The Wolfs Mouth.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 196, 19 August 1899, Page 6 (Supplement)

The Wolfs Mouth.

By ADELAIDE STIRLING,

Author, of "Saved from Herself," "Ncr-

me's Second Choice," "The Purple

Mask," etc

CHAPTER Y. (Continued.) Standing just inside it, where something had told her he would be, was a tall man, pale and grey haired as no man has a right to be at fifty. He put his fingers to his lips and Molly nodded as she led the way into her dairy, "It's all right," she said, reassuringly, for he looked strangely pale even for him, and lie leaned heavily against the dairy shelf as if his strength had left him. "Oh, Molly," he said, pitifully, Tm seeing ghosts this morning." "Don't, Mr Richard, don't!" She spoke as if he were a child, coaxingly. "Do you mean that girl?" "The girl, yes! For heaven's sake, Molly, who is she?" "She is Mrs de Burgh's companion, soothingly. "Why, did you think you knew her?" "I'd think so if she had not been in her grave for nineteen years. What s her name, Molly? Find out quick, or I'll begin to think that my nineteen years in a living grave have made me what they said I was." There was a sombre fire in his blue eyes that told an ugly story, and the girl hurried to answer. "Her name's just Brown, she said, and then stopped in terror. "What's the matter, Mr Richard—don't look like this! I tell you it's all right." But he seemed not to hear her. "Brown? Oh, great heavens!" he said, "aud at Castle de Burgh. (Jo quickly, Molly, aud find out what her Christian name is." "Wait here," said Molly sharply. She hurried back to where Jocelyn sat in dreamy comfort, and put the cream cheese down before her.

"You will have some, Avon't you, Miss Brown? You said Brown, didn't you?" "I did, Jane Brown." Jocelyn Avas o-etting \ised to it tioav, and it cam© quite glibly. "But 1 don't think I can eat any more, thank you. I think I ought to say good-bye, and be getting back. Mrs de Burgh might get better, and Avant me." "Wait till I get my shaAvl, and drink my tea, and I'll go with you," and Molly hurried out. "Her name is Jane—Jane BroAvn,"

she said. A strange look, which might have been relief, or might have been disappointment, came on her hearer's face. The excitement died out of it as if she had poured water on hot coals.

"Thank you, Molly," he said gently. "I've made a fool of myself and Avorxie'd you for nothing. But he Avas led aAvay by a —a chance resemblance and

name."

There AA'as a sadness in his voice that touched the girl, and he looked old and broken in the cold north light of the dairy. "Go in to the kitchen and have something to eat," she said. "It's past dinner time. I am going to take that girl some of her Avay home. By the ■way," quickly, "she says Mr de Burgh is coming home next Aveek, but I suppose he Avon't think of you, up here." "Depends on Avhat he suspects, Molly. There Avas neA'er anything wrong Avith Hugo's wits, though he ■SAVore there was with mine. By the way, I'd Avarn her casually, if I Avere you, about wandering late in these hills. She might get a fright, and, Avhoever she is, she's a girl." "I'll tell her. Good bye, I Avon't be long! If anyone comes, you knoAV where to go." She snatched up a shavvl that hung on the door, and put it over her head and hurried back to Jocelyn. "Are you quite rested? Because I think it's going to rain, and you ought to go," drinking off her tea as she stood AA'rapped in her shaAvl. The frugal meal had been her dinner Jocelyn suspected, shrewdly. "Why do you come? I knoAV the way," she protested. MoUy Moore laughed as she opened the strong front door. "Perhaps you do, after you get out of the valley," she returned. "But, noAV, tell me Avhich Avay Castle de Burgh lies?" Jocelyn looked iround her rather helplessly. A heavy grey mist had gathered and hung in long fringes betAveen her and the mountains; every hillside looked just alike. "I came that way!" pointing doubtfully. ' ' "Yes," said Molly, "you did; but when you get on the top of the hill again you Avill get confused. I did Avhen I first came." She caught herself up as though she had said more than she meant to say. "Then you haven't always lived here?" Jocelyn cried. "And you Avon't mind if I say I think it is a dreadful sort of place, Castle de Burgh, and and all! SomehoAV the mountains make me shiver. And they say there are Avild sort, of people, hidden in them Avho make whisky, and do dreadful things. Are you never afraid of them —up here by yourself ?" "No," said Molly, and her voice came muffled through the folds of her shaAvl. "They never trouble me. They Avouldn't trouble anybody," indignantly, "if they were left alone." She hurried Jocelyn up the steep path, out of the A'alley, and then downAvard through the mist till they struck the rough track by Avhich the girl had come. "Now you are all right!" she said gently. "Good-bye! But I Avas going to tell you, if you ever Avalk up past our cottage again, don't come late iri the afternoon. There are some thorri& dogs, and you might get bitten." "I'm not likely to come again; I haven't much liberty." Jocelyn spoke proudly, for there Avas a strong hint apmehoAv conveyed in the Ava.rning-. You've been very good to me, and I've not thanked you at all." But Molly Moore had already turned, and, Avith her shaAvl held tight round her, Avas almost running back on her homeAvard way, and so did not see that her departing visitor Avas starting off m an uttterly Avrong direction for Castle de Burgh. CHAPTER VI. AN EVENIN GESCAPADE. Lord Huntley had been shootino- a ll day; at least he had been out with a gun and without a dog, and had never fired at anything. He had walked ailes, and in strange places where wither rabbits nor grouse could pos- , wuly be; and now, at four o'clock in

the afternoon, he came to a discontented halt and looked about him. It was getting late and the mist lay thick "on the hills. He was wet and hungry, and had wasted his day, and he felt annoyed. "I thought I knew every bit o^f these mountains, but it seems I don't," he reflected. "However, I'm not far from Hollycross, now, and I'll get there on the double. Fancy, wasting a whole day hunting for the hiding place of some wretched distillers and the phantom dog. I wish Hugo de Burgh had never raised this idiotic fuss about them. But, once in it, as Moyra says, 1 don't like being beaten." He crammed his wet cap down on his head and strode through the dusk on his homeward way. " By Jove ! 1 wish I'd stayed with Meredith. Catch him getting wet and wasting shoe leather on a wild goose, chase like this! And all because those whiskey-making idiots choose to have a brute of a dog- that kills my deer. I ouo-ht to have found him and got a shot°at him—but I haven't" disgustedly. "Well, there's one good thing, I'll want my dinner, and I'll get a •rood one ! Hallo ! What's that ?" ° Something had slipped by him in the gorse and bushes, something duskier than the dusk, going by him like a shadow.

"I believe that was the dog now, and hunting something ! Even it it's only rabbits, they're my rabbits, and I won't have it." He began to -run, a long slinging trot that carried him over the ground wonderfully ; but, fast as he moved the slinking shadow moved faster, nose down to the trail.

" Whatever he's after it isn't a rabbit !" He was running* now as only a man can who is always in training, doing his best to keep his eye on the black thing that always kept before him. The darkness was thickening, the mist turning to a driving rain, and as he jumped over a brawling mountain brook he lost sight of the dog- utterly. But it seemed to be making a circle round him, and he struck down to the right with the brook, to try and cut it off ; convinced it was the dog which belonged to the distillers, and gave them timely warning of the approach of strangers to their retreat.

Suddenly as he ran he pulled up short ; was that a woman leaning against a rock in front of him ? It could not be, out here alone in the mountains at dusk —and yet it was ! He looked curiously at the figure as he came up to it ; it was a girl, and she was leaning against a rock, us if she Avere waiting for him. ''What!" he cried, stopping1 short in surprise. "Miss Brown!" What could Mrs de Burgh's companion be doing out here ? " Yes, it's I," said the girl. "Is that you, Lord Huntley? I heard some one running, and Avaited, I lost my way coming down the mountains, and I had begun to think I should never find it." She spoke quietly, but he saAV she Avas shivering, either with cold or fright. " Mrs de Burgh was ill, so I had a holiday, and I came out for a walk."

" Not many people care for walkingalone in these hills," he said, with a lightness that hid his thoughts of how certainly she would have had to spend the night there if chance had not brought him her way. " But perhaps you are used to lonely walks." " No, I never was allowed to go out alone in all my life, and I suppose that is why I had no more sense than to lose myself. Am I," in spite of herself, she shivered painfully with cold and weariness, " very far from Castle de Burgh ?"

Huntley pulled a flask from his pocket.

" Drink this, and then we'll talk about getting home," he said. " Yes, all of it," authoritatively, as Jocelyn stopped drinking at the unaccustomed taste of liquor brandy. The warm, mellow stuff seemed to run like life and fire through her as she handed back his cup. But she did not meet his glance as he stood above her, tall and debonnair. He was Hugo de Burgh's best friend, and, for all she knew, might turn her own deadly enemy, and last night he had seen her turn deadly pale when she saw the photograph of Moyra's father. " Better ?" with the rare smile so sweet and infectious, and the little upward jerk of the handsome head that was Hunt-ley's own. " Then let iis be moving. I'm going to take you home; it's too late for you to be out on the maintains." Jocelyn made a quick step forward. " I suppose I can't go first," she said, childishly, " because I don't know the way. But I feel as if I couldn't walk behind. For the last half hour," a kind of remembered fright in her eyes, " don't laugh, I have imagined there was something following me." Huntley whstled. " What sort of something ?" shortly. " No, you can't go first very well, but you shan't go last. Take my hand. And he took her little wet gloved hand in his warm bare one. There was a kindly protection in his clasp which might have been there had Jocelyn been a child. " Now, come on ; but we'll have to hurry. It's a good long step to Castle de .Burgh." In spite of his kindness she would have pulled his hand away had she dared. And yet she was grateful to him beyond words, for she had been terrified. " I've been out ever since breakfast," she said breathlessly, " and I began, to think I should never get in again." " Haven't you had anything to eat ? You must be starving. It is just the usual crookedness of things, but this is about the only day this year I've come out without sandwiches !" " Oh, I'm not hungry. I had some lunch at the Glen Farm." "Where ?" Lord Huntley could hardly believe his ears. There was not a respectable man or woman in the county who would willingly approach the Glen Farm. " How on earth did that happen ?" Jocelyn told him. " The girl was so pretty, and very kind,*' she wound up earnestly. "But she rather warned rue off the premises in the end by telling me there were savage dogs about there. It was not her fault I got lost, just my own stupidity. But I think the dog story rather frightened me, for I thought I saw a big greyish dog following me all the afternoon, and just before you came up to me I was certain of it." Huntley's hand tightened suddenly on hers, but he said nothing about the slinking black shadow which had been paddling so stealthily on her track. "I'm so glad I caught you," he returned cheerfully. " To tell the truth, your handsome friend was right about the dogs, or rather the dog.' Those men who have the still are supposed to have a terrible watch dog who guards their still and keeps off stray

people. Some dog, too, lias been killing my deer, and I really came out today to try and catch him at it. But I didn't." He spoke as matter of fact, as though he were not quite shaken with relief at having found the girl. Impossible as it seemed, he was quite certain it was on her track that brute had been following, and the thought, of what might have happened sick-! ened him. " Why Avere you astonished when I said the girl at the Glen Farm gave me some lunch ?" Jocelyn asked sud-; denly. " Well, no one goes there if they can help it. In the first place," smiling, "the people about say it's haunted, and then the Moore's have not exactly a—reputation. Mr de Burgh and I think they are in with the distilling gang/; but there isn't any proof of it." Jocelyn. remembered Molly's words about the distillers doing no harm if they were let alone with a sadden relevance. "Well, whether they are or not she, was kind to me," she declared. "Lord Huntley, listen. There's something behind us," in a sharp, quick whisper. Huntley wheeled in his track. " There won't be long then," he said, letting go her hand, and putting his gun to his shoulder. But'-he was not quick enough. With a rustle among the bushes something turned sharply close behind them, and was off through the .wet woods at a Jong, padding gallop. " Your friend the dog," lie. said calmly. "And the brute knew I was going to let him have a charge of shot. Well, he's gone now. Miss Brown, promise me you won't go exploring among these hills alone again. It's safe enough, of course," hastily, " but you might lose your way really badly." Lord Huntley was not given to thinking much about women, but the curious, trustful way in which this one had put her hand in his had made him like her. There was not an atom of coquetry or artificiality about her. "Look! 1 see lights!" she cried. "It is Castle de Burgh." "No," said Huntley. "not exactly, It's the lights in Holycross — my house, you know. We are still a good five miles from Castle de Burgh. But you'll be at home in half an hour; I'm going to drive you over." " Oh, but I can't ! It's too much trouble," she faltered. "What would Miss de Burgh say to sec her grandmother's companion come home with Lord Huntley in the dark after having been out'all day ?" Even Jocelyn knew enough of the world to know what Moyrn would think. And Mrs de Burgh, what wicked things would she not say ?

Huntley* looked at her, understanding what she would not say. " No one will know but Moyra," he said, coolly, "that you are out, will they ? And we'll tell her all about it. 'Here we are out on the high road and—hullo ! what's that ?"

A small low trap, driven at a breakneck pace, was coming to them. " By George, it's Moyra now ; Moyra, hold on," he called, cheerfully. " Don't run us down."'

Miss de Burgh pulled up the costermonger's cart in which it was her pleasure to drive, bumping- over tho country roads, with a suddenness disconcerting- to her pony. " So, mare —so lass ! she said, soothingly. "Willie, is that you? m in the most awful way. Who's that with yon ?"

Jocelyn came out into the light of the lamps of the trap, and Miss de Burgh gave a cry of joy. "Oh, it's you? Thank heaven," she said devoutly. "I knew you must be lost, and I didn't dare say you were out. So when granny went to sleep I came out to look for you. I thought you might be frightened, or never find your way home. I felt such a wretch for having let you go out alone. Are you nearly dead, you poor dear? And where did you come across Willie?" "Not an hour ago. Fancy you coming out in the dark alone to look for me. You're too good to me," Jocelyn ! said, unsteadily, for Moyra had leaned i over the side of her low cart and given her hand a little kind squeeze. And this was the Miss de Burgh from whom she had feared a cold and cross reception. "Hop in," said Moyra, "and tell me all about it." "I've had an awful day myself, Willie. Granny's been so ill, j arid the Campbells and the Nugents insisted on leaving- by the mid-day train, because she was ill, and to-mor-row, when she's bettei*, she'll be so cross because there's no one to amuse her." "Don't be in such a hurry, my child!" Lord Huntley said, from where he stood at the pony's head. "It's too dark and late for you to be driving home in this tea-tray cart. You come up to Holycross with me and have a cup of tea while I'm having the horses put in the carriage to drive you home. I'll send a boy back with the cart," "Oh, Willie, we can't. Granny would be so cross. But there was a quick delight in. her doubtful voice. "She won't knoAV," shamelessly. "And your father wouldn't be cross, Moyra," significantly. If Miss de Burgh reddened, it was too dark to see it. "He would be if we weren't such sneaks." she said, quietly. "Don't call names, and. move over close to Miss Brown, so that I can squeeze in," returned Lord Huntley, calmly. And Moyra, to Miss Brown's horror, meekly obeyed him. "This poor lady has had nothing to eat all day," he remarked, as he drew the cartridge from his gun and put it in the cart, "and you. and she are going to have a good old-fashioned tea before you go home." "Oh, then we must go to Holycross." Miss de Burgh shamelessly relinquished fighting on side of her scruples. "But I daren't go home in your j carriage, Willie; the servants would !go straight away and tell Granny, and •then I should catch it —and Miss Brown, too, for having had the audacity to get lost," "Well, then I shall drive over in the dog cart close behind you, and you can stick to your beloved tea-tray! : But you are coming in to tea., or I shall get my head broken for not taking better care of you." Moyra laughed. "All right," she said, "but don't blame me if you get a frightful scoldI ing from Granny.She can see through a millstone, if no one else can." Jocelyn looked about her with a kind of surprise when thay entered the library at Holycross. It was not .so grand as Castle de Burgh, but the comfort, of it and the luxury were undeniable. Some one else was surprised, too, at their entrance. Mr Meredith, sitting smoking a cigarette and reading1 a novel, jumped to his feet as they came in. "Moyra!" he cried, increduously,

"where did you come from, and who's, with you?" "Xo one," calmly, "and this is an escapade, and you're not to mention it. We've .come to.tea, and we want everything good in the house." "Tea. is here, but I was waiting for ; Billy." Shaking hands with Miss .Brown, who sat clown in the first chair I she came to, and then going to the aid of Moyra who had begun to make j the tea. "What good wind brought j you, Moyra?" he said, very low, "or have you come to say that your i : father is back and I am to be warned ! off the premises?" "Hush," she said, angrily, "he'd | never do that." And she began to talk | to Jocelyn about the the day's adventures. "I don't think we'd better mention I them at home, do you Willie?" she remarked, rather dryly. "Fancy father's feelings if he heard any one who lived [ in his house had had lunch at the Glen I Farm! Though Gilbert says it's all] nonsense about the Moores being in with the distillers." "Perhaps so," Huntley observed. He had been busy in making Miss Brown ; eat. and dry her wet clothes at the I fire. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark with weariness. Huntley wondered if she could look any handsomer if she were wrapped in a fur- j trimmed driving coat like Moyra's, ; j instead of an old black jacket. It was thin, too, and wet. A sudden idea struck him. lie put down his cup and departed; presently lie stuck his head in at the door. "Traps are there, Moyra, and we'd better get on, 1 suppose," rather ruefully. But as Jocelyn followed the others out lie stopped her. "You must put this on, or you can't go," authoritatively, as he held up a huge fur-lined coat. "That's right," said Moyra. "I was going to a.sk you for something. Come on, Miss Brown." ' ' I Jocelyn was obliged to slip her arms into the soft warmth of the wonderful garment and let Lord Huntley button it up for her, which he did deftly. "Oh, hurry," she cried. "Miss de Burgh is wailing," and she hurried away to get into the cart. But between her and it stood Mr Meredith putting on his gloves. "Oh. you're going with Billy," he observed sweetly, and he got nimbly in beside Moyra. Jocelym istarted. Here she was, whether she would or not, in for a long drive with a man who was Hugo de Burgh's friend, and whose keen eyes she feared for all his kindness Thank Heaven, at least, it was dark!

CHAPTER VII.

TUB VENTILATOR WORKS THE

OTHER WAT.

The days after that visit to Holy Cross passed somehow dragging their dreary length out tediously. It"rained without a break, and long i-ays of mist enshrouded the mountains towards Glen Farm.

Mrs de Burgh's tempers and whims were nearly unbearable, yet Jocelyn saw they came from, some gnawing pain of anxiety that was all the cripple could bear. Gilbert de Burgh avus still in his room apparently, for Jocelyn never saw him, and Mo3rra steered clear of her grandmother's society for excellent reasons; Mrs de Burgh literally could not bear the sight of her, and Miss Brown had not a minute to call her own. She was pale and tired from the heavy air of the scented room, and her only support was the thought that there was no (sign of Hugo's return; the very thought was trying the cripple's endurance to the utmost.

"Stop reading!" the old woman cried suddenly one late afternoon. "I hate that book, the people are so cowardly. You can ring the bell for Matthews to light the lamps and bring tea."

Jocelyn moved thankfully to the bell. After tea the cripple slept a little; she could get away and bathe her tired eyes and rest.

"Hush! stop! What's that?" Jocelyn paused at the quick, sharp order, her lingers on the bell handle. There was a noise in the house, a coming to and fro of servants, a shutting of doors. As the girl stood listening a step came up the passage.

"Oh!" the cripple's eyes fairly flashed with rapture. "It's Hugo; he's come back! You can go," roughly. "I shan't want you any more. No, not that way," as Jocelyn moved to the door in the corridor; "you can go out through my bedroom."

jSliss Brown fled obediently, and Airs de Burgh, as a gentle tap came on the door, poured some scent on her handkerchief and passed it over her face more like a woman who expects her lover than one who waits for her son. She let him knock twice; the girl had better be well out of the way before Hugo came in; he might "fall in love with her; you could never tell with a de Burgh."

The door opened as she thought, and Hugo de Burgh, tall, pale and handsome, crossed the room with the long, languid step that was one of his ways.

"When did yoii come?" she cried feverishly, trying to hold his arm with her frail claws of fingers. "Is there any news? I have been nearly frightened to death here, I don't know why, except that there has been trouble in the cards every clay."

"I have just come; a beastly journey, too."

There was no trace of travelling in his immaculate toilet or on his pale, languid face; but he piit his hand up to his slight black moustache and fingered it restlessly.

"You might have written, or telegraphed!" peevishly.

"You might as well put things in the country newspaper as telegraph anything to this office," he returned contemptuously. "And you're right; there is bad news."

"Stop, don't tell me! Ring first for tea, and lights " she shivered. "I couldn't hear anything in the dark."

Hugo made the tea which a sharp word from his mother had caused to appear with miraculous swiftness, his long, slim hands as deft as a woman's. But he never touched his own, he lit a cigarette and stared into the fire moodily. In the silence a slight sound made him start; he rose and threw open the door into the bedroom.

"I thought I heard the invaluable Matthews in there,' he said dryly. "I don't want her in my confidence. But the room's empty."

"She's at her tea —you must have heard Gilbert moving- in his sitting1 room. He's laid up with a sprained ankle." Mrs de Burgh glanced irresistibly at the open "ventilator"; noteven Hugo knew the secret of it, for she trusted no one. Should she tell him to shut it?

"Sprained ankle, has he? He looked remarkably fit when I saw him driving through the village just now!" Hugo returned.

"Miserable, weak, good-for-noth-ing," she cried sharply. "Never mind him! Shut the door into my room and

get on. Don't you see this waiting is killing- me?" Hugo obeyed, not even taking a cursory glance at the adjoining room, whose walls and doors were all masked with hangings of rose coloured brocade. And the hangings at one spot were moving a little, as if some one had but just passed through them. Jocelyn, dismissed in haste, had stood I longer than she realised, gazing at the | utter luxury of the cripple's bedroom. ! The soft rose colours that were everywhere; the stiff gold brocade ] coverlet to the bed, the toilette table i glittering with ranks of gold topped jbottles and silver brushes; more than all, the counties candles which burned everywhere under rose pink shades, notwithstanding the low lamps which stood on gilded tables. Alicia deBurgh, for nineteen years, had never been one second in the dark. As those 'lights burned now, though the comipanion did not know it, so they would burn till the daylight was clear next day. "Seventeen, eighteen " Miss , Brown was mechanically counting the | candles, when the sound of a man's step in the next room made her look hastily about for the Avay out; she 'had no mind to meet Hugo, the Hugo iof her medallion. There was no door Ito be seen; on all sides of her the : heavy brocade hung in gorgeous folds. "I suppose I shall have to feel all around it. There may be four doors, for all I know,' she thought, vexedly. But luck helped her; her grasping' fingers felt a handle, and the next instant she had slipped through the hangings and opened a door, just in time, if she had known it. As she closed it noiselessly behind her, she stared with surprise at her surroundings. She was not in a passage, but a comfortable, untidy sitting room, smelling of cigars and littered with a | man's untidy orderliness—books,guns, fishing tackle were everywhere, and Miss Brown's heart gave a nervous jump. Mr Gilbert de Burgh's sitting room! What should she do? And that door open opposite was his bedroom, and he must be in there! Jocelyn stood thunderstruck; but there was no sign of any tenant. Air Gilbert sprained ankle and all, was evidently out. "Heaven be praised!" thought she devoutly. "But I'd better get out as fast as I can. I thank goodness the doors here are plain enough." She was crossing the room with swift caution, when something made her pause. On a table between camel's hair brushes, moist colours and a tumbler .of dirty water, lay a half finished water colour, done with a near approach to genius. It was Molly More, the girl at Glen Farm, in the very blue cotton frock in which Jocelyn had seen her! So that was the reason she had been so solicitous about Mr Gilbert de Burgh's ankle! Miss Brown stood motionless in her amazement, so motionless that through that open ventilator there came a sound of voices, each word distinct as if in the very room. "You'd better wait forever than hear my news," said a man's voice. "It couldn't Avell be worse. That girl of Richard's, who lived with Miss Barry, has vanished; clear g-one!" "That girl; Miss Barry!" Jocelyn clutched the stout oak table and held on for dear life, pale and breathless. Why, they meant her! She was the only girl at Miss Barry's. But who was Richard? Dishonourable or not, she would know—and before she could move Mrs de Burgh's voice began: "The girl; is that all? Bah! we can always make her out illegitimate." The listener's eyes flashed, her blood seemed to leap in her. What did they mean? Why were they talking of her, and was she at last to get at the reason of her abrupt dismissal.

"That all?" (How Hugo, for it must be Hugo, drawled! She could have stamped with impatience.) "No; there is a little more. Mr Richard de Burgh, I hear on the best of authority, is at present a gentleman at large."

"Richard!" the woman gasped. "Out of the asylum—escaped? Hugo, you're dreaming—you're not in earnest —it can't be." If the listening girl could have seen her, staring wildly at her son, her parchment-coloured face drawn with terror. "It is, unfortunately," he cut her short, "and for all I know, the girl may be with her father." "Where is he?" Her voice was hollow. Hugo laughed. "In the hollow of my hand," he said composedly. "Up there, with the whisky distillers." "How do you know?" Her face was like a mask of death; only her burning eyes seemed living. An agony that not even Hugo suspected had fallen on her, till its weight seemed to stop her breath. "Price, he wrote to me. That was why I came home." "That man, that man!" she cried. "He will ruin you yet. I always did my own dirty work —that was how I got on." "He's useful. He says the distillers are hiding some one up there; and it must be Richard." "It can't be!" wildly. "Why should you think so?" With Richard out, at large, talking, what would come to Alicia de Burgh? Her terror sickened her. "I know so," Hugo returned laughingly. "Six months ago that Moore girl took the Farm from Huntley. One month ago an attendant named Moore was dismissed from the asylum, and at the same time Richard escaped. That was what took me to London. I thought if I could get the daughter I might get the father." "You knew and never told me!" Her head shaking helplessly, she screamed at him. "You don't know what it means; there is more than even you think, Hugo. I tell you, if Richard is out, and safe, and talks, it is good-bye to Castle de Burgh for you forever. You must go and find him; get him back into the asylum; catch him " her excitement seemed to leave her all in an instant, and her calmness impressed her hearer as her energy had never done. "Alive if you can, but — somehow! I can never rest in my bed till you do." "I mean to-night." He got up and stood over her, his. voice very level and slow, every word distinct. "I'm going to raid that whisky still to-night; the still, do you understand? I'll take Price and a couple of police, and Huntley. He thinks Richard a raving maniac, whatever you do." "You won't take Gilbert? He'd ruin it all with his pity — his kind heart," she sneered, even in her terror that was suffocating her. "Gilbert? No!" scornfully. "But after midnight sometime I hope to have my fingers on your charming stepson."

Mrs de Burgh wrung her hands frantically. A cripple, a helpless log, she must lie here while her very life and death were in the balance. Her head fell back on the cushions; she groaned once, as if she were on the rack. "Miss Barry swears she knows nothing of the girl," Hugo said, and .Tocelyn's stunned brain seemed to revive at the familiar name. What did it all mean? Why had her father been put in an asylum? Was there insanity in her blood, too? "The girl is the least part. A murderer's child is not hard to reckon with—nor a lunatic's," Mrs de Burgh cried fiercely. "Go now; make your arrangements, get everything made safe, and trust nobody. Pont give anyone a chance to turn on you. 11 you fail—oh, 1 can die!"wretched sobs tearing her. "1 can die." "What do you mean?" Even lingo de Burgh caught his breath. "Do you mean he isn't crazy? Or that he dmn t doit?" T .. "I mean he was as sane as you. or i, she said slowly. "That's enough for you. If he talks " "He shan't talk," Hugo answered. "I promise you that." "Then go —go," she said ieeblj. "Pang for Matthews. I must get to ■ "Matthews!" Miss Brown, dazed and faint, made her way to the door. "She may want me next —I mustn t be here." She looked up and down the passage and saw no one; with a wild impulse of flight, she ran down it, and got to her own room. With the door locked she could think, her bands pressed to her burningl brow. Richard de Burgh, Jocelyn de Burgh—that was what Martha meant—that was how she was a de Burgh. Truly, she had gone into the wolf's jaws! Did Hugo know her? Had he ever seen her? She searched and searched her brain and could not tell. ■ "My father " and only yesterday she had not. known she had a father —"up there at the Glen Farm, so near, and so out of reach! Oh, my God! what shall I do?" she spoke out in the awful wave of comprehension that suddenly swept over her. Hugo was going to raid the still; to put her father, who was "sane as you or I," back in the asylum; and his daughter sat there, warm and careless! There was only one thing to do. "I must go and warn them," she was thinking fast and clearly now. "It's only six. Mrs de Burgh won't want me till nine; perhaps not then. I've time. I can say 1 went for a run in the garden." She was putting on her hat_ and coat, and presently in the twilight, stole down the unlit passages and the back stairs to the side door into the garden. It was dark and raining a little, but she could see the way. And if she died for it, she must warn the Moores. Her head went up as she walked; she was as much a de Burgh as Hugo himself, though, thank God! no drop of Alicia's blood ran in her. "Her step-son," Hugo had said; that meant that Richard was his eldest brother. Then what had he done to be put in an asylum while Hugo stood in his shoes? (To be Continued.)