THE OAKLAND MYSTERY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 258, 6 November 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE OAKLAND MYSTERY.

'-■■ By SYLVANUS COBB, Jr.,

Author of "The Gunmaker of Moscow" "The Outcast of Milan,"

_tollo of Normandy," etc.

CHAPTER XIII

' -XHB PROMISE OF THE FUTURE. •My heaven! You speak as though your suspicions had singled out an object.' . 'They have, captain—the same man ■whom I have suspected from the first 'upon whom my fears had fastened .themselves even before I could fully (estimate the danger that threatened.' 'Can you describe to me the person? 'Florence,' the carl said, turning to ;his ward, 'you are better at such •work. I should be sure to make a 'bungle of it. My very hatred of the m an disqualifies me from a fair portraiture of him. Will you give the captain a description of James Ta_mer's personal appearance?' 'The man of whonl you speak is Sir Justin's servant?' interrupted

Forester. 'His valet,' replied the earl; 'and he has been such for many years—ever since, in fact, the baronet commenced to visit us at the castle.' . • 'He is the man who gave Mark flru'esdalc so much unrest at. Madras.' • 'The same.'

'■ The captain then turned to the lady and proceeded: • 'Dear lady—l almost dare to say 'sweet cousin—let me, I pray, ask you _ few questions. As you call to mind the man Tanner, do you see a.pair of small, very dark eyes—brown or black—having a dusky light, sunken , beneath shaggy, black brows, their whites of a dull, yellowish hue?' 'Exactly!' returned the girl, breathlessly. 'You have described James fanner's eyes to the life.' 'Do you see his nose broad and gross, with a bulbous end, the nostrils ;wide and large—a nose, in short, that might remind you of the nose of one Of the most cruel of the feline species?' , 'Captain, the man is before me in your picture! I never saw such eyes * in another, nor such a nose, and you have described them exactly.' *' 'A man,' our hero added, 'past the middle age, of medium height and evidently strong of frame, though not yery large.' 'Yes, yes, go on!' ' 'I can go no further. Such are the features of the man who thought to procure my death at the hands of my two unfortunate seamen. He had evidently taken the precaution of disguising himself, but his eyes he could _ot cover without glasses,'which he chose not to wear; and his nose was .Visible above his false beard. The /(evidence is certainly very strong, rthough we must wait until we can put jour: hands' Upo- the man himself for • proof positive. I am free to confess, lowever, that fay faith in'the result lacks-but little of being fixed;' [■' 'My faith,' tfriedthe earl, with an emphatic plaiting of his foot upon the carpet, 'is fixed as the everlasting hills.. In other years I have had experience as a justice, and I will say tfif I have had cases' of riiore 1 than import brought before me on ' ' "%r%T; "I have "watched testimony hud :wei|6e_ It; and I have compared and arr_dged and. fitted co-ordinate facts Into a chain. You can say, my pet, "Whether my reputation as a just and conscientious magistrate is good or mot.' 'Dear guardian,' the girl replied with pride and gladness in her voice, 'I can say with truth that the best 'jurists of Kent have been proud to be associated with you, and that the rvalue of your opinion is second to Bone.'. , 'Thank you, my dear ; and though 'it is of myself you speak I will say I believe you speak truly. And now let me make my declaration. In all •my experience I never saw a chain 'oi circumstantial evidence more perfect than this, and the connecting tfacts are Colonel Tom Fairfax, now a saint in heaven, and little Tom, grown to be a man, and now present ■(before me.' Aye,' he went on with increasing .vehemence, 'and I dare to speak further. As the case now stands I shall not hesitate to acknowledge you as my grand-son and heir, thus leaving it for those to dispute me who will. As for the Court of Chancery, I have not a particle of doubt. .Remember the character of our testimony. The name of Walter Dadmun will be a host in the way of fortifying the evidence of good old Robert Forester. Let us but get our hands upon the .villain Tanner and we shall have a card hard to beat. He is a coward and would betray his master for a sufficient inducement.*

'We shall be sure to find him,' said Forester. And he told of the arrangement he had made with Haggard to that end.

This, gave the earl food for thought. He bent his head for a few seconds, then looked rip and said: , '% dear-captain, I'll tell you-what you. must do. ■ At a proper time take your crew into your confidence—at least so-far _ s - to' let- them know that- * personal enemy is seeking y.our. life, ■But in that you will exercise your own good judgment when the time shall have arrived. What. 1 would particularly propose is this :, Before entering the Thames, you should turn the command over to your chief officer ""~°r so let it appear in the published report.. Of yourself say nothing. Any person on the lookout will see m name of Charles Liddell given as JMt of the commander, and will naturally jump to the conclusion that you are out of the way. Then you ? an go on shore secretly and remain ?nc°g- until the villain we seek shall ~,aT e be.en secured. How does that strike you?' Forester replied that he had fought in that same direction, and J* believed the plan would be a good

, -lorence. on being asked what she nought of it, said she was decidedly ■ln -favour of it. ■ A ,' c*e* the ship enter the Thames ««l be signalled,' she said, 'with the ''''"SB* of Fred Forester lost from ■iir and .1 can imagine the speedy *f pearanee of James Tanner 'on ' the ■Jl■' for lam as thoroughly cona" cetl that he and the villain who Wached Owen Haggard' and his as «c are one and the same person evM Ca _n e°* anything which my £ have not directly beheld. : .pother thing that strikes me: We «dy Appose that either Sir Justin on h ent-perhaps' both—will be lanrl t welcome us back to Eng'beiiir, we are watchful they, ltnn,Vifi?arded °y n 0 suspicion of bur .Jjmvledge, willbe very apt to ex<W t T interest in the fate of Pram Forester. At all events, be

sure I shall be on the , watch, and if there be guilt on their consciences, I shall surely detect it. Such men — votaries of sin and shame in everyday life, are the very ones to expose the presence of real crime.'

It was finally agreed that the plan should be considered as adopted, to be given up only in the event of something better presenting itself.

Later the earl took a few turns to and fro across the cabin and then stopped before our hero and took his hand. The aged face was transfigured.

'My boy! My blessed, blessed boy! Until the seal of possession is put upon my claim in the shape of the Lord Chancellor's decision, I will not ask you to change your name—only— only—in this: You must let me call you—Tom. You will do that I know.'

The youth did not answer at once. It was a momentous period—a marvellous crisis in his life. He had gone over with the evidence more than once—had considered every point and every circumstance and every bearing and relation of item with item, and he could not discover a link missing anywhere in the mystic chain which connected the boy of the Pallas, companion of Ralph Martin and Loolah, with the little Tom who had disappeared with Mark Truesdale and Luella. There was no more doubt of that fact than there was that he and ' the first-mentioned boy were one and the same person. He had thought of it and thought of it, and now he thought of it again. Presently he let fall the earl's hand and turned away, and for more than thirty seconds —perhaps for sixty— he oaced to and fro with his hands

closely clasped and his head bent

Suddenly, as he afterwards confessed to Florence, an inspiration seemed to possess him. He had stopped at one of the stem portswindows—and was gazing off upon the distinctly outlined wake of the ship, when he distinctly heard a voice :—a voice that thrilled him through and through—a voice familiar to his ear, though at the moment he could not locate it. It was a sweet, musical voice, as clear and distinct as voice could be, and it said to him, 'Little Tom! Little Tom, kiss papa!'

He bent his ear and listened spellbound, but he heard no more. He looked around. The earl and his beautiful ward were where he had left them standing, and not another soul was with him in the cabin. His thoughts were quick and rational. Three things were simply true. The voice had been present to his mental ear—a voice familiar to both ear and heart, and it had spoken words well remembered. They came back to him as other events of that child life had come to him.

A moment more and he returned to the earl and again took his hand. His heart was full to overflowing, his lips were quivering, his eyes were moist, and his whole face was eloquent with the sublime emotion that stirred him to the very centre of his being. .

'My heaven! Ido believe the name you would give me is not new to my ears. Somewhere, in the long ago, a loving voice has called me little Tom., Call me so and for all time to come while we both shall live, let the courts decide as they may, I will think of you—l will give you the deepest, holiest love of my heart, and in that heart I will call you dear, dear (grandfather.'

With a great sob the old man threw his - ariris arrhirrd.- the' hS'CK oT Lhe royal, stalwart youth, and pillowed his head uoon his bosom . 'Little Tom! Little Tom!' he cried. 'Oh, my heart could never feel this rapturous thrill of bliss on the bosom of one not of my blood. Little Tom. Little Tom. The Good Father in heaven sent me on this blessed voyage. Say grandpapa. Let me hear your lips speak it once more as they spoke it years ago.'

'Grandpapa! Dear grandpapa. Heaven bless you, now and forevermore.'

'Now—now,' the Earl exclaimed, while a holy joy made radiant his grief-worn face. 'Let me see my darling boy—my grandson—firmly fixed in his proper place, and I can say, with Simeon of old, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.' And with this the old man turned to the broad sofa above the transom and sank down upon it and closed his eyes. The captain watched him until he seemed to be at rest, and then turned toward his remaining companion. Twice he started to speak, and his words failed him. He looked into her face and saw that her eyes were brimming. He believed that another word, calculated to move her feelings still more deeply,would cause the flood to overflow. He fancied she wished to be alone, and he did not wonder at it. But he could not leave her without a sign. A few moments more and his course was clear. He took a step forward, gently lifted her small white hand in his own, and carried it to his lips. A fervent kiss, such as a brother might have given; then he turned away and took his cap from its place near the door and left the cabin: . „,. ~, ~.,,., ~,„,..

It so chanced "that there was nothing: on deck demanding the attention of ' the• mast-er.^nqr .had any per-^ 'son' apy request*or suggestion to rtiaKe His chief mate saw quickly and clearly that he was preoccupied, and he had the delicacy to leave him to himself. So having from long habit glanced his eye over the ship—taking in at that one sweep of observation every rope spar and sail, and able to carry in his mind a reflected picture of the whole, he turned ait to the taffrail and gazed off uppn the ocean.

For a little time his thoughts were in a whirl. Gradually' they settled down upon the one great question of the hour—his birth and parentage. But they remained not long here. The subject had been discussed in his thoughts until not a new or an unanswered question was left. Then he thought of the old man, the impress of whose head he could still feel on his bosom and in his heart. The love he had given that man could not have been inspired by a stranger. There was a mystic voice whispering to his soul of kith and kin—a voice which he would not refuse to recognise.

Then came another thought, and that same quick, all-pervading thrill quivered through every nerve and fibre of his frame. The voice he had heard while standing at the cabin window. It had been no mere fancy —no echo of memory, nor suddenly awakened creature of a forgotten dream. No, it had been a voice as palpable as was that of the officer now sounding from the quarter-deck. He would not tell himself that it had been his father's voice, and yet in his heart he loved to feel that-it might have been so. He had heard of things —facts well authenticated —as strange and marvellous as that. Yes, the

more he thought of it the more deeply and firmly was the belief fixed in his mind that he held in memory a voice that had sounded in his ears in the days of his earliest childhood calling him 'Little Tom.' It was not a fancy. It was a memory. As Uncle Robert's story had served to keep fresh in his mind a memory of the scenes and the sounds on board the doomed ship when the pirate had boarded her, so had the _story of the Earl revived within him a memory by no means dead, of his father's voice. Aye, and more than that. Another memory came—the memory of a face. Not a fresh, full, healthful face, such as the rough old quartermaster, now standing on the opposite side of the poop, turned upon him, but a pale, wan face, with great loving eyes and a heavenly smile—a noble face —the face of a noble, regal man. It was not a creature of fancy, but a memory as clear and distinct as was the face that had looked upon him in the midst of blood and carnage. The face had been forgotten, because nothing had ever brought it to his maturer thoughts,, but when the chord had been touched in the right direction its vibrations had brought it forth—the blessed memory had sprung to life; the memory of a face that'had smiled upon him in infancy —a loving, living, beautiful face— a brave and manly face—the face of his father. And yet another thought, and of another face, but this time the face, beautiful as it. was, was the least attraction. Sweet and seraphic he thought the face of Florence Lindsay, but sweeter still and more seraphic were the gleams of character that warmed its smiles and shone out in the holy fervour and goodness of her truthful eyes. Of her he thought. Was it possible that he had come to love her? That his heart had gone out from him in that depth and ecstacy of love which the true man feels but once in a lifetime? He had heard of men falling in love, truly and honestly in love, at sight; but had been unwilling to believe it. At all events he had believed that such a falling in love could never be for him. Yet here the thing had been done. He was obliged to confess to himself that he loved the beautiful ward of the Earl with all his heart and all his strength. In fact the thought of living his manhood's life without the light and blessing of her companionship struck a chill to his heart that was painful. On the other hand the thought of possessing her for his own, to be to him a close and loving companion and helpmate while lifeshould endure, the thought that he could hold her to his bosom and taste the kisses of her ravishing lips—that her lovelit, radiant eyes, shedding cheer and brightness upon all within the scope of her gaze—the thought if all this could be his, to endure while life should last, sent a thrill through his body that electrified him—a thrill reaching to every avenue of sense and feeling—a thrill of joy and bliss sublime, the very ecstasy of heaven.. 'Surely,' he said, his thoughts finding words, 'a' deeper, timer love man never felt for a woman than myheart holds for her. And yet—oh, cruel fate. I may not let it be known.' Had this late discovery not been made; had he remained in his old place, with the simple advantages of his native m*nh66d and' the .lair prospects that had opened before'him, urfdef' stieff "cjrcirmißta_ces lie ' r_f|i)t' hot have hesitated to give his Jove full scope, trusting in the true heart of the girl and his ability to win her. Let it not be supposed, however, that he was presuming enough to believe that he could win the girl for his wife under any circumstances- —only if the way had been honourably left open to him there might have been the possibility of a hope. But now he felt that the way was barred. Were he to make a show of love, it would be a presuming on the new relations that had sprung up between them. Let him even look upon her with the light of love in his eyes, and she might think—would she not be sure to think—that he was taking undue advantage of tbfe possible cousinship that had so strangely appeared? 'No, no,' he fairly groaned. 'It may not be. Henceforth I must treat her with only respect and reverence. My worship must be distant, my love hidden in my own bosom. Every principle of honour demands it. My very manhood is. concerned in the result. Perhaps, in time to come, if my parentage is fixed and proved, and if she has not bestowed her heart elsewhere, I may be permitted to try, if I can, to win her.' From that time the intercourse between Lord Oakland and our hero was filled with passages of love and blessing. The old man restrained himself not a particle. He believed in his heart that he had found his darling grandson and heir, and his thanks went up to heaven continually. If at any time the younger man was inclined to curb the other's passion of affectiona.te regard, he found not the heart to do it. Moreover, Florence had advised him that he should let the dear old man enjoy all he : could. ■ •. • - 'Poor, dear, guardy,' she ejaculated. 'The later years of his life have been ,sq dark and..drear—dark an,d.drear, L mean, on the side of his grand estate —in thoughts of the good old family name—so miserable has he been in view of the possible—aye, the probable —succession —so,, terrible has been the prospect of Nugent Apthorp's succeeding him, that I cannot bear that he should be deprived of,a single joy we can give him in the present.' At another time, when he had, been speaking of the possibility of the falling to ruins of the whole bright fabric they had reared—and what a blow it would be to the Earl, she had replied, with an earnest, a really prayerful look in her sweet face: 'Let me implore you, dear captain, do not hint at such a thing in his hearing. It cannot be. We have considered the subject in all its bearings, and I, who am not given to impulsiveness of hope, cannot believe in failure. As I trust in the love of heaven, so do I trust in the fulfilment of this promise of right and justice— of good and blessing.' 'God grant that it may be so.' ■ 'Amen.' CHAPTER XIV. l FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT, FROM GRIEF TO JOY. For two whole weeks, while the Warwick Castle, under favouring winds and beautiful weather, was speeding on her homeward way, Captain Forester kept faithfully the promise he had made unto himself. To the Earl he gave all that the love and devotion of his heart could promptgave smiles and blessing and cheerful greeting, and never hinted that the fabric could fall. Once, and once only did the old man allude to a possible

failure of their life plans. 'My dear boy,' he said on the occasion to which We refer, 'the' decision of the court shall make no. difference betwn you and me. I have' taken you to my heart, and no power on earth can tear you from me. We will love and cherish and bless one another to the end. \ Thank Jieaven, there are treasures which moth cannot corrupt, neither can thieve^ break through and steal; and of such, Tom> are the love and devotion you; and I are permitted to cherish.' I • ■ ■ '•• While thus he had borne himself toward the Earl, he had treated Florence with the respect and esteem he had promised to observe towaid her. It came very hard to him, and came harder as time wore on. Many a time had he wished in his heart that the story of his life had > beep left untold—at least, until different relations had been established between himself and the beautiful girl who had so entirely possessed his unyielding, passionate love. How long njust it be so? There were times'{when he felt that he could not endure ittimes when he could have cried aloud in his great passion, and knelt at the feet of .the loved one for her blessing. One day, late in the afternoon, our hero entered his cabin hurriedly, in quest of a telescope. He found Florence prone On the large transom sofa,,weeping freely, while her guardian,. deeply agitated, and with tears coursing , down his furrowed cheeks, paced to and fro.. Without a wordwithout making a sign that he had seen—he took the glass : from its beckets over the1, table and returned to the deck.

A little later—perhaps ten minutes —he heard the door of the cabin opened, and, on,turning, he saw the Earl in the act of "crossing the threshold. He had taken a step backward in order that the old man hiight have free passage, when Florence suddenly appeared, and put forth her hand to draw him back. She spoke earnestly and entreatingly, but her words did not reach the captain's ears. They were effective, however. His lordship suffered himself to be drawn back . into the cabin, and directly afterward the door was closed.

Captain Forester ate supper that evening with his mates. At eight o'clock, when the first watch had? been set, he took the log-slate with him into the cabin and sat down at the table to work up his dead-reckoning. Half an hour later he returned a clean slate to its place over the wheel, and then ascended to the poop, and took his station at the taffrail for a season of self-communing. . '

The night was beautiful. A ;£gw fleecy clouds away to the leewAd only lent variety to the scene. .-Elfewhere all was clear and bright. Thejte was no moon, but the stars wire gleaming brilliantly, and a perceptible addition to their light was affojfqcd by the phosphorescent glow of|the sea. ' ' !;;•

'How long—how long must this endure ?' came in murmuring accents from his lips. . 'Can it be that my presence is painful to her ? Why else should she shun me, and hang her head when T am by ? I cannot understand. Surely, I have not let her see my heart. She cannot suspect that I have given her the' love of my life. Oh, if 1 could only understand ! I cannot ask her ; my tongue is tied. I must speak with the Earl. Aye ! why have I not thought of it before ?' ."■'.:■

..Under the influence,j^.ths4s^W£' thought he had started to turn for the purpose of moving his1 position, when he avus startled by feeling a light, delicate, tremulous touch on his arm. He looked around, and found the sweet, pain-marked face of Florence Lindsay upturned toward him. 'Lady!' For the life of him he could say no more. At the moment, if the deck could have opened and swallowed him up, he could have felt grateful. 'Captain Forester—' She paused as though the power of speech had suddenly left her, but only for a little time. Presently she rested both her hands upon his arm, and, gazing up, with a great yearning in her tearful eyes, she cried, with a burst of heart-sent feeling : 'Oh, must I always call you only by that cold, formal name ? I cannot— I will not believe that you could wish it so ! When first it dawned upon me that we might be cousins—aye— [ when I first believed in my heart that we were cousins, I was glad ; a great joy filled my soul. Do you remember that day in the cabin, when we had ; agreed what we would do—how you 1 should be regarded, and how you should allow the Earl to regard you'? E>o yon remember, after we had lifted his head from your bosom and blessed you—how, when that was over, I looked at you and started to speak ? Do you remember ?' 'Yes —yes —I remember.' 'Can you guess the words that were rising to my lips ?' 'No, I cannot.' 'After my guardian had thrown himself on the sofa and you had turned your face upon me my heart was full to overflowing. Another atom of strain on my nerves and I must have broken down. I thought to speak, but when I met your •wonderful eyes my spSfec'E failed me. I thought, perhaps, yoii would speak and thus relieve me, but you gently .took my hand and parried it to your lips and thus left rjjp >" pnd I did not speak—l did not speak, and the words remain unspoken yet.' 'Will you speak them now?' he asked. He had 'taken one of the small, white hands from his' arm and was holding it in both his Own. She looked up. A warm, soulful flpsk suffused her dimpled cheeks, arid the bright starbeams were reflected in the dewy moisture of her eyes. She whispered only two words, but they thrilled the heart of the listener to its very centre. 'Cousin Tom ! Cousin Tom !.' 'And I may answer, Florence, my own sweet cousin !' <Yes —yes ! Oh, why should there be such chill and constraint between us ? What have I done—what have I said that has hurt you ?'' • 'Hurt me !' 'Aye. Surely, you have avoided me. And why should you do that if, in some way unaccountable to me, I had not offended .?' Forester put forth a mighty effort toward self-control. He must pull down the wall of separation now, if ever-.; and in this direction a great hope was springing to life within him. There had been ' something in the girl's voice; there was even now something in her radiant eyes that could only be born of a warm and generous impulse. Oh ! might it not be a loving impulse as well ? 'Dear la — sweet cousin Florence,'; he said, smiling as he corrected himself and seeming to break strangely! away from ihe subject of her remarks, 'will you tell me.why I found you weeping in the cabin this after- j noon? And why, shortly thereafter, when your guardian would have I

joined me on the deck, you drew him back? I wish you would tell me.' . 'Are you sure his object in leaving me was to join you ?' the fair girl asked, with a perceptible hesitation in her manner and a palpable quiver lin her voice.

'Yes, I am very sure. His eye told me that in the glance he had fixed upon me.'

Florence looked down upon the deck, and. then off upon the starlit sea. Finally her gaze sought her companion's face, and -a • bright smile broke through the rich colour that came and went as she answered him :

'My good old guardian had started to tell you the very thing you wish to know.'

'Ah ! Why you were weeping ?' 'Yes.'

'Well, sweet cousin, since you prevented him from accomplishing his purpose, you will yourself give me the information. Florence,' he went ori, after a little pause, 'if you knew how uneasy. I have been —what unrest T have suffered —I am sure you would tell me. Perhaps your answer may enable me to answer the question you put to me a few moments since.'

She hesitated but for a moment more. Then she turned and caught the hand nearest to her —caught it in both her own—and • said, while " a warm, refulgent light beamed in her moistened eyes': ■

'Tom! Tom! Dear, dear Tom! I was weeping because my heart was aching. I wanted your ' confidence— your brotherly love. I had borne all I could bear. Oh; you do not blame me!/ You will.understand ! I had found a cousin, but not a cousin's love. My heart was • yearning for a grain of the warm airection so lavishly bestowed oh a grandparent.

'There ! You know' ail now. I have made a clean breast of it, and I thank you' for having urged me to it, for I feel better now that it is accomplished.'

Before he spoke in reply the captain made a slight change in the position of their hands. Setting free the hand which Florence, had held, he took her right hand in both his own, and then, with his soul in his eyes, he said, in tones full- of solemn music:

'Florence ! Sweet cousin I Since plain speaking is in order, I will not be amiss.' If, in making a clean breast of it on my own account, I shall say that which your good judgment leads you to condemn, you must blame yourself and not me. You will pardon me in advance ?'

'Yes, returned the ' bright - eyed, anxious listener, a faint, fluttering smile playing around the dimples of her flushed cheeks ; 'full absolution is granted you.'

'Then listen ; I told you I had suffered unrest. I had. a hard battle to fight with myself before I could assume that apparently calm and rational prudence of manner which I have endeavoured to observe toward you. Florence, could I have honestly given you a brother's love I would have done so with a full and gladsome heart, but it was beyond my power. I had already given you a deeper, purer, stronger and more holy lovepurer .and holier because it set you in the inner sanctuary of ray being— '■ the one object in all the world unto which I could cleave, in all faith and loyalty, while life endured. Such a love I had given you, and I:was debarred from speaking of it. Were you going to ask why ?' ■■■•■■ •'Yes.'

have deemed me wanting in common honesty had I clone such a thing '? Would I not have laid,myself open to the charge of having taken undue advantage of the position which your good old guardian,, in the childish trustfulness of his nature, had given me ? Think of it: From a nameless foundling—for I was; that in stern reality—to the possible heir of an Earl I am raised in an hour, and in a way and manner most strange and unexpected ; and the first use I make of my new opportunity is to seek the love of my patron's best and dearest treasure—to steal from him the heart of his ward.

'Florence, it was this that made me unhappy. I feared to meet you with friendly smiles and happy greetings, lest I should let my secret escape me.'

'And did you never mean to tell me of your love ?' The maiden had been variously moved during the captain's speech. Her colour had come aud gone ; hers eyes had filled and her lips quivered ; her bosom had heaved until she.had been forced to rest her free hand upon il.and more than once she had started to break in upon him. But gradually she had subdued the outward emotion, and when, at the conclusion of the confession, she spoke as we have heard, she was calm and serene, with a wondrous light beaming from her lovely eyes, and a rich, glorious colour in her dimpled cheeks. "

'Yes,' he answered her. T told myself that when my parentage should be fully established, if then you should be free to be won, I would win you if I could. But the waiting for that time is beyond me now. 1 have told you too much to suffer the subject to rest as it is. In fact, I have told you of my love—the deepest, the best, the purest, the holiest and the strongest love of', my heart. Surely something how remains for you to say. ; .Upon my life, dear cousin, I fail to clearly understand" lioVv' this' cbhffeßSlCW ' ;'pf' mine'" has " come about. Certainly, I had not planned such a thing; nor can I take blame to myself. However,it is done,'and I am glad. Florence! l^lorence!' again taking the hand which he had dropped. 'Something whispers to me that you will not pain roe—that you will not rend my heart by a flat refusal of my love.' She genly withdrew her hand and turned to the, taffrail, and for a time she-gazed off Upon the billowy sea without speaking. At length she turned back and stretched forth her hand, which was quickly and eagerly grasped. . 'Dear Tom,' she said, with a new and wondrous music in her voice, 'I will tell you for what my guardian was seeking you when I drew him back. He was coming to tell you that I was very unhappy. I might have borne that, but when he declared that he would tell you fairly and squarely that my heart was all your own, and that it was breaking for the want of your love —when he told me that he frightened me. Can you wonder?'

'Never mind my wonder; that which interests me to know is would he have told me truly? Had he authority for saying to me that which he threatened to say'?' 'He had "no authority for the assertion that my heart was breaking, because I had told him no such thing.' 'But you had told him'that your heart was all mine own?' 'Yes, Tom. I told him that because it was true.' 'Darling! Oh, my love! my love! ■Rest your hand upon my arm and^let us seek the shelter of the cabin. I kpow your truth, dear Florence, and I know you would not have given me

such a hope were it to rest upon any | contingency outside of ourselves as ,we now are. Let what will come—let fate in tne future bring me rank and fortune, or let me be what God hath | made me—a man, honest and true, j lOyal and loving—yours, and yours ! alone, till death do us part. Let come I what will beyond, your heart is mine for evermore.'

'Yours, and yours alone, dear Tom, while life endures.'

'My love! my love! Oh, this is joy!' Then they went" down and sought the cabin, where they found the Earl asleep in his great easy chair. But their coming awoke him, and he opened his eyes and looked up. He gazed first into the face of his ward, then into the face of the captain. At length:

'Tom, I am not mistaken; you love my pet with all your heart. Am I not right?' .

'My dear grandfather you must not feet hurt if I tell you that I loved this sweet angel before I had thought of the great love I was to give.to you. Yes, I loved her at sight. And now it only remains for the sanction of your approval and blessing. I would hear that before we put a seal upon our compact.'l .'".'■'•

'Oh, Tom! Tom! It has been the one' desire of my heart since I discovered your identity. Let what will come, this I do as the best and most joyous thing'l have done for many a year. Take her, my boy, and may the food Father in heaven bless you both, he loves you, Tom, and I know that in bestowing her upon you, I am giving you a treasure beyond price,' . 'Now, my darling!' said the grateful youth, turning to the dear girl and opening wide his arms, 'let us seal the compact. Oh, may the joy endure. I never dreamed what the summit of human happiness was till now.'

We may drop the curtain Over the movements that followed.

A master beloved by his men as was Captain Forester could not long enjoy the new life that had opened for him without his crew discovering the fact. His face in some respects was like an open book to those who came in daily contact with him, and for that matter it might with truth be said that the faces of the pair of them were like two open books, whereon the observing men could read the story of passionate love and devotion SS plainly as they could head the points on the compass-card. Yes, within a week after the thing had been settled, it was whispered in the forecastle that the grand old Earl had given his beautiful ward to their captain, andthe decision was unanimous that his lordship could not have done a wiser thing.

Thus it came to pass that when, on arriving - within the confines of the English Channel, Captain Forester called his crew" aft and frankly stated to them his wish to remain out of sight and knowledge of all on shore until he should give the sign for raising the veil, they were prepared to enter at once into sympathy with him, and there was not a man who did not feel an especial interest in the result and a desire to contribute to the captain's safety.'

Yes, his safety; for the sailors had discussed the matter, in the,light of what they had seen and heard, until they had arrived'at a conclusion not far from the: truth. Owen Haggard was wise. He did not withdraw him-' self from the: councils of his shipmates, neither did he betray more knowledge ' than Hid • others?" Nhtuir: ally, a word now and then dropped from his lips that caused the Others to start and stare, but he whs able to explain himself without betrayal.

The request which the captain made was simple and direct. ' He told his men that it was 'for his own personal good he asked it.-.' He could not explain then, he-said,-but at a future time they should know the whole story. , ■'-,-.

'If it can come to you in no other way,' he added, 'I promise you that I will give you a royal banquet and spin the yarn at my own board.'

It was well that the ship was not near land at the time. If she had been the glad acclaim that went up from the throats of those seafaring, stentors might have caused questions,from the shore that would have been difficult to answer without the truth. , ,

Before taking on board the pilot, which, was done off Eamsgate, Captain Forester turned his ship over to his chief officer, with the understanding that no soul from the shore should know that he was on board, saving only those to whom he would: in his own time, reveal himself. Until the ship had reached her moorings he would remain concealed and after that, under cover of night, he would make his way' to Mr Dadmun's residence, where hewould be safe.

Should, any demand, to know what, had become of Captain Forester, the answer was to be simply this: 'He left the ship at Kingston, on the Island of Jamaica, and never came back a._ain. What became of him we cannot tell.'

'Ye can bet yer .life, Jack' said an old foretopman to his mate, when he had heard, ' 'at he ain't Fred Forester never any more. He's got the stamp of nobility on his figger-head, if ever a man had.' (To be Continued.)