A TOMB IN A FOREIGN LAND.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE UNHOLY WISH."

I.

HAD they been on the parched, arid shores of India, with all the force of its burning sun concentrated on their heads, the heat could scarcely have been more intense. There was no place to turn to for shade; no green spot on which the aching eye could rest: the glare was unbroken and terrible, as it always is there in the brilliant days of summer. The town itself, with its white houses, was anything but grateful to the sight, and though the sky was dark blue, to that the eye could not raise itself through the universal glare. The sands burnt with heat; the rays of the sun recoiled from the white bathing-machines; the sea glittered to the eye only in an inferior degree to the white sails of the vessels passing up the Channel; and on the water in the harbour the eye dared not and could not rest, for it was like gazing on molten gold, destroying the sight it dazzled.

On the terrace at the bathing-rooms, or, as it is there styled, the Etablissement des Bains, sat a bevy of girls of various lands-for crowds of many nations flock in summer to that gay French watering-place. They were idly gossiping away the mid-day heat, and longing for the cool hours of night, and for the dancing they would bring-that they might make themselves hot again. Near to one of the doors opening to the large room sat an English girl. Not tall, but stately as the young American at her side; dreamy and imaginative as the Italian before her; calm and self-possessed as the West Indian, who stood making marks with her parasol upon the gravel beneath; graceful and easy as were the French, and beautiful as befitted her birthplace, was this English maiden. Listless enough the group all seemed, save the French, who, as usual, were sitting, clustered in a heap, chattering and gesticulating away. She held a newspaper, this English girl, and glanced at its pages from time to time.

"Have you anything interesting there?" inquired one of the French. "No," was the reply of Miss Chard, raising her eyes from the journal, and offering it to the fair questioner.

"Ah bah! merci to you, mademoiselle, all the same, but I never touch a newspaper," answered the coquettish Gaul.

"The Débats !" remarked the haughty West Indian, with a badlyconcealed sneer. "You are fond of political discussions possibly, Miss Chard; the English mostly are."

England's men," broke in the American lady, "but not its females, I think. Their minds are not formed for such, their talents are not equal to it."

A quiet, proud smile sat on the beautiful lip of the English girl, though politics were as a sealed book to her; and the American's sentence was cut short by an exclamation from one of the French.

"Ma foi! but the English have talents! talents and pride. Though in all the social conditions of life-a ball-room, for instance, or a morning visit-you may just as well see so many dancing bears."

As she spoke, a gentleman stepped out upon the terrace from the

rooms, and the prevailing listlessness was gone. A tall, slender man, of symmetrical proportions; with one of those beautiful faces often sung of but seldom seen; features exquisitely chiselled, and pale almost to a fault. It was impossible, when looking on his courtly mien and dignified bearing, to mistake him for anything but an English gentleman; and a consciousness of his own attractions might be read in his sleepy eye, blended with much vanity. Glances of admiration stole towards him, but he seated himself by the side of the young English lady and her eyes were bent upon the ground, whilst the crimson flush of love rose to her features.

"I have been to your house, Lucy," he said, in a whisper: "I thought the heat would have kept you at home. Pardon, mademoiselle," he continued, picking up the handkerchief which one of the French girls dropped in passing him.

The curtseying, grinning Gaul, bold from her infancy, with more apologies and bows than an Englishwoman would make in a month, received, as she expected, the property which the handsome young Englishman tendered her, and the conversation became general.

"Who is that?" exclaimed the West Indian, directing their attention to a fresh comer, who now appeared upon the scene a young lady seemingly not more than eighteen or nineteen.

"How very beautiful!" exclaimed Mr. Ravensburg. "Handsome to a degree!" murmured Lucy Chard.

"She is too tall: and so very pale!" dissented one of the envious French girls.

"But look at her eyes and features!" cried the Italian.

"Did you ever see such, save in sculpture? and then you cannot have the colouring."

"It is the Baroness de Laca," exclaimed the American. widow."

"A widow? Nonsense!" said Mr. Ravensburg.

girl."

"She is a

"She is a mere

"A widow for all that," continued the young American, decisively. "They marry in Spain when they are little better than infants; though she was chiefly reared in England, her parents having adopted your country for their own. They are with her here. We were introduced to them last night. She is very rich, and, it is said, very wilful.”

"And very fascinating," continued Mr. Ravensburg, eagerly watching the graceful figure of the Spaniard as it retired from view.

"Smitten!" laughed the West Indian, with a sneer of mockery on her lip.

The gentleman laughed in return-a laugh quite as shallow as

her own.

"Old

"Not smitten so easily as you imagine, fair lady," he rejoined. birds are not caught with chaff, though they may admire it at a distance." At this moment Lucy Chard raised her eyes, and, standing opposite to her on the lower terrace, appeared a singular-looking man. His dress might have befitted some remote Indian prince, or a member of that fraternity, the "Swell-Mob." Chains, rings, watchguards, seals, studs, and diamond pins shone conspicuously all over him. His looks were of that style that is not unfrequently mistaken, by a perverted taste, for beauty. What a complexion was his! the lily blending with the carna

tion-rose; teeth even, and white as ivory-so white and even, that a certain doubt might arise in the mind of a bystander; his coarsely handsome features (the nose alone an exception to the adjective, and that turned up to the skies) were ornamented by a profusion of jet-black ringlets, whiskers, and a fierce moustache; all these formed part of his attractions. His figure was about the middle height, portly and upright, and his age uncertain. He held in his hand a small hunting-whip, its handle set in gold, or some metal that looked like it, tapping the tip of his highly-varnished boot, and fixing his bold, round, rolling eyes, with a stare of admiration, on Lucy Chard. She rose from her seat, and spoke to her companion.

"Francis, I think mamma must be waiting for me."

"Do you know that man, Lucy?" he inquired.

"Not at all," she replied, a supercilious gesture of the eyelids darting involuntarily towards the stranger. Mr. Ravensburg eyed him attentively; but Lucy was waiting, and he rose and drew her hand within his arm, gracefully doffing his hat to the party around them.

"How vain the British are!" exclaimed the American girl, gazing after Mr. Ravensburg's receding form, "and he exemplifies the national failing."

"She has the greater vanity, that Miss Chard," rejoined the West Indian, "to think she can secure the whole attention of such a man. He constant to one, indeed!"

"That Spanish girl can hear all we are saying. What brings her

so near?"

"She drew up when they left; as if she would watch the departure of Mr. Ravensburg."

The carriage of Mrs. Chard waited round at the outer entrance, and that lady, having scanned all the newspapers she cared to see, passed towards it, followed by Lucy and Mr. Ravensburg; when there, almost close to them, stood the bedizened stranger. He must have made his way round the building: he certainly had not gone through the rooms. "Do you see that fellow?" inquired Ravensburg, directing Mrs. Chard's attention to the imposing-looking man in question, as he placed Lucy in the carriage by her side.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Mrs. Chard, who would never have become a reader of character had she studied Lavater for a lifetime, "what a magnificent man! He must be somebody of consequence." "He puzzles me," added Ravensburg, checking the smile that rose to his lips. "His face seems familiar to me, yet I cannot call to mind where or when I saw it."

The chafed horses, driven into restiveness by the heat and the insects, would wait no longer, but sprang away, fretting and foaming; and when Lucy looked from the carriage after Francis Ravensburg, the unhallowed gaze of the stranger was again riveted upon her.

The extreme heat had passed away with the daylight. The bathingrooms were lighted up to receive the crowds pouring into them, and the strains of the music were already heard. One apartment, a small, square room, had but few people in it, perhaps a dozen. It was the room appropriated to gambling. Under the plea of innocent amusement, " merely a hand at cards to while away an evening hour," play, to an excess, was permitted and carried on, in the year, and at the place, of which this

story treats. Immense sums were lost and won nightly, and several ladies of good family were so infatuated, so far forgot the retiring manners befitting an English gentlewoman, as to take part in the diversion.

At one of the small tables sat Mrs. Chard. Her opponent was Colonel Darcy, and they were playing écarté. Several bettors stood around. Colonel Darcy was losing, as he had been ever since he sat down; but Mrs. Chard was this night in luck. The lady had marked four; the colonel, none.

"I propose," said the latter, taking up a fresh hand.

"Play,” replied Mrs. Chard. And he played the knave of diamonds. "King and game!" said the lady, throwing down the king of trumps. The colonel rose and moved away, observing that the cards were against him.

"Will you permit me the honour of playing a game with you, madam?" inquired a very imposing voice, all mouth and consequence, at Mrs. Chard's elbow. And, looking up, she beheld the "magnificent" stranger, who had stood near her carriage in the morning.

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My name is Carew, madam," began the stranger, seating himself in the vacated chair. "My friend, Major"-Mrs. Chard did not catch the name" was to have introduced me to you to-night, but he is unavoidably absent. Captain Carew."

Major who?" demanded Mrs. Chard, somewhat taken aback by the showy stranger's unceremonious manner.

"Terrible weather, is it not ?" remarked Captain Carew, apparently not hearing Mrs. Chard's question. "I left London on my way to Italy, to join my friend, Lord Seymour, but this exaggerated heat has caused a halt in my journey. I cut to you, madam," he concluded, laying down five napoleons.

“Sir,” said Mrs. Chard, "those stakes are higher than I play for." "Fear not, madam: my life on it, you win. I am but an indifferent player, an almost invariable loser."

Mrs. Chard played, and did win. Other games followed with the same result; and the stranger laid down ten napoleons.

"Money seems of little value to you," observed one of the admiring bystanders.

"I am a rich man, and can afford such trifles as these losses-when I do play, which is not often-without a ruffled temper," was the complai

sant answer.

Outside, in the little garden attached to the lower terrace, hidden from the moonbeams by the trees and shrubs, stood Francis Ravensburg. The sweet face of his betrothed-betrothed long ago in heart, if not in words -rested close to his. He loved her but with the ordinary love of man—an episode in the drama of man's life. It was shared with the world's pleasures; the pursuits of youth; with admiration for others of her sex and station. Yet he made the rapture and Eden of her existence; and she stood there with him in the shade, her heart beating with its excess of happiness. The scene itself was lovely. Upon the terrace, but unseeing them, were many forms of youth and beauty, who had escaped from the heat within; perhaps lovers, as they were. Innumerable fishing-boats were putting out to sea; the pier was crowded with evening promenaders; the cliffs around, contrasting their light and shade, looked

majestic enough at that hour; the bright moonbeams were playing on the waves which the tide was sending rapidly up, and the music from the ball-room swelled harmoniously on the distance. And there she remained: his arm thrown round her, and her cheek resting passively on his shoulder, listening to the sweet vows he was ever ready to whisper.

Just then, leaning over the terrace at a little distance, appeared the face of the Spanish lady, her features clearly discernible in the bright moonlight.

"Beautiful! beautiful!" murmured Francis Ravensburg, as he gazed upon her, unconscious, probably, that he spoke aloud and Lucy drew away from her lover.

:

"Lucy, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Chard, coming up as they reappeared in the dancing-room," allow me to introduce Captain Carew. He desires to dance a quadrille with you."

With an appealing glance, Lucy clung to the arm of Francis Ravensburg: but who could interfere with a mother's introduction? And the profusely-jewelled man bowed, with evident admiration and some grace, over the hand of his lovely partner.

"Your friend appears to be interested in his companion," observed the captain, as he crossed over to Lucy, after figuring away in one of the quadrilles.

Lucy looked round, and, but a few paces from her, stood her lover, conversing animatedly with the Spanish girl. A rush of pain passed through her heart, but she answered her partner with a cold, haughty gesture.

Mrs. Chard left the rooms early, for their heat was intolerable, and Lucy looked for Francis Ravensburg to accompany them as usual to the carriage. But he did not notice their departure; he was amongst the dancers, his arm encircling the waist of the young baroness, and his eyes bent on her with admiration, as he whirled her round the room to the strains of the most exquisite waltz ever composed by Strauss. "What an acquisition!" exclaimed Mrs. Chard, as she settled herself in her carriage, and they drove away. "Do you like him, Lucy-Cap

tain Carew?"

"Not at all," said Lucy, rousing herself; "he is extremely disagreeable."

"What?" cried the astonished Mrs. Chard. "He is the most delightful man I ever saw-full of general information. But you are so taken up with that young Ravensburg, Lucy, you have eyes and ears for no one else. He hates cards, too!"

"Your new acquaintance, mamma ?"

"I mean Frank Ravensburg. He hate them indeed! he lost his money to-night like a prince-as I do believe he is one in disguise. I never won so much in my life, Lucy, at one sitting. I hope and trust he will make some stay in the town."

II.

A MONTH or two passed away, and little alteration had taken place in the position of the parties mentioned above. The youthful Baroness of Laca was turning the heads of half the men, and exciting the envy and jealousy of all the women. But, beyond all doubt, her favoured cavalier