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  LANCASTER'S CHOICE.

  BY

  MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.

  COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY GEORGE MUNRO.

  HART SERIES No. 47

  PUBLISHED BY

  THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY

  CLEVELAND, O., U. S. A.

  LANCASTER'S CHOICE.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. CHAPTER XX. CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV. CHAPTER XXVI. CHAPTER XXVII. CHAPTER XXVIII. CHAPTER XXIX. CHAPTER XXX. CHAPTER XXXI. CHAPTER XXXII. CHAPTER XXXIII. CHAPTER XXXIV. CHAPTER XXXV. CHAPTER XXXVI. CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CHAPTER XXXIX. CHAPTER XL.

  CHAPTER I.

  Old Lady Lancaster had twenty thousand pounds a year of her own. Shehad brought that much dower when she came to her husband, the late LordLancaster, and now, when he was dead, and she a childless widow, shewas like the Martha of Holy Writ--she was troubled over many things.

  The possession of great wealth usually entails trouble, it is said,and Lady Lancaster's case was no exception to the rule. The greatestanxiety she had was that she could not decide what she would do withher fortune when she died. She was eighty years old, and although shedid not want to die, she knew that she would have to do so some day,and she wanted to make her will before that grewsome event.

  The title and estates of Lancaster had descended to the late lord'snephew, young Clive Lancaster. It was but a barren honor, after all,for there was no money to support the dignity of the position. Thedeceased incumbent had been a spendthrift, and so had his fatherbefore him. They had dissipated all the property that was not strictlyentailed with the title, and the present heir had little to live onexcept his pay as a captain in the army, where he still remained afterhis accession to the title, while at his express wish and desire LadyLancaster still reigned lady paramount at his ancestral home, and keptup its wonted dignity and state. She said she should leave all hermoney to Captain Lancaster if he married to please her. If not--and sheshook her gray head ominously, not to say viciously, at this point, andremained silent.

  Lancaster Park was one of the loveliest places in Devonshire, asDevonshire is one of the loveliest counties in England. It seemedalmost a pity that the young lord could not afford to marry and bringhome a beautiful bride to grace his stately home. No one doubted butthat when the time came he would espouse the bride his aunt selectedfor him. It would be folly, it would be madness, if he refused. Noone supposed that the handsome young soldier could be capable of suchrashness. He did not dream of anything but obedience himself. He onlyhoped that it would be a very pretty girl whom his aunt chose forhim, and also that the matrimonial hour was yet in the dim distance.He was only five-and-twenty, and he did not care to surrender hisbachelor freedom yet. He was amazed and confounded, therefore, whenin a year after his uncle's death Lady Lancaster sent him one of hercharacteristic letters--short and to the point:

  "MY DEAR CLIVE"--she wrote--"try and get leave to come down to Lancaster Park for a month or so this fall. I have invited a lot of people for that time, among them the girl I have chosen for you. Do not fail me. Delays are dangerous."

  It was rather a command than a request, and the last words sounded likea threat. The young lord-captain was taken by storm. His heart sunk tothe bottom of his tall cavalry boots. He did not want to be marriedoff-hand like that. He secretly rebelled against a forced surrender ofhis soldierly freedom, even though he gained twenty thousand pounds ayear in exchange for it. He took counsel with his chum, young Harry DeVere, who was a soldier, too.

  "I'm ower young to marry yet," he said. "How shall I outwit the oldlady's designs upon me?"

  "Come over to America with me," said Lieutenant De Vere. "I have leaveof absence for six months. You can get it, too, by the asking. I amgoing over to the States to spend my holiday. I should be delighted tohave you for a companion."

  The idea took hold of Captain Lancaster's imagination immediately.

  "I will go with you," he said. "I have always intended to make the tourof the United States, and if I do not go before I am married, it is notlikely I shall do so afterward. I will write to my aunt to postpone hermatrimonial designs a little while longer."

  He wrote to Lady Lancaster that he was very sorry indeed to disappointher, but that he had made a most positive engagement to go over to theStates next month with his friend Harry De Vere, and now the youngfellow would not let him off, but as soon as they returned he should beat her ladyship's command, etc., etc.

  Lady Lancaster was profoundly annoyed and chagrined at her nephew'sletter. She did not want to postpone the consummation of her favoritescheme. But she wisely concluded to bear with the inevitable this time.She wrote to the truant lord that she would excuse him this once, butthat he must be ready to fall in with her plans next time, or it mightbe worse for him. Her fortune was not likely to go a-begging for anowner.

  CHAPTER II.

  Captain Lancaster got leave and went off in triumph with Lieutenant DeVere to the United States. When he had put the ocean between himselfand his match-making relative, he breathed more freely.

  "I can count on one year more of single blessedness now, I hope," hesaid. "I do not suppose my aunt will try to have me married off by acablegram or a telephone while I am absent."

  De Vere laughed at his friend's self-congratulations.

  "I never saw any one so unwilling to accept a fortune before," he said.

  "It is not the fortune I object to--it is the incumbrance I must takewith it," replied Captain Lancaster.

  "Should a wife be regarded as an incumbrance?" inquired the other, witha smile.

  "That would depend upon whether she were one's own choice or somebodyelse's. I can not imagine old Lady Lancaster selecting an ideal wifefor me."

  "All the same you will accept the one she provides for you. It wouldbe madness indeed to refuse," said his friend.

  "Well, well, we will not discuss it. May the evil day be yet far off,"responded Lancaster, fervently.

  Woe unto him if her ladyship, far away under English skies, could haveheard his regrets, or have known that he had taken his trip solely tostave off the evil day of his marriage, as he so considered it. She wasvexed over it. While she deemed it an accident, she would have beenfuriously angry could she have known it to have been design. At homeshe was eating her heart out with impatience and vexation, and eagerlycounting the weeks and months as they rolled away, thinking that eachone brought her nearer to his return and to the accomplishment of hercherished scheme.

  The months glided by, and at length the winter was past and spring wasat hand. It was April--that tender, timid month, with its violets anddaisies. Lady Lancaster's heart beat more lightly. She had had a recentletter from the traveler. He wrote that he would be at home by thefirst of June. She began to lay her plans accordingly. She would have amerry party at the Park to welcome him home, and he should make up hismind then. There was no time for delay.

  She sent for the housekeeper to come to her immediately. She wanted tomake all her arrangements at once, and she could do nothing withoutconsulting Mrs. West, the model housekeeper who had ruled at LancasterPark for sixteen years. My lady grew impatient while she sat in hergreat velvet arm-chair and waited for the woman's coming. Her smallblack eyes snapped crossly, she wriggled her lean, bent body in itsstiff b
rocade, and the bony little hands, with the great jeweled ringshanging loosely upon them, grasped the jeweled serpent-head that toppedher walking-cane with nervous energy as she gasped out, angrily: "Whydon't the woman come? How dare she keep me waiting?"

  The door opened softly and Mrs. West entered just in time to catch theimpatient exclamation--a very lady-like person indeed, in noiselessblack silk, and a neat lace cap that surrounded a face only half as oldas that of the lady of Lancaster Park.

  "I am very sorry that I kept you waiting, my lady," she said, quietly.

  Then Lady Lancaster looked up and saw an open letter in thehousekeeper's hand, and the signs of inward disturbance on her usuallyunruffled countenance.

  "You know that I hate to be kept waiting, West," she said, "and you areusually very prompt. But I see that something has happened this time,so I am ready to excuse your tardiness. What is it?"

  "You are right, Lady Lancaster. Something _has_ happened," said Mrs.West. She sunk down quietly, as she spoke, into the chair that hermistress indicated by a nod of her grim, unlovely head. "I have had aletter with bad news in. I shall be obliged to quit your service."

  "Quit my service!" echoed Lady Lancaster, wildly. Her voice rose almostto a shriek, it was so full of dismay and anger.

  "That was what I said, my lady," reiterated the housekeeper,deprecatingly.

  Lady Lancaster regarded her in incredulous dismay a moment, then sheburst out, sharply:

  "But I say you shall do no such thing; I can not spare you, I can notget on without you at all--that is, not without six months' warning tosupply your place."

  "A month is the usual time, Lady Lancaster," said the housekeeper,mildly; and then, as the old lady regarded her in speechless dismay,she added, quickly: "But I am sorry that I can not even give you amonth's warning to supply my place, for I am obliged to leave you rightaway. I have a long journey to take. I must cross the ocean."

  "Cross the ocean! Now, did I ever! Are you crazy, West?" demanded theold lady, wrathfully.

  "I knew you would think so," said Mrs. West. "But if you will be kindenough to let me explain the circumstances, you mightn't think sohardly of me, Lady Lancaster."

  "No circumstances could excuse your going off in this way," flashedLady Lancaster. "There is Lord Lancaster coming home by the first ofJune, and of course I must invite a party to meet him; and there arethe rooms, and--and--everything to be seen to. No one knows my ways andmy wishes like you who have been at Lancaster Park so many years. Now,what am I to do?"

  She lifted her wrinkled hands helplessly.

  "There will have to be a new housekeeper found, of course," hazardedMrs. West, timidly.

  "Oh, yes; an ignorant creature who knows nothing, and who will haveeverything wrong, of course, just when I want all to be at its best,"groaned the wizened old aristocrat. "I call this downright ungratefulin you, West, this going off just as we had got used to each other'sways."

  Mrs. West suppressed a struggling smile around the corners of her lips,and, rising up, stood respectfully before her hard mistress.

  "My lady, I'm sorry you think so hard of me. Indeed, I would not leaveyou but for good cause," she said. "I had hoped and expected to spendall my days at Lancaster Park, but my duty calls me elsewhere. I assureyou it is as hard for me as for you. Think how hard it is for me, apoor lone woman, to have to cross the ocean--at my time of life, too!And then to have to take a child to raise and spend all my earningson--a child that's no kin to me, either, you understand, my lady!"

  CHAPTER III.

  Lady Lancaster settled her gold-bowed spectacles on her long Romannose, and fixed a keen, penetrating stare on the troubled face of herhousekeeper.

  "Whose child is it, and what is it all about, anyhow?" she sputtered,vaguely.

  "It's my brother-in-law's child, and he's dead away off in New Yorksomewhere, and the child's left to me--his penniless, friendless orphanchild, left to me by the dead; and how could I refuse the charge, mylady?" inquired Mrs. West, reproachfully. "I should think the deadwould come from his grave, away off yonder in America, to haunt me if Ididn't do his bidding," cried she, glancing behind her with somethinglike a shudder of superstitious fear.

  "I didn't know you were simpleton enough to believe in ghosts, West,"sniffed my lady, contemptuously. "And I didn't know you ever had abrother-in-law, either. Where has he been all these years?"

  "If you will read this letter, Lady Lancaster, you will find outin fewer words than I can tell you," said Mrs. West, respectfullypresenting her letter, which all this time she had been holding open inher hand.

  My lady took the black-edged sheet into the grasp of her thin, bonyhand, and ran her keen eyes down the written page.

  "DEAR SISTER-IN-LAW"--it ran--"I know you've wondered many a time since I caught the gold fever and ran away to California, twenty years ago, what's become of the willful lad that you and John couldn't manage; although you tried so hard and so faithfully. I always meant to write to you some day, but I put it off from time to time in my hard, busy life, until now it's almost too late, and I seem to be writing to you from the borders of that other world where I've somehow heard my brother John went before me, and where I'm hastening now. For I'm dying, sister-in-law, and I'm quite sure that I shall be dead before this comes to your hand. Well, I've had ups and downs in this life, sister Lucy--good luck and ill luck--and now I'm dying I have one great care upon my mind. I'm leaving my little girl, my pretty Leonora--named so for her mother, who died when her baby was born--all alone in the cold, hard world. She is friendless, for we've led such a roving life once she was born that we have made no friends to aid us now in our extremity. Dear sister-in-law, you were always a good woman. You tried to do your duty by the wayward orphan boy who has so poorly repaid your care. Will you be kinder still? Will you come to America and take my child for your own? Will you give her a mother's love and care? Remember, she is friendless and forsaken in the world, without a living relative. What would become of her if you refused my dying prayer? I inclose a card with our New York address upon it. She will wait there after I am dead until you come for her. I feel sure that you will come; you will not disregard my dying wish and request. Forgive me all my ingratitude and thoughtlessness, sister Lucy, and be a mother to my darling little Leo when I am no more.

  "Your dying brother,

  "RICHARD WEST."

  The letter rustled in Lady Lancaster's nervous grasp. She looked upthoughtfully at the patient, waiting woman.

  "I could not refuse such a prayer as that, could I, my lady?" sheasked, wistfully. "You see, he was my husband's only brother--poor,handsome, willful Dick. His parents were both dead, and he had only meand John, my husband. He was restless and ambitious. He ran away andleft a letter that he should go to California and seek his fortune.From that day to this, never a word has been heard of Dick. And nowhe's dead--not so old, either; only in the prime of life--and he's leftme his little girl. She will be a trouble, I know. I must give up myquiet, peaceful home here and make a new home for the child somewhere.But I can not refuse. I dare not, for John's and Dick's sake. I mustgo to America and get the child. I can not do less than he asked me.He was always restless, poor Dick. He could not stay in his grave if Irefused his dying prayer."

  CHAPTER IV.

  Lady Lancaster, filled with chagrin and despair, sat gazing on thefloor in silence. The thought of losing this trusty, capable woman, whohad belonged to the staff of Lancaster Park so long, was most annoyingto her. It had come upon her with all the suddenness of a calamity. Sheviewed it as nothing less.

  She was an old woman, and she disliked exceedingly to have new facesaround her. Under Mrs. West's efficient _r?gime_ the affairs of thehouse had gone on with the precision and regularity of clock-work. Itwould take a new woman years to attain to her proficiency. She hadgrown to regard the good housekeeper almost as her own property--apiece of her person
al goods and chattels. She could not help beingangry at the thought of losing her.

  "It is too bad," she blurted out, indignantly. "Why do folks go and dielike that, and leave their wretched brats on other people's hands."

  A faint color crept into Mrs. West's comely face at the scornful words.

  "My lady, it's the will of God," she said, in her quiet, deprecatingway.

  "I don't believe God has anything to do with it," cried the old lady,violently. "If He did, He would prevent poor folks from marrying, inthe first place."

  And then as she saw how patiently the woman endured these taunts, shehad the grace to be ashamed of herself.

  "Well, there, there; I dare say you don't care to hear your folksspoken of in that way," she said, in a milder tone. "But then RichardWest was no kin to you, anyway--only your husband's brother!"

  Mrs. West could not forbear a pertinent little retort.

  "And Captain Lancaster is only your husband's nephew, my lady, yet youtake a great interest in him," she said.

  Lady Lancaster gave her a keen little glance. "Humph! West has somespirit in her," she said to herself; then, aloud, she replied:

  "I can assure you the only interest I take in him is because he ismy Lord Lancaster; and as he holds the title my late husband held, Ishould like for him to have money enough to support it properly. But ifhe does not marry to please me, you shall see how little I care for theyoung popinjay."

  Mrs. West made no reply, and her mistress continued, after a moment'sthought:

  "Must you really take the child, do you think, West?"