A Daughter of Midian.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 19, 23 January 1901, Page 6

A Daughter of Midian.

By JOHN K. LEYS.

CHAPTER XVIII,

tfffE MEETING AT THE LODGE

It was about a week after my visit to Glasgow that I resolved to make arcther effort to gain some definite knowledge of my parentage, if possible from Mrs MePhail, the factor s mother. 1 bad seen her once or twice siuce I left her son's house, but I had tad no conversation with her of any consequence. I chose a time—eleven in the forenoon—when I thought she would be alone, her son being gone about the business of the estate, and ier da-uo-liter busy with household 01----fa:rs. The old woman was alone, as X naa anticipated, sitting in the chimney corner with some knitting in- her hands.

It was easy to get her to speaK afcout my mother, but -what with h<r Scotch dialect and her endless digressions, it was difficult to make put anything definite. Of course, she supposed she was speaking- to my sister, Sidney, and she did not seem to know more than I already knew—that Sidney had had a younger sister, who was supposed to be dead. I was listening- in a half-absent mauD*r tc her droning- talk when I Heard the sound of wheels outside, and 2 rose to my feet. "Sit ye doon," said the old woman, tugging at the skirt of my gown; and I sat down, though I did not care particularly to meet the factor, who was apparently coming home. Then I [heard the sound of several voices in the hall, and rose once more. At that instant the door opened, and McPhail's wife appeared, carrying an old fashioned carpet bag. Close befcind her came her husband, and with ihim another woman, at sight of whom a sea of half-forgotten memories swept over my brain, confusing me to th.-vt extent that I scarcely knew where I ■was. It was Mrs Martin! I remembered the "dour," though not unkindly face, with the long upper lip, and the cold light-coloured in a moment. This was the .woman who had brought me from 'Australia—the woman who could prove, if anyone could, that I was really the daughter of James Grant. The consciousness of this fact made me for the moment forget the danger in which I stood; but even if I had remembered it, I could not have escaped. rAs it was, it was not until the woman Iheld out her hand, exclaiming, "Miss Sybil! lis this really you?" that the truth flashed upon me. My secret was mine no longer! The days when I could masquerade as Sidney Grant were at an end. _■ ■ '.. Fexpectea, in "a stupia sort of way, that the next moment the air would be filled with exclamations—that I would be denounced as an imposter on the spot. But apparently neither McPhail, who nodded to me in his grufE way, nor his wife, seemed.to take any notice of the Christian name by ■which Mrs Martin had addressed me. Probably they thought they hod heard her imperfectly, and at any rate they had no great interest in the matter. With the old woman, however, it was different. She bent forward in eager curiosity, and turned her withered face first to Mrs Martin and then to me, as though demanding an explanation. "How are ye, mother?" said Mrs Martin, going over to her mother, and kissing her in a rough, perfunctory fashion. "This warm weather 'II just suit you. Yon don't look a day older jthan when I saw you last year." Good manners would have compelled me to depart and leave the family to themselves; but my wits had returned to me, and I was extremely anxious to make Mrs Martin of some use to me — j In other words, to get some information out of her—before the inevitable (disclosure was made to her that I had jbeen living at the Castle under another name. And chance seemed to j favour me. McPhail went out to "see about the beast," as h.e called putting , up the horse, and Mrs McPhail went upstairs to take off her bonnet. Mrs (Martin sat down beside her mother, and I seated myself opposite to her. "It seems strange to meet you again, after all these years," I began. "You are the first person I remember, Mrs Martin." "Ay, I would be that." "Did you bring me over from Aus- ' tralia yourself?" "What makes you think you ever law Australia?" (frowning). "Oh, because I know my father and mother lived there—and I know my Bister was born there. Besides, I have gome recollection of being in a big ship when I was a very little thing— before we lived in London." "Humph!" "I wish you would tell me something about my father and mother, Mrs Martin. Did they die soon after I was born?" "Ay, ye were but a baby when they died." "My father's name was James, wasn't it —James Grant?" "Yes—James Grant. But what for do ye spier sac mony questions at me? Can ye no spier them at him wha best behoves tae answer them?" "Who do you mean?" I asked innocently. "Wha wad I mean but Maister Mitchell?" "Mr Mitchell? Oh, he doesn't seem yery ready to talk about my father." "And what brings you here?" A long residence out of Scotland had made a change in Mrs Martin's .way of speaking —at least she did not ■use the broad Scotch in London. But I imagine that when she returned to her own country the old way of speaking returned to her, as it was natural it'should.

"I came to see Mr Mitchell," I said

(To be continued.)

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

lightly. "He said I had greatly changed. But you knew me at once, didn't you, Mrs Martin?" "Ou, ay, I kent ye fine. You an ere a weel grown lassie when ye gaed to the schule. An' ye've grown up a braw wumman —my certes! A fine lass, wi' a wull o' her am, 1 reckon."

I laughed, and taking off my hai pushed back my hair, to gain, if possible, a few minutes more. But Mrs Martin said nothing more of any importance, and I felt certain that Mrs MePhail, if not her husband, would be back directly. 1 was anxious to get away before the question that I had see.n more than once shaping itself on the. old woman's trembling lips was put and answered —the question whether 1 was Sidney Grant or not.

"Well, Mrs Martin, 1 must be going,' I said, rising and tying on my hat.

"I'm so glad to have seen you again. But you haven't told me where you are, living.now."

"I bide at Perth. I'm housekeeper to a gentleman there," she replied, "a doctor that's a widower and has nae family."

That was enough for me. I knew where to find Mrs Martin if 1 should want her, and somehow I had niore confidence in her than in her brother. I believed that if ever she were brought into a court of law she would speak the 'ruth.

I bade good-bye to the old lady in the chimney corner, and Mrs Martin accompanied rue as far as the house door.

"Mrs Martin," I said, as I took her band in mine at parting, "if you have anything that belonged to my father or mother—anything, no matter how trifling it may be—an old letter, a book, an old photograph, I do wish you would let me have it. I have hardly anything that belonged to either my father or my mother. Will you look among your old things, and see if you cannot find anything that belonged to one or other of them?"

She shook her head, and withdrew her hand from mine.

"There is no time now," I -went on, "but perhaps if I came down this afternoon you would be willing to tell me more about them—about their life in Australia, and how they died—" The woman started, and a shudder ran through her gaunt, bony frame, while an indescribable change came over her face. It turned an ashy grey. With a strong effort she controlled herself.

"If you tak' my advice, Miss Grant, you'll let your f aither an' your mither bide still in their graves. Don't seek to meddle with what does not concern you. Let the past bury its dead, asthe Scripture says,. and. never more speak the name of your faither or your maither."

With these strange words sounding in my ears I left the house.

STATUTORY DECLARATION. I, Sarah Lucas, of Keppel Street, Arch Hill, Auckland in the colony of New Zealand, do fio'.emnly and sincerely declare that I have carefnlly read the annexed document, consisting of three folios and consecutively numbered from one to three, and ihat it contains and is a true and faithful accotmt of my illness and cure by Clements Tonic, and also contains my rail permission to publish in any way my statements—which I give voluntarily, without receiving any payment; and I make this solemn declaration conscientiously believing the same to be true, and by virtue of the provisions of an Act of the General Assembly of New Zealand, intituled "The Justices of Peace Act, iBBj." Declared at Arch Hill this twenty-fourth day o! October, one thousand nine hundred, before me, J. CATCaPOLB, J.P.