussion of the inspiration of the Bible gives place sooner or later to a discussion of its interpretation. To say that the Bible is true, or infallible, is not sufficient: for it is one thing to have an infallible Book, and quite another to use it. J Stafford Wright was a greatly respected evangelical theologian and author, and former Principal of Tyndale Hall Theological College, Bristol.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

The Bible Psalms. Do you see them as a source of comfort? A help in daily living? A challenge? Or perhaps something to study in depth? Psalms, a Guide Psalm by Psalm will meet all these requirements, and more. It is an individual study guide that can be used for daily reading in conjunction with your own Bible. It is also a resource for group study, with brief questions for study and discussion. And it's a Bible commentary, dealing with the text of each Psalm section by section.

eBook only

eBook ISBN 978-0-9957594-2-8

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Christian and happy? Do these two words fit comfortably together? Is our Christian life a burden or a pleasure? Is our quiet time with the Lord a duty or a delight? The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life was first written by Hannah Whitall Smith as monthly instalments for an American magazine. Hannah was brought up as a Quaker, and became the feisty wife of a preacher. By the time she wrote The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life she had already lost three children. Her life was not easy, with her husband being involved in a sexual scandal and eventually losing his faith. So, Christian and happy? An alternative title for this book could have been The Christian's Secret of a Trusting Life.

How often, Hannah asks, do we bring our burdens to the Lord, as He told us to, only to take them home with us again? There are some wonderful and challenging chapters in this book, which Hannah revised throughout her life, as she came to see that the truth is in the Bible, not in our feelings. Fact, faith and feelings come in that order. As Hannah points out several times, feelings come last. The teaching in this book is firmly Scripture based, as Hannah insists that there is more to the Christian life than simply passing through the gate of salvation. There is a journey ahead for us, where every step we take should be consecrated to bring us closer and closer to God, day by day, and year by year.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

How are we to live out our Christian lives every day? This book isn't about everyday (ordinary) religion, but about a living faith that changes our lives day by day. Hannah Whitall Smith had to live her life based on her trust in Scripture and the promises of God. In 1875, after the loss of three children, and her husband suffering a mental breakdown after being accused of infidelity, she was able to write The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life, in which she showed that it is possible to find peace with the Lord, no matter what life throws at us, through trusting in His promises.

In 1894, after the death of yet another child, with her three surviving children professing atheism, and her husband losing his faith, Hannah's trust in the Lord Jesus is still so strong that she is able to write in her introduction to her Scripture-based Every-Day Religion, that the purpose of the book is, "To bring out, as far as possible, the common-sense teaching of the Bible in regard to every-day religion. ... How to have inward peace in the midst of outward turmoil."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

If you only intend to read just one Christian book, this should be the one! You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon. Well, William Haslam is that man. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851, and revival immediately broke out. Later, another of William Haslam's "famous" sermons will cause a mass walkout of assembled clergy in St Paul's Cathedral! Once he starts to preach the Gospel with zeal, you can rejoice over powerful conversions in nearly every chapter.

Haslam's Journey consists of selected passages from William Haslam's two autobiographies: From Death Into Life (published 1880, his Cornish ministry) and Yet Not I (published 1882, set mostly in Bath, Norfolk and London), abridged and lightly modernised. Just under half of the originals is included. With copious notes and appendices by Chris Wright, editor of Haslam's Leaves also from White Tree Publishing. William Haslam writes with humour and great insight.

William Haslam writes about his early life: "I did not see then, as I have since, that turning over a new leaf to cover the past is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. I thought my acceptance with God depended upon my works. This made me very diligent in prayer, fasting and alms deeds. I often sat and dreamed about the works of mercy and devotion I would do."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

Now followed a difficult time, because he knew that in order to preach to others, he had to be able to read the Bible, both for himself and aloud to others. He writes, "I began to practise preaching. One Sunday I entered a turnip field and preached most eloquently to the turnips. I had a very large and most attentive congregation. Not one of them made an attempt to move away." When he started preaching to people, and came across a long word in the Bible he was unable to read, he says he stopped at the long word and spoke on what had gone before, and started reading again at the word after the long one!

Gipsy Smith quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he soon became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He joined the Salvation Army for a time, until being told to resign. Instead of this being a setback, he now took up a much wider sphere of work in England, before travelling to America and Australia where he became a much-loved preacher. In spite of meeting two American presidents at the White House, and other important figures in society, Gipsy Smith never forgot his roots. He never pretended to be anything other than a Gipsy boy, and was always pleased to come across other Gipsy families in his travels. Like Billy Bray and others uneducated writers, Gipsy Smith tells the story of his life in a simple and compelling way. This is the account written by a man who gave himself fully to the Lord, and was used to help lead thousands to Jesus Christ as their Saviour.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

eBook Coming 2nd January 2018

### Living in the Sunshine:

### The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Hannah Smith, who suffered so much in her personal life, has an amazing Bible-based grasp of God's love for each of us. She writes in this book: "Why, I ask myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable Christian lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

"But here, perhaps, you will meet me with the words, 'Oh, no, I do not blame the Lord, but I am so weak and so foolish, and so ignorant that I am not worthy of His care.' But do you not know that sheep are always weak, and helpless, and silly; and that the very reason they are compelled to have a shepherd to care for them is just because they are so unable to take care of themselves? Their welfare and their safety, therefore, do not in the least depend upon their own strength, nor upon their own wisdom, nor upon anything in themselves, but wholly and entirely upon the care of their shepherd. And if you are a sheep, your welfare also must depend altogether upon your Shepherd, and not at all upon yourself!"

Note: This is Hannah Smith's final book. It was first published as Living in the Sunshine, and later republished as The God of All Comfort, the title of the third chapter. The edition used here is the British edition of Living in the Sunshine, dated 1906.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

eBook Coming 29th January 2018

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

This book is a selection of 19 talks given by Gipsy Smith which will provide inspirational reading, and also be a source of help for those who speak. There are also 20 "two-minute sermonnettes" as the last chapter! Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

eBook Coming 26th February 2018

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

### The Life of Billy Bray

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

"I can't help praising the Lord!" said Billy Bray. "As I go along the street I lift up one foot, and it seems to say 'Glory!' and I lift up the other, and it seems to say 'Amen'; and so they keep on like that all the time I am walking."

Billy was a tin miner by trade and he loved his native Cornwall, but his love for souls was greater. When he was criticized for building a new chapel he replied, "If this new chapel ... stands one hundred years, and one soul be converted in it every year, that will be one hundred souls \-- and one soul is worth more than all Cornwall!"

Billy Bray (1794-1868) found a real excitement in his Christian life, and discovered the secret of living by faith. His outspoken comments are often amusing, but the reader will be challenged by their directness.

This book has a strong message of encouragement for Christians today. Billy believed and accepted the promises in the Bible, and lived a life that was Spirit filled.

FW Bourne, the writer of the original book, The King's Son, knew Billy Bray as a friend. In it he has used Billy's own writing, the accounts of others who had met Billy, and his own memories.

Chris Wright has revised and edited FW Bourne's book to produce this new edition, adding sections directly from the autobiography of William Haslam who met Billy, and from Billy Bray's own handwritten Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture this amazing man of God.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-912529-01-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-00-1

5x8 inches 86 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

eBook Coming 23rd April 2018

### As Jesus Passed By

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

To introduce this book of some of his evangelistic talks in 1905, Gipsy Smith writes: "After much pressure I have consented to the publication of these Addresses. They were delivered to crowded audiences with a burning desire to bring those who heard them to an immediate decision for Christ. Here they are, practically as they were spoken, and if I am so led, they will be preached again, for God has been pleased to bless them to thousands. Whether heard or read, my one desire is the extension of Christ's kingdom all over the world."

"Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-912529-05-6

Christian Fiction

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

With modern line drawings

Living the life of a wealthy man, Kenneth Fortescue receives devastating news from his father. But he is only able to learn incomplete facts about his past, because a name has been obliterated from a very important letter. Two women are vying for Kenneth's attention -- Lady Violet, the young daughter of Lady Earlswood, and Marjorie Douglas, the daughter of a widowed parson's wife.

Written in 1905 by the much-loved author Mrs. O. F. Walton, this edition has been lightly abridged and edited to make it easier to read and understand today. This romantic mystery story gives an intriguing glimpse into the class extremes that existed in Edwardian England, with wealthy titled families on one side, and some families living in terrible poverty on the other.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

with modern line drawings

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

With modern line drawings

May Lindsay and her young stepsister Maggie are left penniless and homeless when their father the local doctor dies. Maggie can go to live with her three maiden aunts, but May at the age of nineteen is faced with a choice. Should she take the position of companion to a girl she doesn't know, who lives some distance away, or accept a proposal of marriage from the man who has been her friend since they were small children?

May Lindsay makes her decision, but it is not long before she wonders if she has done the right thing. This is a story of life in Victorian England as May, who has led a sheltered life, is pushed out into a much bigger world than she has previously known. She soon encounters titled families, and is taken on a tour of the Holy Land which occupies much of the story.

Two men seem to be a big disappointment to May Lindsay. Will her Christian faith hold strong in these troubles? Was she right in the decision she made before leaving home?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

This new abridged edition of a classic story that has sold over an estimated 30 million copies, contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, with some passages sensitively abridged to allow his powerful story to come through for today's readers. Nothing in the storyline has been changed.

A homeless man staggers into a wealthy church and upsets the congregation. A week later he is dead. This causes the Rev. Henry Maxwell to issue a startling challenge to his congregation and to himself -- whatever you do in life over the next twelve months, ask yourself this question before making any decision: "What would Jesus do?"

The local newspaper editor, a novelist, a wealthy young woman who has inherited a million dollars, her friend who has been offered a professional singing career, the superintendent of the railroad workshops, a leading city merchant and others take up the challenge. But how will it all work out when things don't go as expected?

A bishop gives up his comfortable lifestyle -- and finds his life threatened in the city slums. The story is timeless. A great read, and a challenge to every Christian today.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Also available in paperback 254 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

What is inside the fascinating house with the locked door and the shuttered windows? Satan wants an experiment. God allows it. John is caught up in the plan as Satan's human representative. The experiment? To demonstrate that there can be peace in the world if God allows Satan to run things in his own way. A group of people gather together in an idyllic village run by Satan, with no reference to God, and no belief in him.

J Stafford Wright has written this startling and gripping account of what happens when God stands back and Satan steps forward. All seems to go well for the people who volunteer to take part. And no Christians allowed!

John Longstone lost his faith when teaching at a theological college. Lost it for good -- or so he thinks. And then he meets Kathleen who never had a faith. As the holes start to appear in Satan's scheme for peace, they wonder if they should help or hinder the plans which seem to have so many benefits for humanity.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

206 pages 5.25 x 8.0 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

What would happen to the Christian faith if it could be proved beyond all doubt that Jesus did not rise from the dead? This is the situation when, at the end of the nineteenth century, eminent archaeologists working outside Jerusalem discover a tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, with an inscription claiming that he took the body of Jesus from the first tomb and hid it. And there are even remains of a body. So no resurrection!

As churches quickly empty, some Christians cling to hope, saying that Jesus lives within them, so He must be the Son of God who rose from the dead. Others are relieved that they no longer have to believe and go to church. Society starts to break down.

With the backing of a wealthy industrialist, a young curate puts together a small team to investigate the involvement of a powerful atheist in the discovery. This is an abridged edition of a novel first published in 1903.

Guy Thorne was the English author of many thrillers in the early twentieth century, and this book was not intended specifically for the Christian market. It contains adult references in places, but no swearing or offensive language. Although it was written from a high church Anglican viewpoint, the author is positive about the various branches of the Christian faith, finding strengths and weaknesses in individual church and chapel members as their beliefs are threatened by the discovery in Jerusalem. White Tree Publishing believes this book will be a great and positive challenge to Christians today as we examine the reality of our faith.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

Published jointly with North View Publishing

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

Pansy is an orphan who is cared for by her aunt, Temperance Piper, who keeps the village post office and store. One day Pansy meets wealthy Mrs. Adair who offers to take her under her wing and give her a life of wealth in high society that she could never dream of, on condition Pansy never revisits her past life. When they first meet, Mrs. Adair says about Pansy's clothes, "The style is a little out of date, but it is good enough for the country. I should like to see you in a really well-made dress. It would be quite a new sensation for you, if you really belong to these wilds. I have a crimson and gold tea gown that would suit you delightfully, and make you quite a treasure for an artist." This is a story of rags to riches to ... well, to a life where nothing is straightforward. First published in 1891.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

For several years in the peaceful English village of Meadthorpe, the church and chapel have existed in an uneasy peace while the rector and the chapel minister are distracted by poor health. Now a young curate arrives at St Simeon's, bringing high church ritual and ways of worship. Gildas Haven, the daughter of the chapel minister is furious to discover the curate is enticing her Sunday school children away. The curate insists that his Church ways are right, and Gildas who has only known chapel worship says the opposite.

Battle lines are quickly drawn by leaders and congregations. Mary Haycraft writes with light humour and surprising insight in what could be a controversial story line. With at least one major surprise, the author seems to be digging an impossible hole for herself as the story progresses. The ending of this sensitively told romance is likely to come as a surprise.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

"It seems, Miss, your father drew out that money yesterday, and took it all out in gold. The Rector happened to be in the Bank at the time, but was on his way to town, and could not stop to talk to your father just then, though he wondered to hear him say he had come to draw out everything, as treasurer of the fund." Amaranth Glyn's comfortable life comes to an end when the church funds disappear. Her father, the church treasurer who drew out the money, is also missing, to be followed shortly by her mother. The disgrace this brings on the family means Amaranth's marriage plans are cancelled. Amaranth is a competent artist and moves away with her young brother to try to earn a living. There are rumours that her parents are in France and even in Peru. Caring for her sick brother, Amaranth wants life to be as it was before the financial scandal forced her to leave her family home and the garden she loved.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rose and Maurice Capel find themselves living in poverty through no fault of their own, and their daughter Gwen is dangerously ill and in need of a doctor and medicine, which they cannot possibly afford. There seems to be only one option -- to offer their daughter to Maurice Capel's unmarried sister, Dorothy, living in the beautiful Welsh countryside, and be left with nothing more than memories of Gwen. Dorothy has inherited her father's fortune and cut herself off from the family. Although Gwen would be well cared for, if she got better and Rose and Maurice's finances improved, would they be able to ask for Gwen to be returned? Another story from popular Victorian writer Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

### Una's Marriage

Margaret Haycraft

Una Latreille inherits the St Pensart's estate which has been in the family since the Norman Conquest. Unfortunately the estate is now bankrupt, and although still in mourning, Una's only hope of living in the style to which she has been accustomed is to marry a wealthy man, and quickly. Several suitors have disappeared after learning of the debts, and the one man who still expresses any interest in Una is Keith Broughton. Keith started work as a mill hand, and is now the young and wealthy owner of a large woollen mill. But how can she possibly marry so far beneath her class? Reluctantly, Una agrees to marriage on condition that there is no physical contact between them, and certainly no honeymoon! She also insists that she will never, ever suffer the indignity of meeting anyone in his family, or put one foot inside the door of his mill. This book was first published in 1898 by SW Partridge and Co, publishers of both Christian and secular books. Although there is no openly Christian message in this story, unlike the majority of Margaret Haycraft's books, it deals sensitively with the true nature of love -- as well as being an extremely readable story.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-5-9

### Miss Elizabeth's Niece

Margaret Haycraft

"You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct." Trevor Stratheyre, from a wealthy and aristocratic English family, impulsively marries Maisie, a servant girl he meets while touring the Continent. Maisie's mother had died at an Italian inn, leaving three-year-old Maisie to be brought up by the landlord and his wife, where she helps as a maid at the inn and cares for the animals. Maisie is charming and affectionate, but when Trevor brings her back to Stratheyre in England as his bride, to the large estate he is expecting to inherit, it is clear that Maisie's ways are not those of the upper classes. When she tells titled guests at dinner that she was once herding some cows home and one was struck by lightning, trouble is bound to follow.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

"When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich."

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

### The Clever Miss Jancy

Margaret S. Haycraft

Miss Orabel Jancy is indeed clever, and she knows it. The oldest of widowed Squire Jancy's six children, all living at home, Orabel is the author of several scientific books, and has many letters after her name. To Orabel, education and intellectual pursuits are everything that matter in life. She is secretary of a women's intellectual club that teaches that women are superior to men, and the members have all agreed to remain single because men would hold them back in their academic goals. However, when Orabel was born, a deathbed promise was made with a friend that Orabel and the friend's son, Harold Kingdon, should be given the opportunity to marry. Nobody thinks to mention this to Orabel, and she only learns of the arrangement when she is grown up and Harold Kingdon is already on his way from India -- to propose to her! Even before Harold arrives, Orabel decides she cannot possibly marry a lowly military doctor, when she is so intelligent. As soon as they meet, the feeling of dislike is mutual. But Orabel's younger sister, Annis, who never did well in academic subjects, is also of marriageable age, and would dearly love to settle down with the right man. Their younger brother and small sisters view the developing situation with interest.

The Squire had never found courage to broach the fact of the offer to Orabel, who looks as though her blue eyes would wither the sheet of foreign notepaper in front of her.

"You know, Orabel," puts in Annis, "we did hear something long ago about papa and mamma promising somebody or other out in India should have a chance to court you."

"Oh, do say 'yes,' Orabel," pleads a chorus of little sisters. "It will be so lovely to have a wedding, and Phil can be a page and wear a fancy dress."

"Can he?" growls Philip. "I'd like to catch myself in lace and velvet like those kids at the Hemmings' last week. Orabel, I think you ought to send him your portrait. Let him know, at least, what he's wooing."

With these words Philip beats a prudent retreat, and Orabel gives utterance to such tones that Annis, trembling at her side, is almost in tears.

"Has it come to this," Orabel asks, "that I, the secretary of the Mount Athene Club, should be affronted, insulted by a letter like this? Am I not Orabel Jancy? Am I not the pioneer of a new and emancipating system? And who is this Harold Kingdon that he dares to cross my path with his jests concerning infantile betrothal?"

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

eBook coming 8th January 2018

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his wife and children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father's murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing's most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

Two grownup sisters live under their older brother's thumb. He is obsessed with perfect Christian doctrine and farming, and cannot see why his sisters should want any company but his own. Marie is fond of a local artist, but her brother will not allow such a marriage. Marie's only hope of freedom is to run away and marry in secret. When she returns to the family home eight years later with a child, surely she will be welcome by a brother who professes religion. This story by Eliza Kerr again takes the theme of rejection, but her stories are all very different as well as involving.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

eBook Coming 12th February 2018

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

When Rollica Reed is left an orphan at the age of sixteen, a friend of her father's takes her in, much to the dismay of his wife and two older daughters who consider themselves to be the cream of Victorian society. The wife and daughters resent Rollica as an intruder, and try to make her life wretched, humiliating her in front of friends and telling her she is too common to be a lady. The two unmarried daughters are concerned by Rollica's naturally good looks, and want to cut her off from meeting any of their friends. Rollica soon learns she must not show any sign of weakness if she is to survive. But can she ever forgive?

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

eBook coming 12th March 2018

### Freda's Folly

Margaret S Haycraft

Freda Beresford is an aspiring young writer whose work is constantly rejected. Her young brother wants to go to university, but money is scarce. One day Freda receives a letter from a distant aunt, congratulating her on getting a story published in a leading literary journal. Enclosed is a large cheque and a promise to help Freda to a literary career. The money would mean that her brother can go to university, and Freda begins to feel famous at last. Unfortunately, Freda did not write the story, but she accepts the cheque and the deception starts. What begins as a light hearted novella, from one of White Tree Publishing's favourite authors of fiction, gets darker as Freda's deception has far reaching consequences. Readers will share Freda's unease as her initial deception leads her deeper and deeper towards the inevitable disgrace.

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-02-5

eBook coming 2nd April 2018

### Sybil's Repentance

Margaret S Haycraft

Sybil Agmere, an orphan, is taken in by a loving mother with four children and a strict grandfather. The mother's brother left the family home in disgrace many years before, never to be mentioned again. Sybil calls the mother her aunt, and is concerned when the brother reappears. The grandfather changes the inheritance in his will, but Sybil, at the age of eleven, reasons that if she can destroy the latest will, justice will be done. Her aunt will inherit, and all will be well. As the years go on, as Sybil sits in the family home, she sees that destroying the will is bringing nothing but trouble, yet she cannot admit to what she did. And even if she did admit it, the past could never be changed. After being persuaded into an engagement with a most unsuitable man, Sybil sees any hope of happiness fade away. Surely it is too late to undo the years of injustice and of wrong. There are wrongs no repentance can set right.

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-04-9

eBook coming 14th May 2018

### Sister Royal

Margaret S Haycraft

Beryl Rosslyn Aylmer, known from childhood as Bride, is suffering from seizures. Her young brother, Bonny, calls in Dr. Gildredge, but quickly realises he has made a mistake, for he takes an immediate dislike to the man. Dr. Gildredge is determined to become famous throughout Europe, and diagnoses a rare condition in Bride that he will attempt to treat, and write about it in the medical journals -- whether she recovers or not. Dr, Gildredge soon sees that the only way to keep control of Bride's treatment is to persuade her to marry him, and also stop young Bonny from seeing her. As is to be expected, the outcome is far from straightforward. This story by Margaret S Haycraft is a very readable mix of romance and revenge.

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-03-2

## Books for Younger Readers

(and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

The day Daniel Talbot brought home a stuffed duck in a glass case, everyone thought he'd gone out of his mind. Even he had his doubts at times. "Fancy spending your money on that," his mother scolded him. "You needn't think it's coming into this house, because it isn't!"

When Daniel, Emma, Charlie and Julia, the Four Merlins, set out to sail their model paddle steamer on the old canal, strange and dangerous things start to happen. Then Daniel and Julia make a discovery they want to share with the others.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 182 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

Anna's mother has opened a transport café, but why do the truck drivers avoid stopping there? An accident in the road outside brings Anna a new friend, Matthew. When they get trapped in a broken down truck with Matthew's dog, Chip, their adventure begins.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

5x8 inches 140 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

When Ryan's American cousin, Natalie, comes to stay with him in England, a film from their Gran's old camera holds some surprise photographs, and they discover there's more to photography than taking selfies! But where are the Seventeen Steps, and has a robbery been planned to take place there?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

5x8 inches 132 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the West Country in England where they set out to make some exciting discoveries. Have they found the true site of an ancient holy well? Is the water in it dangerous? Why does an angry man with a bicycle tell them to keep away from the deserted stone quarry?

A serious accident on the hillside has unexpected consequences, and an old Latin document may contain a secret that's connected to the two strange stone heads in the village church -- if James and Jessica can solve the puzzle. An adventure awaits! This is the first Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

5x8 inches 196 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the Derbyshire Peak District in England, staying near Dakedale Manor, which has been completely destroyed in a fire. Did young Sam Stirling burn his family home down? Miss Parkin, the housekeeper, says he did, and she can prove it. Sam says he didn't, and he can't prove it. But Sam has gone missing. James and Jessica believe the truth lies behind one of the old iron doors inside the disused railway tunnel. This is the second Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

188 pages 5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica's Aunt Judy lives in a lonely guest house perched on top of a crumbling cliff on the west coast of Wales. She is moving out with her dog for her own safety, because she has been warned that the waves from the next big storm could bring down a large part of the cliff -- and her house with it. Cousins James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are helping her sort through her possessions, and they find an old papyrus page they think could be from an ancient copy of one of the Gospels. Two people are extremely interested in having it, but can either of them be trusted? James and Jessica are alone in the house. It's dark, the electricity is off, and the worst storm in living memory is already battering the coast. Is there someone downstairs? This is the third Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

Paperback ISBN: 9781-5-211370-3-1

188 pages 5x8 inches

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

What is hidden in the old spoil tip by the disused Midnight Mine? Two men have permission to dig there, but they don't want anyone watching -- especially not Jessica and James, the Two Jays. And where is Granfer Joe's old tin box, full of what he called his treasure? The Easter holiday at Midnight Farm in Cornwall isn't as peaceful as James's parents planned. An early morning bike ride nearly ends in disaster, and with the so-called Hound of the Baskervilles running loose, things turn out to be decidedly dangerous. This is the fourth Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Also available in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

200 pages 5x8 inches

### Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

Mary Jones saved for six years to buy a Bible of her own. In 1800, when she was 15, she thought she had saved enough, so she walked barefoot for 26 miles (more than 40km) over a mountain pass and through deep valleys in Wales to get one. That's when she discovered there were none for sale!

You can travel with Mary Jones today in this book by following clues, or just reading the story. Either way, you will get to Bala where Mary went, and if you're really quick you may be able to discover a Bible just like Mary's in the market!

The true story of Mary Jones has captured the imagination for more than 200 years. For this book, Chris Wright has looked into the old records and discovered even more of the story, which is now in this unforgettable account of Mary Jones and her Bible. Solving puzzles is part of the fun, but the whole story is in here to read and enjoy whether you try the puzzles or not. Just turn the page, and the adventure continues. It's time to get on the trail of Mary Jones!

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

5.5 x 8.5 inches

156 pages of story, photographs, line drawings and puzzles

### Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

Travel with young Christian as he sets out on a difficult and perilous journey to find the King. Solve the puzzles and riddles along the way, and help Christian reach the Celestial City. Then travel with his friend Christiana. She has four young brothers who can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Be warned, you will meet giants and lions -- and even dragons! There are people who don't want Christian and Christiana to reach the city of the King and his Son. But not everyone is an enemy. There are plenty of friendly people. It's just a matter of finding them.

Are you prepared to help? Are you sure? The journey can be very dangerous! As with our book Mary Jones and Her Bible, you can enjoy the story even if you don't want to try the puzzles.

This is a simplified and abridged version of Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition, containing illustrations and a mix of puzzles. The suggested reading age is up to perhaps ten. Older readers will find the same story told in much greater detail in Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition on the next page.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

5.5 x 8.5 inches 174 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Pilgrim's Progress

Special Edition

Chris Wright

This book for all ages is a great choice for young readers, as well as for families, Sunday school teachers, and anyone who wants to read John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in a clear form.

All the old favourites are here: Christian, Christiana, the Wicket Gate, Interpreter, Hill Difficulty with the lions, the four sisters at the House Beautiful, Vanity Fair, Giant Despair, Faithful and Talkative -- and, of course, Greatheart. The list is almost endless.

The first part of the story is told by Christian himself, as he leaves the City of Destruction to reach the Celestial City, and becomes trapped in the Slough of Despond near the Wicket Gate. On his journey he will encounter lions, giants, and a creature called the Destroyer.

Christiana follows along later, and tells her own story in the second part. Not only does Christiana have to cope with her four young brothers, she worries about whether her clothes are good enough for meeting the King. Will she find the dangers in Vanity Fair that Christian found? Will she be caught by Giant Despair and imprisoned in Doubting Castle? What about the dragon with seven heads?

It's a dangerous journey, but Christian and Christiana both know that the King's Son is with them, helping them through the most difficult parts until they reach the Land of Beulah, and see the Celestial City on the other side of the Dark River. This is a story you will remember for ever, and it's about a journey you can make for yourself.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

5.5 x 8.5 inches 278 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

An exciting story about the adventures of two angels who seem to know almost nothing -- until they have a vision!

Two ordinary angels are caring for the distant Planet Eltor, and they are about to get a big shock \-- they are due to take a trip to Planet Earth! This is Zephan's story of the vision he is given before being allowed to travel with Talora, his companion angel, to help two young people fight against the enemy.

Arriving on Earth, they discover that everyone lives in a small castle. Some castles are strong and built in good positions, while others appear weak and open to attack. But it seems that the best-looking castles are not always the most secure.

Meet Castle Nadia and Castle Max, the two castles that Zephan and Talora have to defend. And meet the nasty creatures who have built shelters for themselves around the back of these castles. And worst of all, meet the shadow angels who live in a cave on Shadow Hill. This is a story about the forces of good and the forces of evil. Who will win the battle for Castle Nadia?

The events in this story are based very loosely on John Bunyan's allegory The Holy War.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

5.5 x 8.5 inches 216 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

Once upon a time there were two favourite books for Sunday reading: Parables from Nature and Agathos and The Rocky Island.

These books contained short stories, usually with a hidden meaning. In this illustrated book is a selection of the very best of these stories, carefully retold to preserve the feel of the originals, coupled with ease of reading and understanding for today's readers.

Discover the king who sent his servants to trade in a foreign city. The butterfly who thought her eggs would hatch into baby butterflies, and the two boys who decided to explore the forbidden land beyond the castle boundary. The spider that kept being blown in the wind, the soldier who had to fight a dragon, the four children who had to find their way through a dark and dangerous forest. These are just six of the nine stories in this collection. Oh, and there's also one about a rocky island!

This is a book for a young person to read alone, a family or parent to read aloud, Sunday school teachers to read to the class, and even for grownups who want to dip into the fascinating stories of the past all by themselves. Can you discover the hidden meanings? You don't have to wait until Sunday before starting!

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

5.5 x 8.5 inches 148 pages

Available from major internet stores

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

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