THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH. A ROMANCE. BY FLORENCE WARDEN NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 1, 8, and 5 BOND STREET. 1884. 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 THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH. CHAPTER I. “Wanted, a Governess; must be young.” I cut out the advertisement thus headed eagerly from the _Times_. I was eighteen, and my youth had been the great obstacle to my getting an engagement; now here was some delightful advertiser who considered it an advantage. I wrote to the address given, enclosing my photograph and the list of my qualifications. Within a week I was travelling down to Geldham, Norfolk, engaged to teach “one little girl, aged six,” at a salary of thirty-five pounds a year. The correspondence had been carried on by my future pupil’s father, who said he would meet me at the station at Beaconsburgh, the market-town nearest to Geldham. It was about five o’clock on an afternoon in early August that I sat, trembling with excitement and fright, at the window of the railway-carriage, as the train steamed slowly into Beaconsburgh station. I looked out on to the platform. There were very few people on it, and there was no one who appeared at all like the gentleman I had pictured to myself as my future employer. There were two or three red-faced men who gave one the impression of being farmers, and at one end there were two young men engaged in securing a large mastiff, which was bounding about in great excitement at sight of the train. I got out and spoke to the station-master. “There is Mr. Rayner himself, ma’am,” said he, pointing towards the two young men with the dog. One of them was now looking about, as if in search of somebody; and I walked timidly towards him. He seemed puzzled as his eyes fell upon me; then suddenly he raised his hat. “Miss Christie?” he said interrogatively, growing very red. “Yes,” said I, bowing and blushing too. “Will you come and show me which is your luggage?” I was surprised and rather confused to find Mr. Rayner so much younger and less self-possessed than I had expected. I followed him and pointed out my boxes. “The dog-cart is waiting outside,” said he; “let me carry your bag.” I followed him through the station. Three or four big dogs began jumping up upon him and upon me as we came out. “Down, Rover! Down, Luke! Get down, Tray!” said he, raising his voice.