

### About the Book

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."

### Keena Karmody

### by

### Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published c1888

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2018

e-Book ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Keena Karmody 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

Introduction

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About White Tree Publishing

More Books from White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

###  Introduction

There were many prolific Christian writers in the last part of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth. The majority of these books were fairly heavy-handed moral tales and warnings to young people, rather than romances. Two writers spring to mind who wrote romantic fiction for adults -- Mrs. O. F. Walton and Margaret S. Haycraft, whose works are still popular today. Our White Tree Publishing editions from these authors have been sensitively abridged and edited to make them much more acceptable to today's general readers, rather than publishing them unedited for students of Victorian prose. The characters and storyline are always left intact.

Eliza Kerr is less well known than Mrs. Walton and Margaret Haycraft, but she wrote similar books, but with perhaps less emphasis on romance, but in a similar style to the books of Walton and Haycraft, and we welcome Keena Karmody to our catalogue. We will be publishing more books from this author in 2018. The titles and release dates will be announced on our website.

Victorian and early twentieth century books by Christian and secular writers 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 storylines are always unchanged.

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.

£2,000 in the late 1800s may not sound much, but in income value it is worth about £240,000 pounds today (about US $300,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 12 chapters in this book. In the second 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

"LISTEN to this, Marie," Keena said enthusiastically. "Have you heard about a flower that holds a tiny bird inside it? This book says, 'The Espiritu Santo, or flower of the Holy Spirit, is indigenous to the Isthmus of Panama. Part of the flower, folded back, exposes a little cup-shaped nest in which lies a tiny dove with outstretched neck and extended wings, as if about to fly.'"

The reader, a young girl of sixteen, paused and half closed her book with a little regretful sigh. "Don't you wish it grew in this country, Marie? It is an orchid really, and we have orchids at home in Ireland, but of course they are different from the flowers of Panama."

"Well, I should think so," somewhat scornfully replied Marie Delorme, as she folded up dress after dress and placed each one carefully in a large black travelling trunk. "There is a slight difference, Keena, between the climate of Ireland and that of South America. I believe it is a fact that you never have any sun in your Ireland, and that the only articles of dress necessary from one year's end to the other are a raincoat, a pair of strong boots, a felt hat, and an umbrella."

Keena laughed. "If you believe that to be true, why do you bring so many dresses with you?"

"Of course, we should not believe all that we hear," responded Marie, with a half smile, "so I go prepared for glimpses of sunshine."

"Wise Marie! In our beautiful Slieve Bloom region rain is the exception, and sunshine the rule. Ah, wait till you see my home. You will change your opinion of Ireland very rapidly then. It is true there is much rain there, but the western and southern coasts have the most of it. The Slieve Bloom Mountains are on the eastern side, you know."

Marie dropped the dress she held, and threw her arms around the speaker. "Nay, Keena, whether it be a land of sunshine or of rain, I will love it because it is your land; because you are bringing me away from my lonely, sorrowful life to share your home joys; and because ... because I owe all the pleasure I have had to you."

"Hush, Marie, you owe me nothing. You know I don't like you to talk so."

"But I must, just this once. You found me a miserable, cross-tempered, narrow-minded teacher here, with no gentleness, no charity, no good quality in me at all; and you taught me that life can be a happy thing. Now, to crown all, you are taking me home with you for a long visit as your tutor, and I am never to return to this cold school life again."

"My dear old teacher, don't I owe you anything? Who made the little schoolgirl comfortable when she first came to the great house? And who explained lessons and music so that the tasks grew pleasant and interesting? You were an orphan, I was an orphan, but I had grandfather and my beautiful home, and you were a stranger in a strange land. Why should I not love you, and try to serve you?"

A hot flush rose to the brow of the young French woman and she answered hastily, "You required very little help in your studies. I am the debtor, yes, even money I owe you."

"Really, Marie, I shall be angry with you if you don't change the subject. Just think of the grief into which Madame is plunged by the coming loss of her most untiring young teacher. I do like Madame de Veaux very much. How pleased she was that grandpapa did not take me away before the concert!"

"Yes," smiled Marie, returning to her work of packing the great black trunk; "and how well you sang and recited. Now, little Irish girl, let me have a look at your things to see if all is right before I lock the trunks. Meanwhile, you can finish your description of the flower of the Holy Spirit, which I so ruthlessly interrupted."

"There is not much more, Marie. But it is all true. The Rector at home has one in his hothouse. Listen. 'The dove is of the same creamy white as the rest of the flower, with the exception of the upper extremities of the wings, which are beautifully speckled. The perfection and lifelike appearance of the dove are incredible to persons who have not seen the flower.'"

"I can easily believe that last," murmured Miss Delorme, as she finally strapped down the travelling trunks and sat upon one of them to glance round the room. "I don't think I have forgotten anything, Keena."

"No, I am sure you have not," returned Keena, with conviction. "It was like your usual good nature to pack all my clothes as well as your own."

"Very good natured indeed! Now don't let us renew that subject. Come along and have a look round for the last time, before the cab takes us away to Euston Station."

<><><><>

Keena Karmody was an orphan whose life until the age of twelve had been passed with her grandfather in her beautiful home on the Irish hillside. Those who knew her said she was a dreamy, fanciful child, and she grew into a dreamy, fanciful girl. The country was full of joys to her that she never reasoned about, but which filled her with delight.

The great bold curves of the oak bough overhead, the mountains that were sometimes quite lost in the white mists, and then suddenly lifted themselves in all their glory, with black shadows where the woods were, and hazy breadths of colour where the river shone beneath the sun. All these things, so various, great and small, were sources of delight to Keena who, as she went, lost sight of nothing from the little gemmed insect in the dust she trod to the last glow left on the faintest, farthest peak of the great hills that rose between her and the sea.

Her grandfather had sent her to school in London, in order that she might be the better fitted for her position as mistress of the broad acres that stretched away over hill and valley for many a mile. She had murmured tearfully against the enforced exile, but as the months passed she grew reconciled to school life.

She was sixteen years old now, and her school life was ended. They had been monotonous, work-filled years which had, after all, been pleasant enough, and to which she owed the friendship of Marie Delorme, the studious young teacher from France. Although Marie had lived twenty-six years, and Keena but sixteen, the younger girl's enthusiastic admiration of her friend made the ten years between them seem as so many months.

However, there were days when Marie's tongue gave utterance to sharp, bitter remarks, and when she unwittingly displayed a knowledge of life, and of its deceptions and untruthful byways, that amazed dreamy, innocent Keena. These were moments when the schoolgirls would hint that "Miss Delorme knew upon which side her bread was buttered" when she favoured the little Irish stranger so ceaselessly, and waited upon her so zealously. Even Madame de Vaux herself hinted that Marie was naturally selfish, and allowed nothing to interfere with the accomplishment of her wishes. Keena turned a deaf ear to these remarks and hints, and loved her friend all the more, and trusted her more implicitly than ever.

Her delight at going back to her beloved home had been shadowed by the thought that she must leave Marie behind in London. But old Squire Karmody, as the country people styled him, had invited his grandchild's friend to accompany her to her home as her tutor for a year, and to remain as long as she wished; so Keena was content.

After a long train journey from the Euston Station in London to Holyhead, a short passage in the steamer across the tempestuous bit of water called the Irish Sea, a night in a hotel in Dublin, and a few hours in an Irish train, Keena and her friend reached the town of Maryborough, where a typically Irish jaunting car with Squire Karmody and his man awaited the travellers.

When the first glad greeting between the old man and his grandchild was over, Keena proudly presented her friend.

"You are welcome, my dear," the old squire said cordially, as his eyes rested with a pleased look on the tall, graceful figure, and the shining yellow hair of the stranger. "I have heard much of you from my grandchild here, and I trust you will remain amongst us until you grow tired of our uncivilized Irish customs."

"If I remain as long as that, I am afraid I shall remain always," Marie said in a low voice, as she half turned away from the glance of those kind old eyes.

"Then do stay always," cried Keena, who had overheard the whispered words. "We shall never tire of you. But come, mount up, and be careful lest you get thrown from your seat along the uneven bog road. Connor, you will drive very cautiously, because this lady has not been accustomed to an Irish jaunting car."

"Ay, sure I will, honey," responded the man with a delighted grin, as he touched his hat respectfully. "It's just grand to have you home again."

As the car with its thoroughbred horse rolled along the bare uneven bog road, many a hat was taken off, and many a hearty "God bless ye, Miss Keena; sure ye're welcome home," answered Keena's happy nod and happy words as the old faces so familiar to her appeared at the cottage doors, and in the fields by the wayside.

The distance from Maryborough to Rosenalis, the village near Céim-an-eich, Keena's home, was quite seven miles, and might well have been a tiresome drive to the French stranger, unaccustomed to the bleak, uninteresting bog road, but for the newness of all things around her, and the intense longing that suddenly rose up within her for just such a homecoming as this, and just such a welcome as this which had awaited the Irish schoolgirl.

At length Céim-en-eich was reached, and Keena bounded off the car without waiting for the assistance of the servant, and rushed through an open doorway into a wide, dim, cool hall.

"Nurse, where are you? Dear old nurse, won't you come and welcome me home?"

"Sure, it's yourself at last, my bonny child. It's my poor old eyes have been watering for a sight of you this many a day." And the old woman cast her arms about the girl and kissed her with a passionate fervour that testified to the truth of her words. "But who's that the master's bringing along with him? One of your school friends, dearie?"

"Yes, my very best loved friend next to grandpa, and you, and Mr. Keir. Come here, Marie, and be introduced to nurse."

"It is Mrs. Connor," explained Squire Karmody, turning to Miss Delorme. "She was the nurse of Keena's mother, the nurse of Keena herself, and she is now our dear friend and housekeeper."

Marie held out her hand with some gracious words of greeting, but the old woman scarcely touched it, and her words in reply were few and cold. A slow, unpleasant smile curved the lips of the stranger, and she turned away to follow Keena up the wide, open staircase, with a certain angry thought in her heart that would have astonished and distressed her friend, could she have read it.

After the "high tea" was over in the quaint, darkly finished dining room, Keena led the way to Mrs. Connor's room to hear all the news of the neighbourhood, for the old housekeeper knew almost everything about everybody, and loved nothing so well as a gossip with her young mistress. But, although the conversation this night was emphatically "gossip," there was not an unkind word spoken, and not one story of wrong-doing repeated; for above the black marble mantelshelf, in a brown frame made of oak flowers, were the words, in crimson letters, "Charity suffereth long, and is kind. Charity thinketh no evil."

Many long years had Mrs. Connor followed in the footsteps of Jesus, the Teacher of Galilee, and His teaching was, "Love thy neighbour as thyself;" therefore was it that gossip assumed a harmless shape in her presence, and no evil-speaking found favour in her eyes.

"I have heard a great deal of your mother, Keena, and seen her portrait too, but tell me a little of your father; or perhaps Mrs. Connor knows more about him," said Marie, as she sat looking out on the moonlighted avenue of oaks, while listening to the amusing, interesting stories of the housekeeper.

"He died just after Miss Keena's birth," came the quick reply. "There is nothing to tell of him, as he did not live here at all. Miss Keena, honey, I oughtn't to keep you away any longer from the master."

"Was he Irish or English?" calmly pursued Marie, but with watchful eyes scanning the troubled face of the old servant.

"He was a Karmody, and a cousin of the mistress."

"He is, of course, buried in that lovely old graveyard we passed on the road?"

Marie had no particular reason just then for continuing the subject, but the reluctance of Mrs. Connor to talk of her dead master, and the troubled shadow, almost of fear, that fell over the brown, withered face startled the French girl, and awakened all the sleeping curiosity of her nature.

"No, miss; he's not buried there. Now, Miss Keena, dear, you'd better be going to the parlour."

"Well, goodnight, nursie, since you won't let us stay any longer."

"Good night, my dearie. You've not forgotten to read the words out of the Good Book that I marked for you?"

"No, I read them nearly always in the mornings."

That night in her room Marie Delorme pondered deeply, and if Keena Karmody and her grandfather could have known what thoughts passed through the mind of their visitor, even Keena would have been sorry that the French stranger had ever been welcomed to Céim-en-eich.

### Chapter 2

THERE are beautiful hills in Ireland, steep and bold, covered with heather and bracken, and low-growing laurels, and boulders of stone and old thorn trees. Keena's home was on one of these hills. It was a large building, with green lawns and brilliant flowers surrounding it. Behind it stretched the wild hillside, and in front a great slope of fields, studded here and there with thatched cottages, and far below, in the distance, the valley with the little village of Rosenalis, and the white bare road that led to Mountmellick.

"What a curious name for your place," said Marie Delorme, as she and Keena stood beside the old, rose-covered sundial just out of sight of the house.

"Yes, perhaps it is an odd name," answered the younger girl, "but there is such a romantic story in connection with it, that even you must own it has an interesting reason for existing. Long ago a man lived on the west side of our island -- a melancholy, disappointed man, with no one to love him. His hut was in a mountain pass called Céim-an-eich, or Path of the Deer, and no one ever went near him. But one summer evening a missionary, just returned from South America, travelled through the pass, stayed at this man's cottage, and so changed his character and desires that he gave up his lonely dwelling and built a house on the Slieve Bloom hills, and married a girl of good family from near Portarlington. That man was the first Karmody of our branch of the family, and Céim-an-eich is the house he built."

"That is interesting, certainly, even if it is slightly improbable. He evidently loved his solitude when he called this bright, sunshiny place by the old name."

"Yes, I suppose he did. But you need not be so sceptical, Marie. There are so many strange stories told here which you must believe, that you will find scepticism a most inconvenient article."

Marie smiled affectionately. "I shall certainly try to believe all you tell me."

"Remember, that is a promise, Marie. Perhaps sometime I shall ask you to keep it." And a sudden shadow fell over the laughing beauty of Keena's face, and crept into the great blue-black eyes, reminding Marie forcibly of the evening of arrival, and of Mrs. Connor's age-lined brow.

"What a serious speech, and what a serious countenance, little Irish girl! You have nothing to trouble you, dear?"

"No, indeed, I have not," was the sincere reply. "But sometimes -- I don't know how it is -- I have a sort of hushed, sad feeling, as if I was walking over a grave. You know the sensation?"

"I cannot say that I do," lightly responded the other. "I shall, perhaps, when you take me to your pretty little churchyard down there. What nonsense we are talking, with the sun shining down on us, and everything so bright! See, who is that coming up the slope there, under the trees?"

"It is the Rector," cried Keena, with a happy ring in her voice. Crossing the greenway, she held out her hands in warmest greeting to a tall, dark, serious-looking man. "Mr. Keir, I am so glad you have come, because grandpapa has something to show me which he says is your gift to me, but which I may not see till you are present."

"Is that your only reason for being glad to see me, little friend?"

"You know it is not," she answered, a quick reproach shining in her bright eyes.

He smiled, and turned away towards the house, keeping her hand in his as he talked. "Yes, I have something which I know you will like. I have been sent another orchid of the same species as my own. It is the Espiritu Santo, and I have given it to you. Your hothouse has been arranged for it, and I hope your plant will flourish as mine has done."

"How good you are to me always!" she said, simply. But if the words expressed scant gratitude for the precious gift, the quick upward glance, and the warm pressure of the clinging fingers were thanks enough.

Almost in silence the path to the house was traversed. At the door Keena paused suddenly. "I have left Marie standing by herself at the sundial. How unkind she must think me!"

"Who is Marie, may I ask?"

"My friend, who has come from London to stay awhile as my tutor in this uncivilized region." She laughed. "You must know that most of the French girls at school think the Irish ones half barbarians."

"And is that your friend's opinion?" questioned the Rector, with a comical uplifting of his heavy brows.

"Oh dear no. Marie was always very kind to me. I must bring her in now, and you shall be introduced. Ah, here she is. Marie, won't you excuse my leaving you so unceremoniously, and allow me to introduce to you Mr. Keir, our Rector?"

With a bow to the gentleman, Miss Delorme turned and passed her hand through Keena's arm.

"There is no need of apology," she said. "You must not make such a stranger of me as to apologize for leaving me alone for a few minutes in such a scene as this."

The clergyman looked at her with admiring approval. "A beautiful, graceful girl," he thought, "but self-contained and heartless, I am afraid."

Keena led the way into the conservatory, where old Squire Karmody was awaiting her coming with some impatience.

"Ah, yes, there it is, my beautiful orchid! Look, Marie! You remember my reading you a description of the Espiritu Santo?"

"Yes, I remember, and I can see it is exactly as described."

"It is believed by the people of its native land to be a supernatural flower," explained Mr. Keir, "and that if it is rudely plucked from the parent stem, or trampled underfoot, the hand or foot which is the guilty part of the deed will shortly wither and lose all life and power. If, on the contrary, it is plucked with a prayer, and for a good purpose, the hand that picks it will be filled with treasure that must bring joy to the heart of its owner, because it is God-given."

"Do you recollect the sermon you preached about your Espiritu Santo?" asked Keena, slowly, in the silence that followed the clergyman's words.

"Yes, distinctly. I told of the reverence of the natives of Panama for the flower of the Holy Spirit."

"But, Mr. Keir," exclaimed Marie, scornfully, "their reverence is simply that of the superstitious savage!"

"Nay, Miss Delorme, there are two ways of looking at everything. If the Holy Spirit of Christ our Lord be with us, He will have just such an influence over us as this orchid has on the natives of Panama. If we rudely thrust Him from us, or trample Him underfoot, we shall most certainly suffer for such ill-doing; but if we cherish Him and keep Him with us, carefully watched and tended, we shall be blessed indeed, because the Holy Spirit is God-given."

"Ah, I had forgotten he was a clergyman," thought Marie, as she looked at the dark, earnest face of the speaker.

"But how can we watch and tend the Holy Spirit?" questioned Keena.

"You know, dear child. Does not the Bible explain it clearly enough to you? You have Christ's own words: 'If any man serve Me let him follow Me.'"

Silently Keena regarded this wonderful flower, and then she moved away and left the conservatory, a softened light coming over the brightness of her face.

After a moment's hesitation Marie followed, astonished and annoyed at the power this man's words seemed to have had over the gentle yielding nature of the young girl.

"Your solemn friend spoilt the occasion by giving us a sermon, Keena. I don't think I like him, if I may presume to judge after such a short acquaintance. And I think I shall be jealous of him if he can move you so much as to make you forget me. You never told me anything about him."

"Did I not? He was a missionary out in South America, and he has had a very sad life. His father and mother were killed before his eyes by the natives of one of the islands, and they drowned his little sister while he was made to watch her drowning struggles. Even after such horrors he tried to do the people good, and the very men who killed his parents were rescued by his influence from a horrible death. He has been Rector here about six years, I think, and the villagers love him. He is grandpapa's great friend, and has always been very kind to me. I could never quite understand how he was able to forgive the murderers of his family, but I think I know now."

Marie watched the serious, almost sad face of Keena for a minute, then she said , "He is much older than you, dear, so of course much of his life and many of his actions would seem strange to you. You must have been a child when you first saw him. I should think he is more than twice your age. Therefore his ideas and yours would be at variance on most subjects. Come along, Keena, and show me the river down there at the foot of the hill. The day is too lovely for gloomy thoughts and talks."

With a soft laugh, Keena assured her friend that she was not in the least given to gloomy thoughts or conversation, and that the talk in the conservatory had not saddened her.

"We shall go down to the riverside. It is lovely there at all times."

"And may I not come also, Keena, or have you and Miss Delorme secrets to disclose to one another?" said the Rector, coming out to join them.

"Of course you may come," said Marie, graciously. "We are going to the river because I have not yet seen it, and because the day is too charming to be spent indoors."

Keena's eyes expressed surprise at the quick change in the tone of Marie's voice, but she made no remark thereon, too happy in the company of her two friends to think deeply on any perplexing subject.

Down the road with the river winding below, and the hills changing at each step with those inconstancies of light and shade and aspect and colour in which all hills delight, they wandered happily until the French girl cried out at the length and steepness of the path.

"Give her your hand, Mr. Keir. Marie is town-bred, poor thing!" said Keena, in mock contempt. "I love my dear old home so much that no path of it is too steep for me, and no road too long."

"Well, you are right to love it," Miss Delorme admitted, as she sat on a flat stone by the riverside, and pulled the pale pink and white heather bells, and cast them on the lazily flowing water. "I should love it myself were it mine, although I am a town girl. You ought to be a happy little mortal, for you have everything to make you so. Now what would you do if you were lonely and poor like me?"

"Hush, Marie, you know you never need be lonely as long as I may be your friend."

"I am very discontented, and unworthy of your friendship. But see, we are talking secrets after all, and quite forgetting Mr. Keir," she added, turning with a gentle air of contrition to the clergyman.

"I am Keena's friend," he said with a smile, "and I hope you will allow me to be yours. Then you need not fear to talk 'secrets' before me."

Marie returned the smile. "Thank you, Mr. Keir. I shall be only too glad to have another kind hand to lead me to the light when I grumble and grow gloomy over my lot in life."

It was said so gracefully and humbly that he felt insensibly drawn towards her, although that certain indefinable something in her glance repelled him at the same moment.

"That's right, Marie. Mr. Keir will be a real friend, so now you will never want to go away and leave Céim-an-eich."

"I don't want to go away," whispered Marie, tenderly, "but you know I cannot be a burden on your grandfather's bounty. I must get something to do, besides being your tutor."

"Oh, well, after a while you can talk of that; and meantime this is your holiday, so enjoy it."

There was the lovely afternoon light everywhere. The soil was radiant with leaf and blade; the river was a sheet of gold and green, shining in the sun. Along the mountain paths the rich ruby and purple of the heather glowed, while the fresh scents of the flowers came down on the breeze from the heights above.

Céim-an-eich was verily and indeed a home to be proud of and to love, and Keena's heart was filled with this love now, and her thoughts were all happy ones as she sat contentedly by Marie's side.

### Chapter 3

"It may be right, and it may be wrong; I'm not going to doubt the master's sense come this time of day; but I do think he might have remembered Miss Keena's sixteen years."

"What's the matter, mother? Sure, you're right put out the day. What's the squire done?"

"It isn't what he's done, Connor, but what he hasn't done. I've been housekeeper here more years than I care to count, and the only mistress I want above me is Miss Keena."

"Ay, sure, mother."

"Yes, but I am to have another mistress." Mrs. Connor spoke in a tone of voice the unusual sharpness of which caused her son to gaze at her in undisguised amazement.

"Miss Keena's to pursue her studies for a year while under the care of Miss Delorme, and Miss Delorme is to have the charge of the place, and be mistress for that whole year. That's the news I've had the day, and I don't like it, Connor lad. I don't like it. Miss Keena's as happy as the day is long, for all the sober look on her face sometimes; but still...."

Here the old woman broke off abruptly, and took up her knitting again, and her position at the open window.

"I'm afeard, mother, that you're harbouring ill-will against Miss Delorme," said the man, jokingly.

"No, I'm not, Connor lad," she responded seriously. "It isn't for my own sake, as you know, that I'm troubled. But I love the child so, and we've never had any strange bodies about the place before. Keena is such a tender lamb that the truth about her father would hurt her dreadfully; maybe even kill her."

"I don't see why she wasn't told it all long ago. It's bad enough, sure, but it has been made worse by hiding it."

"It has, I know, and I'd have told her, but the young mistress made the squire promise never to breathe it, and least of all to the child. So we've kept it a secret, and now it has grown into a real problem. I'm always afeard lest someone should say the truth of a sudden."

"But who could tell it? Never a one knows it but our two selves, and Tim Magrath beyond the forge."

"Tim knows it, and he's a foolish old soul, and easily come round. Miss Delorme is very curious to hear why the dead father of Miss Keena isn't buried in the churchyard with the mistress. She'll try and find it out if she can, and I'm afeard she doesn't love Miss Keena as much as she professes to do. It's the home and the comfort she wants -- only Miss Keena's so innocent she doesn't see it. And the master's growing old."

"But why don't the master say outright that Miss Keena's father is buried away in foreign lands? Sure, it's the truth, and easily said."

"Yes, but the mistress made us promise when she was dying that we'd never tell where the grave is, or anything about her husband's life or death."

"Then 'twas foolish entirely," returned the man, emphatically, "and may do the child more harm than if she knew the truth."

"Yes, there it is," almost wailed the old woman. "Sure, I did wrong altogether in keeping silent, and it's manys and manys a time I've prayed the dear Lord to help me out of the trouble. Miss Keena's just like her mother: fond of trees, and flowers, and animals, and thinking they can all talk and understand. And she has her wonderful power of singing, too, and her sensitive nature, and her love for Céim-an-eich. Sure, the young mistress was proud of the good name of Karmody, and so is the child."

"And so she should be," said the son.

"Ah yes, but 'We none of us did anything disgraceful,' says Miss Keena: and so the young mistress, her mother, used to say. Ah, if God would just put His Spirit into my bonny child, His Holy Spirit that she tells me the people in Panama think her white orchid is, then she might bear any trouble or any pain. But I'm afeard she doesn't understand anything about it, though she does love the flower so, and talks about it, and listens to the Rector's stories of it. I often pray that it may be to her what my words have never been; that the meaning of it may enter into the heart of her and abide there."

"Amen, mother."

When her son left the room the old woman took down her Bible, and read in a half-audible tone her favourite verses from John chapter fourteen \-- read them with tears in her shaking old voice, even as she had done many a time since Miss Delorme's arrival in Céim-an-eich.

"'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me. Whatsoever ye shall ask in My name that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it. And I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you for ever. I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you.'"

<><><><>

"Keena, will you take me down to the pretty graveyard that we passed on that ever-memorable day I came here? You said you would."

"Of course I will, Marie. You seem to have a strange fancy for looking at graves. Where is the use? They don't hold the people we have known and loved. It's just the part of death I don't like, though our God's acre is lovely now with flowers and sunshine."

"Don't preach to me, child. I can bear it from Mr. Keir, but not from you. He does make me want to be better, sometimes."

"Yes, he is good; for he has suffered so much, and he has forgiven his enemies."

"How foolishly romantic you are! Let us take what comes to our hand, and think always of our own welfare, and we shall do well."

"Oh, Marie!" exclaimed Keena, involuntarily shrinking from her friend. "How can you talk as if you cared for no one but yourself? You are being selfish."

"Yes, I am. I have often told you so, and they tried to tell you so at school. It is not my fault that you won't believe."

Marie spoke with truthful irritation that would have carried conviction to the heart of one less unsophisticated, but Keena's faith in her friend was unshaken.

"The sun is too hot, and the day is altogether too good to waste in talking such nonsense. See, there is nurse on the road before us. Shall we ask her to come with us?"

"Yes, do."

Mrs. Connor joined them happily. "Well, Miss Keena dear, and how is your flower getting on?"

"My flower is lovely, and I am happy to possess it. We are going down to the graveyard. Miss Delorme will insist on seeing it, though I do think the day too bright to pay such a melancholy visit. Will you come and answer all questions, as I know scarcely anything about the graves?"

"To be sure I'll come, dearie, though there's nothing of much interest in an ordinary little burying place."

"Thank you, Mrs. Connor," said Miss Delorme gently, turning her inquiring eyes full upon the troubled face of the old woman. "I am so fond of anything connected with this dear place and Miss Keena, that I naturally want to see the graves of my friend's father and mother."

"The young mistress' grave is there, but the young master died and was buried in foreign parts. Here we are, you can walk in, miss; there's no one to hinder. Sure that's the Rector over beyond there."

Mr. Keir crossed the hilly, grass-covered path to meet them, a smile of pleasure lighting up his face.

"What a wonder to meet my sunshiny little friend here!" he said, as after a courteous greeting to Marie he held Keena's hand in his, and turned to walk by her side.

"She has, as usual, put herself out for me," Miss Delorme said graciously. "I wanted to come, she did not."

"She likes only pleasant sights," he responded. "Well, sit down here and rest yourselves after your walk. This is the sleeping place of the last mistress of Céim-an-eich. Her husband reposes in Italy, I believe."

"Yes, so Mrs. Connor told me. But to my thinking he should have been brought home and laid beside his wife."

Keena had wandered off to look at a beautiful wild orchid growing at the other side of the walk.

"They were cousins, were they not -- the father and mother of Keena?" continued Marie.

"Yes, they were both Karmodys," said Mrs. Connor. "They had been married a short time, and they died within a few months of each other. The young master wasn't known at all at all in these parts. He lived mostly in Italy, where he died. The young mistress was the old squire's daughter, and mistress always of Céim-an-eich, as Miss Keena will be soon. Indeed, we all think she's old enough to be that same now."

A certain defiant ring in the old woman's voice caused the Rector to look at her closely. He knew the love she bore the orphan child of her dead mistress, and he believed she was protective for Keena's position in the house, because Miss Delorme was to have nominal charge of all things for a while. Surely, he thought, good old Mrs. Connor ought to know that it was much better that Keena should be at liberty a little longer to pursue her studies before she assumed such a responsible position as head of Céim-an-eich. Old Squire Karmody would very shortly be unable to attend to all the demands made upon his time and attention by the numerous men and women employed upon the large estate; and it needed a strong head to decide always the best course to follow with regard to the tenants in the villages round, and in the little farms on the roadside and on the hillside.

The house was to be full of visitors this Christmas time. Old friends from Dublin and Belfast were coming, and a thoughtful, careful hostess would be required to see after their comfort and entertainment. Who could fulfil all these varied duties so well as this quiet, lady-like Miss Delorme? Besides, this arrangement would leave Keena perfectly free to enjoy the society of her mother's and grandfather's friends as perhaps she could not otherwise have done. All taken into consideration, the Rector thought that Marie Delorme would be a true acquisition for a few months.

"I was looking at that orchid over there. What a difference between it and mine, though it is beautiful, as all wild flowers are!" As Keena spoke, she cast herself down on the green turf, a faint shadow darkening her eyes and the youthful happiness of her face.

"Why, of course, dear, considering yours is a hothouse plant, and yonder flower is a little vagrant," said Marie, smilingly.

"Yes, I suppose that is it. But the Espiritu Santo awakens such strange thoughts in me. I grow dissatisfied with myself when I look long at it."

"Do you really wish to become a white dove, and dwell for ever in a floral grotto?" Miss Delorme's laugh grated harshly on her listeners' ears. "I am eminently practical. Such thoughts rarely disturb my peace of mind. Certainly I don't think the strange perfection of a flower would make me uncomfortable, or awaken within me a longing to grow like it."

"I think you are practical, Miss Delorme," responded Mr. Keir, emphatically. "We do not suppose that the actual form of the Espiritu Santo is a thing to be desired, but we would all like to have that within us of which it might be named the symbol. The Holy Spirit is God-given, you know, He is therefore not to be despised. I fully understand how the orchid might influence the minds of many people. We know, Mrs. Connor," he continued, turning to the old woman who was listening with contented pleasure, "that our Lord has many ways of showing Himself to the people. Flowers and bright hued insects have more than once been His messengers. I think He wishes to impress upon us that no one thing is useless which He has created."

"That is true," spoke the woman; "and He is none the less kind and good to us, even though we do see and follow wrong lights, and misunderstand His teaching."

Keena looked at her companions with an amused, half-perplexed glance. "Marie will say you two are always preaching to her. She does not like it, so please stop; although it was her own fault that we came to the graveyard."

"Nonsense, Keena; you know I always like listening to Mr. Keir," said Marie, almost angrily.

Marie frowned. Was Keena, that simple child, actually laughing at her? Was she trying to show Mr. Keir that she, Marie, was so very irreligious? Just as they were getting on so amicably, too!

### Chapter 4

AS the months rolled on, and the seasons appeared and departed, Miss Delorme's home in Ireland became very dear to her. The dissatisfaction which had at first showed itself so openly among the servants, at the advent of a stranger as mistress over them and Céim-an-eich, had now almost died out. She made herself so agreeable to all around her that there was no cause for grumbling, or discontent that she was not a Karmody born and brought up. She had set herself to her task resolutely, and she had succeeded beyond her wildest imaginings. And why should she not, considering how congenial that task was?

The slightest wish of the old squire was anticipated and gratified. No tenants were allowed to come near him with their stories or troubles; no labourers were permitted to enter his presence with a demand for more wages, or complaints about "the hardness of the times." All such were met and answered by Miss Delorme, who came by degrees to be regarded as the real mistress and landlord, "because the old squire was so feeble, and Miss Keena such a child."

Miss Delorme read the newspapers aloud to "the master," and talked to him and amused him by the hour, as only an intelligent, educated woman could do. When he would politely remonstrate with her for wasting her time with him, and tiring herself at that which was not her "lawful" work, she would answer, reproachfully, that to give pleasure to anyone Keena loved was "lawful work" always. As Keena was busy with music and books, surely Miss Delorme's task was to take up all those other duties which by right belonged to the child, but which she had not leisure to perform?

Then, when her grandfather sometimes longed for Keena's voice and smile, and loving ministration, Miss Delorme would gently insinuate that every moment wasted now by Keena was an incalculable loss. Let the old man have patience for a little while until this year's music, and reading, and mental training should be successfully concluded, then his granddaughter's character would be formed, and she might be a fit companion for him, and a true guide for the large household.

"Of course I know I am a poor substitute for Keena. No one in the place feels that more than myself. Still, when it is for her good, you may all put up with me, for a time."

This Marie said sincerely enough for the first month or two when Mrs. Connor openly remonstrated at the length of time the "young mistress" spent in her study, and at the almost depressed expression that rested so constantly now on the fair young face. By-and-by Miss Delorme changed her tone, and almost imperceptibly assumed that of a mistress, and only to Keena or her grandfather was she Marie Delorme, the stranger and dependent.

One evening in the early spring, when all the hillside began to waken into life, and the black, drear winter was forgotten by the poor as a thing that had never been, Mrs. Connor beguiled Keena into her little sitting room. She made her rest by the open window, and talk and laugh as she had done always until Miss Delorme came to reign in Céim-an-eich.

"Sure, honey, you go at them books and at that music till the light's just dying out of your pretty eyes. What's it all for? You're not going to be a teacher like Miss Delorme, so what's the use of it?"

"I am not going to be a teacher, but if I am ever to be fit for the position I must hold as the head of Céim-en-eich and all grandfather's tenants, I must try and be less dreamy and more sensible and thoughtful. Miss Delorme says truly I am inexperienced, and more fond of dreams than of action. She says sooner or later we all have something to bear, and our characters should be moulded in our youth."

"But, my lamb, surely the old master must sometimes want to see you and hear you sing, and I know the people about the place just pine for you."

Sudden tears sprang to the young girl's eyes. "I would like to talk with grandpapa, and go out into the fields as usual, but I must not. Besides, Miss Delorme supplies my place fully. She is a better mistress than I could be."

"Now you are talking foolishly, dear Keena," interrupted Marie, as she unexpectedly entered the room. "There is no one capable of taking your place either with your grandfather or the people. Come, I want you to accompany me to the cottage of old Tim Magrath. I hear he is badly in need of food."

"Tim Magrath!" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Connor. "Sure Miss Keena needn't go tramping all that weary way. One of the servants can carry food to him."

"I will go alone, then," replied Marie, coldly. "I don't want to injure Keena, though you seem to think I do."

"Now you have hurt my dear friend!" cried Keena, reproachfully to the old housekeeper, as she hastened after the retreating figure of Miss Delorme.

"Marie, wait for me. Of course I am coming with you. Nurse meant nothing by her words. She is so accustomed to look after me that she forgets I am now old enough to take care of myself."

Marie smiled affectionately on the eager, face raised so entreatingly. "I did not really mind, only it just hurt me a tiny bit to think I should be so misjudged. Mrs. Connor never liked me, and 1 think she may be right. It would be better for me to go away and leave you. As you grow older, wisdom and gravity will come too."

"Oh, Marie, how can you talk so?" murmured Keena. "I never want you to go away; not even next year, when I am nominally mistress of all this. I shall want you more than ever then."

"But, Keena," and Marie Delorme sounded thoroughly in earnest while she spoke, "it would indeed be better for you if I went away. Sorrow and grief may come to you through me, so let me go when you have the chance. I am only an interloper at best, and I have no right to all the money and affection you lavish on me."

"Well, if sorrow does come, I will be prepared for it. You are teaching me what self-sacrifice means, and I am sure it is, as you say, the most noble sentiment in the world."

"So you will not let me go? Very well," grimly responded Miss Delorme; "you must not forget that I offered to go, yes, and meant it too."

The cabin of the old man Magrath was a genuine Irish one, with thatched roof and a heap of mud on one side of the door in which a pig scraped, and a pool of stagnant water on the other, wherein ducks enjoyed themselves.

He rose totteringly to his feet when he recognized the "young mistress" and her friend. "Sure it's a sight for sore eyes to see you, alanna, an' yon, me leddy, too. Will you rest a bit after the long walk?"

"We will just sit here on this stone. The evening is too warm to remain indoors. How is your rheumatism? Miss Delorme has something for you in that basket,"

"Thin blessin's on your swate face, mavourneen. It's you'll be a send to the poor all round when you come to be the mistress. But sure you're that same now."

"Not yet, Tim. In another few months I hope to take all trouble off grandfather's hands, and in the meantime Miss Delorme does that."

"Yes, yes." He nodded his head vaguely. "I'm sure she's a foine leddy entirely, but th'ould stock for me. No offinse, miss."

"Oh, no," smiled Marie. "I am sure the Karmodys deserve your love and gratitude. Miss Keena tells me that no Karmody was ever guilty of a wicked or mean act, so they must be worthy of your praise."

"Worthy! That they war. They war alwis good friends of the poor, yis, an' honest gentlemen. All but wan of them ... all but wan of them."

He uttered the last words very slowly, as if trying to recall some dim, vague memory that eluded him.

"That one must have lived some time in the Middle Ages, for I never heard of him," said Keena, quickly and incredulously.

"Middle Ages!" repeated the old man; "I don't know about Middle Ages, but 'tisn't long since he lived. Not long, at all, at all." Then he looked closely at the half-curious, half-amused face of the young girl. "What am I sayin'? Sure I've no rights to be talkin' when the gentlefolks is silent. There wasn't wan of the Karmodys bad, not wan, I'm told."

He concluded with an emphatic shake of his grey head which knocked his tattered hat off and sent it amongst the ducks, frightening them into increased volubility of tongue.

Keena laughed outright then, and rose to her feet. "Well, we will say goodbye, Tim. Here is the basket. You can use its contents, and we will return for it some other evening."

The old man rose to see his visitors depart, sending after them a nearly "God bless you kindly," as they disappeared down the road, the cool spring air, already laden with the scent of wild flowers, blowing fresh from the hillside.

### Chapter 5

ON the fair bright weather of spring, Marie Delorme wandered down the hillside restlessly and discontentedly, taking no notice of the beauty growing into life all around her.

A week ago she had been to see Tim McGrath, and coaxed the secret of Keena's father from his unguarded lips. What a hold she would now have over Keena! Today she was returning from visiting a poor tenant on the other side of the Barrow River, giving food and kind words where both were much needed. But as she returned with her empty basket the light had all gone from her face, and the gentle smile from the proud, determined mouth.

"It would seem as if all my efforts were vain; as if an unformed child were more precious, more lovable than a woman who has lived and suffered. Yes, she is seventeen today, and tomorrow I must resign my authority into her hands and perhaps depart and seek another home. I think the old man will miss me. I have really tried to please him in every way, and I believe he respects and honours me. That was a clever little story I told him about Keena. He believed it, I am sure, as it was so in keeping with the behaviour of her father. He has changed towards the girl since I told it to him. Well, perhaps I shall be left guardian, and if so, I shall know how to manage. Ah, here comes the Rector."

Marie's musings came to an abrupt termination as she held out her hand with a quick smile of welcome to the clergyman crossing the path beside her.

"Are you going home, Miss Delorme? I thought I would just call in tonight and have a cup of tea and a chat with the squire."

"Yes, I am going to the house now," she responded, pointedly avoiding the word "home," which he had so naturally used. "I am sure you will be very welcome. You must find it dull sometimes, all alone in the Rectory. But I suppose men who think much, as you do, and read and write much, rarely ever understand what loneliness is in the true sense of the term?"

He smiled sadly enough. "Do we not? When I return from a visit to Céim-an-eich, that loneliness assumes a worse form than ever. How is Keena? Working hard, as usual?"

"Her term of work ends today, as I suppose you know. I think she is still too unformed and dreamy to have such a position as mistress of Céim-an-eich. Her grandfather agrees with me now, but Mrs. Connor insists that his promise must be kept to the child, and that she must assume the reins of government after today. I don't think Keena cares in the least, one way or the other, and it would be better that she waited a little longer. I speak from experience," she continued, laughing, "for I have had no easy task this year past."

"I am sure you have not," he answered warmly. "But you are aware that I think Keena's time of study has been too long. She would have had a much better chance of becoming a true, capable woman if she had mixed more with the outer world all these months. She is not really a child, you know, although you generally speak of her as such. But, however, you ought to understand such matters, and since the study time is over now, there is nothing more to be said on the subject."

"My one trouble was that you did not approve of my plan," was the reply, humbly spoken. "I did it for the best, both for Keena herself and for her grandfather. It seems he doesn't quite trust the child as he would wish." Here she ceased in some confusion, as if she had in an unguarded moment almost betrayed a secret.

The Rector looked at her sharply, then he exclaimed impulsively, "Not trust Keena? Why, everyone knows she is all goodness and sweetness. Not trust her? He, and everyone loved and respected her always."

"I beg your pardon for those words," murmured Marie, contritely. "I had no right to breathe them, none whatever. It was a sacred confidence, but you are a clergyman; you will not repeat my foolish remarks. Of course you love Keena, as we all do, and are blind to her faults, as we all try to be. There is such a strange mystery concerning her father's life and death. They seem to have kept the story from her, so it must have been disgraceful."

"Why must it have been disgraceful?"

The calm, cool tone recalled Marie to herself, and also warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. Quick tears filled her eyes, and she glanced piteously through them at Mr. Keir.

"Please forget what I have been saying, and forgive me if I have spoken too impetuously. I am a solitary woman, and sometimes given to speaking my thoughts aloud when I had better be silent."

"I shall certainly not think of your words again, if I can help it, and I shall try to believe that you are actuated by a true desire for the welfare of the old squire and Keena. Ah, there is Keena herself awaiting us by the sundial. She must have seen us descending the hill path. How bright and well she looks!"

"Come along quickly, both of you. Tea is ready, and grandfather is waiting." Keena ran forward and gave her hand to the Rector, drawing him gently towards the open door. "Marie, some men were here wanting you, and grandfather wished his paper read aloud. It appears I could neither answer the men nor read the paper. You must begin a new course of instruction with me tomorrow, dear. You know the old system finishes tonight, and I am not sure that I shall like the new order of things better than the old."

The tone of Keena's voice was happy and buoyant, and her cheeks had a brighter colour in them.

Marie smiled indulgently. "You will do your best, I am sure, but the new work will be difficult enough to worry that dreamy brain."

As they sat round the tea table a maid announced that a messenger from Tim Magrath, who was dying, was waiting outside to conduct Miss Delorme to the cottage of the old man.

"He says that Tim wouldn't ask you to come so far, Miss Delorme, only that he has something very particular to say to you alone."

Much as Marie disliked leaving the house just then, she was obliged to go, for it would have seemed so unkind to refuse.

"It will not be very long before I am back, I hope. You must entertain Mr. Keir until my return, Keena," she said in her customary tone of authority, which tonight brought a smile to the clergyman's lips, and slightly hurt Keena.

"Mr. Keir doesn't need to be entertained as if he were a stranger, Marie. We would both go with you, only Tim evidently means that you are to visit him alone. We might walk with you as far as the cottage. It is such a long way."

"No, indeed," cried Miss Delorme hastily; "there is no need for you to do so. I don't mind going alone. You forget that I have had more than a year's experience of Irish cabins and Irish roads."

Left to themselves, Keena and the Rector first went to the room of the old squire, who rarely quitted his armchair now, and after remaining some time talking and reading to him, returned again to the long, low dining room, with its windows opening on to the perfumed beds of spring flowers. They both rested themselves by one of these windows, and Keena sang, while the clergyman leaned his head against the crimson curtains and listened, and enjoyed to his heart's content.

The girl's swift dreamy imagination had at all times a charm in itself for the quiet man, but tonight her words and her songs alike were tinged with a new beauty and gladness that moved him strangely. Was it possible that the silent teaching of the orchid had really influenced her at last?

He almost feared to ask her the question, knowing her reticent nature; still....

While he hesitated she suddenly left her seat and passed out into the fragrant spring night. "I will sing to you a wonderful old song I found in my mother's desk. Nurse says she composed it, and that she was a great player and singer. The air is very lovely, but the words are sad. Listen."

Like a line of light vibrating with the sounds it bore, the music seemed to pass over wood and waterfall, wild heath and hillside, till it reached the distant swell and deep thunder of the sea. Here it sprang into newer, fresher life; a burst of joy in sparkling notes, like the song of birds. It ran hither and thither, now high, now low; then, subsiding into the minor key, the undercurrent of sorrow, the shadow of death lying upon all things living, it took up a solemn strain that spoke to the soul of eternity, symbolised by the surging sea whose waves embrace all lands, neither ceasing nor wearying, nor changing, for ever.

In faintest, sweetest tones the strain died away, the voice ceased that had brought to the ear this distant echo of the far-off land. But though the music was hushed, unheard, like the soft wind that ruffles the silent ridges of the distant sea, its presence was felt, its effect was visible still.

In Tim Magrath's cottage sat Marie Delorme. Close beside the trailing length of her dress on the earthen floor lay a hen with her chickens, and in a distant corner reposed a pig. The old man himself was sleeping uneasily on a bed of straw, with a scanty covering of some red flannel material. Now and again he started up and muttered incoherently some story in which the name of Karmody was distinctly audible. It was plain to see that he was near the end of his life's journey.

As Marie sat there silently, with ever-increasing impatience, she wondered if that fitful slumber would continue until death came. After a while the incoherent muttering ceased, the restless hands fell quietly on the coverlet, and the dim eyes were turned on her with a gleam of intelligence in their sunken depths.

"It's yourself, Miss Delorme!" The parched, trembling lips moved painfully, laboriously, and the words were almost inaudible. "I made bold to send for you."

"Yes," Marie nodded encouragingly, "what have you to say to me?"

"I told you something of the young master, Miss Keena's father -- I had no rights to tell you. It war a mighty secret. Never a man knowed it but me an' Connor's mother -- lavin' out th'ould squire. If Miss Keena knowed it, it might kill her, an' she's th' only wan of th'ould stock lift. You must never let on you heard it. Never breathe a whisper of what I told you. Promise me here, dyin' as I am, that you won't tell any wan in the whole wide world what you know of the young master."

A dark shadow fell over Marie's face, and her lips compressed themselves together determinedly. It was not a pleasant thing to refuse the request of a dying man. "Was that what you wanted to say to me? To whom should I tell your secret? You forget that I am a stranger here. You need not have troubled yourself about such a thing."

She spoke soothingly, but evasively, hoping that such an answer would satisfy the man whose intellect was not at any time very clear.

"No, miss, that won't do. I want a promise that you can't break. Sure, it's not much to ask. 'Twouldn't pleasure you to hurt Miss Keena."

"Of course I don't want to hurt her," responded Marie, with alacrity. "You may be sure your secret's all right."

"Words ... words," murmured the dying man, moving his head helplessly from side to side. "Don't talk so much, for I can't understand you. Just say you'll never spake it to mortal man. Thin I'll die content."

In the silence that followed, a woman came quietly into the room and moved to the bedside, while Marie as quietly rose up and passed out of the open door, and walked home with the calm night sky above her and the hillside shining white in the starlight.

She had not given the promise.

### Chapter 6

THE next day Keena went away beyond Maryborough to stay for a few days at the house of an old friend of her mother's. Mrs. Trench had one daughter, a bright girl who had much wished for the companionship of Squire Karmody's granddaughter after her return from London, but whose wish had been denied by Miss Delorme until Keena's year of study and training was finished.

"I don't like Miss Delorme at all, at all, Keena," said Mollie Trench energetically, soon after Keena's arrival. "I can't imagine how you and your grandfather put such trust in her. To be sure, Squire Karmody is getting too old to understand things very clearly, but I should think your nurse and housekeeper, Mrs. Connor, would have her senses about her. The idea of keeping a grownup girl like you hidden away for a whole year! It was perfectly absurd. Weren't you supposed to be finished your schooling when you left London?"

"Not entirely," responded Keena, half amused, half vexed. "You forget that I was barely sixteen then, and had never really been head of Céim-an-eich. When grandpapa used to find that he had too much to do, Connor helped him, and his mother Mrs. Connor was housekeeper, as you know. It was only during this past year that grandpapa grew so very feeble."

"I should think he would grow feeble," declared Mollie. "That self-contained creature being perpetually with him must have scattered the remainder of his senses."

"Mollie, Mollie, your tongue runs away with you," said her mother, warningly. "You forget how fond Keena is of Miss Delorme."

"No, I don't," replied Mollie, sturdily. "And I don't forget the number of times we asked Keena here, and Miss Delorme refused to let her come. And what's more, I don't believe she told Keena anything about those invitations. Ah, just so. I can see by your face that she didn't, my dear. Well, what a goose you were, to be sure. She received all your visitors in that fashion, thinking, I suppose, that they would call on herself the next time; but they didn't, so she was disappointed, poor thing."

"Mollie, you must not say one word against Miss Delorme. I shall go home if you do. She is, and always will be, my friend."

"Keena, you must excuse Mollie's tongue; you know it of old," put in Mrs. Trench, soothingly. "She loves you too well to really offend you. However, I am truly glad that you have now assumed your proper place in Céim-an-eich. We shall see you often, I hope, and you will visit amongst the rest of your mother's old friends. Your time seems to me to have been all spent in school since you left your childhood behind you."

Keena laughed. "I am afraid I am not yet very matured, but I will try not to disgrace our name. You were the friend of my mother. Did you know my father?"

"No, dear. She met him on the Continent, and married him there. He was a Karmody, and a great painter."

"Ah, I knew he was something great," cried Keena, clasping her hands delightedly. "I am so sorry that we have none of his paintings. I must go some day and see his grave in Italy, and hear all about him from the people amongst whom he worked."

"No doubt Mrs. Connor can tell you all about him, for she is like a Karmody herself. Your family, for many generations back, has displayed great talent. You know your mother sang exquisitely, and played the harp and piano, and composed music."

"Yes, I have some of her songs."

"You have a great painter for your father, a great musician for your mother. You ought to be something great yourself, my love," said Mrs. Trench, smilingly, as her eyes rested affectionately on the daughter of her dead friend.

Keena returned her glance somewhat sadly. "I don't know. I don't seem to be good for much," she answered, with a curious hesitation in her voice.

"All rubbish, which that Miss Delorme has been putting into your head."

"Now, Mollie," said her mother, severely.

The girl threw her arms round Keena's neck. "Forgive me, Keena. I'll try not to offend again."

The days that followed were full of joy and sweet spring sunshine and fragrant spring blossoms. At last Keena bethought herself of home, and of her grandfather and Marie; and though reluctant to let her go so soon, Mrs. Trench and Mollie were obliged to acquiesce in the decision of their young visitor. Certainly, it was not well to leave Céim-an-eich too long without its mistress; and now they could go to the beautiful old place as often as they liked, always sure of a welcome from Keena.

"So you have returned, dear child," said Miss Delorme, as she crossed the hall to the dining room, a great china dish of flowers in her hands. "I am sure you enjoyed yourself. You look as if you had. Mary, take all those wraps from Miss Keena, and see that her room is ready. So sorry my hands are full, dear; I cannot embrace you as I would. Go and speak to your grandfather before you take your things off. He has missed you, I am afraid."

Keena ran up the open stairs swiftly, and entered the old squire's room. "I have returned, grandpapa. How have you been since I left? Marie says you missed me." And the young girl's lips were laid against the wrinkled brow of the old man.

He raised his eyes slowly to look at her. Then a great sigh escaped him. "Yes, yes, I missed you, child, but where was the use of fretting over it? She said right. Young people will go about enjoying themselves, even though we old ones have our feet already in the cold water of the dark river."

"But, grandpapa, I would not have gone to Maryborough if you had once hinted that you wanted me. Marie urged me to go, and she said you were accustomed to her, and a new companion might worry you just yet,"

"Well, well, never mind."

Tears sprang to Keena's eyes at the sad tone of voice. Had she unthinkingly gone away and left him when he needed her? Somebody was wrong, unjust. Was she the offender, or was it Marie? She began to grow confused.

"Do you know why your mother had you christened Keena?"

"No, grandpapa." She furtively wiped away the tears, and leaned over him eagerly.

"Because she was in great sorrow then. Great sorrow." He nodded his head sadly. "'Keen,' in our country, is the wail for the dead, so she just added the one letter to it, and made it 'Keena.' But you were never sad in all your life. She should have been named 'Keena,' and not you. There, don't cry. You are a bonny, good child, and always the pride and delight of your old grandfather. Remember that, no matter what they say to you. May the Lord bless and keep you always, and bring you home at last to His heaven. Goodnight, my dear. You must go to your lessons. I can't be keeping you here, for you must learn, and grow wise."

"You forget, my lessons are all done now, and I can stay with you as long as you like."

"Keena, you are making your grandfather talk too much. Come, tea is ready this long time."

Keena turned away obediently at Marie's command, and followed her from the room. She had not heard her enter.

"I didn't know grandpapa was so poorly."

"Hand me that plate, will you, dear? Yes, he has been declining for some time now. You were aware of it before you went away."

"I had no idea he was like this. I shouldn't have gone at all. I should never have left him."

"Well, dear, you naturally like enjoyment, so of course I didn't care to urge any very strong objection to your going."

"But you advised me to go!" exclaimed Keena, somewhat indignantly.

"Nay, I am sure I never dared to advise anything since you took the reins of government into your own hands."

"I haven't taken them yet, but I shall from tonight. I don't think it was kind of you, or like your usual self, to hide grandpapa's illness from me as if I was too young to understand."

"How you do allow your tongue to run riot, to be sure! My darling Keena, everything I do is for your good, and if I fail through over-zeal, I cannot help it." Miss Delorme's hands went up to her face, and a subdued sob echoed through the long room.

Keena half rose from her chair, hesitated, and finally sat down again. "I don't mean to accuse you of want of love for me, Marie," she said quietly. "Only, as grandpapa seemed to wish for me, I am sorry I didn't stay. Now we will take our tea, and talk of something else. Was Mr. Keir here often while I was away?"

A misty smile shone in Marie's eyes as she raised them tenderly, reproachfully, to meet Keena's glance. "If my little Irish girl is going to turn against me, and misunderstand my motives in this way, I must go to England, and interfere no longer in her affairs."

Keena rose in her seat. "You know I have told you that I could never think anything of you but what is noble and good. Don't talk like that,"

Marie smiled. "I am glad you do love me, in spite of my faults, and are not so hasty to condemn me as other people are. Yes, Mr. Keir was here since you went to Maryborough, but now he has gone to America, I believe."

"Oh, I am so sorry, for I wanted so much to talk to him."

"Talk about what, dear? Your orchid is flourishing. I looked after it myself."

"Thank you. I knew you would be kind to it. Did he leave no forwarding address for me?"

"No, certainly not. Why should you write to him?"

"Oh, I often write to him."

For a few minutes Marie was silent, wondering if she had safely burned that piece of paper which the Rector had given her. Keena was curious, and wide-awake tonight! Certainly her visit to Maryborough had altered her in some fashion. Would there be rebellion and trouble, after all, in Céim-an-eich?

"Now I think I shall go and have a chat with dear old nurse before I return to grandpapa."

"Mrs. Connor is not here," said Marie hastily, a swift, red colour flushing her face, her eyes drooping before the astonished gaze of Keena. "Let me tell you about it before the tongue of an enemy gives you a wrong version of the story. When I went to Tim Magrath, as you know, Mrs. Connor did not wish me to do so, but I could not let her govern my actions. It seemed right for me to go, if I wished. She upbraided me with doing what was wrong, and with injuring you. I told her I did not understand how seeing a poor dying man could injure you. She got angry, and I got angry. She wanted to see your grandfather, but I wouldn't let her into his room in that excited state. She said she would go away from the house until you came back, and I am afraid I told her she ought to do so. I am sorry I was so angry with her, but she really irritated me past my endurance. Won't you forgive me, dear? She is not far away, I dare say. She will come back quickly enough."

"Everything seems to be going wrong," declared Keena, in direst dismay. "Why, Céim-an-eich would scarcely be home without nurse! I can't think of her as being so very angry, she was always so good."

Marie smiled, half contemptuously. "You will soon get her back. I am only sorry I didn't meekly bear all she had to say, and put up with her insulting language, since her departure hurts you so much."

"Yes, it does hurt me," was the answer, briefly spoken. "You could never understand how much."

Miss Delorme was silent, deeming it wiser to pursue the subject no further then.

Keena left the long dining room, and turned down the hall to the servants' quarters. "Where is Connor?" she inquired of a new maid, whom she met coming from the kitchen. "Send him to me at once."

"Sure, ma'am," replied the girl, dropping a frightened curtsey, "isn't he in gaol for doin' wrong?"

"He is where?"

The maid returned no answer, but letting the dish she was carrying slip on to the tiled floor, she fled back to the kitchen in breathless haste.

"Keena, Keena! Come at once. Your grandfather wants you. Don't lose a moment."

Startled by the imperative summons from Marie, Keena hurried up the wide steps, fear of this new trouble which seemed coming upon her chasing away for the time the rising indignation and horror caused by the servant's words.

"He is dying, I am afraid. Look! He wishes to speak to you. Go close to him."

"What is it, dear grandpapa? Are you in pain? We will send for the doctor."

"In pain? No, I am drawing near our Father's kingdom."

A stillness, even as death, reigned in the room. The white light of the moon shone in through the uncurtained window. The breeze, full with spring blossoms, moved the folds of the young girl's dress as she leaned over the dying man.

"Grandfather, you are not going away to leave me alone? Oh, stay! Stay!"

It was such an exceeding bitter cry that it reached the fainting senses of the old man. He struggled feebly into an upright position.

"No, I will not leave you alone, my bonny bright-eyed darling. I am going home, and I am glad of it; but He will send you another Comforter, to abide with you for ever. You remember. He has promised. Take heart, dear child. You will not be alone. Even the Spirit of Truth. Is this the Valley of the Shadow? There is light in it ... a great light."

The calm skies were overhead; the hillside shone white in the moonlight; the perfumed silence of a spring night was everywhere; and old Squire Karmody had gone away smilingly, peacefully, to meet his Lord and Saviour.

### Chapter 7

SOFT, thick rain was falling. It scudded over the plain, and crossed the river, and came up the hillside, dim and yet dense, stealing noiselessly and spreading vastly.

Sometimes on the hill, clouds would break that never touched the plain; sometimes in the plain it was pouring, while the hills were all sunshine. Now mountain and valley had the rain alike.

Unable to go out of the house, Keena sat alone in her room, thinking. Three days ago old Squire Karmody had been buried, and the household at Céim-an-eich had now resumed its duties. On the day of the funeral the "last will and testament" of the deceased had been opened and read to the friends assembled in the old oak dining room.

Keena was to be mistress of Céim-an-eich, and owner of all lands, properties, and moneys which the old squire had died possessed of. Marie Delorme was to be guardian of Keena, and have entire control of the estate until the heiress should have attained the age of thirty. Also, two thousand pounds was to be paid to Miss Delorme as a token of the squire's sincere regard and affection.

Thus read the will, and the astonishment of the friends at the latter portion of it was extreme. Surely the lawyer had made a mistake. Keena might have a guardian until she had reached the age of twenty, but certainly not until she was thirty. It was well known that Keena had inherited all the talent of the Karmodys, as well as her mother's especial gift of music. It was foolish enough to leave two thousand pounds to a stranger, but the "guardian" plan was simply iniquitous. It was supreme folly to think that a girl like this last of the Karmodys would not be able to act as mistress of Céim-an-eich at twenty! Why, she was fit to be its mistress now!

So ran the tongues of the friends and neighbours on that afternoon in the old oak chamber. Keena heard some of these remarks, not too gently uttered, but she gave no outward heed to them. Everything seemed to have changed so miserably. She had grown to distrust her friend and adviser. Mrs. Connor was away, no one could tell where, and her son was in some distant prison for theft! Keena had felt alone in the world since her grandfather's burial, and now she had nowhere to turn for comfort or guidance.

On this third day, as she sat in her room watching the rain, her imagination was full of pain. A shapeless storm of shapes hurried in upon her mind, like a flight of dark clouds in tempest, formless, yet fearful. The distant sounds from the hills and woods she loved, which reached her through the open casement, had no comfort in their voices. Her heart, with its own aching, grew numb, as though age had come upon it suddenly. Vaguely, dimly, a voice seemed to whisper, "I will not leave you comfortless;" but the meaning of those words was yet to be learned by her.

A step paused at the threshold of her door, a hand touched the handle, and, before she could speak, Marie Delorme stood beside her.

"It is not well to sit here and grieve, child. You should be up and doing now. You have had time enough to rest and mourn. I have not taken a minute to myself since the reading of that will which has laid such heavy responsibility on my shoulders."

"You need not keep the responsibility," said Keena, eagerly then. "Resign the guardianship, and you and I shall be happy once more. Oh, Marie, I have been thinking hard thoughts of you, and accusing you of wicked deeds. Say that I am altogether mistaken, and that you are still the friend who loves me, and would work me no ill."

"I don't understand you," answered Marie coldly, as she drew her dress away from Keena's hands. "I have always been your friend, but I have not forgotten to be my own also. You know I warned you I was selfish, and I told you more than once that I was not better than anyone else. You would insist on believing me to be supernaturally good, and I am not. But after all, what wrong has been done to you? You are your grandfather's heiress, and if I have been left your guardian, he must have thought you needed one. Of what, then, do you accuse me?"

"You know I shall not possess my beautiful home until I am thirty, and I am just seventeen. You have sent my dear old nurse away, the only person who could guide me or give me any comfort now, and you have concealed from me where she is. As to Connor, how he could suddenly become a thief, and above all, steal your watch and chain, when he had both of his own, I cannot in the least understand. It is all so miserable and incomprehensible."

"There is more than that which is miserable and incomprehensible, I'm thinking," responded Marie, in a hard, contemptuous tone, as she turned her head away for a moment to hide the red flush that rose to her face when the man Connor was mentioned. "What would you say to a mystery in your own life, miserable and disgraceful enough to cause you to hide your head for ever from your friends? The boasted name of Karmody would be disgraced if I chose to tell what I know."

Keena's eyes dilated in astonishment. She wondered if her senses were quite deserting her, or if Marie was slightly crazy. "There never was any disgrace connected with our name," she said proudly. "You are dreaming, Marie. Better for you to leave the room, and be careful what you say to me in the future."

"Leave the room, indeed!" said the Frenchwoman furiously, forgetting in a moment of rage her assumed character. "It is you who must do my bidding in the future, not I yours. I say there is a mystery in your life, and if you had not been such a dreaming baby always, you would have made Mrs. Connor tell it to you long ago. Why was your father's burial place never told to you? Why was the subject always changed if his name was mentioned before you? Why did your mother christen you Keena? If you think of all these things, you will understand what I mean. Now, I am the only one who can explain this mystery to you, but I will tell you nothing about it. Oh no, it might kill you if I did! It was a disgraceful thing about this mysterious dead father of yours, a very disgraceful thing, but you shall never know it."

With a faint cry of pain Keena lifted her hands entreatingly, and then sank to the ground.

Miss Delorme raised her hastily, and sprinkled some water over her, and laid her beside the open casement.

"Tell me, at least, where he is buried," whispered the half-unconscious girl, as a feeble moan wrung from the depths of her heart escaped from her white lips.

"In Astrea, a village in Tuscany," reluctantly answered Marie. She did not wish to give this information, but she feared to withhold it at that moment.

"Leave me alone now, please. I cannot talk anymore to you at present. Your story of my father may be true, or it may be false. I hardly know now what to believe."

"You know quite well that you believe every word I have uttered. However, I have other things to do. You must leave here immediately, if you cannot accept me as mistress of the house and your guardian, and do as I command."

Keena felt that this mysterious story of disgrace attached to the memory of her dead father, whatever it was, might be true. Now she understood many passing words, many slight incidents that had, perhaps, somewhat puzzled her at the time, but to which she had given no serious consideration.

So the name of which she had always boasted with such pride was a stained name. The artist-father of whom she had dreamed such rose hued dreams had committed some deed of wickedness, the nature of which would not be told to her lest it should kill her. She, the last of the Karmodys, had a burden of disgrace to bear throughout her life.

The night had come. With the shine of the stars on the hills, and the call of the wild birds now silenced, with the woods bathed in dew, and the valleys steeped in hushing quiet, Keena would pass out from Céim-an-eich, a self-exiled and self-beggared girl. All through the day she had wandered in almost unconscious action among the places that she loved. Over the heather blossoming on leagues of wild hill land, where the grouse nested and the little rabbits hid; through the dark aisles of oak, without a memory that could gauge their hoary age; through the rich wild splendour of forest growth, all melodious with birds, and with the noise of babbling waters; by the side of lonely lakes belted in with leafy screens; under the shelter of headlands, all clothed with fern, and with the fragrant wealth of spring flowers.

Through them she wandered, almost insensibly, walking mile on mile without a sense of bodily fatigue, wearing out physical strength without a knowledge of its loss, haggard, well-nigh lifeless, yet conscious of nothing save that she looked her last on the place of her birth and her heritage.

Of the flight of time, of the bodily suffering that racked her limbs, of the weakness upon her from want of food she knew nothing. She only knew that Marie was right, and before the next day dawned she must leave Céim-an-eich, no longer a home for one weighed down by the burden of a parent's disgrace.

Through the years, however many that her life should stretch to, never again could she lay her head under the roof that had sheltered her childhood's sleep; never again could her eyes look upon the things beloved so long; never again could her steps come here. 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.

It was long past midnight. All was still. Through the open casements came the faint murmur of young leaves stirring in a windless air, moved only by the weight of their clinging dews or by a night bird's wing. All in the great building slept. All who loved her in the household had looked their last upon her face for many a weary year -- the face that most of them had known since the laugh of its childhood had been on it.

She looked once more at all she must leave, and the tension of her strength gave way. Weakened by little food, and worn out by exhaustion, her limbs shook, her frame reeled; she swayed aside and fell prone on the floor, the moonlight bathing her where she lay.

For hours she was stretched senseless there. The night passed lingeringly; the flicker of the leaves, or the soft rush of an owl's wing, the only noise that stirred in it without. At last the wind freshened, the day drew near; its cooler breath breathed through the open casement revived her; she moved with a deep sigh. Her limbs were stiff and paralyzed. She rose with difficulty, and dragged herself, as one crippled with age up the stairs to her own room.

There she gathered together the garments she should most need, and packed them into a little bag; filled her purse with gold coins and notes, her grandfather's gifts to her from time to time; and then with bowed head, she passed down the staircase and stood outside the wide doorway. There she paused and looked back once. Then the door closed on her with a hollow, sullen sound. She was alone.

### Chapter 8

"IT is awkward, certainly, and most annoying. I gave her an ultimatum, but I never for one moment imagined she would not give me even a hint of her intention. Well, perhaps it is better for me that she should have gone. She and I could scarcely live in the same house now. I have no doubt she has gone to Italy, but no one else will think such a thing, and I shall not enlighten them. The old people about the place will dislike me, but new families have come to live here. I shall cultivate them, and some of my old London friends."

So mused the new mistress of Céim-an-eich as she glanced with a cold smile on the paper she held in her hand on the morning after Keena's departure from her home.

"The silly child writes that I may be undisputed mistress of the old home until the term of my guardianship expires, and that I am not to seek her out, for she will not return until she is thirty years old. I had intended to be absolute mistress for ever. Still, this letter will be very convenient to show to the friends and neighbours who may interest themselves in the matter.

"In it she says nothing that could hurt me. She only shows a spirit of wounded pride, and an angry resentment at the terms of her grandfather's will. Everything seems to turn out for my good. Even if this is no permanent home for me, I can make enough out of the tenants that, added to the two thousand pounds, will keep me in affluence for the rest of my days. How much better than working as a teacher is my present position. Ah, I did know that the yielding, gentle, dreamy nature of Keena Karmody would prove my surest stepping-stone to comfort! How the child believed in my goodness! That comes of having a music-mother and a painter-father. Such natures are so often impractical and romantic.

"I did try to tell her I was not all good, and she wouldn't believe me. She might have let me go back to London, but she would not. So the misery is really of her own making. I suppose I am naturally bad. No, I don't think it's badness exactly; it is simply selfishness. That fault was nurtured in me when I was young, and now it has grown too strong even for me to control."

<><><><>

As the days rolled on, the neighbours forgot to inquire if there had been any news of Keena Karmody. In truth, there was little use making those inquiries, for Marie Delorme always returned the same answer: "No tidings." The tenants grew accustomed to regard Miss Delorme as their temporary landlady, and brought their grievances and their stories to her as if she had indeed been a Karmody.

"I will do my best for you and the estate, in the absence of the true mistress," she said to them when they first came in a body to demand the truth concerning Keena. "I am afraid the real fact is that your Miss Keena has deserted you because she was angry at her grandfather's will. But never mind that: I will work conscientiously until she sees fit to return."

She called on the strangers who had come to reside in the neighbourhood, and she filled Céim-an-eich with visitors at Christmas time. The servants of the house and the old retainers served her reluctantly, but they remained at Céim-an-eich, for so many of them had been born there, and their fathers and grandfathers before them. The love of the old homestead was stronger than their dislike of Miss Delorme; and, besides, they waited patiently, expecting that their beloved young mistress would soon return to reign over them.

One winter's day, Marie made a visit to London to stay for a few days with old friends, and saw, standing at the door of a music establishment, a slight girl with a pale face and great shadowed eyes. She started backwards as if she had received a blow, for although so sadly altered, she knew this girl to be Keena Karmody. Scarcely until that moment had she clearly realized all the sorrow she had been instrumental in bringing into the life of her former friend and benefactor.

At that instant Keena raised her eyes. At first they rested on Marie without any recognition in them, then a slow gleam of utmost contempt and dislike sparkled in them for a brief moment before she disappeared in the throng of people that daily crowd the London streets. Marie was so unprepared for this meeting, but now she wished she had spoken to Keena and asked her where she dwelt.

After she returned to Ireland, the memory of this sighting of Keena still in her mind, Marie sent advertisements to the London newspapers to try and find out Keena's address, if she was still alive. One or two Mountmellick and Maryborough people saw these advertisements, and grew unpleasantly curious about them, so she ceased to make inquiries in that way.

When the months had grown into two years, Miss Delorme's position was thoroughly established in the country of the Slieve Bloom. Old friends, such as Mrs. Trench from beyond Maryborough, refused to enter Céim-an-eich, declaring openly that Marie must have been guilty of some deception, or she would never have gained such an ascendency over the old squire before his death; but very many houses opened their doors to her gladly, and even pitied her that she seemed at times so unhappy that these old friends of the Karmodys looked coldly on her.

A brilliant talker, a musician, and a handsome, distinguished-looking woman, Marie was a great acquisition in that quiet country place. If the houses she would have given so much to enter closed their doors on her, what did it much matter? She numbered amongst her friends many men and women to whom she was really kind and useful, and whose friendship she hoped to retain even after the return of Keena, should that last event ever take place.

She had her plans already laid concerning that future time when she must give up Céim-an-eich, for she intended to resign her guardianship after the allotted number of years had expired, whether Keena returned or not. Yes, even before then, if it suited her purposes. She planned to live in such a way amongst all these people that she should gain their lasting respect and goodwill, so that no evil stories could be believed of her, and she might settle down comfortably in this beautiful Slieve Bloom region in a little home of her own, surrounded by friendly faces.

With this end in view had she lived since the old squire's death, and she had succeeded so far even beyond her most optimistic dreams. Indeed, very few could think wrong of her when she murmured plaintively to herself with tears in her eyes: "I know I seem wicked to be so happy and contented here during the absence of my friend. She will not come home, and if I refused to carry out the wishes of the dear old squire, Céim-an-eich would go totally to ruin, and she would have no heritage to return to.

"I am not responsible for whatever has befallen Keena. I did try, in my humble way, to teach her some other things besides booklore, and I thought I had succeeded somewhat; but it seems she allowed anger and resentment to overpower the better feelings of her nature. She forgot that unkind, false stories would be circulated about me, and she forgot her duty to her tenants when she disappeared so suddenly and mysteriously. Even if she never returns, I have her letter which plainly shows her motive for going away, and it is well I have even that to exonerate me from blame."

Amongst the new acquaintances who pitied her, and sought her society eagerly, was the clergyman who occupied Roland Keir's home and pulpit until his return from his current stay in America, where he had gone shortly before Keena had left home.

The new curate, the Reverend Arthur Moore was a simple-hearted, good-natured man, devoted to the conscientious fulfilment of his duties. He lived alone, as Roland Keir had done, and on the return of that gentleman he hoped to obtain the living of Mountmellick which would be vacant then. Miss Delorme was very kind to the solitary young man, inviting him often to Céim-an-eich, and listening to his scholarly conversation with an attention very pleasant and flattering.

Sometimes she wondered how she should meet the Rector when he returned from abroad and learned of the new state of things at Céim-an-eich, and of the absence of Keena and Mrs. Connor. How would it be possible to answer his questions truthfully, and yet retain his good opinion?

Not often did Marie trouble herself with such unpleasant conjecturing. She buried her past altogether, and lived in the pleasant light of her present prosperity. No thought of Keena wandering homeless and sorrowful, and perhaps dying alone in some distant land, ever came to her. No recollection of the blind, credulous affection of the young Irish girl ever brought a regretful, penitent shadow to her peaceful brow. No memory of an old woman weeping bitter, agonized tears for the unmerited disgrace fallen upon an only son, and no memory of heart-rending appeals issuing from those thin, age-lined lips ever darkened the sunny brightness of her eyes.

One summer evening, as Marie was returning from service in the little valley church, Mr. Moore overtook her and walked by her side up the hill-way that led to the house.

"I spent half an hour in the conservatory before I entered the church tonight, Miss Delorme. Do you know what detained me there so long?"

"I can easily imagine that it was the beauty of the flowers," she answered pleasantly. "Mr. Keir was remarkable at the county show for the excellence of his hothouse plants."

"You know he has a wonderful orchid called the Espiritu Santo. Well, I studied it for a while, and I do assure you it preached me such a sermon as I believe I have rarely heard in my life. You have seen the orchid?"

"Yes, I know what you mean. That plant is indeed a curious freak of nature. Many of the country people here are quite superstitious about it." There was a certain hardness in her tone, and an angry flush arose for an instant to her brow. Was this new friend going to repeat all that old nonsense to her about the flower? Surely she had had enough of it in the time of Keena and the Rector. She wanted to hear no more about it.

"A curious freak of nature, do you call it?" said the clergyman, surprise audible in his accent. "I think it is meant to teach us a lesson. I do not believe that its formation was accidental. It is named the Flower of the Holy Spirit, and when we gaze at its white beauty we must surely want to possess that Spirit within us of which it is the emblem."

Almost the very words of Roland Keir! Marie felt at that moment that she would like to crush the flower and the speaker with one heavy blow. She could hardly explain why she had such a dislike to the subject. Certainly she was no wicked sinner now. She attended church regularly, even on week evenings, and she hoped one day to be the clergyman's wife. Why, then, should she dislike the pure loveliness of the orchid?

"You are right, Mr. Moore," she said, in a softer tone. "The beauty of the Espiritu Santo is, no doubt, emblematic; but I am afraid my imagination is not so poetic or as vivid as yours."

Mr. Moore accompanied her to the house and remained for tea. Other visitors came in, as they usually did in this pleasant evening hour, and the time passed swiftly for Marie, as well as for the man she hoped to marry.

When, at length, silence and the short summer darkness fell over the hillside, Marie entered the conservatory before retiring to her room for the night. Why she did so she could not explain. The conservatory was not a favourite haunt of hers at any time, and most certainly not at night. In a distant corner stood the orchid which Keena loved so well, and which had been tended carefully ever since her departure by the faithful gardener. Marie Delorme looked at it, and as she did so, she seemed to hear again Roland Keir's voice sounding distinctly through the stillness: "The Holy Spirit is God-given, therefore not to be despised."

Anger rose within her. She raised her hand and dashed the orchid to the ground, breaking the stem and trampling upon it until she had utterly destroyed it, root and all. Then she turned and went through the glass doors out of the hall, and up the wide oak staircase towards her apartment

### Chapter 9

BUT what of Keena all this time? Nearly two years earlier, when it was far past midnight in London -- a chilly, bitter winter's night in the turn of the going year; a night without stars in which the snow drifted slowly, and the homeless crouched down shivering into a traitorous sleep -- passing through the streets was a young girl with a drawn, haggard face, clutching a fur cloak around her shivering body. She seemed not to know whither she should direct her steps, and the white shower which poured down on her, and the cutting north wind which blew like an ice-blast, were alike unheeded. She, who had never known an hour's physical suffering, now endured cold and exposure and need of food, with all the racking pangs of want and fever, like any houseless beggar starving in the night.

By-and-by exhaustion began to steal over her, and a strange numbness seized her limbs. She had just sense enough left to hasten her steps to the only home she had now -- a dark, dreary chamber in one of the numerous houses of the crowded streets. There she lay prostrate many days, many nights, with no watcher beside her, except once in several hours when the woman of the house came and filled afresh the cup of water from which she drank eagerly.

The winter stars gleamed through frosty nights, and looked in on her stretched on the hard pallet, her chest rising heavily and wearily, with anguish in every breath the inflamed lungs drew, her hands clenched, her brow contracted with pain. Winter dawns broke chill and grey; winter days rolled darkly on; winter nights passed with riotous storm, or frost so crystal clear through which the cold moon shone like a shield of steel.

Though apparently friendless and forsaken, Keena Karmody did not die; the life in her survived through all. It recovered without aid, without succour, without other comfort than was given her by the heavy, fur-lined cloak over her, and the cooling draught of the icy water. The grey chilly twilight of a winter's day filled the attic. The light of the last faint moon ray glistened on the bare walls and the naked floor, when Keena sat up on the only seat the room contained and looked down through the broken casement on the alley below.

It was true that the worst of the illness was past, but so little strength remained in her, so little hope or desire for life animated her, that she felt not yet grateful for that wonderful recovery.

By-and-by the woman of the poverty-stricken dwelling entered the attic. She was a stern-visaged old creature, with the impress of want and hard work in the lines of her wrinkled forehead; but in the dim, sunken eyes there gleamed a faint ray of pity as they rested on the bowed head of the young girl.

"So you've got so far on your way. I be sorry for you, an' it's not often I'm took that way," she said with a grim laugh, standing by the broken casement through which the night air penetrated so sharply. "I'm poor, an' now that you've got on your feet I must turn you out for another that can pay a coin or two for your bed."

"You have been very good to me," replied Keena, wearily, but very gratefully. "I knew I had not money enough to pay you for all this long time I've been ill. I will go now, and I can never thank you enough for not turning me out into the streets when my money was gone. I have nothing to give you before I go but this cloak. It is all that is left to me. I had a purse full of money, but it was stolen from me at Euston Station; but for that I could have paid you well. But you will take this cloak, and if ever I recover what I have lost, I will repay you the rest."

The woman eyed the fur-lined cloak greedily, and she thought with satisfaction that it was worth many shillings, and she would be recompensed enough if she had it. Then that softer look stole over her face, and she drew back from the proffered garment.

"No, I didn't take it when you'd never have been any the wiser, an' I won't take it now an' send you starving to the streets. Keep it, poor child, an' maybe you'll come in for a bit of luck an' be able to pay me yet. Go now. I want the place. I won't take it," she persisted determinedly, "an' I can't stop here talking to you any longer."

With that she disappeared down the rickety stairs, and Keena rose up and followed, staggering out from the wretched dwelling with not a coin to keep even its roof above her head.

She almost reeled through the first street that her steps turned into. Illness had weakened her so, and her head swam with the booming noise of the traffic, and with the swift movements of the crowds. The people swept past her -- rich and poor, chiefly the latter, for it was in a densely populated and ancient quarter, but all bent fast on their own errands.

The throngs passed her like throngs of phantoms. She thought of her grandfather, and of her old friend Mrs. Connor, and a moaning cry escaped her as she stopped outside a music shop. Then for a moment, but only a moment, she fancied she saw Marie Delorme standing across the road, staring at her. Her mind filled with hatred for the woman, and she hurried off to escape the wild imaginings of her fevered brain.

She gathered the cloak more closely round her, and stopped for an instant to try and think. Certainly she could not wander about the streets all day and night, and the feeble strength in her refused to longer endure this strain upon it. Then memory, so long slumbering within her, reasserted itself. The words of her mother's music came to her, and lifting up her voice she sang it clearly, if somewhat faintly, in those wonderful tones that had so moved and charmed Ronald Keir on that evening so many months ago in Céim-an-eich.

A little crowd collected quickly, and many a motherly glance of pity was cast upon the young singer by the working women among her listeners. She had scarce come to the conclusion of the last verse, when an exclamation of extreme amazement on the outskirts of the little throng attracted all attention. A lady pushed her way through the men and women until she reached Keena's side; then she caught her hands, crying out, "Is it possible that I find you thus? What is it? Are you indeed Keena Karmody, or have I deceived myself by a fancied resemblance?"

Keena looked in bewilderment at her questioner, then a light seemed to break in upon the darkness of her mind. "It is Madame de Vaux, my old teacher! Yes, I am Keena."

"You must come at once home with me. I was visiting an old servant here, but my carriage awaits further down the street. Come."

And while the people stared, and wondered audibly at this strange thing which had come to pass in their midst, Madame de Veaux drew the hand of her former pupil through her arm and led her away.

At home in Madame's snug little house in Kensington, Keena told her story as well as she could, and the French woman's sympathy and indignation were great.

"Ah, my dear, I told you that Miss Delorme thought of her own good before all other. But I think you were wrong to leave your home. You should have remained, and lived just as if you were the mistress of Céim-an-eich -- as you really are, you know. You could not have punished Marie more effectually than by so doing."

"I can never live there while she continues to have authority. I am afraid I hate her now. She turned away my dear old nurse and her son, and she has sent me out into the cold, cruel world. Yes, I hate her, and if I can ever repay her for the misery she has brought on me, I will."

"Yes, yes, you have just cause to hate her, but somehow I don't like to hear that word from your lips. And so you will go on to Astrea if you can manage it, and I will help you. You need not thank me, for I owe a debt to your grandfather, and although I repaid the money part of it, that was the least of it. You shall go to Astrea, and I will lend you enough to take you there, and support you for a while. I think I could write a letter or two that might also aid you. But you must promise to let me know how it fares with you; and when you have been long enough there you must return to me."

"You are very good," said Keena, simply. "I will do as you wish." The words were few, but the eloquent look of gratitude in the upraised eyes, and the sudden lightening of the sad face, were thanks more than enough for the warm-hearted woman.

"Now, child, there is one thing more. When you find out the story of your father's sin, whatever it may have been, don't let it distress you overmuch. Remember your home duties, and prepare yourself to do them well."

"I can never do them well. Even my grandfather deemed me too weak to be trusted. He thought it would require all the years until I am thirty to make me a woman."

"That I confess I cannot understand," responded Madame de Vaux, perplexedly. "If the will had mentioned twenty, or twenty-one years, it would not have been remarkable; but such a long time to keep you under a guardian! It seems that the guardianship is not nominal, either. Miss Delorme is to live all that time at your place, and be actual mistress. Of what could your grandfather have been thinking? He loved you devotedly, and he thought you fitted for any position in life."

"So I used to believe, but evidently Marie showed him his mistake."

"Nay, my love, let not bitterness hurt your nature. The years will pass, and you will be back again in your home."

"Never," replied Keena, firmly. "There is some disgraceful secret about my father. I could never hold up my head proudly in Céim-an-eich again. You know I was always so proud of my good name."

"Perhaps this mystery is nothing so disgraceful, after all," persisted Madame, cheerfully.

"Yes, it must be, for nurse Connor would never talk of my father to me, and he is not buried beside my mother. I never took notice either of those things until Marie came, but she managed to awaken me. How did she learn anything of my father, I wonder?"

"Very likely she knew nothing, but she watched you all closely, and then arranged things to her satisfaction. You were a year studying after you went home from here, and during that time she felt how pleasant it would be to dwell always in Céim-an-eich."

"But she might have remained without hurting me, for I loved her very dearly," spoke Keena, sorrowfully, reproachfully, as if Marie were there before her.

"True, dear, but Miss Delorme always wished to be the head. If you and she had shared Céim-an-eich together, she would only have been Miss Karmody's companion, whereas now she is mistress. Yet there was a certain element of honesty in her character," continued Madame de Vaux, musingly. "She must have changed. I cannot understand about the thirty years ... no, not in the least. Well, dear, in the meantime, if you persist in going on your sad errand, you shall do so; but it were better far that you went home again as soon as you are well enough to return. I will advertise for Mrs. Connor, and she will be with you again, and you have all your friends there also."

"You don't understand, dear Madame. I could not go back. As for Mrs. Connor, Marie accused her son of a common theft, and had him imprisoned. Do you think they could ever live in the same house after that?"

"I will not press you any further. You shall go to Tuscany as soon as your strength has come to you. I trust that Italy will quite restore you."

In three weeks from that time Keena went away to the little Tuscan village where, beside her father's grave, she hoped to unravel the mystery of his crime.

### Chapter 10

DOWN at the foot of the mountain slopes, hidden away in the deep belt of the chestnut forests, was the little Tuscan village of Astrea. Sheltered high above by the pines of the hills, and veiled from every glance by the thick masses of the chestnut leaves, a visiting foot scarcely ever wandered to it. It was out of the route of travellers. It had slumbered here for ages.

More than two years had elapsed since that night on which her old schoolmistress had found her singing in the streets of London -- two calm, uneventful years, in which she not only continued her musical education under the tuition of an old Italian who dwelt near the village, but also wrote music which had a very successful reception and sale in London. She earned enough money to repay Madame de Veaux, and also to support herself in her picturesque, old-world home.

It was the month of April. The spring of Italy was in its fairest, with the purple orchid glowing in the noon, and the delicate windflower fanned by the breeze, and the young buds of the vine opening in the clear and perfect light. A few miles from the clustering dwellings of Astrea was a grove of beech trees. In the heart of them, where the moss and the grass were ever fresh, was a grave. The suntan of midsummer never brought drought there; anemones and violets, and all wild flowers that bloom in Tuscan woods surrounded this resting place of the dead with scent and colour, and nearby welled the bright clear water of a broken fountain, so old that underneath its moss might still be traced the half-effaced Latin inscription.

Where the water rippled, losing itself among the mosses and the orchids, a glory of sunlight fell on the hair of Keena leaning motionless there. Her attitude gave token of weariness, mental rather than physical; in her hand was an open letter.

"This is his grave, and this was his home, but I am no nearer to the truth than ever. No one here remembers him, except Agatha, my servant, and she knows only what I knew myself before I left England. Madame de Veaux says in this letter that my music is a success, and advises me to continue to compose. Well, I am glad to hear that there is something I can do, and I shall continue my work, but I will remain here.

"Lonely I am, I suppose, but I have now endured two years of it, and I can endure to the end. Until Agatha's son comes home I shall not leave this village, for he alone, it seems, can tell me what I want to hear. I care for this beautiful place, too. It is not unlike my own home on the slope of the Slieve Bloom."

Keena mused thus half-audibly as she glanced from time to time at the letter which she had just received from Madame de Veaux. This life, which would have been unbearable to another girl of her age, was entirely in harmony with her feelings now. She had quite lost sight of her old nurse and comforter, Mrs. Connor; but sometimes, during those solitary two years, she had longed, with an unspeakable longing, for the touch of those gentle, loving fingers on her head, for the sound of that affectionate, cheery Irish voice in her ears.

There was another of whom she had often thought during all those months, one who had been always a friend to her, but who had gone away and left her without a word of farewell, or a letter to say whither he had gone. She could never understand how he had so forgotten her. Before that visit to Mrs. Trench, beyond Maryborough, he had been constantly at Céim-en-eich, and in those days he had seemed kinder than ever. She could not remember that she had offended him in any way; and he had given her the orchid. Perhaps Marie could have explained his strange silence. She might have had something to do with it, for she was capable of such wickedness.

Keena turned away from the lonely grave, a hard, contemptuous look on her pale, calm face. That expression always rested there now when she thought of her former friend. It was scarcely caused by anger against Marie; a passionate resentment would have hurt her nature less than that cool, bitter, deeply rooted dislike. All the gentle, affectionate impulses seemed to have died out in her heart, and instead of the tender, trusting girl of sixteen who had left Madame's school believing implicitly in the goodness of her fellow-creatures, there was now a cold, thoughtful, hard-working woman, ever suspicious of the actions of others, and ever waiting for the hour to come when it should be in her power to return evil for evil, wretchedness for wretchedness.

As she went onward now through the moss-grown paths of the beech wood, no smile rested on her lips, no light of pleasure shone in her eyes for the beauty that surrounded her. She recognized it yet, and loved it as of yore, but her face did not now so clearly show the inner workings of her heart. She passed through the shattered arches of the building that was now her home, canopied and covered with impenetrable ivy, and feathery grasses tinted to every hue in the flashings of the light. She entered by a low side door the court of a Latin villa half in ruins.

She crossed the court, and passed into the first chamber. It was long and lofty, and had in it the decay of greatness. The pavement was of mosaic marbles; fragments of a perfect sculpture were upon the walls; but it was a student's library now, strewn with papers, and books, and music in manuscript.

"Have I found you at last, my child? My child, how could you go away without a word saying where you had gone?"

An old woman, grey-haired, with outstretched hands, rose up from a seat in the dim distance of the large room, and cried out thus to Keena in tones of tearful reproach.

"Nurse! Is it indeed my dear old friend, after the long loneliness?"

The girl's arms were clasped round the bowed form of the unexpected visitor, and unwonted tears flowed from her eyes, breaking up the pale, unmoved calm of her face, "How did you come to me? Where have you been all this long, weary time? Sit down here, beside me, and tell me everything."

"Oh, my dear, my dear! I thought never to look upon your face again," murmured the old woman brokenly, as she sank back upon the low, soft couch, and took the face of Keena between her trembling hands, and eagerly scanned every feature through her fast-falling tears. "When my boy was released from prison, and Mrs. Trench had taken him into her service, I set out to look for you. All this time have I searched, and no trace of you anywhere. Even Mrs. Trench said, 'Wait until the time comes for her return.' But I could not wait all those years. I thought you might have died of starvation or misery and loneliness before then, and I prayed God to let me find you soon. I've been near two years about it, but here I am at last. No one advised me to come here. I thought one night, quite suddenly, that perhaps Miss Delorme had told you where your father was buried, and that you might have gone there. So I came, and soon found that someone very like my child dwelt here, and I have waited for you for more than an hour in this room. Oh, my dear, to think that my old eyes should rest once again on your much-loved face! But you have had some great sickness since you left home. You are so changed. What is it?"

The tears were already dry in Keena's eyes, and the swift glad colour had now left her cheeks, and her voice was tremulous as she told what had befallen her since she left Céim-an-eich.

"And to think I was so stupid as to forget about Madame De Vaux, your school mistress!" exclaimed her hearer in self-reproach. "But everything had grown so suddenly dark and wretched, that I could not even see God's smile shining through the gloom. Ay, my dearie, it was bad enough, you may be sure, when I grew so blind as that. I fear me sore that you are as blind even now as I was then," she added mournfully, as she looked with an intent wistfulness into the unsmiling, shadowed eyes raised calmly now to her own.

"Blind? Perhaps I am blind, as you say, but we will not speak of that now, dear nurse. Some day I hope to make Marie Delorme feel a little of the sorrow she has brought upon us both. Come, we have done our talk. Let me get you food, and see to your comfort. You will stay with me now, will you not? I have money enough for us both. Living is not an expensive thing in this little village, and you and I have been accustomed to simple fare."

"Yes, dear, surely I will remain as long as you do here. Having found you, I hope not to lose you again."

"You are my dear old friend, as ever!" exclaimed Keena, with a momentary softening of tone and glance. "I shall not be lonely now that I have you. But you will want to see Connor sometimes, and there are many long years yet until I am thirty."

"Will you not go back until then?"

"You forget that there is some mysterious disgrace hanging over my name. I have not yet found out what it is, but when my servant's son comes back here I hope to hear it all. Oh, I can bear it, never fear. Those months I spent in London, after the doors of Céim-an-eich closed on me, have effectually hardened me. I might have died then, and she, the friend I had loved and trusted, would have been the cause of my death."

"But you need not wait until the return of this man to know the story of your father's sin," said the old woman, joyfully. "I can rid you of that burden. Indeed, we should never have concealed the story from you, but I could not foresee that you would be made to suffer so for the sins of another. I did not think there was necessity for your ever knowing it, but I was wrong there. It is never right to walk along a crooked path when a straight one lies before us. But your mother made us promise not to tell you, and we thought you would never hear it, for so few knew anything of your father. If you had learned it when you were safe at home, with your grandfather and your old nurse to care for you, the knowledge might not have so much hurt you; but hearing something of it how you did, and at such a time, made it seem far worse than it really is. Making mysteries where there is need for none is never wisdom."

"Tell me," cried Keena, impatiently. "You were not wrong to keep it from me, because my mother made you promise so to do. All the blame lies with Miss Delorme. Tell me quickly, dear nurse."

### Chapter 11

MARIE DELORME had just returned from a garden party held in the new home of the Rev. Arthur Moore. The living for which that clergyman had been waiting in Mountmellick had been given to him, and as Ronald Keir was expected home from America almost daily, he had entered upon his new work without any unnecessary delay. An old maiden aunt came to him for a short time to put his new house in order, but it was understood that her stay would be only temporary, because Miss Delorme had promised to become his wife.

Marie was happy this spring evening as she threw aside her large straw hat and sat down in the cool dining room to rest, and she considered that she had good reason so to be. Arthur Moore loved and respected her; she had many friends in the neighbourhood; and since the departure of Keena she had lived more for others than for herself. These things had made her happy and increased her self-respect. She had also been able to lay aside a large sum of money, so she would not be a poor wife. When she knelt every Sabbath in the little valley church and prayed for pardon and peace, she tried to believe that she was sincere in her prayers. But to be truly sorry she would have to right the terrible wrong she had done to Keena, and that she could never do.

This afternoon she had been in reality mistress of the pretty house in Mountmellick, and the many guests that had filled the rooms and fragrant gardens had greeted her kindly and deferentially as the future wife of their minister. She was now a lady well known and respected in the country round, albeit there had been unpleasant stories told concerning her in the past. That past was so long ago now, that those faint rumours scarcely troubled even Marie herself, and certainly they did not in any wise interfere with the reception she had received from the parishioners of her future husband.

She was pondering deeply now over the subject of her approaching marriage, and a pleased smile rested on her lips. She rose up presently, and surveyed herself in the long glass that formed the wall of partition between the two windows. Yes, she looked well and happy, as indeed she was. She had arranged to cross over to London for a few days, to visit the relations of Mr. Moore, and to purchase some things necessary before the approaching summer day which was to see her a wife.

"Yes," she murmured, half audibly, "Arthur need not be ashamed of me. I suppose that I must make some inquiries about Keena now, for I shall not remain much longer in Céim-an-eich. It is four years since she left, and more, and I do really wish she would put in an appearance. It would suit my purpose admirably, for I could so gracefully give up my guardianship. She will not find that I have neglected her property, if she ever does return. But I must arrange everything for my short absence from home. In a household like this, so much depends on the mistress. I wonder what became of Mrs. Connor. I hear that her son is with those Trench people, but no one seems to know where she is."

In a few days afterwards Marie paid her brief visit to London, and succeeded, even as she had desired, in gaining the esteem of the people with whom she stayed. She enjoyed entering the various large shops, and buying pretty and useful articles for which she had often enough vainly longed in the days when she dwelt in Kensington and worked for her support.

On her return to Céim-an-eich, Marie unexpectedly felt nervous and guilty, remembering the worn face of Keena looking at her across the street before disappearing into the crowd that winter's day. She could imagine that same face now, peering in at her through the open windows, with eyes looking on her with the intense contempt and hatred as they had done in London all those years ago. What if Keena should reappear and Arthur Moore should behold that face, should meet and comprehend the look in those eyes and guess her deception?

One evening in the early summer, Ronald Keir returned from America and took up his abode in the Rectory down in the Slieve Bloom Valley. Before the moon arose that same evening he made his way up the hill path to Céim-an-eich with determined step and manner. He had a most unpleasant interview before him, but it could not be put off until the morrow, for he knew that time was only too precious now.

Miss Delorme greeted him with a smile of welcome, but she was grieving in her heart that he had not delayed his coming until her wedding was over.

"You were not expected so soon, Mr. Keir, but you have been so long absent that we had almost ceased to expect you at all."

He scarcely touched her offered hand, and no smile illumined the gravity of his face. "I am not long returned from America, Miss Delorme. Just before I left New York I was summoned to the deathbed of an Irishman named Tim O'Brien. He told me he was a third-rate lawyer in the old country, and that he had lived in Maryborough, and that he knew you very well. Is that enough? Shall I proceed further?"

"And why should you not? If you have anything of interest to tell me, pray continue. But I am afraid that the poor man you mention must have been suffering from some mental derangement when he said he knew me."

"He was perfectly sane," said Mr. Keir, sternly, "and since you seem to care so little, you shall hear his confession. Oh, there is no doubt about it, for it is written and signed by the dying man himself. You called him in to make a will for old Squire Karmody in the absence of the family lawyer, and then you paid him to keep silence concerning the share you had in the dictation of that will. The old squire wanted to leave you nominal guardian of his granddaughter until she should reach the age of twenty. Her old nurse was never to quit Céim-an-eich; and at any time if Keena desired to have uncontrolled authority before she attained her twentieth year, she should have it.

"You made the lawyer change the age from twenty to thirty, and suppress those other clauses which limited your powers. The old squire signed this will, for he had complete confidence in you, and was himself unable to read what the lawyer had really written. The surprise was so great after the contents of that will became public, that the lawyer who had drawn it up was sought for. But as you had sent him to America, he could not be found. The document was legal, so it held good, although from that day to this all the old friends of the Karmodys ceased to know you."

Marie stayed silent at Mr. Keir continued.

"You injured your friend in other ways too, and I fear she will never recover. You drove her away in exile from the home she so loved, and you laid upon her the burden of a father's sin. Now what have you to say in answer to these charges? Ah! Nothing, I see."

Marie's head sank lower and lower, until it rested on the table, hidden from those accusing eyes by her trembling hands. She made no effort to excuse herself. The coming of the Rector had been so unexpected, and his intimate knowledge of all that had been so carefully concealed and almost forgotten in the four years past rendered her utterly hopeless, and dumb with horrified amazement.

She felt instinctively that no words from her in denial or excuse would have any effect on him. He had spoken nothing but the bare truth now, and the cool, calculating nature of the woman shrank within her, appalled at this sudden, unexpected destruction of all her hopes and plans. Of course Ronald Keir would expose her wickedness to the county, and she would be driven out disgraced and homeless.

Ronald Keir watched her with stern, pitiless eyes, while she sat silently thus. After a while she raised her head and returned his gaze, an angry flush spreading over her face.

"Why did you not stay away at least until I had married Arthur Moore? I can give up Céim-an-eich easily now, but my good name and the love of Arthur Moore are dearer to me than life itself. Spare me these last, and Keena shall have her rights tomorrow."

He looked at her in astonishment. "Spare you? Do you know that the girl you have so cruelly injured is nearly dying, and that her life since you drove her away from her home has been one of intense, lonely suffering? She will require years of love and care to restore her to her former self, if she ever can be restored."

Marie remembered that haggard, wan face in London, and shuddered involuntarily. "But what good will my punishment do her? You are a clergyman. Where is your charity?"

"You forget Justice."

Those three words, uttered so distinctly and quietly, broke down Marie's barrier of pride and calmness. Her face grew white, even to her lips, and the light died out of her eyes.

"Well, I deserve a punishment, I suppose, but oh, it will be as great in proportion as my hopes of happiness. I had no father or mother from my early childhood. An aunt brought me up to earn my own living, and her teaching, combined with the cold, loveless life I led, made me selfish and cunning for my own good. She instilled into me the belief that love of self is the most sensible love in the world, and that if you do not well for yourself in this life, no one else will do it. She taught me nothing of a life beyond the grave, and she was so harsh to me that I rejoiced when she died. Since then I have obeyed her teaching to the letter, finding it answer well. But sometimes -- after I met Keena Karmody, and since I came here -- I have doubted myself and hated my own actions. Why I should say all this to a stranger I cannot tell. Go now to Keena, and bring her home."

She concluded in the same even monotonous tone in which she had spoken throughout. She had no intention of moving Mr. Keir to pity by her words, for had she been in Keena's stead she would have rewarded evil for evil with an unsparing hand. She had never comprehended other law than that.

Ronald Keir turned away to leave the place. "I am going to bring Keena home," he said resolutely. "You will remain here to render an account to Keena of your guardianship, then you may go," he said briefly.

"Remain here? Perhaps," she replied with a short laugh. "If I can gain anything by staying I will do so. If not, I shall go before you come back."

He paused, while a softened, cornpassioned look came to his face. "Poor woman!" he said gently. "It was no wonder you deemed the silent teaching of the Espiritu Santo nothing but superstitious folly."

### Chapter 12

(Last Chapter)

"AND so Marie Delorme kept your message and your address from me, and made me believe that you had forgotten me. Ah well, I am glad it was she who had forgotten her friend -- not you."

Ronald Keir was sitting beside Keena under the Tuscany beech tree that shadowed her father's grave. Keena now knew Miss Delorme's treachery and she knew that Céim-an-eich was restored to her, and that her grandfather's love for her and trust in her had never for a moment changed.

"She has been happy all these years, while I have been so miserable. Well, perhaps when she has changed places with me she will understand a little of what I have suffered."

"And your father's crime has been explained to you at last?"

"Yes," answered Keena, sadly. "He wanted money, and he signed my grandfather's name to a very large bill which gave it to him. Forgery, I think, they call his crime. My mother found out this secret some months after her marriage while they were still in Italy, where she had first met him. He was very repentant then, and of course grandfather never prosecuted him. My mother was so horrified -- as I should have been -- that she grew ill and returned home to Céim-an-eich, asking my father to remain here in Astrea until she sent for him. But she died shortly after her arrival home, and he had no wish to be buried beside her, as he had no love for Ireland. So they made him a grave here when he died. He disgraced our name even though he did repent; but I think, if I had heard about him when I was young and happy at home in Céim-an-eich, it would not have hurt me so much. All the misery coming together overwhelmed me."

"Yes, my dear; but it was done for the best, and the sorrow is now over, I trust. We must start soon for London; Madame de Vaux expects you shortly. You will be sorry to leave this little Tuscan village?"

"Yes, it has been a beautiful, peaceful retreat." She spoke calmly, coldly, and he looked at her in wonder. She was indeed changed from the dreamy, happy girl he had known four years ago. She was a woman now, with a woman's speech. The childish, impulsive, yielding nature was gone. Sorrow seemed to have hardened her. Would the mission of the Espiritu Santo yet be accomplished, and the heart of the girl grow out of the trial soft and Christlike, a fitting habitation for the Dove?

A week afterwards, Keena, accompanied by Mrs. Connor and Ronald Keir, arrived at the home of Madame de Veaux in Kensington. The French woman was charmed that the dark days for her dear pupil were at an end, and she petted and nursed her with unremitting care and attention.

"I will go and pay you such a long visit in your Irish home, my dear. I can easily do so, for I have given up school, and there is nothing now to demand my constant presence in London. I hear that Miss Delorme has written a long letter to your friend Ronald Keir, telling of the sad accident which has happened to her promised husband, the Rev. Arthur Moore. It seems he is not likely to recover. She will grieve, for I should imagine from the tone of her letter that she cares very much for him."

"She could care for no one," responded Keena, quickly.

They were sitting in the drawing room, by the open window, awaiting the return of Ronald Keir from the city. In Madame's hands was an open book, but Keena sat gazing out listlessly at the people passing to and fro.

"You remember the poor woman you asked me to look after? She who refused to take your cloak for rent payment on that night I found you singing in the street? I searched her out, and sent her away to a cottage in Kent, where she will end her days more comfortably and peacefully than in that dreadful London attic."

"You are so good to think of her for my sake," murmured Keena, gratefully. "I can never say I was friendless when I had you and nurse to help me through those dark years."

"But now you have Ronald Keir."

"Yes," she said simply; "he was always my friend. I thought he had forgotten me."

"And here he comes," cried Madame de Vaux, smilingly, as the clergyman entered the room. "Now I will leave you two for a little, while I go about the duties of my house."

"I have just seen Arthur Moore," said Ronald, as he seated himself in Madame's vacated chair. "He will not recover. It is some internal injury from a bad fall, and the doctors do not expect that he will live many days. He is at the house of his aunt here in town, and Miss Delorme is there also."

Keena started, and a sudden colour came to her face.

"Marie seems bewildered by this unexpected blow," Mr. Keir continued. "His death will hurt her much, for she was to have been married to him a few days hence. It is pitiful to see how he clings to her. No one can give him food; no one can smooth his pillow; no one can lull him to sleep as she can."

Keena let out a gasp. "He will not wish to have her near him when he learns what her character really is. Perhaps now she will feel what I felt when I thought grandfather had ceased to love and trust me."

Ronald was silent a moment, and then he moved nearer to Keena and took her hands in his. "Keena, dear, have you ever thought of our orchid, the Espiritu Santo, during these sad years? Have you remembered at all what we used to say about it in those happy days at Céim-an-eich?"

"Sometimes," she admitted reluctantly. "But the lessons it seemed to teach then were only for happy people. After grandfather's death, and Marie Delorme's cruelty, every pleasant memory died out in my heart."

"The Holy Spirit, God-sent, is meant as a Comforter, is He not? If you recollect the Bible words about Him, I think you will find I am right."

Yes, she knew he was right, but she wished to think of nothing, to talk of nothing now but the just reward Marie Delorme must receive for her wickedness.

"Christ taught His disciples to say, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.' Mary Delorme has injured you very much. Could you forgive her, and leave her deeds unproclaimed to the world, and especially to the man whose dying bed is cheered by her loving care?"

An incredulous, angry light shone in Keena's eyes. "Have you forgotten all she has done to me? Do you not care that her cruelty nearly killed me?"

"My darling, I thought you knew me better than that!"

"Forgive me for speaking so to you," she whispered, tears in her eyes at the reproach in his glance and tone, "but I only ask for justice. Is it right that she should have no suffering, when I had so much?"

"Perhaps it would be justice, dear, but which is the true justice: to yield up Miss Delorme to the disgrace she merits, or to remember the home and the breeding which early stained and warped the child, who without that fatal bias might have grown up true and honourable, capable of upright thoughts and deeds? Christ forgave His enemies, and you remember what their offences were. If Jesus Christ has forgiven you, should not you in humble imitation try and do likewise?"

She made no answer, and he seemed to expect none just then, for he rose up and looked out of the window a moment in silence. "I am going to Fulham to see a man on business, and I think the drive would do you and Mrs. Connor good, if you would like to come with me. There is a wonderful gardener there who has wonderful hothouses. You might look through them while I talk to the man."

She assented gladly to this proposition, content that she could please her future husband, even if she should not, in her present frame of mind, enjoy the flowers.

The nursery was a truly beautiful one, and Mrs. Connor gazed delightedly at the rare plants in rows, tier after tier, with their brilliant colouring and fresh green foliage. Keena wandered on listlessly, answering the old woman's remarks at random. Finally she turned into a smaller glass room, where there were fewer plants, and those of a rarer, more delicate nature.

In one corner, surrounded by feathery ferns stood an Espiritu Santo orchid, raised on a pedestal. When she saw it she started forward eagerly, and stood before it with clasped hands and tear-filled eyes. It was so long ago since she had seen that flower, and so many things had happened since those happy days. Ronald Keir's words returned to her now with a force and power that sent the tears down her white face rapidly.

Involuntarily a faint cry escaped her. "O Lord, soften my heart, and teach me Thy will. I cannot seek to save Marie from the pain she inflicted on me. I cannot follow Christ's teaching here. It is only right that she should suffer. Oh, the long, weary, desolate years I have spent! The love and the joy she has taken from me! O God, do not require me to forgive her! I cannot, I cannot!" and she sank down on her knees, her head in her hands.

She fought and struggled against the softer, gentler feeling that was arising within her, caused by the earnest prayer for help that had escaped her lips. Almost motionless she knelt there, and she seemed to see Christ in that distant land as He uttered those words clearly and distinctly, but so lovingly to His listening disciples: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us."

She could withstand that voice no longer. She must come to the Cross, where the Saviour died for her sins. "O God, forgive me my sins, and make me truly Thy child. I do now forgive Marie Delorme for everything that she has done to hurt me."

A peace such as can only proceed from the Spirit of God descended upon her, a light like the dawning of the day came on her face.

She rose up and went out to the larger room, and encountered Mrs. Connor and Ronald Keir coming to seek for her. The clergyman glanced at her, then he said softly, "You have seen the orchid?"

"Yes." She made no other reply, and none was needed, for he comprehended the light in her eyes.

"I do not understand you. You really forgive me for what I have done to you? Arthur Moore is never to know how sinful is the woman he was to have called his wife? I am to retain my two thousand pounds, and the world is never to hear of my sin? Why do you thus forgive me? I am not particularly penitent. I have given you four years of a misery that has robbed your face of its youth, and almost taken your life from you. Oh yes, I know it all. I saw you once in London, and I have often seen your worn face in my dreams."

"'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us,'" murmured Keena, gently. "I did not want to forgive, but Christ was stronger than my bad, hard heart. Now I fully, freely forgive you, even as God has forgiven me. Go and ask Him to speak to you as He has spoken to me; then you will understand it all, and be a happier, better woman."

<><><><>

Arthur Moore died, and Marie Delorme took up her abode in London, spending her days visiting amongst the poor and the wretched, teaching them to know and to love God, and bringing with her wherever she went hope and comfort. She had grown humble and gentle, and the Spirit of Christ had entered into her, renewing her altogether. The forgiveness which had been extended to her by the friend she had so injured had shown to her the reality and the strength of the forgiveness which is of Christ. Thus convinced, she did not rest until she had comprehended it for herself and found Jesus as her Saviour. Then she went forth to teach it to others, and to try and atone in some measure for the selfish wickedness of her past, by the unselfish humility of her present.

In her hillside home once more stood Keena, and beside her, looking out on the fair summer landscape, was her husband, Ronald Keir. The miserable years that were past had fallen from her like a dream. She was no longer desolate and homeless as she gazed, as the long-banished alone gaze on the land for which they have been an-hungered, for whose mere fragrance they have been athirst through the scorch and solitude of desert wastes.

Every sigh of forest leafage came to her like a familiar voice. Every breath of woodland air touched her forehead like a caress. The scent of the grasses was sweet to her as joy; the free, fresh wind seemed bearing back her glad girlhood. She gazed, and felt as if no gaze were long enough, on all for which her sight had ached in blindness through the years of absence.

"You are happy, dear wife?" The voice of Ronald broke the long silence.

"Yes, happier than I have ever been. Those years of pain were not wasted, for they taught me the meaning of Life."

THE END

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More Christian 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.

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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

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

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 £3.95

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

by

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 early 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 early 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 early 2018

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

FW Bourne and

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

This challenging and often amusing book on the life of Billy Bray (1794-1868) has a very strong message for Christians today. Billy, a Cornish tin miner, 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 Billy Bray's own Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture the man.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 80 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

## 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

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. She now 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

### 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

### 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

eBook Coming early 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 2018

### 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:

## 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

$5.99 £4.95

### 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

$5.99 £4.95

### 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 Baskerville 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

$5.99 £4.95

### 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 £6.95

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 £5.95

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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