Produced by Charles Bowen Anne Hereford A Novel. by Mrs. Henry Wood, AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "RED COURT FARM," "ST. MARTIN'S EVE," "MILDRED ARKELL," ETC. LONDON: TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 1871. [_All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved_.] Contents I. MRS. EDWIN BARLEY. II. IN THE WOOD. III. GOING OUT IN THE FOG. IV. VERY ILL. V. ANOTHER DREAM. VI. DEAD! VII. AT MISS FENTON'S. VIII. EMILY CHANDOS. IX. A STEP IRREVOCABLE. X. AT MRS. PALER'S. XI. CHANDOS. XII. OUT OF DOORS AT CHANDOS. XIII. A SHOCK. XIV. THE NEW TENANT BY THE LODGE GATES. XV. IN THE IRONING ROOM. XVI. DISTURBED BY MRS. CHANDOS. XVII. THE STRANGER APPLICANT. XVIII. THE NEW COMPANION. XIX. TELEGRAPHING FOR A PHYSICIAN. XX. LIZZY DENE. XXI. IN THE PINE-WALK. XXII. A NIGHT ALARM. XXIII. SEEN IN THE GALLERY BY MOONLIGHT. XXIV. MRS. PENN'S REVELATION. XXV. NOTHING BUT MISERY. XXVI. GETTING INTO THE WEST WING. XXVII. GEORGE HENEAGE. XXVIII. AN IGNOMINIOUS EXIT. XXIX. MR. EDWIN BARLEY IN THE WEST WING. XXX. THE LAST FRIGHT OF ALL. XXXI. BACK FOR AYE AT CHANDOS. ANNE HEREFORD. CHAPTER I. MRS. EDWIN BARLEY. An express train was dashing along a line of rails in the heart of England. On one of the first-class carriages there had been a board, bearing the intimation 'For Ladies Only,' but the guard took it off when the train first started. It had come many miles since. Seated inside, the only passenger in that compartment, was a little girl in deep mourning. All was black about her save the white frills of her drawers, which peeped below her short, black, flounced frock. A thoughtful, gentle child, with a smooth, pale forehead, earnest eyes, and long, dark eyelashes that swept her cheek. It was a gloomy September day, foggy, and threatening rain—a _sad_-looking day; and the child's face seemed to have borrowed the aspect of the weather, pervaded, as it was, by a tinge of sadness. That little girl was myself, Anne Hereford. The train slackened speed, and glided into an important station, larger than any we had passed. It was striking one, and the guard came up to the carriage. "Now, my little lady," said he, "change lines here, and stop for ten minutes." I liked that guard. He had a kind, hearty face, and he had come up several times to the carriage-door during the journey, asking how I got on. He told me he had a little girl of his own, about as old as I. "Are you hungry?" he asked, as he lifted me from the carriage. "Not very, thank you. I have eaten the biscuits." "Halloa! Stern!" he called out, stopping a man who was hurrying past. "Are you going with the Nettleby train?" "Yes. What if I am?" was the man's answer. He was rightly named Stern, for he had a stern, sour face. "See this little girl. She is in the guard's charge. To be put in the ladies' carriage, and taken on to Nettleby."