A Daughter of Midian.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 1, 2 January 1901, Page 6

A Daughter of Midian.

By JOHN K. LEYS. Author of " A Sore Temptation," " The Thumb Print," " The Broken Fetter," " In the Toils," " A Million of Money," etc., etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

CHAPTER I.—Professor Zilcatti, an Italian palmist, is consulted by a lady, Miss Grant, as to an undertaking on which she is about to embark. -tie has met her previously at a garden party at Spezzia. He consults her hand ana tells her that her future is fraught with great danger. She desires to look in a magic crystal which the professor has lying on a table, and she makes the necessary arrangements.

CHAPTER 11. —In the crystal she sees a murder enacted, and a man she sees a murder enacted, and a man thrown over a . precipice, and. a person representing herself standing near. sne promises to consult him again. Aitei she has left, a couple of Sisters of Bethany take refuge in his doorway from a thunderstorm, and he assists them in their charity. . After they have left he remembers that he will write to his om friend, and sits down and writes for two hours.

CHAPTER lll.—The professor writIng to his friend, explains that lie has again met Miss Grant in England, and has shown her the crystal, which he had manipulated by means of slides previously prepared.

CHAPTER IV.

MISS GKANT'S STORY.

, For .the rest of that- day Signor Zucatti was in a fever of anxiety. .Miss Grant had not absolutely promised that she would .come to see him on the morrow; She would come, she ■had said, if she made up her mind to confide in him. There was no reason why she should do this, except that she hoped he might be able to help iher in some scheme she had on foot. If only she would give him the chance! It had been on the tip of his tongue to say to her that she would find him capable, resourceful, and not overburdened with scruples; for something in the lady's manner had assured him that it was not any ordinary assistance that she required of him. But he had feared to say too ( much—feared above all to insult her fey assuming that her scheme was not perfectly straightforward. No, he told himself a hundred times that night, he could do nothing but await her decision. To his surprise and delight he saw -Miss Grant drive up to his door the next day before noon. He ordered ler to be shown into a small room on ■the ground floor, and she had scarcely seated: herself when the door opened ■and the Italian stood before her. it struck her at the moment that he looked' a "younger man by- some years than she had supposed. His face was bright with hope. _ "I have lost no time in making up my mind, you see," said she, giving iim her hand. "I thought it well over last night, and I came to the conclu-: sion that since you-are so land as to offer me your help I would be a fool not to take advantage of it. But you —are you quite sure that you are willing- to give a friendless woman your time and your labour without fee .or reward ?" "I can only repeat what I said yesterday, madam," said the Italian, j keeping his eyes cast down that.she ; might not see the joy he felt, tnat j I will acept it as a high honour to be ' allowed to serve you. And the onlyreward I seek is the knowledge that I hafvebeen of use to you." The lady laughed. j "It is easy to see that you are not j an Englishman,"- she said.. "No Englishman could have said- that so .pret- • tily. But I have/had such things said •to We; before now,, and ; —-" . A faint sigh!ended)the sentence. ; . -:■ __• i •"If/you, oan trust me, madam, 1 win ,be trute tp-you,"; said the Italian; and the lady-held : out, her hand to him in silence. .-.When .she- next .spoke there . was a'tremor' in her full rich voice that-told something 01 the effort it obst 'her ,to . unveil ' her- secret. "I am a homeless, friendless woman, and if I were to say penniless, I won d be saying little more than the truth. • An^ that is not the worst-not the " worst for me, at' all events—l am nameless.' If you were to ask me who my 'father and mother were, I could '■ not tell you. If you were to askme whether they were English or foreign-ers,-1 could not say. If you were to '-inquire when I was born, I could only • answer you by a guess.. If you asked •where, I could-only say that to the best of my belief I was born in some foreign country. I am so friendless, that if you were to shoot or stab me hers, at this moment, you could do so with perfect impunity. If you could .only get rid of my poor body, no one would ever trouble you with an inquiry. The things. I have left at my hotel would be sold by and by to pay jny bill;" and there would be the end." The Professor was more than surprised- He had fancied Miss Grant to 'be at least well to do—the society he ■had met her in the year before justified him in supposing that. But_ he allowed no word.or look of astonishjnent to escape him, and sat perfectJy still," waiting for her to say more. "My earliest memory is of being in ii ship at sea," she said, after a long pause; "and that is my only reason for thinking-that I was-not born,in this country. I remember playing about the deck, and being petted by the passen-o-ers. To me, of course, the ship seemed immense, but I am inclined to think 'that it was not a large vessel. The woman.who took care of me was not my:mother. That much I.am sure of. I never was taught to. call anyone .mother. She was called Mrs Martin. Whether that was her real name or not I do not know. Whether sne was a relation of mine, or only paid to look

after me, I cannot tell. We lived in a poor mean house in Brixton. After a time a man came to stay with us, who, I believe, was the woman's husband, perhaps her brother. He was a bigstrong fellow, with a rougn beard of coarse red hair, and I was afraid of him. I can scarcely tell why I was afraid of him, for he took very little notice of me, and never struck or illused me, but I was never easy—l remember that well—when he happened to be in the house. '•'I believe I must have been about six' years old when I was sent to a school.in Holloway. I never saw the house in Brixtou again. I was a boarder at the school, and I lived tnerc, spring, summer, autumn and winter, schooldays and holidays, for twelve long weary years. "One day, when I must have been eighteen or nineteen years old, an elderly gentleman came to see me. The schoolmistress —or principal, as she called herself—called him Mr Gregory, and was very deferential to him. I understood from tills that it was through his hands that the money had come to pay my school bills. He told me that I was now a woman, and that in a very short time I must support myself, and asked whether I had a' special bent in any direction. I told him that I wished to • study music, as my music masters had held out hopes that I might be a great singer some day. He said he would take a note of my desire, and went away.

"I longed to ask him to-tell me something about myself—my parentage, my friends, and prospects —but I was then a shy unformed girl, who had scarcely done so much as cross the street to post a letter on her own responsibility, And I felt certain at th'fi'time, from his stiff, reserved mannw, that to make any appeal of thatkind would be simply to distress myself,..and. expose myself to a rebuff without any result. He looked like a man who could keep a secret, and who meant to do it. Young as I was, inexperienced as I was, I could see that.

I'liJbSveve'r) the interview was not fruitless. I began to take lessons from a good-master, and the following year I wns' sen1 to Milan to complete my education; I never returned to England—noi until this week. I had a fine voice and studied hard, and very soon I was able to give lessons. Then I got an engagement at a concert, and went on the operatic stage. All this time I did not make a single real friend. I had plenty of acquaintances, but no friends who cared for me. For the first two years I received a post-office order every month for my expenses, but at the end of the first year I had a short, curt note from Mr Gregory, giving me notice that at the end of the following year the supply of money would come "to an end. And he was as good as his word. Not another lira was sent to me, and I asked for none.

"But you may be sure I wrote <Jemai.ding to know something of my birth, asking who his client was, and similar questions. I wrote many times. To the first ■ of' these letters I had a formal reply, to the effect that Mr Gregory had no information to give me-—he had made certain payments for me in the course of his profession, and there his interest In the matter ended, and'he remained my obedient servant, A. -M. Gregory.' All my letters after that-remained unanswered.

"It may be that I would'have ceased to trouble myself about the mystery of my birth (for there is little use in knocking one's head against a stone wall), but for a misfortune that befel me this spring. I caught a bad cold, and it turned to inflammation of the •lungs. When I recovered I found that my voice, though not absolutely ruined, was much injured, and—what was even worse—so uncertain that I could no longer rely upon it as a means of livelihood.' • *"'.'.■

"I well remember, the day that the doctor gave his verdict. It was a bright spring day, and the myrtle blossoms were 'peeping through my lattice. He was very kind, but he said quite decisively that although I might sing a little in private, and ~eyen think my voice, as powerful as?_ ever, I,would never be able to go on the stage again. If I did the strain would cause my voice to • break utterly. When he left me I lay a long time by the open window, blind and deaf, so far as the outer world was concerned. No shipwrecked, sailor ever felt more loneiy, more abandoned, than I did at that hour. - And before I rose; from the couch T had made up my mind that as soon, as I could, get a. little money together—for my illness had eaten u^ nearly all my savings—l would go r» England, and, by. fair means . or. by foul,,penetrate the secret of my birth.

"It was not that I wished or expected that my relations would provide .for me. I feel sure that I shall always be able to support myself by giving singing lessons. But I was seized—not for the'first time —with a passionate desire to know my own kith and kin—to have some link with the rest of the human race. It seems to me that I have a right to a place— someplace—in the family of mankind. What, father has a right to make his child an outcast? Why should I be condemned to be a creature apart, as though I were under a curse? Why should I submit to. being deprived of all 'ties hi kindred, of natural human rights, because I have an unnatural father?.

"These. reasons may perhaps not sound very good to you. All I can say is that if you were in my place —if you were a woman, friendless, lonely and poor, you would think them very sound arguments indeed. At any rate, I carried out my resolution so far as coming- to England was concerned. I am here; and now the question confronts me—What shall I do? What is my next step to be? Since I arrived in London I have tried in vain to find the street in Brisrtonwhere I lived, when I was a child. And I am convinced that if I did find it, it would be useless labour. , Both Mrs Martin and her husband must have died or left the neighbourhood long ago. "There seems to-be nothing else to doibut to fall back, upon Mr Gregory,1

and I have left that to the last because something tells me that he will be as obstinate'to mo wlicn I make my demand face to face with him as he was when 1 wrote to him from Italy. I feel powerless to pierce the shield of professional confidence behind which hvi shelters himself. 1 am certain that if I were to go to him, simply demanding that he should tell me something about my parentage, I might cajole and threaten him by the hour without the smallest effect —if he iiid not send for a policeman to turn me out. I must have help. I must have a man's help. I want some reason, some good and sound reason apart from any sentiment of justice, to show why he should make an effort to get his client to declare himself. •Or, failing that, I must light upon stratagem for getting at the secret, and I cannot do that by myself."

"Then you would like me to go with you to this lawyer to speak on your behalf?" interrupted the Italian. "Hardly that," said the lady, with a smile. "I fancy I can speak for myself tolerably well. What I want is a reason—a man's reason—a reason that will appeal to a man like Gregory, and make him think it reasonable that tie should at least communicate wit his client." The Italian sat considering P>v a minute or two. At length he rose, and crosing the room sat do%-»ri at a writing table and began to write rapidly. (To be continued daily.)