MONICA. MONICA. A Novel. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN. Author of “Torwood’s Trust,” “The Last of the Dacres,” “Ruthven of Ruthven,” Etc. _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOL. I. LONDON: WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 1889. PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS, AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. CONTENTS. CHAPTER THE FIRST. PAGE The Trevlyns of Castle Trevlyn 1 CHAPTER THE SECOND. Monica’s Ride 23 CHAPTER THE THIRD. Lord Trevlyn’s Heir 43 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. Conrad Fitzgerald 63 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. Sunday at Trevlyn 84 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. In Peril 103 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. “Wilt thou Have this Woman?” 125 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. “Woo’d, and Married, and A’” 145 CHAPTER THE NINTH. Married 167 CHAPTER THE TENTH. Mischief-makers 181 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. The Little Rift 206 MONICA. CHAPTER THE FIRST. THE TREVLYNS OF CASTLE TREVLYN. “Good-bye, Monica. I will look in again to-morrow: but I assure you there is no cause for anxiety. He is not worse than usual, and will be better soon.” The doctor was buttoning up his heavy driving-coat as he spoke, and at the conclusion of the sentence he opened the heavy oak door, letting in a blast of cold air and a sheet of fine, penetrating rain. “Oh, Raymond, what weather! I ought not to have sent for you.” “Nonsense! You know I am weather-proof. Old Jack will find his way home, if I cannot. Good-bye again.” The door closed upon the stalwart figure, and Lady Monica Trevlyn was left standing alone upon the wide staircase, amid the gathering shadows of the great hall. Castle Trevlyn was, in truth, a sufficiently grim and desolate place, both within and without. Tangled park, dense pine woods, and a rocky iron-bound coast surrounded it, cutting it off, at it were, from communication with the outside world. Within its walls lay a succession of vast, stately chambers, few of them now inhabited—regions where carved black oak, faded tapestry, rusty armour, and antique relics of bygone days seemed to reign in a sort of mournful grandeur, telling their own tale of past magnificence and of present poverty and decay. Yes, the Trevlyns were a fallen race; for the past three generations the reigning earl had been poor, and the present Lord Trevlyn had failed to do anything towards restoring the decaying fortunes of his house. He too was very poor, hence the air of neglect that reigned around and within the castle. Monica, however, his only child, was far too well used to the gloom and grimness of the old castle to be in the least oppressed by it. She loved her lonely, desolate home with a curious, passionate intensity, and could not picture anything more perfect than the utter silence and isolation that hemmed in her life. The idea of desiring a change had never so much as occurred to her.