WHEN LOVE BECKONS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 42, 20 February 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

WHEN LOVE BECKONS.

-—— — & " ' i[S s BARBARASTEUESTON.

gA pTER XVlll.—(Continued.) ho have been blind, Michael, nob 'ft?!*continued. ' But of what use ia i!!' bi' J BOm ething while I have eenea to ■0* My brain is growing confused. I ' lyknoffwhablamiiayincr.1 l t must escape,' replied Michael, 'i°a: . Willy°u stay to let Madeline fjjoinW'y* . n v f or revenge ? Will you S^? to g j a y your father-in-law and Jonr. fflT B ft 'nvon,' returned Lord Crehylla, 'Mr YuLnd upon his forehead ; • there patting n» ? j wighed t0 B a y o f him— ffß 3 «01118 it^ All this misery lies on his fhat *»» isi 'more to blame than I. He b"^' frf the Sberbornes from the first; pirf "5 tb em always. It was a cruel he i, ull t Walter Sherborne to death thing w r j c |, B on-in-law. I don't thank to !f V^ing at the flowers again, be hio>. v aJjd gt r uck hi» hand heavily on '"* 4 'Let me pa9B, Michael,1 said the g• din Bfcill HkQ this drives me

ffl'j'' b() mto the coppice between the and the road, and his foster-brother *«jsl him, an«* laid hia hand U?OD his »rlD' . hflre my lord,' he said, quietly, « I '£ one BOP' in fault; dou'fe blame Mr ; Blb nn mow than me. I should have Lanyn nw j ghould have w i bnee aßd »P°^ en" i ou But I could not trample on 'ZSTn hsarb like that. I held my peace, °j T«hould do it again ie tke fcima came ■You don't fchaak those who have m so you say ; bub as for thanks, !ri Sr none. And for year, I never i Zbread in your house, or crossed your iinld lest if this ever came to be I n« D people should say you knew ib, too, na 'id ma blood-money. «"ffiS that what Mr Lanyon did ab , !;„,- ha did for the best, so don b blame fl mre I want to tell you how I JUs.fOnghtheßlghbtoPenklTd,to m him all I knew- Mr Lany°n waß f L I told him all-how Mathew Si bad met you and me in the wood rabvlls, and attacked us with foul Mdi which you bore with patience till Littered Mrs Sherborne'a name in a vile 11- then you struck him down and "I'd on, never looking back to see where £ pfcile had fallen. I toid him how I back a step or so and saw him lying by a brookside, very white, with a gaab L his temple ; but never thinking the Uw bad killed him. I followed you when yoa called, nob caring to stay and help a listened to me like a man vith bis mind gone. At fiwt he would not yeves word ; then be Baid Walter faherborne'a life was not worth yours and I must bjjilen&Btiil. t _ . 'Knowing the man innocent, I never beliflred the jury would convict him, but when Grace told me the verdict, it struck msdmnb. I went to see Mr Lanyon again, ud pleaded, for the man. He said as how tba end of justice might be served by a life ftitwceuwell as deacb, and he would «cc iDoatifc. I wanted him to go to the sheriff and gab the man reprieved. Ho said he would go to Bodmin the next morning— to wiß Sunday. I had walked toPenkivel tie Saturday night. 1 With this promise, I went away, and, borrowing lir'horae, I rode straight to the prison and got there on Sunday afternoon. I found Mr Sherborne dying—l saw him

•Whaa Irode up to tbn gaolib was broad ißDftbio» j.-when.l, oainfl-:awAy~. all .tbioHS wwgrey and dim, and I knew 1 should neter teethe sun again while graes grew and raih fell ■Riding on in my blindness, with tsars upon my face like a woman, 1 gob back to Havelatrmidnight*.. I did not know it was night—my eyes were rfewbhen to darknesa; and I told Mr Lanyon that he and I had killed Walter Sherborne. He mi bale.man when I broughb him that oevij bat all his blood has shrivelled up his heart sines then. I need n'fc tell - the rest; you c»o gueas iVall-burely. He put ib to me tfana:

'"Theman i 3 dead," said he : "of what w is id to speak now? and Geoflrey Crebylii is like a son bo mo. He is bub a boy, and he struck this foolish blow like a boy. Shall we ruin his whole life for the sake of this dead man ? Shall I kill my diugbter—my only child—to clear the iiliina of a rained gambler ? Let all this die way in his grave, Michael, and wa two will hold our peace. As for hie child, I will be a better father to her than this poor, rained, reckless spendthrift coald erer be."

'I listened to his words, though I knew ibis day would come. I've known ib all along, when I've seen you careless and happy: we can't hold back the bolb forever -it falls ab last.

'There, I've done. I've told you all the story now, excepb the things best put to younelftn your own mind. 'The long fear and sorrow of all theee ysara won'b shape themselves upon a man's tongue readily. Speech, aa ib eeems bo ma wasß't made to tell our woe, bub fco hide it.'

Michael ceased suddenly, his doll eyes ! jifinfc upon the ground, and one hand clasp'J?a young sapling with a nervous force that shook ib like a reed. In hie great love "fljiad never once looked upon his fosterbrother as he spoke, leab a look should be ar feproach ; and his voice had kepb througbo?U tone bo humble and quiet that not a I'ngla green leaf above bia head had quivered at the sound. Leaning ngain3b a tree, Lord Crehylls Hitened to him wifeh sinking courage and jwmg hope. This story, which, related ? ere > sounded go true and sorrowful, would »i a court of justice be simply regarded as ™« 6X00868 of an accomplice. No one "onld believe now that he had not murdered Carbis ; no one would credit the •act that he had quitted England ignorant) w his death ; no one would believe that he 'w not connived at the error which listened his crime on Walter Sher--00">e. Striving to bhink of himself Jj> "a would of another man, striving r> ]«age of the circumstances as "f would if they touched Bomo other JWMter, and not his own, Lord Crehylls '"« himself condemned, and wondered ■a m i? ther he> or Michael, or Mr Lanyon ™«W be deemed the noeb guilty by an W'gnant world. When he looked upon 1 av»]anche of woe which would fall "PW his houae, he felb he dared nob "Jin and face the charge which JS eiß« *onld bring. In pity to his 21 nd cbiH- in P>by to his father, the JSjr'Lrrowfnl man > who" Usbdaya \<ZLu di8 Kri»ced, he wan bound fco tS Vlternative Walter Sherborne'a erilfh* w L ßiven him" In accepting a dii I UJ d hlmßßlf be tho chief suflerer.. '"» RrieffeiUoAKabha'B share it would dire v "T Wlthout a Bhame. a «orrow leß9 C Z "i le than tll° one threatening th e w7" ,llien< too, he remembared •hUL 6" ln Mine's hand, and he toy v. A 6 fch° thought of his mad h\ \l ■ R made a therao of ribaldry al B0 tK n/V orid- Wha* te9fciraony' acrainat h- . oojlsb< Passionate lebbors were tod annU L whßt Btron X language he teift .the, re hia detestation, his conown .S? leaIo»«y, of Carbis! Why his sand tim -WOuld c°mdomn him a thou"'etnlTh 8 1D fche eyes of ftll who read fayed' if!"" 8 no-chance of escape if he .take thY would not'pfay ; ho would' KoQid h fi reray Ltlllß terr'hlo e iile»ve, he »eue» e hor promieo of Bilenca.and

he would leave England, and bury this story in oblivion forever.

All bhis and more, ten times more, ran through his mind as he leaned against the tree ailenb ; and when ab last he looked up in Michael's face, and strove to answer him, his tongue refused its office, and he flung his arms around his foster-brother's neck in a speechless agony of grief. ' 1 say !' cried a sharp voice. • Hullo, there .' Is this Grace Chagwynae's?' Gleaming through the green trees appeared a chaise, with postboy and amoking horses. A,b sighb of this vision, Lord Crehylla plunged hurriedly among the thick brushwood, and left Michael to answer this sudden hail. 'Yes, this is Grace Chagwynne's,1 he said. ' Then ask her to come here and speak to a lady.' cried the postboy. * I've been an hour driving up and down the lanea to find this place.' Grace was soon ak the chaise door, and then Lord Crehylls, unseen himself, saw Madeline's pale, set faca, and heard her injunctions concerning the letter. 'Give it into Mr Lanyon's own hands yourself,' she said, in her clear, resolute tones; ib ia of consequence that no one should see it but him. Is Lord Crehylle here ?' ' I can'b exactly say, mies,' answered the cautious Grate.

'Never mind; he will bo here,1 said Madeline. ' Tell him when he comes that if be chooses to read that letter and seal it up again, he may. Tell him, further, that I have just quitted his bouse ab his wife's command,' she added, and her lip curled as she said this. ' Have you perfectly understood me?'

' Yea, mis 3,' said Grace, much bewildered and courtesying a9 sho moved away. ' One thine; more," said Madeline, and her quieb voice 6tayed Grace's atep« ; ' tell Lord Crehylls that for his own sake—nob mine, remember —I adviaa him to take every precaution that my letter ia not seen by Lady Crehylla. You, on your part, must be careful to give it only to Mr Lanyon.' Madeline could nob help the tone of contempt, almosb of hatred, which rang in her voice when she named Lady Crehylls. In the midsb of this tragedy and-dira woe her querulous*, childish behaviour to herself had seemed inexpressibly selfish and small, and she despised her for it—despised her too much to use bhe^errible power she held in revenge. No, she would strike for justice, bub nob for vengeance. Lord Crehylls, listening to her clear, sharp tones, recognised the ring of hatred ia them, and judged her differently. To him she was an avenger, from whose face he must flea for his life. How hard, and cold, and resolute she looked, as gazing through the leaves he saw the clear cut, marbie profile flash by him as the carriage rolled away ! /

'Michael!' he cried: but Michael was gazing out at sea, with both hands shading his dim eyes, and when he turned at last) there was a strange excitement on bin face. ' There's the revenue cubiser, 1 he said, in a low voice. ♦ Some one ha? betrayed us. When I broke from you ac Urebylls, four hours ago, it was to row for my life, wirh Chagwynna and Grace, to yonder headland, where I had a man stationed on the lookout. I bad him go across country the nearest way to the creek where the Penkivel lies, and order her to come around to Sb. Eglon'B Point at midnighb to take you and me on board ; bub now, unless you mean to be a prisoner to-morrow morning, you must go at once.' ' Go at ooce !' echoed Lord Crehylls.

1 Yes; we must geb to tha Penkivel,' replied Michael; 'she can't come now to us. Go home and gob money—get all you want—and I will bring a boat) around to St. Eglon's Creek in an hour's time. There I'll wait for you, and aS nightfall we can creep safely away.' » / Tha unhappy man to whom he spoke had not. a word to cay in answer. He read Madeline's letter and refolded and sealed it. Ib did but confirm his wavering resolve to fly. Then he flung himself on his horae and galloped back to the home he was to leave that night forever.

CHAPTER XIX

•has it come to this.*

Thb strange,'fcroabled look upon herhusband's face »truck Lady Crehylle with dismay, as from her window she Baw him dismount and enter the house hurriedly. Yet she did not descend to the hall to meet him: ehe did nod even eend for him. Through all the ro<?y yeara of her life ake had been accustomed to co much attention, so much consideration, thab she never thought of having to seek afiection—it had always hitherto come to seek her, and laviehed love and happiness eagerly on her fair head. Thu», to her jealouey and sorrow there waß added now a sense of wroD g a painful conviction that she was neglected, which heightened terribly the barrier which their late estrangement had sot up batween her and her hußband. Had she been a woman lees spoiled by fortune, less petted and beloved, the wall of pride in her heart would have given way before ita flood of agony and of love, and with her arms about her huebajrt's neck she would have confessed her misery, and perchance have saved him and herself from a life-long In tho overflowing of this greab tide of bitterness thab had set in npon hi 3 goul, Lord Crehylle' most terrible thought was thab he could hare no friend, no confidant. A word of tenderness from hia wife mighb have changed this belief and opened the floodgates of his grinf; bub i* was unspoken, and he went away in silence, taking her very.life with him. He entered her room abruptly, biff whole, manner, nervous, his face haggard and distressed; hub as is ever the case in this comedy of a world, he hid the tragedy in his heart by a few commonplace words. •I' «I am sorry I was not in at dinner time, Agatha.' , , , , • Where were you ? sbo askoa. • I was afe Grace Ohaewy.nna's/ * . As he spoke Lady Crehylls flushed to the u roW Sbo remembered Madeline'o directions'to the postboy, and to her jealous near b this confession eeemed almost an iDB« UI Suppose you saw Madeline Sylvester rhere ?' eho returned, in hor coldest tone. it did, certainly,' he answered, gravely. i n;d ehe tell you I had ordered her to leave my house?' ehe demanded, proudly. «Whatever pain your conduct) may inflicb on me, ib ihall nob force me bo endure thab giLorhXl^l-^ *b^ ?*\ W- 5tV .inkine heart. Her coldneea galled him to the auick. If only a shadow, a suspicion. st?e trntb steeled her soul agains him Sus what would her feelings be if aha TZw 111 ? With a trembling hand he the table upon which he leaned, Uile he steadied his lip* to epeak. «If your suspicions make you hate Madeline 'he B»id. ' bhe thought of the great oower she holds over me, and through me KeT yon and your father also, might. I think, have kept you from lnwilfciner her. Lady Crehylls looked at him wildly. • Merciful Heaven ! do you own it ? ehe aaid in a low, husky voice. • What can I do else V replied her husband, with hi*" eyes on tbo around. • Madeline said she had nob bold you : but ib ,eema the has. And yeb, Agatha, Heaven help me, 1 am nob so guilty a« I seem. • « Not so guilty as you seem !' paid Lady cavils ri<?'-ng and standing before him, •nlfe and trembling, 'I never thought to hear such words aa these from my ha* band* Up?- 'Ia our happinoes gone-quito g°« nib' is. indeed; 1 eaid Lord Crebyllß. as «reat drop» of aeony stood on his forehead/ r lleaV9 you to-night Aga»ha. Madeline circa me WaHernative.: She i.« peromp.-. Tory—and who shall cay when I shall see

your face again ? You will torgire mo the pain I cause yoa! You will eny good-by ? He advanced toward her, but with a dreadful cry ahe repulsed him, and wringing her handa tightly together, ehe pushed him from her with passionate despair. * Are you so lost,' ahe said, with deadwhite lips—' are you so guiltily, co fearfully in that girl's power, that you dara confess to me that you leave me at her command ? Good Heaven ! has it come to this?'

The look of horror and of agony on her blanched face pierced the unhappy young man bo the soul. He had not thought she would be so bard againsb him.

' Agatha.' he said, hoarsely, ' can I help ib if it is come to this? I never thought, when I firsts knew thie woman—Madeline —-'(he strove to speak Mrs Sherborne's name, but failed), * I never thought to iove her, or loving her, that such misery would spring from my folly. I had hoped to find you more pitiful. I taka a broken and guilty heart with me into exile. Igo comfortless, and I cannot leave a word of comfort here. Say what you think best to your father ; as for me, I cannot find it in my hoarfc to give him any message of paace. He knew all this, and knowing it married you to me, in pursuance qf a selfish ambition, little heeding how he wrecked your happiness. I ?would nob have committed the cruelty of making you my wifo, Agabha, for worlds, if—'

Thua far his wife had listened to him with parted lips and wild eyes, but as these bitter words struck her ear, she burst forth into hysterical cries and sobs.

•Calm yourself, I entreat you,' whispered Lord Crebylls, in a despairing voice ; 'do nob add to my misery, Agatha. I will write to you from abroad, and tell you all I wish bo have done. Take care of our boy. 1

He strained her, in his arms, not heeding her fainb resistance, and without) another word turned toward the door; but ere he reached it, his wife sprang forward, and flinging herself before Uinj she eiaaped hie kno63 with despairing;, passionate arms, 'You ara nob going to leave me?' she cried. 'Geoffrey! speak at once! You are nob going ; ib ie too horrible !' 4 What can I do, Agatha?' he asked, in a weak, bewildered way. 'Madeline insists on it. And, oathe whole, ib ia bha safest plan ; bo remain ab home would be to die" grace you all,' The clinging arms fell down aa he mentioned Madeline, and starting up, Lady Crehylls fixed her eyes on him with a gaze in which grief, anger, and contempt seemed mingled.

* You are weak indeed,' she eaid, turning from him; ' henceforth you will be a wreck.'

1 Great Heaven ! ib it a time to reproach me—a time to tell me bitter truths?' ho cried, approaching her pleadingly. * Listen, Agatha. Keep our misery a secret, if you can, I shall tell the servant* I am going for a cruise in the cutter; repeats the same story to them yourself. I will find my way to some neutral port, and thence write to you. Take courage ; all is not lost yet.' He bent over her, and kissed bar, nob passionately, scarcely even tenderly, for in bis new-found remorse and sense of guiU he fancied hia wife had taken a sudden horror ab his pretence—it was1 thus he interpreted her manner—and hence he repressed his grief, and held ib ftilanb within him.

Sunic in a Btupor of sorrow, fear, amazement, Lady Crehylls saw him leave her vrithont uttering a word of the agony pent up in her heart; bub when fehe door closed, and he had vanished from her sight, a sharp cry broke from her lips, and she rushed forward to follow him, bonb on making a further and more desperate effort to save him. When she reached the door aha found ib firmly fastened ; in cloaing ib a bolt had fallen and in her terror and anguish and ha3te, she wan loner »D discovering this ; bub, drawing ib back ab la? 6 ehs flaw down the greafc staircase to tha hall, and found ib empty and quiet. Breathless, sho ran from room to room through the whole spacious suite, calling • Geoffrey !' in a hurried voice—a voice whose pain and passion rose to agony as she found each room tenantleas and silenb. Ab length, in fche library, the lass room in the wing, ?he Baw from the great bay-window her husband half a mile away, riding furiously through the long/avenue leading to the lodge. Then a deathly- coldness seized upon her, and without a cry she fell fainting to the floor.

Lord Crehylis left his horse at the lodge, eaying: •Take it back to the castle, and tell Gryll« I am so angry ab hU aiding Folgrain to escape thafc I am resolved bo recapture him. I shall go onboard bhe cutter, standing off the headland: and perhaps I shall nob return horn« to.night. Lob them know this at the house. I was in euch haste, I had no time to say where I was going.' Ab the laso style, just at the entrance to fche wood. Lord Crehylls found his little eon. The boy waa sitting on tho graea crying lustily. • What is the matter?' said Lord Crehylls, taking the child in hie arms. ' How is ib you aro here all alone?' ' Mary is gone down there,' said bite boy, pointing bo a distanb meadow, 'and the shadows are co big, I get afraid.' Ib was jusb eight o'clock, and the deep, rosy clouds of sunset were spread over the northern sky. ~,■,, -j »My dear, you ought to be in bed, said Lord Crehylla, gazing round him anxioualy. But bhe truanb nurse was nowhere to be Been. Then hollowing his hand, he called bo her loudly, bub in vain, tor bhero was no response. •Curse fche girl!' exclaimed the young nobleman, angrily, ' How dared she neglecb and leave you like this ! Who is/with her, Aubrey ?' •A ball man,' returned the child. And frightened by hia father's angry voice, he clung to him, wibh ftdbs arid cries; : Fdrious at bhe womin'is selfish carelessnoas, Lord Crehylla paced to and fro bhe field, chafing and impatient, till the boy felfaßletp on his shoulder, and still there wan no tjfgn of Mary and he* ball aweebhearb. Then, looking ab his watch, he saw ib was an hour and a-half since he had quibbed the cottage, and ho dared delay no longer. • I must take the child on to Sb. Bglon c Hut,' he eoid to himself, 'and send him home with Chagwynne.' He walked on baßtily through the wood, avoiding the ford, and only striking the river when far below that terrible epob. Following bhe abream, he soon found himself opposite Hie platform, or ledge of rock, on which stood Sb. Elgon's Hut. The house lay in deep shadow, for the sun had gone down, though on the north-western front, looking seaward, a narrow crimson streak, like blood, ran across the window. All else waß dark; and the long, trailing Blantß, hanging desolately down from balcony and casement, were so thickly clustered togethor that, as bhoy waved to and fro in bhe wind, they seemed a funeral pall, fitly covering this dwelling of crime and sorrow. Gazing at the place wistfully. Lord Lrehylls stood still a moment, while a shudder passed overall his frame. From this drear spot had arisen all hia woe, From these desolate and empty windows — bloodstreaked by the dying sun—there looked down on him a throng of passionate memorioa, all culminating in thab white, evil face, lying, blood streaked, too, upon tho green moas by the darkening river. All the lovo. all tho jealousy, all the agony of that time and of this pressed upon his brain, as hiii eyes fixed themselves in ■sorrow on Sh. Eglon's Hut. , From amjd bhe taneled leaves he saw again the email white hand thab had often beckoned to him in fal?e kindness, as in hi» boyish worship —unthinking aa a child—he had lingered on this very spob, longinc for a sight of bhnb rare, lovely-face. And for this he was wrecked ; for this he was now. an exile — a ruined, reckless man.

Stopping the current of fevered thought thab rushed wildly over his mind, he plunged deeply into the darkening wood, till St. Eglon'js Hub was lost in tbo dusk of twilight; then turning, he regained the river where ib widened to a creek, and the tide came up with gentle ripple, lapping the large flao rocks which lay upon the beach. Hero, hidden by a sharp projection of the cliff', he 6aw the boat, bat ib held bufc one rower, Michael Polgrain. •What shall I do with Che child?' said Lord Crehylls, hurriedly.

'Step in quickly,' said Michael; 'you h*va kept me waiting too long. If aqy one on board the cutter recognises me, they'll chase us.'

'The boy? whab shall I do with, tha boy ?' reiterated Lord Crehylle.

Then for the firsb time Michael saw him, and stared blankly at his foster-brother.

1 When we reach the Penkivel we can send him home by one of the men, if you wioh,' replied Michael. :

Tbero was no time for .expostulation or for" thought. Lord Crehylls stepped within the boat, and with lusty arms Michael dipped the oars in the water, and gently as a bird sho crept oub into tho dusky gaa.

CHAPTER XX. THIS IS TOO HOREIELE. '

1 Have you beard the new«j ?' said Mrs Gilbert, pulling up her horses with a jerk by the roadside, as Justice Pydar came slowly alons in his pony chaise. 'No, is Lord Crehyila returned ?' he crieJ, eagerly. •He never will return, 1 answered Mrs Gilbert-. ' Tho revenue cutter is gone down with all hands on board.'

• Good Heavan !' cried the old justice. * Thia is too horrible. Surely ib ia nob true !' ■

' Ib is true enough,' replied the lady. ' I had ib from the man who caw her founder.'

' And iB ib certain that Lori Crehylls was on board of her ?' askod the justice, dubiously. • Well, they say so ab the caetlo,' replied Mrs Gilbert, • and I don't see why thoy ahould toll any stories about the matter. It seems he wns dreadfully angry at bho escape of that obstinate smuggler, Polgrahi, and bo rowed out to tho cutter to explain the matter to the officer — ab lea6t, that's the tale they told me.' The old jusfaice shook his head wisely, and then remarked :

'Ibis a queer affair altogether. Have you seen Lady CrehylU V ' No; indeed that) was hardly to be expecked,' paid the lady. ' She has nob seen a soul eince the night the child was loat.'

'Poor lady I 1 resumed the justice, • I can scarcely wonder she has broken down. But I bope we anali find the boy in a day or two. We are scouring the country now in all directions, and it is nob likely the gipsies are gone far.1 ' But I don'b believe in gipsies stealing children,' ?aid Mrs Gilbert, incredulously. • Who olse could have taken him ?' asked tho justice. * Thosa people steal children for the sake of their clothes, or for the reward offered for them—for the latter, ia this case; they hope to make a good thing of ib, doubtless. Bub if i can lay hold of them they sha'n't get a penny.' ' Then you really believo the nursemaid's etory, thafe she only left the child for a minufce, and that she met gipsies as she rushed homeward ?' said Mrs Gilbert.

•I don't see why we ehould disbelieTe her,' returned Mr Pydar. 'She is an hones!) girl onough, and she baa beon in a frantic state of grief ever since the child was lo«b.' 'Ahl' said Mrs Gilbert!, grimly. 'I suppose ib is scarcely wiso in this world to sky all one thinks ; bub really ib seem 3 strange ' She stopped and locked, curiously in Justice Pydar'a face. 'You need not-be afraid fcft-trust mo,' observed the old gentleman. • Whatever you say shall never pass my lips to n living aoul. lam vory careful, I assure you, how and to whom 1 repeat things.' •Well, it ia lucky we are oub without any servants,' said tho lady, ' elee I could not venture to speak confidantially. You must know that my maid and Lady Crehylls' maid are si3ters, and she was down at my place last nigfrfc, and she says —No, really, I hod better nob mention it, Mr Pydar ; it is serious, I assure you.' 'As you please, 1 >aid the disappointed justice ; ' bub you would be surprised, perhaps, ac a little fact I could tell you. I em nob afraid bo brust your discretion, Mrs Gilbarb, though you appear to doubb mine.' Mrs Gilbert was not proof against this bait. She dropped the reins over the back of her ancient and dozing steed, nnd leaning far out of the phaeton, eho aaid, in a low voice :

'The truth ia there is a mystery—a something dreadful, I baliove, behind all this, Lady Crehylls doea not eivo any credit to the story aboub the smuggler; and although the fact of the cubtor being loab ia not disputed, I happen to know ehe has ordered no mourning. She ia perfectly distracted with grief, bub she does nob believe her husband is drowuad.' • What does she think, then ?' asked fehe justice, with wido open eyes. •Something worse,' replied his friend. 'Don'b you think ib a curious coincidonco that Mies Sylvester has quitted Crehylia so suddenly V She salted thisquestion in such a meaning way that the justice could nob poeeibly misunderstand her.

• Bless my soul !' he said in amazement. ' What reason can Lady Crehylla have for euch an idea ? Miss Sylvester is engaged to young Pellew, you know, and I give you my worrl she ie gone to Ljndon. 1 saw the postboy who drove her.' 'Gone bo London, by herpelf?' repeated Mrs Gilbert, with imoienue emphasis. '■Thie is an outrageous thing for a youn* girl bo do. Ah for Mr Pell6w, Inm cortain she did nob like him. 1 am certain she refused him ab the castlo a month ago. If she acdopiled bite afterward, ib was for a mero blind-that's my opinion. But then, I confess, I never liked the girl, or even thought her Imnrlaomiii.' 'And has Lady Crehylls this opinion, too?' asked the justice. •And worse even,' said Mrs Gilbert, bowing her head in assent; ' she believes Miss Sylvester hns stolen her child.' 'That) is a little too strong, I think,' Raid Mr Pydar, flicking away a fly trom his pony's ear. t 'Ah, I Bee you take that girls part, observed Mrs Gilbert; 'bub thab it because you know nothing of the atata of things at Crehylls lately. I can tell you there have bean great quarrels between Lady Crehylls and Miss Sylvester, and bboy'vo been hardly on speaking terms this last fortnight. Are you aware thab the young lady left the castle ab the command of its mistress?1 * No, indeed, I had no idea of thab ; and lam sorry to hear ib,' returned the old gentleman, ' for I think she ia quite in the wrong. 1 believe Lord Crehylls is gone away on affairs of his own.' 'Ah, you own that,' exclaimed Mrs Gilbert. ' You don't credit the story of the revenue cutter any more than I do ? 'I havo no doujbt the cut-tor is lost, and I am vory sorry for it,' said Mr Pydar: • but, to confess the truth, I do not believe Lord Crehylls was on board of her. Isow, I'll toll you my little history, and you can draw your own conclusions from it. Two days ago a swaggering, easy scoundrel called upon me, evidently in a great state of bewilderment at finding thti castle doors closed against) him. He hinted ab some secret he knew, which, ns far as I cou d make out. he fancied Lord Crehylls would pay him well to keep. If my lord had run away, he could guesß why he was gone, he -aid. with a coarse laugh. Then ho tried to diecover if I knew his destination while

I, on my part, endeavoured to find out his business. But I could get nothing out of him beyond the fact that he intended to linger about this neighbourhood until Mr Lanyon was well enough to be spoken with.'

' Well, and you suppose from this—' said Mrs Gilbert, impatiently. ' 1 infer from^this,1 interrupted the justice, ' thab Lord Qrebylls gob into some scraps years ago, tß^. consequences of which are pursuing him now. Ho is just tha sorb of man to be threatened.and bullied, and made to run away, instead ot Branding his ground. That follow who came to ma was a thorough scoundrel, and I longed to wring his neck, whiie he swagsered and talked liked a bully. I have no doubt he thinks to get alittle moDay oufe of Lanyon for keeping this secret, whatever ib (nay be ; bufc I shall put him on his guard, and advice him not to givo the scamp a penny ; and I hope young Lord Crebylla won't allow himself to be hunted and frightened our. of the country by a scoundrel. Had I beon Crehylls I should have stayed ac home, aod kicked this fellow into the river vvhea ha came to me.'

• In that case you can'r. think the mattor very serious,' observed Mrs Gilbert

'' Somo wild, youthful ecrape, mosfe likoly,' continued the justice. ' And, as I remarked, Lord Crehylls is juat the man to ba frightened into a rash flight. Bub, depend on it, all will coins riaht in a little while. Mr Lanyon will pay thia fellow, or hußh the affair up somehow, and then you'll find Lord Crehylla will come back.'

' I hope he vvili,' returned Mrs Gilbert, with Bteadfast unbelief. ' And you think Misa Sylvester will come back, too, I suppose ?' 'I have no doubt of it,' answered the gentleman. 'I do nob consider her at all answerable for the mysterious disappearance of Lord Grehylls.'

'Nor the child's either?' asked Mrs Gilbert.

' No, 1 replied Mr Pydar. • Whab should she do with the poor boy ? And we'll find him in a day or two. Tho whole county ia searching for him now. The tramps who have stolen him will get lynched when they are caught. Everyone ia indignant— everyone sympathises with Lady Crehylls.' 11 should think so,' remarked Mrs Gilbert, gathering up the reins again. ' I wonder she is in her senses, poor thing. Well, the whole affair is too mysterious tor me. I don'b pretend to understand it— respected, too, as the family has alwaye been in the county.' • Yes, but they aro weak, you know,' returned Mr Pydar. 'There never was a Cr6hyllß yet wibh a strong head. You recollect Lord Crehylls did nob prove himeelf vory wise in his boyish days, when he waa frantic about bhe beautiful Mrs Sherborne. By the by, thab queer follow who called on me raked up that old affair, and asked me a great mar.y questions aboub it. I thoughb thab rather singular, 1 could nob understand how a stranger should know anything aboub bha murder ; bub he was perfectly well acquainted wifeh every detail.' ' Oh, he would hear it anywhere,' staid Mrs Gilbert, carelessly. ' You will tell me if anything new turns up ?'

' I'll drive round on purpose, if I get any bidince,' replied the justice.

And so this male and female gossip parted. It will be seen by their conversation that Lord Crehylls had been unable to restore his child to its mother. Scarcely had he reached the Peukival when her crew peroaivert ahs was chased by the cutter, which, under cover of tho gloom, had secretly foUowed Michael Polfrain's boat.

Ths storm in which the cutter want down tho "jexb morning was jusb commencing, and Lord Crehylls felc it would be unsafe to trust bis boy in a small open boat through *uc!» wind and weather. There were plecty of brave hands and hearts ready to do bis bidding, bufc the ri?k was too frightful. So all sails were sot, and tho Penkivel dashed oub to sea with tho cuttor in full chase afc&r her.

When tho sun rose on that Juno morning, watchers en thp cosst saw the cuttor, disabled and dismasted, founder in the heavy sea ; bnt many a weary week went by before any tidings of the Pankivol reached the hearts that mourned for her with the sickness of hope deferred.

(To ba Continual)