was natural to her revengeful disposition, she "nursed her wrath to keep it warm." Still, it would doubtless have cooled under the influence of time, had it not been that her excitement was artfully kept up by a young woman, a member of her household, who acted in the family at once as housekeeper and as companion to the lady. She was a great favorite with her mistress, who placed unlimited confidence in her, and consulted her on all occasions, not only in the strictly domestic, but also in the family concerns of Toskerton. She, however, had some stronger hold on Lady Betty than could well flow merely from the favor of a mistress for a dependent; and many were the surmises on the subject, both at that time and since. The secret of her ascendency over the haughty woman has, however, never been satisfactorily explained, further than that she had rendered her some great service once, as, indeed, Lady Betty had been heard herself to acknowledge. The lady had been traveling on the Continent some two or three years before the time of this story, and Adèle had returned with her. More of the latter's previous history than this has ever remained mere conjecture. One thing, however, was certain; some mysterious sympathy united these two women, so separated as they otherwise were by rank and circumstances.

Adèle, whatever was her native country, certainly possessed the strong passions generally characteristic of the more southern climes. The single name of Adèle, I may here remark, is the only one by which she is known in tradition. She was impetuous and daring, and her vanity and self-importance, extravagant as they naturally were, had been fostered, though unintentionally, by Lady Betty's treatment of her, till they grew to a development which that lady little expected. Little, indeed, did she suspect the height of her protégé's aspirations; little did she think that Adèle had presumed to regard with affection the heir of Toskerton. Pure and unselfish love such a being as Adèle was incapable of feeling; but such affection as she did possess she had bestowed on the young, frank, and generous laird, Walter Fleming.

But Walter had seen and shown some little attention to Lucy, the fair daughter of Kennedy of Killaster, and Adèle had hinted, in a playful manner, at his polite

attentions to his fair neighbor, adding, as she saw the angry frown rise on Lady Betty's brow, that, of course, it was no more than the usual politeness which such a gentleman as Mr. Walter would show to any young lady he might meet. On this, being sternly told to say plainly what she meant, she disclosed to her irritated listener not a few circumstances calculated to rouse the suspicions of the latter. And, what entered into her more nefarious design, she insinuated that Mr. Crawfurd, the minister, was aware how matters stood; connived at clandestine meetings between the young people; nay, even allowed them to meet clandestinely at his own house; all of which was as false as it was atrociously malicious.

Lady Betty sent for her son, covered him with the bitterest reproaches, and ended by saying, when she could no longer storm, that sooner should the last drop of Fleming blood be shed, than that her son, now the last of his name, should be the first to disgrace it. Here and there, in her fury, she interrupted herself to utter maledictions on the heads of those who had abetted his conduct; it was observed, however, that she did not name any one. The scene ended in a way for which the submissiveness her son had hitherto shown had not prepared her. Accustomed though he was to her violence, the naturally highspirited lad was thoroughly roused by her language on this occasion, and, stung to the quick by the coarse words applied to the innocent object of his affections, he unreservedly and boldly avowed his love for Lucy Kennedy.

From that moment the house of Toskerton was divided against itself. Mother and son alike felt that they were no longer as they had been to each other. Yet, amid all the blackness which was fast enveloping the soul of Lady Betty, one ray of light shone pure and clear. She certainly loved fondly and devotedly her only child. Whatever she was brought to do proceeded from intense motherly love, as well as pride, as regarded Walter. But she derived no real happiness even from maternal affection; she could not do so, fearfully misjudging and misguiding as that affection was. The best affections become really the most dangerous, when they absorb all others, and make themselves paramount to principle.

Lady Betty, after this scene with her

son, appears to have become, in spite of her naturally stern and unyielding spirit, almost a passive tool in the hands of Adèle. The artful woman played her part so well, that she, on the contrary, appeared the tool of an imperious mistress. But there seems to be little doubt as to who was the real author and instigator of what followed. Walter Fleming was on the point of attaining his majority, and his twenty-first birth-day was to be celebrated at Toskerton with the rejoicings usual on such occasions. Everybody, high and low, for miles round was invited, with the marked exception of the Killaster family. Among them was, of course, Mr. Crawfurd, the minister. Lady Betty went in person to invite him, for he was a man of retired habits, and would, perhaps, have excused himself if he possibly could. As it was, he at first tried to do so, but the lady would take no denial, and at last he promised to take part in the festivities of Toskerton. Little did he imagine that he was going thither to meet his death.

The fated day came. It was passed at Toskerton in amusements and games of all kinds, the happy-minded minister looking on with kindly interest. It was, indeed, afterward noticed that he looked more than usually gay and cheerful. Dinner was served in the house for the more distinguished guests; Mr. Crawfurd was placed beside his perfidious hostess, who treated him with a degree of kind respect, which, afterward at least, was said to have been over-acted. In particular, toward the end of the banquet, she called for a curious cup, an heirloom in the family, which was brought to her ready-filled by Adèle, and which, after slightly tasting it herself, she handed to him, and desired him to empty to the health of her son. He did so, it was re-filled, and passed to the other guests in succession. Very shortly after, with an apology to Lady Betty for leaving before the dance began, he returned home.

and their little ones as they stood round his bed, but yet resigned to a fate which he expressed his belief was inevitable. He felt, he said, that for him the sands of life were all but run down, and that nothing could save him. It was, indeed, but too true. The violent paroxysms of pain from which he had been suffering left him, however, for a short time just before his death in comparative peace. He took advantage of this relief, and in solemn language committed his family to the care of the God of the widow and fatherless.

"And promise me, Agnes, my love," these were his last words, "promise me that you will never inquire into the cause of my sudden removal. Leave it to God. He will do all things well." After that he seemed to be praying a while, for his lips moved, and he shut his eyes, and then he said, "Father, I come. O God-forgive-" So he died praying for his enemy, but his prayer was finished in another world; the servant of God had entered into his rest.

The death of Mr. Crawfurd, of course, made a great sensation in the neighborhood, but no judicial inquiry was made into the circumstances of it. That the authorities of the time did not think proper to make any, will doubtless appear strange at the present day. As will be seen, however, they did not know then all that was subsequently known. But though the authors of the dark deed were never brought to human justice, they did not go unpunished.

Adèle, it would appear, was soon made to feel that her horrid scheme was a vain one; the crime was bootless to her. What passed between her and the young laird was known only to themselves, but she soon found that, even if his mother had been willing, he never would have thought of making her his wife. The consequence was what might have been expected from her passionate temper; her love and ambition being disappointed, a thirst for vengeance took possession of her. Inordinate must have been this thirst, for to satisfy it she seems to have cared little how far she endangered herself.

How she prevailed on Lady Betty to write the letter, a copy of which I am about to give, it is not easy to say. Lady Betty was probably a prey to remorse, and made a coward by her conscience. Perhaps Adèle may have pretended that she felt remorse, and may have brought her accomplice to fear that she might betray her. It may have been with a view of alleviating that supposed remorse by removing the fears which alone, it seemed probable enough, had caused it, that Lady Betty wrote the letter: certain it is that she did write it; though probably not without repenting of it almost immediately. The letter was as follows-how its contents became known will be afterward explained. Passing over the first part of it, which was to the effect that she, Lady Betty, being ill and troubled in her mind, was anxious to thank her kind and faithful Adèle for her care and devotedness while in her service, it went on :

“Ah, Adèle ! if I had taken your advice, I

should not now suffer as I do. But I would not listen to you, when you sought humbly but firmly to set things before me in their proper light. I allowed trifles to provoke me to actions which I now hate to think of. The cries of that poor widow and her children are ever ringing in my ears. O, Adèle, pity your unhappy mistress. . I beg of you to accept this purse as a remembrance of one who always felt a warm interest in you."

...

It has just been said that Lady Betty probably soon repented of having written thus. And that she did so immediately, is in all likelihood what must have followed her reading in the face of her attendant the look of malignant triumph and expectant vengeance that doubtless could not be suppressed on it, when Adèle found herself thus in possession of a document which put her mistress completely in her power. New terrors would have seized on the unhappy woman, and it would have been but too evident to her guilty mind that concealment of her former crime was only to be purchased by the commission of another. A short time after this letter must have been written, Adèle asked leave of her mistress to go to the neighboring town of S, about six miles distant. Permission was granted, but not for the next day, as Adèle had requested. She must delay going till the day after, Lady Betty said. Accordingly Adèle left Toskerton the

and as it turned out, to return; but also, never to reach the town as she intended. She must have taken with her several articles of value-several afterward were missed at least—and she had in her pocket the well-filled purse given her by Lady Betty. In that purse she carried the important letter.

Half-way to S- from Toskerton, a small stream crosses the road; much rain having fallen for several days, it was then greatly swollen. There was no bridge across it at that time; it had to be passed by stepping-stones. The flood had made these slippery and dangerous; but Adèle was not easily daunted, and 'attempted to cross. She missed her footing, and, as was then supposed, was washed away by the current, and drowned.

notorious

When twenty-four hours had gone by without her re-appearing at Toskerton, much alarm was expressed by Lady Betty, and by her orders a search was instituted for the missing woman. It had scarcely been set on foot when two men, as smugglers, made their appearance at Toskerton, and declared, in presence of the assembled family, that early that morning, when about to cross the stream, about a mile below the stepping-stones just mentioned, they had found the dead body of Lady Betty's foreign attendant. They had conveyed it, they said, to a neighboring cottage, but life was quite extinct. And they produced one or two trifling articles which they had found upon her and secured. But they did not produce the greater part of the booty; and while the purse, with a few pieces of money in it, were among the articles exhibited, it did not contain the letter.

The body of Adèle was buried, but not with it were buried Lady Betty's fears. The letter, to recover which she had incurred the guilt of another crime, had not been recovered; it was, moreover, in the possession of a man who knew well how to make use of it. This was a man of the name of Smith, commonly called "Black Jack," and one of the two smugglers who gave out that they had found the body of Adèle. There is little doubt that they had murdered her; and it is now almost equally probable that they did so at the instigation of Lady Betty, who, it was afterward remembered, was seen speaking to one of them, on a little-frequented path

that led through the woods of Toskerton, on the day preceding Adèle's departure; a strange thing, indeed, for such a person as Lady Betty. It has been said that Black Jack and his companion were notorious as smugglers. Black Jack, so called, probably, on account of his swarthy complexion, was a man of gigantic proportions, and possessed unusual strength; he caused his name to be long remembered in the locality by his surpassing audacity and fearlessness.

Black Jack, immediately after the death of Adèle, was observed to be in unusually prosperous circumstances. He, indeed, admitted that he was, and gave out that this arose from his having made some runs of late which had been more than commonly lucrative. Among the Toskerton people, however, it was rumored that his sudden prosperity was to be attributed to the plunder of the unhappy woman. But neither his own admissions nor the surmises of others touched upon the real fact. Some articles he and his associate certainly had pillaged from the dead body, but of | those the intrinsic value was small compared with the importance of the letter from Lady Betty, which he had secured. Ever and anon he made his appearance at Toskerton, or had elsewhere private interviews with the miserable woman, and on each occasion the continuance of his secrecy had to be purchased by a new and higher bribe.

It would seem probable, also, that he disclosed the secret to the young laird, with a view, of course, toward bringing him, too, under the influence of his intimidation. This, at least, is the easiest way of accounting for the fact that one day, after an interview with the ruffian, Walter rushed precipitately into his mother's room, bade her farewell in a few incoherent words, and, without trusting himself to say even so much to Lucy Kennedy at Killaster, rode away from the scenes of his youth, never more to revisit them. Lucy, indeed, received letters from him, dated in a foreign country, urging her to unite her fate to his, but the dutiful and loving girl refused to leave her aged father, and firmly rejected every entreaty of her lover.

To Lady Betty the hour of retribution came at length. The son for whom the unhappy woman had periled her own soul, died. This was the last stroke. She had

dared to commit more than one terrible crime for him; she had borne up against his abandonment of her, and the feeling that she had become an object of horror to him—all this she had done and endured, in the single hope of knowing that he was to succeed to the proud inheritance of his fathers, and now this hope was forever quenched. Thus was she broken. For some time after her son's death, she went about her usual occupations, as if sternly resolved to brave it out to the last; but one by one these were abandoned, and for some months before her decease she never left her room, and scarcely even spoke. The proximate cause of her death seems to have been a stormy interview she had with her relentless persecutor, Black Jack, the smuggler. Almost by force he had gained admission to her presence, and had loaded her with reproaches and scarcely disguised threats. When at last he was removed by the servants, the wretched woman burst into a flood of tears, but her desolate heart apparently found no relief from them. She was then, by her own orders, left alone for a considerable time, and when, at the sound of her bell, one of her attendants returned to her, she had become speechless. The look of haughty defiance had passed away, and a gentler expression was visible on the stricken features. On a table beside her lay an open miniature: it was the portrait of her son when a child. The servant, terrified at the death-like appearance of her mistress, took her hand, but it was icy cold, and fell on the lady's knee, when, in her fright, the woman shrunk from it. Lady Betty once more endeavored to speak, but again failing, she sighed deeply three or four times, and then her soul was called before its Judge.

I have little to add. The fair and goodly lands of Toskerton are now possessed, under another name, (for even the old name has been changed,) by a family in no way related to the ancient race of Fleming, of whom, indeed, scarcely any memorial remains, except a single field, still called "Lady Betty's Field," and regarded in the country with somewhat of a superstitious feeling. This, too, not merely by the common people; for the proprietors, even to the present day, have constantly refused to allow it to be plowed, for which no precise reason has been assigned.