THE MIDNIGHT PROPHECY; OR, THE HEIR OF STRATHSPEY TOWERS.

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 157, 4 July 1888, Page 6

THE MIDNIGHT PROPHECY; OR, THE HEIR OF STRATHSPEY TOWERS.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES,

Author of • A Great Wrong,' ' A Southern

Princess,' ' A Terrible Crime,' * The

Missing Bride,' etc.

CHAPTER X.

THE CHEISTENING.

The bells in every steeple for miles and miles around Strathspey Towers clashed for joy on that morning. It was the twenty-fifth day of November, the anni' versary of that stormy day one year before when Lord Strathspey's twins were born. And now they were all back at the Towers to have them christened.

The Earl of Strathspey, although he would have scorned the imputation, was a trifle superstitious. There was an old saying that had grown into a custom with the Strathspeys. It was that great good luck should befall the heir who was christened on his birthday. Many and many a one of the dead and gone earls- in obedience to this silly old saying, were christened on the anniversary of their natal days; and this last earl, who venerated his race, and all they did, had journeyed home to the Towers in order that his twins might be christened in accordance with the old custom. Accordingly, on the morning of the twenty-fifth, the bells again clashed and clamoured for joy, and the nobility and peasantry from all parts of the country flocked to the little chapel ou the Strathspey estates, where centuries ago other infant earls of that high and haughty race had received their names.

Lord Strathspey had not spared any pains to make the event as imposing as it deserved to be. The grim old castle was thrown open, and decorated for t! 0 grand feast and dance that were to take Elace in the evening-in honour of his young eir. The day was gloriously propitious, clear, blight and balmy as mid-autumn. At high-noon a splendid procession started from the castle and proceeded down the broad drive that led to the chapel. In an elegant open carriage sat the earl and his wife, and just behind them, on an elevated seat, and held up by their nurses in view of the admiring crowd, were the two children. The little year-old lord was robed in royal ermine and purple like a young king, with a cap decorated with fluttering plumes. A line, sturdy little fellow, a trifle darker than the Strath»peys, quite handsome and promising. And Lady Pearl, wrapped in her blue velvet mantel, looked a pearl in truth, the very image of her beautiful mother. Following these came an endless line of elegant equipages, containing distinguished friends of the earl, and lords, and ladies, and county magnates without number. Slowly under the golden arches of the grand old oaks tina royal procession wound its way, the populace crowding on each side, shouting and waving their hats in the clamorous good-will, and just before the earl's carriage a score of young damsels robed in white proceeded to the castle, strewing the way with flowers and chanting a song of congratulation. Lord Strathspey's cheek flushed, and his eyes grew moist, as he sat with his fine head uncovered, acknowledging all this homage and good-will, and the little lord, delighted with. the crowds and music, clapped his hands in high glee. But the »©untess lay back upon her cushions, her ivyes half closed, and her waxen face as white as death; and seeing her thus for the first time in all their happy wedded life, her husband regarded her with a feeling; of anger. And this feeling found vent in his words, as he bent his lips to her ear. 'My dear,'he said, 'I really think you might rouse yourself a little. See how the good people are saluting you, and you take no notice. Marguerite, for our hoy's sake, be civil.' The poor countess raised her head and glanced for an instant over the thronging crowds, forcing a wan smile to hor white lips; but, almost with the effort, some sudden emotion seemed to overpower her, and she fell back in her seat, her slight figure convulsed by suppressed sobs. The earl, who, like most men, had little sympathy for a weak, hysterical woman, turned away with an exclamation of disgust, and the triumphal procession moved on until it reached the chapel. And there, where every ornament, and tablet, and inscription bespoke the honours of his race, the young earl and his sister received the solemn rite of baptism.—Colon«l, Hubert Chudleigh, of the Queen's Guards, acting as godfather, and the Dowager Countess of Mertlake as godmoth .r. The little earl was just being named;— Angus Everbard—the old, old name that so many of tf.e Strathspey earls had borne before him, when there was a slight stir near the doorway as of someone entering, and on the next instant a voice, that seemed to come from the deep vaults beneath thqir feet, cried out, in mocking tones: •Angus Everhard, Earl of Strathspey Towers, doomed to a felon's fate I' The crowd within the chapel stood breathless; the reotor paused in consternation, the Benediction unspoken on his lips ; and the Earl of Strathspey, uttering a gasping cry, strong man that he was, sank down at his wife's feet, as white and rigid as the dead. For a few moments all was dire confusion, but the earl soon recovered his strength and self-command, and .stood up, supporting his trembling wife, while the ceremony ■was finished. At the grand feast that night there was a Death's-head. While the long tables groaned beneath tbeir loads of costly food, and flagons of wine and ale ran like water; while the sounds of music and revelry rang through all. the grand old halls, and the people danced, and rejoiced, and feasted ,in honour of the young heir, Lord Strathspey moved about like one in a dreara^-whlte, aud cold, and silent, unmindful of the pealing bells and clamorous peasantry, with only one sound in his ears—that awful propheoy,'Doomed toafelon's.fate.'

CHAPTER XL REMEMBERED TO HIL COST. ' A courts of summers had gono by, apd Lord Strathspey's twins were grown to be: fine children, and, by degrees, the ear^ began to grow a little forgetful of the terrible prediction whioh haunted him ap, persistently. He had locked away the, mysterious parohmenb, with itssubtle odour, of Eastern poison, and strove with all his ; mind and might to forget the whoie ; matter. It was merely a hoax, played upon him by some cunning fellow, as Doctor Renfrew said, and he tried to banish ib from niamemory. And he succeeded in a measure,and would have been.a:happy man bub for -his .wife's, ill-health, or settled melancholy. It seemed to be growing info a disease, which, the old phyßicianhadhinted, m»ght. terminate in insanity. Nothing her husband oould do, and he ; left nothing undone, succeeded in rousing her from that still, cold, almost lifeless, despair. She was tender, affectionate,: dutiful, to bim and to her children, but,, when he remonstrated with her, and implored her to tell him the cause of her

settled sorrow, she only answered by sobs and tears, and passionate embraces. The earl waß deeply grieved, and when Doctor Renfrew again suggested travel, he at once prepared to follow Bis advice. Accordingly, this third summer found them all snugly settled, first in a lovely little Alpine village, and later in the Tyrol; for Lady Strathspey's old unrest had returned, and she could not long content herself in one place. Her husband determined to gratify her to the extent of her wishes that summer ; the following winter he intended to spend in London. His fine mansion in Grosvenor Square had been closed now during three successive seasons, and the earl, who was a social man, and fond of society, purposed returning to that circle which he was so well fitted to adorn. Another change also was expected. Hendrick, Judith's lover, was expected home from sea. His voyage had already been prolonged beyond all expectation, and he would surely arrive in the fall or early winter, at which time the long-deferred marriage was to take place, and Judith was to receive her marriage dowry.

Midsummer found the earl's party located, for a few weeks, in the Tyrol. They ocoupied rooms in a pleasant house, and enjoyed the fresh mountain air and simple fare with a keen relish. The children grew and thrived, and Lady Strathspey's wan cheeks even began to glow with a faint flush of returning health. Their drives and excursions amid the mountains seemed to 00 isbitute the invalid's chief delight. She was always eager to go in spite of fatigue or weakness, and her eyes scanned every object, every farm-house, every valley and mountain peak, with an eager, wistful look of expectation that was curious to behold. lord Strathspey, watching her covertly, began to ponder upon the old^surgeon'i hints, and to acknowledge, with a pang of unutterable pain, that they were not wholly groundless. His idolised, lovely countess surely stood upon the awful, awful verge of insanity. One lovely August morning, when the green valleys of the Rhetian Alps looked like another Arcadia, the earl and his earty (consisting of his own family, and olonel Chudleigh of the Guards, who was godfather to the twins, and Sir Varney Drummond and his wife, Lady Cecilia Drummond, formerly Honorable Cecilia Cavendish, of Cavendish Manor, Cumberland, who had joined them at Inspruck) .started for a day's excursion among the mountains.

The party was an exceptional one, wholly mado up of ' highly bred, highly wed, and highly led' aristocrats, for Lord Strathspey and his family boasted the very best blue blood, and Sir Varney was a baronet by blood inheritance, and his beautiful wife, with her rare brunette face, and blooming cheeks, and her languishing Spanish eyes, was grand-niece to a duke ; and even the Indian officer came of a sturdy old stock, and was looking forward to the day when he should hear tho Queen say to him, « Rise up, Sir Knight,' the magic words that would constitute him a man of rank, and for ever lift him above the vulgar populace.

This exceptional party started out bright and early that golden August morning, with carriages, and dog-carts, and S iddle-horses, and hampers of provisions, and baskets of champagne, and every imaginable convenience for enjoyment.

The colonel, of course, rode his gallant black hunter, while his wife, a dimpled, chirrupy little woman, ensconced herself on tha cuihions in Lady Strathspey's carriage. I'be two children, and their two nurses, Judith and the woman who brought the young earl home, and who bore the very euphonious name of. Lola Dundae, occupied an open landeau by themselves, and as Sir Varney Drummond very gallantly volunteered aji escort to the countess and Mrs Colonel Chudleigh, of course Lord Strathspey could do nothing less than mount hia bonnie Arab mare and gallop by the sid« of Lady Cecilia; for her ladyship soomed a carriage, and would have nothing abort of a fleet and fiery horse.

And no wonder, for she sat in her saddle likt another Zenobia, her green velvet habit showing off the fine proportions of her superb figure, her bewildering face all aglow with life and animation, as she drove tho spur at her dainty heel into her horse's flank, and grasped her reins with a hand that seemed to be cut out of marble and nerved with steel.

The earl gave his Arab the reins and shot off at her aide, down the sloping green, valley, with a thrill of delicious enjoyment. He was a man of animation ana spirit, passionately fond of"gayety and amusement ; and glancing back at the still, almost lifeless figure of his wife reclining amid the cushions of the carriage, he heaved a sigh of discontent. The contrast between her and the glowing, glorious creature at his side was*so great. Moreover, this lovely Lady Cecilia and the Earf of Strathspey wore old friends. Cavendish Manor and Sevenoak Grange, the earl's Cumberland estate, were contiguous, and in his annual shooting excursions to that place, years and years before, he had formed the acquaintance of the Honorable Cecilia. Indeed, there Was a rumour that he fell in love with her, after a boyish fashion, and even went so far as to commit himself by making her an offer. But the old earl, his father, who was then alive, came between them with his stern edict, and, likeatrue Strathspey, the young man obeyed, and turning his back upon the duke's grand-niece, went down to Aukland Oaks and fell in love with blueeyed Lady Marguerite, and married her, with his father's consent and blessing. And he loved her truly, for in all the realm there was not a more lovable woman, and thought no more of his boyish frolic with Cecilia Cavendish than one thinks of any other madcap, youthful adventure. And on that August morning, as he galloped through the Tyrol with this charmer qf his boyhood, now matured into a glorious woman, in his secret soul the pale, sad-eyed wife reclining in the carriage, the dear mother of his two children, was dearer to him than all the world and all the lovely women ib contained; and yet, glancing back and contrasting her with the glowing Hebe beside him, half unconsciously ho uttered a discontented si|th, and the nesxt instant thrilled with wcited enjoyment at every leap of hip Arab." " Lady Cecilia fairly scintillated in the sunlight. Her cheeks glowed, her Spanish eyos flashed, her long, raven ringlets, odorous with some subtle sweetness, streamed like a banner on the summer air, and her sweet, happy voice rang out fullof thrilling music. ] Andyet, observing her close, with keen, impartial eye, there was something in the, sinuous grace of her elegant form, in the very movements of her neck and glorious head, in theaubtle fascinations of her eyes,: and the flash of .her.ivory teeth, that *u,ggested a horrid idea of one of those deadly reptiles that charm and bewilder their haplass victims even while tfeey ajp wafting to ipfliot the .fatal blow. Of course, Lord Strathspey, not.at any time oxer-ftcuts in bis preemptions, made ,nb such observations as thea*; he flew' along at her side, inhaling the exhilarating mountain air, and listening ;tp her musical tongue, (ftvery nerve in Mb body struing to jseen«»t enjoyment. ' \\ hat a delicious morning 1' she cried, giving tbeagildedspur a.fresh .plunge into hor horse* flank, and causing him to bound off like a d«er. »Oh, I do.sp dearly love to.gallpp like this 1 And'there's Sir Varney, dear, good soul! can't be coaxed out of a snail's pace—the only incompatibility between jw. iWqll, rfrtOll Qpe oanoot have perfect hftppine«p. Hqw gloriqnsly you, rifte, ffliy Iffra 1' jnsh another .plnnge of (the, spur and a .flashing glance of the subtle eyes. "* • 'lis yjortn baH one!* life-time to have a gallop'like this } Ypu enjoy it, do yon not- V

The earl expressed himself enraptured, and urged his Arab on at a mad pace, experiencing a comfortable feeling'of gratified vanity, as moat men will when a lovely woman praises and flatters them, no matter how lightly they may hold her. 'What a pity dear Lady Strathspey's health continues so bad !' continued the siren. 'She really looks wretched. It must be a great grief to you, my lord.' 'It is,' replied the earl, in an unsteady voice, and with another discontented sigh, ' the one sorrow of my life.' ' What can be the cause, I wonder ?' continued Lady Cecilia, sympathetically. ' She was such a lovely, blooming girl! 1 should think her happiness ought to restore her now that you have your son again! What a mystery that was, Lord Strathspey !' Something in the utterance of these last few words, and in the metallic ring of his companions's voice, struck the earl as being peculiar, and he turned sharply to see her facs. And tho sight thrilled him with amazed horror. For one brief instant it seemed the face of a demon, contorted with vile and rancorous passions ; but in the next breath she was smiling again, as bright and as bewildering as ever. Lord Strathspey fairly caught his breath, half believing he had been the dupe of a momentary dream. 'Come!' cried Lady Drummond, without waiting for .his, reply ; 'let us gallop right up this mountain path. Do you think your Arab is sufficient, my lord ?' The earl thought she waa ; and in the excitement of the moment he forgot the strange expression that had so startled him, and followed the charming lady's lead v p the dangerous ascen b. Ku b years after, he remembered that fiendish face, and remembered it to his cost.

Meanwhile the carriages followed in the distance, with Colonel Chudleigh riding gallantly beside the one which contained his wife and the countess. Having lost night of the equestrians, they drew up in a lovely little valley lying between two mountain spurs, and the ladies and children got out and wandered about, admiring the .scenery and gathering wild flowers.

The countess strolled a short distance from her companions, leading her little daughter by the hand. She struck a sinuous little path, and following it up for a few yards, turned the corner of a picturesque bit of thicket, and came in full view of a small farmhouse, or shepherd's dwelling. For one moment she stood transfixed, and then her shrill shvikk started a thousand echoes amid the mountain peaks. The colonel reached her first, and caught her in his arms, for she seemed upon the point of fainting. But she motioned him away. "Tis nothing,' she panted; 'only a momentary weakness. Leave me, please, and send Judith.' Judith hurried up, as white andtremulous as her lady. The countess grasped her hand.

• Judith 1 Judith !' she cried ; We have found it at last !'

'seethere!

lAt last, my lady!' echoed Judith. ' And, oh, heavens ! look yonder!' continued the countess, as an old man came out of the cottage. ' There's the old man—the very hair, and beard, and clothing. And there to the left, Judith, there's the bald cliff upon whose summit the milch-goat suckled my precious babe !' ' I see, my lady, 'tis all the same. I knew the spot the moment we entered the valley,' replied Judith. ' Then come,' cried the countess, starting forward, her cheeks flushed with hectic spots, her eyes glittering, her breath coming in gasps— * come, and let us learn the reßfc!' ' V'u-l n'-i- ;'-/-.. •■ She started off"in the direction of the armhouse ; but her husband, who had heard her cry in .the distance, and hurried back, at this instanf.'reached her side. «What's the matter, Marguerite ?' he said, putting his arm round her. ' Where are you going ?' She flushed and trembled, and drew herself away from his support. 'I am going to the farm-house yonder,' she faltered. • I would like a drink of warm milk.'

' Then I will accompany you,' replied the earl, promptly. 'No, no!' she protested, with terrified vehemence ; ' I would rather not. Judith will go. Do you remain here with the children.'

'As you like,' replied her husband, coldly. The countess started forward at a rapid pace, followed by Judith. • What is it, my lord ?' questioned Lady Drummond, approaching the earl's side. He tapped his forehead with his hand, and his. voice was harsh with pain, as he replied: ' Lady Drummond, I believe my wife is mad!'

CHAPTER XII. ROMULUS. Thje countess and Judith drew near the little farmhouse. It was a pretty, snug place, a box of a cottage all over, hung wi.h running creepers, with quaint lat. ticed windows, and sloping eaves, beneath which the wrens and martins twittered. A square, green yard, shaded by a giant oak, beneath which an old man, wearing the simple garb of a Tyrol peasant, sat, tinkering at a broken sheep-bell, which he was vainly trying to mend. As ahe approached the wicket-gate, the countess grew deadly white, and leaned heavily on Judith's arm for support. ' Oh, Judith,' she murmured, ' how familiar everything seems! I feel as if I had lived hero !'

. Yes, my lady,' Replied the girl, her own cheeks very pale, and her voice unsteady; ' there's not one thing different; I even remember the peculiar make of the windows, and that smooth, worn stone at the door. Oh, it is very strange !' They opened the wicket and crossed the green yard. The old peasant dropped his "bell and rose to his feet at their approach. *My lady is faint this morning:,' spake Judith. ' Would you be good enough to let her have a drink of fresh milk ?'

•Ay, ay, bo be sure,' replied bhe old .man, nodding incessanbly. Come in, come in ; my old woman's laying bhe dinner now—cpme righb in.' ' They followed him across the smooth atone atep» and through bhe vine-shaded doorway; and .there, in bhe centre of the white; sanded floor, stood a square table, set.out yribb. seining pewter platter*. lady Strathspey gasped for brefkbh, and clung tightly bo JuditK s armThe wife, who sab in bhe chimney-corner, wibh her spectacles on her nose, rose up with a startled exclamation.

.'Why, bless me !' she cried, seizing upon the countess, and assisting her to A seat on the wooden sebble. ' Poor thing ! whab ails her!' .

',She's HI and faint,' explained Judith, •and came to beg a drink of new milk.' ' •And she shall have it,' continued the old woman; 'bub sit ye down yourself,' she added, glancing at Judith's white cheeks. 'Ye are like a pair of ghosts, bqth of ye. Come, sit down, and I'll Jjave the dinner on the table in a wink. 'Tis the very thing, too, as'll suit ye, being ailing—chicken broth and dumplings, and a drop of .beer to wash it down; my old man always -wants it when he's .ailing. Come, sit ye down i' Judibh obeyed, sibting down beside her mistress, and the woman flew about getting her savoury meal upon the table, while her husband sat on the stone door-sill, slapping ab bhe flies bhab buzzed in the noon sunlight. Presently a gleeful shout and a ripling burst of childish laughter broke upon the silence, and from a little back bed-chamber a little fellow, some three summers old, came dancing into the room.

Seeing the strangers, he came to a sudden halt, and stood like a statue, bis scarlet smock-frock disclosing his round bare legs and dimpled feet, and a queer little cap, ornamented with a long feather surmounting his head, with his profuse flaxen ringlets. There he stood, his great blue eyes wide with childish wonder.

' Why, Rormdus,' cried the old woman, * can't ye say how d'ye do to the ladies ? Have ye forgot your manners ?' Romulus doffed his plumed cap, and dipped his curly flaxen head. 'How d'ye do; ladies?' he said, obediently.

At the sound of the sweet, lisping voice, the countess, who had sat since the child's appearance like one turned to stone.uttered a pathetic cry, and springing forward, caught the boy to her bosom. ' Oh, my baby! my lost darling !my own precious child!' she cried, between her bursting sobs and passionate kisses; 'I knew I should find you, my precious lost lamb!'

The old peasant and his wife stood thunderstruck; but the little fellow, nothing daunted, wound his chubby arms about the lady's neck, and put his ruddy cheek against hers. 'Don't ky!' he lisped, entreatingly; ' Rommie likes lady ! —Rommie likes her !' 'Do ye see, old man ?' quoth the wife to her husband, her voice full of pain. ' What did I tell ye the night ye found him? Didn't I say, just as we got our hearts set on him some fine folks would come in and snatch him away? Yes, I did ; and I wish ye'd left him to the milch goat, that I do.' Whereupon, leaving her dinner only halfdished, she sat down, and carrying her apron to her eyes, began to cry herself.

The boy's quick eyes soon noticed her, and clambering down from Lady Strathspey's knee, he ran to her side. ' Don't oo ky, grand-mudder,' he pleaded, tugging at her apron; ' Rommie likes grand-mudder, too.' The old man caught him up in his arms. ' He's mine ! the boy's mine!' he said, almost savagely ; ' and I'll give him up to no one. His father and mother abandoned him to the mercy of my milch goat, and he's mine.'

The countess and Judith both uttered a simultaneous cry at this confirmation of their strange dream. The man regarded thorn with angry suspicion. 'My good woman,' he said, 'what does all this mean ? Can't ye explain yourselves, and tell me what's the matter ?'

By a strong effort Lad> Strathspey controlled herself and wiped the streaming tears from her cheeks.

' My good sir,' she replied, ' the explanation I have to give you is a strange one which possibly you may not believe — indeed, I cannot believe it at times myself, but my maid here can bear me out in what I have to say.'

Whereupon she related all the mysterious circumstances of the disappearance of her babe on the night of his birth ; and also the strange dream which Judith had first dreamed and then herself.

And the old man and his wife listened in speechless amazement, while the summer sunshine crept slowly over the sanded floor, and the savoury dinner grew cold upon the table. When she had finished they sat looking into each other's faces in utter consternation.

' It must be that God sent us the dream,' continued the countess, ' for it has haunted me day and night ever since. I could not rest one moment. And this morning the instant my eyes beheld this place I knew it, and I know as surely, although another usurps his place, that the boy there is my own, the babe who was stolen from my arms in the very hour of his birth, the rightful heir to the Earldom of Strathspey Towers.

'And now, my good people,' she continued, ' I have told you ray strange story, and I implore you to let me hear yours. Tell me how and when you came by this child; and I pray^there maj/ be some proof by which I can restore him to his rightful place.' The old couple sat in utter silence for a few moments, overwhelmed by what they had heard. The idea that it was a young earl they had fostered filled them with absolute affright. The old man spoke at last.

'Old woman,' he said, drawing a long breath, and resuming his seat on the doorsill, ' you are glibber of the tongue than I am—you tell the story.' The old woman put Romulus from her knee, and wiped her eyes with her apron. ' Talk of being glib of tongue now,' she began, ' after heating such a story as hers— why, the veiy memory's beat but of me. I do declare it reminds me of the old stories in the Bible 'bout the days of the Apostles, But I'll do the beat I can, your highness,' she continued, bowing profoundly to the countess; • and if my memory be bad I'll stick to the truth :

'It was on the tenth of January; I remember that w,ell, 'oause our red heifer had a calf on New Year's day—and on that very morning the old man says, " Old woman, the red heifer's calf be ben days old to-day, and you can begin to steal a mite of the drippings—you 'tend to her and I'll go look after the goats." So I went down to the cattle-shed, and milked thp ; drippings, and fed the 'heifer, and .came home and laid out dinner. By that time here comes bhe old man all of a flutter. "Molly,"he said, "the head milch-goat is missing ;" and nobhingwould do but I must go and help him hunt her. •Well, away we went, and a pretby bramp we had ! Through bhe valleys, and up bhe mounbains, rill I bhoughb I should drop in my shoes. At last, way on boward sundown; we Spies her perched righb on the top of that bald cliff oub ab bhe left yonder.' • Oh, my lady!' ejaculated Judith. ?Go on, my good woman,' urged the countess.

• Well, there she be perched right atop of the cliff. " Why, old woman," says the old man," she's gob kids ! Who'd a thought it ? You must go up and bring them down in your apron, while I fetch her down."

• So up we tussled, my very bonea aching with pain, and Lord bless you, my dear, lady, what d'ye 'spose we saw when we reached her ? Nob a kid, bub a little, live baby, And it a sucking bhe goat, and its dear little mouth all wet wi% tfre'miU..' Lady Stjatbspey covered her face, com vulsive sobs snaking her from head to foot. ' I didn't feel my aches a bib afber thaV bhe old wpman went pn; ' I bakes up bhe child, and the old man shoulders the milchgoat, and down we come.' ' The clothes!' gasped the. countess;.. • Have you the clothes the child had on when you found him ?'

•Yes, I kept bhem. "Theymay be of some uge bo the child one of bhese days," says the old man. Brx^b that day, as I was tellin' ye, we brought the child home, agd do you know my old man he takep tl?e milch-goat righb into my back room, arid there he keeps her, only burning her oub to graze bnco in a while, and the baby he sucked that goat for six round months! and I never see a child thrive as he did.

'My old man used to be book-lamed when he was young,' she went on, glancing admiringly ab the old shepherd on the sunny doorstep,. and he says he's read of a boy as a wolf suckled, and he was called Romulus—so nothing would do bub the baby must he named after him. So Romulus is his name.'

She paused an instant, her lips quivering. ' WeVe no children of our own.'she wenb on, at last, her voice shaking. 'We had a boy once, as promising a lad as ever lived, but he went to sea, and was lost fifteen yeeir§ ago. And ye can't tell, my lady, Low we took to this ohild! "Heaven has jepb him," the old man jaid, •*to chepr us in our old age." We've done the^esb v^g could him, and it's like tearing ou6~6ur hearts togive

him up, but, hearing your story, I'm convinced that he's your" child, and Heaven sent ye to find him.' The old man drew the wondering boy to his arms, and resting his old forehead on his flaxen head, sobbed like a child. Lady Strathspey was deeply moved. •My dear, good friends,' she said,' don't grieve now, 1 m not going to take the child from you. I shall want you to keep him for me, a long time, perhaps, until I can get proofs, and all that, to establish him in his right place. You have never heard aught in regard to him, or found out how he came oh the mountain, I suppose?' ' Never a word, my lady,' replied the old man, brightening up at the prospect of keeping the child. 'My lady,' whispered Judith, at this juncture, ' here comes Lord Strathspey.' The countess arose in consternation.

'It is my husband,' she explained, 'but I do not wish him to know about the child yet, Please take him away.' The old woman caught up the boy, and rushed into the adjoining room, closing the door after her.

'Take this,' cried Lady Strathspey, drawing a purse from her pocket, and forcing it into the old man's hand; ' I will come again soon. Be good to my boy, and may Heaven bless you.' She reached the wicket just in time to meet the earl. He looked at her flushed cheeks and swollen eyes in amazement.

' Marguerite,' he said, as he drew her arm through his, ' I was so impatient I came to seek you. For Heaven's sake, tell me what all this means ? What do you know of these people ? What ails you ?' ' Trust me, dearest Angus,' she sobbed, clinging to his arm ; ' you shall know all soon—only trust me.' And the earl conducted her back to the waiting carriages, with the awful suspicion growing stronger and stronger in his mind that Doctor Renfrew was right, and his wife was indeed in clanger of insanity.

Lord Strathspey rode back to his lodgings, beside the bewitching Lady Cecilia, in moody silence. All the spirit and zest of the morning had left him, and the fair siren put forth her charms and sorceries in vain ; he scarcely noticed her, and forgot to reply to her when she spoke. S' c drove her spur into her horse's flank, ana set her white teeth together in rage at her own ill-suocess. My Lady Cecilia was very vain, and nothing so exasperated her as to havo hor charms underrated. But she was likewise very resolute, and she concluded to let the moody earl ride on in silence and bide her time. For as sure as the afternoon sunlight lay warm and bright upon the green valley of the Tyrol, should this self-came moody earl —this man who had dared, years before, to trifle with her— be brought down at her very feet and made to expiate his folly in sackcloth and ashes. Had Lady Cecilia forgotten ? Had the memory of those old days at Cavendish Manor faded from her ? —those fresh, hopeful days, when she saw a coronet glimmering above her regal brows, and a life cf love and triumph outstretching before her ?

Do .women like her ever forget a wrong or a disappointment . My lady set her white teeth and arched her graceful neck, and her blue black eyes glittered withabaleful, phosphorescent light, as she galloped along by the earl's sido.

(To be continued on Saturday.)