e months afterwards Mrs. Winston died of fever, which she caught
when visiting a gipsy encampment near her home. So at an early age,
little Helen, (for that was the child's name) was left without a mother,
but she lacked no love or tenderness, for Mr. Winston's only care was
for his beloved child, and Jane Marshland now the nurse, did every thing
she could for the child's health and comfort.

Mr. Winston had to give up his dear little home, and retire with Jane
and his baby to lodgings in London till he heard of some employment.

At last he found something not very satisfactory, but as nothing else
offered he decided to take it. It was to perform the office of hangman
in a small country town in Hants by the name of Kenalham.

It was not a nice position to be in certainly, and Mr. Winston's nerves
were not strong, but the payment was good, and after all only about two
people were hung a year at Kenalham.

So with a sinking heart Mr. Winston packed up his goods and departed
with his child and servant to the little cottage in Kenalham, already
furnished for him. It was a nice little house and Mr. Winston smiled as
he entered the drawing room, "after all" he said to Jane, "so few people
are hung here that nearly all my time will be devoted to my darling
Helen," and he kissed the rosy face of the child.

So, now having explained the position of my story I will skip over a few
years and go on again at the time when Helen had grown up into a
charming sweet mannered girl.

CHAPTER 2

THE COTTAGE BY THE HILL

The little village of Kenalham was situated in the south of Hants and
lay at the bottom of some picturesquely grouped hills.

No river watered the little town, but a broad stream wound through the
neighbouring medows giving a rich green shade to the grass on its banks;
the high green hills stood out clear and tall against the blue sky, and
the ruins of an old castle on the top of one of the heights gave a
strange weird appearance. To add to the strangeness of this little
scene, at the bottom of the very hill on which the ruins stood was a
villa of the modern kind nestling amidst a woody dell of beach trees.
This was no other than the residence of Mr. John Winston and his
daughter Helen, and it went by the name of "Beach Dale."

It was a charming little house and had the preveleage of possessing a
beautiful view both back and front. The front looked out across miles of
woodland scenery with no sign of huma