LADY TURPIN.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVII, Issue 3, 4 January 1896, Page 1 (Supplement)

LADY TURPIN.

BT SENBY HERMAN.

v , nf 'Eagle Joe.' 'Scarlet Fortune,1 Aotb£ etc and part author of the 6^'pLy,I'The Silver King.'

CHAPTER I

THE yOUK'G MAN FBOM RICHMOND.

one dark summer night a young man bad from the inside to tho top of & wall ClllD ding the grounds of a mansion on Mrr °* B D|igkirta of Richmond, and having A clown to measure his diatanco, ?^ r ,t0 t ne ground with a lightness and which be3 Po!iQ tho Gained B°' Ur te He barely stumbled as he *tb hed the bottom, and, qaickly recover" r2" ~q ed for a few heart-beats' space j c g, pauanci listened. • tfoalarm. They know nothing as yet,' muttered to himself, and immediately a* away through the high grass of the Jh where he had alighted towards tho Sin road loading to Kew. % 6 walked with no haste or excitement, ► speedily. anc* w'fck rm anc* e' astic Aa ha jumped over the fence, he jjfteiied again for a second or two and looked back. ■ No movement in the grounds, he said to

*Thonish!i was not only dark, bub drizzly. lfioo rain pervaded the air like a coarse f ,/■ The youns man tapped iiia pockets, which bulged with the things thay con-

a«^eood haul this time,' ho said to him,eif 'The b3.sb I have hud lately; and they'll bo clever if they gab on my tracks. This is the right sort of night for it. It'll -am cabs and do«a. Before a few hours are over, all trace of footsteps will ba washed out. • . , , , Hi 3 self-communion was prophetic, for, as ho strode along the moisture which filled thsair bacam3 heavier and soon changed to a pitiless, steady downpour. The night w5 3 black as pitch and riio figure moving through the rain was nearly invisible, ex B3 pt where it passed immediately underneath tlio yellowish light of tho gas lamp?. the young mars waa above mediuai height, "and slightly built. Though his treiid waa heavy, there was an elaaticiby a nd "race about his movements such as one mishit espect froii a first-class fencer or a habitual gymnast. Very little of hia face was visible, for ho had pulled up his coafccoiiar and turned down tho brim of hia hat. A short, crisp beard nearly entirely bid the re.' i.

The two-mile walk to Kew Gardens was briskly gob over; then the young man eroased the bridge and strode along towards Cbhwick. Having followed the high road for perhaps a quarter of a mile, he turned ebarply to his Jefis, It wa3 past midnight;, and with the exception of a couple of market wagons and their drivers ha had met nob a soul along charoad. Not even the customary policeman, bull's-eye in hand, had passed him. It was patent thai) everybody who could, except himself, had sought shelter somewhere from cha drenching rain.

The lane which tho young man had taken was one of tho few remaining in the sntskirfca of London which tha building fiend had not yofc invaded. Market gardens End fields and orchards lay on either side, and it waa but here and there thas an oldfashioned thatched roof inteniilied the darkness between the tree 3.

Tho mud in the lane was deep and the roadway broken up by treacherous holes, luto which tho youajr man sometimes sank over his boot-tops in water ; bat he stopped not for a moment, nor teemed to care either for the difficulties of the road or for the palting rain, which soaked through his ciothins to the skin. After a walk of five Of six minutes, be came to a dead wall which surrounded a, residonce standing by the roadside. No light was visible, for the overhanging trees shub oub every gleam, even had not the dense darkne33 obstructed tho view.

The young mar. stopped at a little door in the wall, and, shading his eyaa with his iiand, endeavoured to peer along the lane, iistaniog at; tho same oims with hia heart its ois ears. The swish or" the rain and the soagh of the loaves were tha only sounda that meb his ear. His keen eight could trace no figure, human or animal, along the dark iovot of the road.

'Nobody!' ho said to himself. 'Once again all is safe."1 Ha rumbled in hia pockeb for hia latchkoy, and, linditsg it, opened the door in the wall.

The momonb the door swung upon its hinges various little bell 3 pealed tiny alarma within the house, which stood some twenty paces away from the wall, and kopt ringing until somebody indoors stopped thorn. The yomij; raau bolted the door and connected tha boh with afitfclo wire attachment.

That done, ha walked across the gravol path to the house Tho door was already held opan for him by an elderly lady, who 2rested him warmly.

' VVhao a ni^ht, my dear!' sho said. 'Corns jd, and get those things off. You'll Citcb your death of cold.'

' I am all right, auntie,' replied the Jocnr; man, in a voice which eoundod strangely oub of harmony with his rough workman's attire, 'and what's more, I've bean very lucky. Hers,' he added, emDtying i;i.» [,uc!:ots aad piling jewel case 3 and other little boxes on the elderly lady's aria*, ' you can sro to work oa these while I got tnysdf all right.'

With that he kicked off the heavy Blutchsr boots which he wore, revealing tho fact that his feet were enlarged co double their frizod by woollen bandages, and could b*3 fitted with a dainty pair of slippers which stood in a coiner.

A female head uppearetl on tho top of tun staircase as that moment, calling—

'H-vnryihio;; 13 reidy, miss,1 and the youn;,' t-"'». tearing ofr his wet clothing aa ho went along, bounded upstairs, while the siderly lady entered a sittinsr-room on the lower floor and spread her little load on the tablo chore. She withdrew the contents from the caaea and threw the latter into a wastsp;ipsr basket standing by the fireplace.

A touch of tho bell brought a middleaged serving-man into the room. Although ha was dressed in livery trousers and yellow and black striped waistcoat, he was shirt-sleeved and wore a comforter round his neck and slippers on his foet. He was a man of middle height, and slim about the waist, but broad acroa3 tha shoulders. Hia clean-ahaven race wore the mark of that peculiar cunning which is the cockney street boy's own, and which supposedly can only be attained by passing one's early years in or pear the London gutters. He limped, and at moments an expression'cf savage pain shot into his eyes and distorted oia features.

The elderly lady, >v it nous turning round, pointed to the wu&topaoer basket, sayim' 3uiab!y :

'See to thesft.'

Tha man shook the boxes in the wastepaper basket doubtfully. ' There ain't no fire,' he said. ( The old lady had fetched a pair of pliers -rom a drawer in a secretaire, and was engaged in breakipg up a beautiful diamond orooch, dropping the jewels which she took Irom tho setting* carefully on to a saucer, HivJj.hp piece- of '.mid on r.o a ohite. ' Wre light Ahke,' aiie replied; 'and praap», after all, ib mightn't b« wise to nave a fire at this time of ahe night in midsumraer. Strip the boxes, tear all the i«? .i Qgß Oubl and emash the thiQ £8 UP aa «naU «i you can, so that they can bo Bent »*Ha.Nißk afe any moment.'

The servant still budged nob. "as misa had a good night?'he asked. Km, replied the old lady, 'nothing to thT ■?, fl' L There are BOt^e Btoaeß that will fetch money,' •So abo ought! to get something,' the servant rejoined with enthusiasm. ' There "orld nrn?& Hk v h6. r ia^the WidB' Wide JLia> <jo<* bleaa her 1' Ha was stopped ehorfe in his eulogy by a Wer mind that, now. Geb on with your work, from the elderly lady, who proceeded CO take the jewels from ear-rin^s, rincr ß , and otner ornaments ay if it were the moaii commonplace occupation ia the world. it would have puzzled moat men to recognise in the saucily-pretty, curlyhaired, dark eyed and smiling young lady who came, with pattering feet, downstairs and into the room, the roughly-dressed and rain-soaked workman who had plodded his weary road from Richmond to. Gunnersbury. She waa arrayed in a warm, comfortable, and dainty aalmony-pink flannel droasing-gown, edged with lace, and ornamented with silk ribbons of the colour of the material.

Well, auntie,' she cried as she entered the room, • 1 wasn't able so look. Have you found anything very nice ?' ' Yoa,1 replied the elderly lady. ' This pair of 3tones will fetch four hundred—five hundred, perhaps. Ib oughb to bring a thousand, if wo only could get anything near one-fourth its value. Bub tbsfe Simeone is such a rogue, and there's no bargaining with him, worse luck.'

The young lady took the two stones up languidly, and, comfortably seating herself down in an armchair, with her slippered feet stretched towards the fender, looked atsfhem smilingly. 'I'm glad I goo these,' she said. 'They aron'b Lady Blanche's ; they're her sister's, that cab Angelina's. I would not have miflsed thoso for worlds. She'll be more spiteful than ever now, bub she'll have something to be spiteful for.' A little pile of precious stonea was rapidly growing in tho saucar. Amid a large number of diamonds, big and small, shone rubies, emeralds, opals, and aapphires, whilsG a whole string of pearls was lying on the table close by. 'There's one good thing,' said tho elderly lady, quietly cutting to pieces a lovely braceieb fashioned for some beauty of the courb of Louia XIV, 'there aren't many coloured stone 3 among this lot. It's nearly ail white, and good white it ia—old Brazilian, most of it. 1 should say Sir Geoffrey brought some of these back from Rio de Janeiro when he wa9 ambassador out there, and before he was made Lord Benchiet. They'll jump at; ib at Livorno and ab Constantinople. Nob too big or clumsy, either ; just the right kind.'

A dapper female servant had brought a cup of tea and a decanter of spirits on a tray. The young lady walked to a little bureau, and fetched a box of cigarettes, one of which &he lighted nonchalantly, and then, pouring out her tea, asked, with a voice which betrayed but very little interest :

1 What do you think it'll make, auntie?'

The old lady poured the stones oub on the tablecloth, ran her eye over thorn, and then replaced them in the saucer.

'A couple of thousand, I take it,' she said; ' perhaps a little more.'

' A couple of thousand !' repeated the young lady. • That's uli righb; better than I expected. Do you know, auntie,' sha continued, blowing clouds of blue smoke into the air, ' I think it's about time I stopped this game. One mora decent haul, and we shall havo enough to live on, and than good-by to tho Lady Turpin business. When I get the Theveney lob I shall close the book. I'm sorry for poor Winnie ; I would rather they were somebody else's. Bub the whole thing is so nicely planned, and 30 absolutely safe, that I really haven't the heart to pass ie over. It would bo a a shame. By tho way, wa3 tharo no letter for ma by the last mail ?'

•There's one on the mantelpiece,' replied the old lady. 'I think it's from Winnie Thoveney herself.'

There was a letter on tha mantelpiece—a dainty pink missive, &ddre3sod in a lady's hand to ' Mise Endalie Vorpoinb, The Well Hou&e, Gunnersbury, W.'

Eodalie looked at the epistle, and a cloud spread over her face for a mere second, and theu passed away again. She held the letter between her finger and thumb for a momenfc.

'I could have wished ifc were somebody also,' she breathed, and tore the envelope

open. The note was dated from 'The Rook's Nest, near Windsor,' and said—

'My Dearest Endalie, —I suppose you ara fully aware that to-morrow is Wednesday ? Papa and I arc going to drive down to the station to meet the 12.40. We can como back together. We shall be able to have a lovely chab oa the road, and I havo so much to teil you. Tne whole place looks liko a milliner's shop. If it weren't that the men do smoke co, I should havo piled all the things into the billiard-room. Give my love to your auntie, and accept a kiss, only on account, mind you, from, — Your affectionate friend, ' Winnie Thevexey.' ' p,S. Christopher ba3 given me a lovely diamond spray. It takes to pieces, and makes brooch, ornament for the hair, centre pieco for a bracelet, earrings and studs, and a lob of things. You will liko it when you eea it.' Endalie pub the letter down with a slight shudder. 'If ahe puts ib with bho other things, she said. 'fvo no doubt I will liko it. But that as.«, Christopher Churn, knows nothing about diamonds. Tboy're sure to leb him in in Bond-streefe, and soil him coma common Capo rubbish. CHAPTER 11. THE WELL HOOSB, GUN'NEKSBUBY. The Well House, Gunnar*bury, was the oUieat building for many miles round. The well from which it took its name in airoa gone by had furnished a water supposnd to be endowed with great healing properties. In the early part of the last century it W-n a resort of the somi-fashionable kind, and delicate dumes used to drive out from their mansions in May fair, with the rise of the morning sun, to drink the Gunnerabury waters. Bub the water, ib would appear, loab its healing properties and ib» reputation, and the glories of the Well House departed, never to return. After that, the; Well HOU3O passed through over acenbury of varioua vicissitudes and fortunes. It was afc one time the residence of a fair lady of the period, who there held her mimic court every Sunday, and in the reign of the laab of the Georeres ib was the property of the fair lady's son, who gambled id away together with the resb of his belongings. Litigation ensued, and the Well House, with" all that to it pertained, was thrown into that aby3s of destruction, Chancery. There ib remained until a few years previous to the commencement of our history, acquiring daily a more firmly established reputation of being hauntecTby the ghosts of its previous owner*. *no walls we^e mere tottering stands of masonry, 07»rrun by ivy and other creepers, the woodwork rotten. The ironwork crumbled beneath the touch, and the garden was. 10 summer time, one lovely wilderness of untrammelled glory- , . _ , . A day arrived when the Lourb or Chancery, tired of its work of destruction, determined to soil the place, and Mrs Hill, Endalie's aunt, bought it for the proverbial eong. Bricklayers, masons, carpenter?, and so forth were *eb So work, and the roFtiU wan'a pretty, comfortable, modern villa,! provided with everything chat could mane lifo enjoyable. Mrs Hill bad long been on the look-out for such a place—quiet, secluded, situated on a road used to few people, And absolutely , uaoverlooked. Thft address was. a good

one, and the house had been so constructed thab surprise was impossible. In case of danger, there was a little window on the highest point of the roof, from which the approaches on all sides could be seen for a mile round, and, although attack was difficult, the means of escape were well provided for.

-At the same time, the Well House presented every appearance of the highest respectability. The staff consisted of Mike Roan, the serving- man whom the reader has seen, ok un elderly woman who had been many years in Mrs Hill's service, and of her daughter, who was equally devoted to the family. ,

The next morning was as fine and balmy as tho previous night had been wretched and rain-soaked. In the Well House, coma of the inmato3 had been astir from about five o'clock, and by seven ib would have puzzled tho shrewdest dotactive to find in the place a proof of the burglary which had bean committed by Endalie Verpoint. Tho jewel boxes had been burned, the gold melted into one lump, and the jewels tied into little packets, which were secreted upon the person of Mrs Hill. Mr3 Hill herself was driven shortly after nine to Gunnersbury Railway Station, where she took a train cityward. Mike then returned to the Well House, and, dsposibing in hia dogcarb a lady's portmanteau and valise, sent word to inform Mies Endalie thab the trap was ready.

The young lady herself stepped into the garden shorbly afterrrards, aa radiant with ami' 63 as if her past night had been undisturbed by aught but the brightest aud mosb innoconb ot dreams. Dress, face, and figure were equally charming, and her beauty seemed to bo rather of the frail and fragile than of the kind which is improved by muscular exercise. Had anybody placed by the side of those tiny patent leather saoes tho heavy bluchers which she had kicked olf in the hall, and even suggested that she might have worn bhem, he would have been thought mad.

Endalie jumped lightly into the vehicle and, taking the reins from Mike's hands, drove away in tho direction of Richmond. She had passed every step of that road on tho previous night, and it moved her pulso neb the 3pace of a breath to return by the way alonsj which she had toiled in the rain with her booty in her pockets aud her liberty at the msrey of any policeman who miehb crop her.

Tho morning paper had contained no announegmenb of tho burglary, bub that was hardly possible, as tho news could not have reached Fleet-street in timo. As she passed the gateway of Bcnchiof Lodge, however, she noticed a policeman standing there, engaged in conversation with what to Endalie's practised eyo appeared to be a detective.

"They've found out by this time that they've lost something,' she said to horself, ' and arß trying to look lor it.'

At that moment, a carriage and pair came dashing down the walk towards the road. Two ladiea were seated in it;, both young and fashionably dres*ed. Endalie shot a sneerful glance towards them and drove on.

"It's no use, my darling Angelina,' Endalie aaid to herself, ' grieving orer those ear-rings. You'll nevor see them again. They'll decorato some Eastern beauty, who'll never know that you're breaking that dear little hoarb of yours over them.'

It is probable that hnd Lady Angelina Ayofe been aware of Miss Eudalie Verpoint's aelf-commutiion, she would havo been inclined to foal even more spiteful than Endalie gave her credib for.

Kichmond Station was soon roachod, and there Eadalie took the train to Windsor, the faithful Mike returning with the empty dogcart to Gunnersbury.

A handsome, hale and hearty old gentleman, whoso white rnoustechs and shorttritnrned white whiskers labolisH him as an old soldior, was waiting on Windsor platfora in the company of a pretty young ladVi whom tha iiu3ii of expectation had tnado doubly charming, when the train from town steamed in.

The old gentleman's eyes ran up and down the line of carriage?, and when as last ho espied the object of his search in the parson of Endalie Verpoint, he pushed his way through the crowd towards her with a vigour aad energy that prophesied ano.ther thirty yoara at least of healthy life.

The young lady followed quite as determinedly, but with less force of onslaught upon the throng. Then there earao a scone of handshaking and kissing such as is supposed only to happen when young ladies meet who are really fond of one another, and who have not seen each other for some days at leaat.

Endalio's belongings, together with Endalie and Miss Winnie Thevenoy, were speedily deposited in the landau which was waiting outside tho station, whilst Sir Pater swung himself on to a big chestnut, and was roady to play the part of attendant eauorry. Then tho cavalcade set oub for the Rook's Neafc, about a mile

away. That Endalie Verpoini and Winnie Thevenoy wore two as pretty youugf1 ladies as mighb have boon found in the Royal Borough that day could nob havo been douiod by any man who had eyes, nor by aay woman, critically disposed though she might havo bean. Endalie, dark, with a boauty, but lor hor fair skin, of tho Southern type, with Hashing dark eyes and curly dark brown hair, setfcinj* ofF tho rnoafc translucent of complexions; and Winnie, fair, dreamy, bluo-eyed, of the tenderesb and sweetest Anglo-Saxon typo. 'Jftiero was always that in EocJalie'a eyes which mitihfc havo made a tnun afraid of the character that lay bahind that handsome face, bat that Winnie was as good as aho was pretty ini^h'; have beon read in every feature, in every iine. And it was buc natursl, when one of those two charming young Indies was engaged to bo married to a desirable young g-euileman. in the per»on of Mr Christopher Churn, before thw end of the month, that tha talk of the moment should wander towards millinery raid laHiea' finery, towards drossoa and bonnut3 aad the hundred what-nots dear to the female heart

Endalie was in hor brightest and gprighbliosb of mooda. Things had gone very* well on the previous night, and she was then journeying towards a fresh hunting ground. All plans had been most studiously prepared. All tho trap 3 were well baited. A tried and trusted confedorato, in the person of Rsubon Mayas, the gardener of the Ptook'd Neat, had measured every inch of tha ground, examined overy lock and settled every door and path of escape. Every emergency had been provided for, and absolutely nothing seemed to be left to chanco. Failure itself could nob bring detection in its track.

And that was to ba her last coup— that ona danger orer, she had promised herself repo-o anrl the life of an honest woman. Whether the latter would prove as interesting m her present one of excitement and crfma she knew not, bub for the moment sho longed for ib. Tun thoughts came and went, black, grey and white, but the smile never left fchab handsome face. How it affected her friend who sab by her aide, in all her loyo and confidence, interested her not. • The Rook's Neeb was a pretty placa, standing in about ten acres of park-like grounds. Ib had originally been built by Sir Peter's grandfather, a director of the East India Company in its most glorious days. It was a roomy, comfortable house, built modestly and with little viow to outward show, though it boasted of come nrtMtc protenblon* in the Gothic window* i.f the billiard-room and the library, the iron scroll-work which protected tho doors aud windows and the atone carving-, and especially in the marble glories of its colonnaded hall. Age had toned down the flaring red of tha bricks -of which it was mainly builb, aad-a veil of creeping plaaoo

helped in the task. Ib stood in close proximity to the open road, from which ib was sheltered by a couple of 6core or so of huge and venerable elm 9 and poplara. The gardens and grounds stretched away at the back of the building as far as the eye could reach:

Tho brightest of laughter echoed across the sward as the landau drove up the gravel path towards the verandah of bbc diningroom. Happiness and good cheer and the comforts of an English home. And tho dove, at thab momenb, was bringing the hawk into her nest as an honoured guest.

CHAPTER 111

WITHOUT CEREMOSY

The reader will ask, and with great reason, how a young person of the antecedents and connections —or rather want of connections —of Endalie Verpoinfc ever came to be admitted on terms of intimacy to a respectable household like Sir Peter Theveney'a. The story might be entitled 'The Birtb and Growth of a Misplaced Confidence,' and here it is?

la tho year 1890, Sir Peter Theveney, together wiih Winnie and Lady Theveney, who was then alive, though a great invalid, passed tho winter at Nice. One day, the weather being very fine and warm, aud Lady Theveney being to all appearance a trifle better than usual, the tamily drove out, intending to go to ffonte Carlo. They had nob gone far beyond Villafranca when Lady Theveney became suddenly and alarmingly ill. Tho jolting of the carriage distressed her terribly and Sir Peter had to give up a despairing attempt to drive back to Nice. Lady Theveney was carried in a fainting condition to a little villa that stood facing the sfta»-by the side of tho road. The villa happened to bo occupied by Mrs Hill and Endalio Verpoint, who surpassed all Sir Peter's and Winnie's expectations in the kindness they showed to the dying lady. Lady Theveney never rallied. She lay in Mrs Hill's little villa for nigh on twenty days, and though doctors camo and doctors went, they could afford no relief.

In a bright, sunny room there, in sighbof the blue Mediterranean, and with Mrs Hill's arm 3 supporting her, she died.

Aslc after that, gentle reader, what introduction the bereaved husband and the sorrowing daughter ought to have required from Endalio Verpoinb before admitting her to their home. Poor Winnie, trustful, unsuspicious, ay, noarly unaware of tho possible wickednesses and blacknesses of this world, took Endalio to her arms aa a eister^ and when Mrs Hill and her niece returned to England and it was found that tho two households were so little distant from one another, Endalie was asked to the Rook's Nesfa, and the precautions surrounding tho Well House were so far relinquished in favour of Sir Peter and Winnie aa to enablothe baroneband hia daughter to return tha visits at Gunnersbury villa.

Endalie's etay at the Riviera occurred during one of her periodical rests in her nefarious career, and she looked upon her acquaintance and growing friendship with Winnie simply as a stroke of good fortune which might lead to great results.

Sir Peter, with the bluntneaa and straightforwardness of an old soldier, had at first endcavourod to learn more about the social standing of Endalie end hor cunt, and ho did not quite approve of the growing intimate acauaintance of his daughter with a young lady whom he certainly could nob have asked for a reference, but about whoso moans of livelihood and social position ho knew absolutely nothing, excopt such scraps of principally invented information as Eudalie vouchaufed to him from time to time: But he could nob help confessing to himself that her presence was charming, her manner that becoming a person of the highest breeding, and that to all appearances ahe was in possession of a comfortable income. Over and over again the old gentleman triod to lead Endalie into a trap which he thought to have carefully laid for the purposo of gaining explanations regarding herself and her family, bub that shrewd young person seemed to sniff the danger from afar, and never once allowed Sir Peter to be the gainer ot tho slighto3t morsel of involuntary information concerning herself.

In addition to thaf, Sir Peter was neither bettor nor worse, neither wiser nor more foolish an old gentleman than others. Ho had to confess to himself thafi Endalie had only to bo seen to charm all those who saw hor ; and if ever thoro was a young lady who seemod litfclo disposed to tako advantage of tho conquests Bhe so lightly made, it was Endulio. Ev.en grim dowagers hud to admit that thGir ehargoa were safe from interruption in their love aiiaira by Endelio, No man, young or old, could pay that ho had mado the slightest impresiion upon Endalie'a adamant heart. She checked with an iron hand in a glove of velveb all attempted advances. The reason of all this iH nob difficulo to sock. The young lady know full well that with a settled marital engagamenb in« quirioa would come which wore «uro to be inconvenionb, and Bhe mad 6up her mind nob to expose herself bo those saoao inquiries until ehe was in a position to satisfy'the most scrupulous.

' When 1 have so many thousands lying in the bank,' she Baid to heraelfj ' thab will afford a .cloak for many sins. Bub if I have no visible moans of income, no property, no profession, find have seemingly been living on the fab of the land for years, people will ask, " Whab has thab girl been doing?" No, thank you ! Tho waiting game is my game. Patience on a monument, and ao forth.'

There was one man who had losb his heart entirely to handsome Endalie Verpoint. That was Sir Peter Thoveney's only won, Gerald Theveney. Gerald would have married Endalie, had she given him the siightasb encouragement, without anking who or whaft she was; without asking whether she had a penny, without asking what had been her career iv life. Of course, thoro was the allcction his slater boro for Endalie, which had much to do with the young man's attachment to his sistor'a friend. To be told at breakfast, afc luncheon, and at dinnar chat Endalie was the most lovely the best and the cleverest of young ladies, and to bo told that upon the authority of a sister whom he adored, and who from her daily intercourse with the young lady, ought to have known, was in itself a considerable incentive to affection. Bub Gerald was one of those hot-beaded, effusive, impetuous young men, who do thinga first of all, and then consider what they have done. He saw Endalie, admired her, compared her with other young ladios, found her more charming than they were, her conversation delightful, and her manner with him seemingly untutored in any of the artifices of love-warfare, and immediately Endalie became his moon in the tub, which ho longed for quite as much as tho very silly bub very earnest infanb in the fable. . His life had been a happy-go-lucky one. He was supposed to bo a man of business, acd had been admitted to a partnership in the greab Srm of Whabtingham, Heath and Co., financial Easb India Agenbe of the ciby. Hundreds of thousands, nay, millions, passed through the hands of that firm, and Sir Peter Theveney, who held the mercantile sfFairs of the East in great reverence, spoke of his son as having a chanca in life which would bring him fortune and honour. Gerald wae not as uncompromisingly useless a young man as many others of his birch. He was fairly industrious, he waß sober, and, when nob drawn away from business by racing, boabing, crickob, football, theatres, music-halls, concerts, tho billiard room, or the quasi gambling clubs, he often did some very useful service to his firm. But, unfortunately, the racing, boating, cricket, football, bbeabres, etc., etc., afforded such attractions that his business application Buffered, and the eenior partner of the firm, Mr Malder

Whattingham, had to remonstrate severely with him on the subject.

1 My dear sir,' he said one morning, 'you must have known that yesterday was the indigo settling day, and that every man, from the highest to the lowest, was required to give all his attention to the business of tho house.'

\I am very sorry, Mr Whattingham,' replied the young scapegrace, ' but it was Harrow v. Eton yesterday at Lord's. I couldn't Jiave missed that, surely.' ' I am afraid, Mr Thevoney,' retorted the merchant, • that our views will never agree, must really relinquish your sporting inclinations for the business to which you have devoted yourself. Otherwise, I do nob see how we can retain you in the firm.'

This threat made Mr Gerald rather thoughtful for the moment, and he promised faithfully, and, what is more, with the best of intentions, to keep his promise, that he would amend.

Tho result of this course of amendment was dioastrous. Gerald relinquished his sporting occupations by day, and foil all tho deeper into them at night. He quickly became surrounded by a crowd of sharpers, who dragged him day by day more aecurely into their neb. From racing men of doubtful reputation, though of high Eounding names, he came to be introduced to city rogues, who cloaked their business of financing commercial swindles under the flimsiest pretences of city offices and city businesses. He had a small property of his own, which quickly went into the pockets of the thieves. After that he borrowed, and that disappeared too into the insatiable gulf, which daily demanded more and returned nothing. Money, prospocts, fair name, everything thab was priceworthy, soon became imperilled through that course, and Gerald, fighting against the combination and ashamed to cry for holp either to his partners or to his father, went daily deoper and deeper into the mire." Endalio was quick to see that something was entirely wrong with the young man's manner. His buoyancy of spirits had deserted him. Where he had been uprightly, full of the enjoymenb of Ufa aud of manly habits, he became morose, sedentary and thoughtful. By dint of gentle questioning she speedily elicited thab hia trouble concerned money matters, and, on making inquiries, she a8 quickly learned thab he was head over ears in debt, sorely pressed, and, what was worse, pressed by roguea who had nothing to lose, and who would suck him dry to the laab drop of blood, if they could. She couid have warned him, ahe could have given him the aliases, the criminal histories 6i each and all of the men who were dragging him on to ruin. Bub ib was a risky course. She might hove been asked bow ehe camo to know those thinga, and the answer would nob have been convenienb. In good truth, she would probably have married Gerald, anfl gladly, had she been free to act an she liked, and bad he stood fair and square with his face to fcbe world. She wanted a man of good name and highly respectable position to cover with the cloak of his honour her dreadful past, and to prevent the breath of ecandal from reaching her. Bub a man like Gerald, who himself wais threatened with all sorts of danger, was of no use to her. Therefore she stood by, and allowed the poor fellow to sink deeper and deeper in the morass of his troubles, though by opening her lips she might, perhaps, have saved him. It remains, of course, to bo stated thab of lovo for Gerald she had none, though, on the other hand, ib must be admitted that never did a yonng man get no little encouragement from the woman he adored as Gerald did from Endalie.

(To be Continued.)