The San Francisco call., 1896-12-25
PROLOGUE.

HAr you marry MIN. Dy In0 IOTus bciA
N2 you, 1 will never call you daughter
III of mine againr' cried the Squire.
Eleanor Carteret looked at her father
with proud Indignation in her handsome
eyes. She was a tall, dark girl, splendidly
handsome, and very like the parent whom
/ she was defying, although his hair was
gray and hers was raven black, his face
rugged and deeply lined, while hers was
iair and young. But their way of stand
ing was alike; their eyes flashed under
coal black brows with the same wild light;
the fathers naughty curve of nostril and
lip were repeated in the features OF the
daughter. No wonder, then, that when
the two strong wills clashed there should
be revolt on the one side and fury on the
other. She had never known shadow OF
restraint or authority, for her mother had
died when she was born and the Squire,
John Carteret of Moorsholme, had adored
her and spolIt her from her babyhood. 1t
was too late now, when she was one and
twenty, to put on the curb aud draw the
rein; she had always taken her own way
and she meant to take it now.
She was very musical. and during the
last few months she mad been staying with
sons of a we'll professor. 1t seemed
that this professor, having many engage
ments, sometimes deputed his work TO all
assistant, who was a clever musician,
quite capable of giving lessons on his own
account. Unfortunately he gave lessons
in other things besides music-lessons in
owe, for instance. He had caused Eleanor
Carteret to attach herself to him so pas
sionately that she had come straight
home to announce to her father that she
meant to marry the music-master, Lance
lot Hervey, and no one else.
"1t is only fair to tell you what mean
to do" she had said in her naughty way.
81 will disown you-disinherit you,"
said old Mr.. Carteret, violently. II will
cut you off with shilling"
'And let MoorshoIme GO to the Rush
tons, suppose?"
The Rushtons were distant cousins,
nearly the only relatives that the Squire
possessed, and whom he cordially dis
liked.
81 would sooner it went to the Rush
tons than to beggarly music-master and
his children" cried the Squire.
Every WELL" said Eleanor; ''I do not
mind what becomes OF Moorsholme3"
"You do not mind what becomes of itp'
gasped the father. To him Moorsholme
was as the apple of his eye.
"Not in comparison with the man love.
I mean to marry Lancelot Hervey and
share his poverty
''Then you may go to the devilF' cried
the old man in furious anger.
"Oh, no." said Eleanor, quite CALMLY:
1--WE shall only go to America.
She thought that he was going to strike
her for this fippant reply, and for mo-
ment she qusiled before the expected blow,
but it did not come. The Squire's hand
had been lifted, certainly, but it sank to
his side, and he turned away without
another word. a thought of Eleanor's
mother, whom he had fondly loved, came
between him and his anger. If she had
thrown herself upon his neck at that
moment and besought him to forgive her
he might even have been won reluctantly
to consent to her desire. For, in spite of
his violence and his gusts of sudden anger,
John Carteret was very soft of heart
But Eleanor was of a proud nature, as
all the Carterets had been, and she would
not go one step to meet her father, al
though he might be on the very point of
giving way. She waited for him to yield
and he would not yield. He said no more
for the moment, but on a future occasion
he reiterated his threat, with less violence
but more obstinacy, that he would no
longer consider Eleanor his daughter if
she married without his permission.
Eleanor, of course, took his own wav.
She left the house openly one day, saying
eIo I.
short time the announcement followed of
her marriage TO Lancelot Heryey, and
then she dropped out of her old friends
ken. Her father refused to speak of her:
but 1t was noticed that his hair changed
rapidly from gray to white, and the neigh
bors said among themselves that the
disobedient daughter was breaking her
fathers heart. But, on the other hand.
Mr.. Carteret continued hale and hearty.
He strobe about his land as usual and
seemed as much interested as ever in the
state of stock and the condition of politics.
In these respects he was quite like him
self, and possibly he was not the sort of
man to sit down quietly with a broken
heart. He was too vigorous, too young in
spirit to be easily broken down.
And he was also very vindictive. When
the clergyman of the parish spoke to him
about his daughter he refused to listen
He forbade her name to be mentioned in
his house. He would not open the letters
that came to him from her, Five years
passed without any sign of relenting on
his side. Then came curious change.
One day Eleanor Hervey walked up the
avenue to Moorsholme Hall with baby
in her arms and little child clinging to
her gown. She was greatly changed
pale, thin. worn, but with the old stately
grace of bearing and the proud turn of
her head. She was dressed in shabby
black, but not in widows weeds, and she
certainly did not wear the look of grief
and loss which is peculiar to recently
made widow. She came rapidly up the
steps of the great front door, rang the
bell and asked for Mr.. Carteret. The man
who opened the door did not know her By
sight.
"Yes, ma'am, he is at home. What
name shall l say, ma'am?"
"I am his daughter said Eleanor, abb