A Daughter of Midian.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 20, 24 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.

CHAPTER XIX. THE ABYSS OF THE PAST. My mind was in a tumult as I made my way back to the Castle, but my chief feeling, I think, was one of bitter disappointment. I had thought that I was getting on so well —I had in fact discovered more than at one time I had thought possible; and now the end had come! Nothing could be more certain than that exposure must come, and that quickly. The McPhail family would naturally talk about me, and almost immediately they would discover that the factor, his wife and mother supposed me to be Sidney Grant, while his sister knew that I was another woman altogether. Then, of course, the factor would tell his employer that he was sheltering an imposter under his roof- A. -M • Thinking over this I came to the conclusion that the best tiling I could do was to forestall McPhail, and tell Mr. Mitchell at once who I was, and the reason I had had. in passing myself off for my sister. The knowledge that I was approaching a crisis in my life made me grave and silent during luncheon. I shrank from meeting Mr. Mitchell's eye. When the meal was over I followed him' into his own room, and asked him if he could spare me half an hour. He frowned, but pointed to a seat, and I sat down opposite him. It was not an easy task to begin, and 1 thought the best way was to go to the root of the matter at once. # "I have seen Mrs. Martin, McPhail s sister, to-day," I said, "and I knew her at once. She is the woman 1 used to live with in London." Mr. Mitchell stared at me, and his jaw dropped in pure astonishment. "But—but you never were in London!" he gasped out. "Yes. I lived in Brixton with Mrs. Martin before I went to school You are thinking of my sister—Sidney Grant." _~ The man's face turned grey. His eyes never left off staring at me. He tried to speak, and could not. His hand went up to hi. collar as though he had been choking, and at length the words came, almost in a whisper. "Are you not Sidney Grant? You said you were!" "I think not. You supposed me to be Sidney, and I did not contradict you. But it comes to much the same thing." "Who are you, then . "I am Sybil Grant, James Grants Youngest daughter." 3 "Nonsense! The child died years and years ago!" , .. "That can hardly be, seeing that J am alive now. I* am Sybil Grant. "You'll have to prove it!" "Nothing easier." I spoke with, a quiet confidence thai I was very far from feeling, but the effect on Alexander Mitchell was remarkable. He shrank back into himself as it were, and glanced at me m a furtive way. Anyone looking on would'have supposed that it was h€ that was the culprit, that it was he that had to fear exposure, not 1. -EM in a few seconds he had to some extent recovered himself, and began tc bluster. . . "And you've "been living- liere all ____- time under false pretences! Do yoiJ know, young woman, that I coulfl send for the police, and have you senl to gaol for that?" His courage rose with the sound of his own voice. Answer me! Are you aAvare that it rests with me whether yon sleep to-nigM in the lock-up at Dunolly or not? "I think, Mr. Mitchell, the less saic about prisons the better—for youi sake as weU as mine." The shaft struck home. I saw that in spite of the torrent oi indignant utterance that struggled to his lips he was ill at ease—that, in a word, n I had cause to fear him, he had as srreat or greater reason to fear me. "I am perfectly ready to go before a magistrate at once," I saad, to put an end to his threats. "But you need not suppose that I will be silent as to the reason I had for what I have done I will tell the world that you brought me up in secret, pretending that I was dead, and never allowing: me to know who my relations were. I managed to get your address-never mind how— and came here determined, that, if possible, I would find out th.c truth.. McPhail's mother took me far my sister. Till that hour I did not so much^as know that I had a sister, or that I had any right to the name I bear." "Neither you have!" he broke in. iYou are "

"Stop!" I cried. "Before you say anything to cast a slur on my mother's memory you-may as well knew that I have consulted a lawyer in Glasgow, and he will make sure that there is no record of a second marriage." Once more Mr Mitchell's eyes dropped before mine, but he still blustered. "Much good it will do you! You will only publish your own shavme! And this is what one gets for befriending aii orphan! Pretty gratitude! McPhail was quite night—l sho.aid have left you to take your chance o^t dn Australia."

"And why did you not leave me in 'Australia, Mr Mitchell?" I asked coollly. "If you mean that your sole motive was pity for a friendless orphan-, I can only say that I have a difficulty in believing you. For, in that case, what reason had you for hiding me. away so carefully from the world, and giving out that I was dead?" The man's brow darkened, and the hand outstretched across the table trembled visibly. He was evidently •thinking whether he should say some- .

thing or not; and iv spite of my brave words my heart sank, for fear of what he might say next. He rose and rang the bell. " <Vsl_ Miss Dalrymple to step here a moment," he said to the man who answered it. We sat in silence till Miss Dalrymple's thin flushed face appeared in the doorway. "I call you to witness, Anne, MiMitchell said excitedly, the instant the door had closed, "that it is not of my own choosing that I say what I am about to say. She has brought it up:on herself. It seems" (turning to me) ; "that' this young lady is not Sidney ! Grant, as we all imagined her to be." j (Miss Dalrymple's face was a study at •that moment.) "She admits as much I herself."

He paused, and in a cold, hard voice very unlike my own I owned that what he said was true. "She says she is Sidney Grant's younger sister, Sybil. Supposing that she is, I don't know what claim she has on me, but it is true that if she is James Grant's daughter, 1 paid for her education—and this is how she repays me!"

" 'Hut,' she says, 'you have a motive in bringing me up in ignorance of my parentage, and letting the world suppose that 1 was dead.' True, I had a reason, and she little supposes what that reason was. Else she would not have provoked me into telling her. She would have remained quiet—in the background—and if she had wanted help, I, who have already spent pounds and pounds upon her, would have been ready to give it. But she has no gratitude, not a spark. She comes here under a false name, and forces me in selfdefence to tell her the truth." Here he broke off, and turned fiercely upon me, like a wild beast turning on its prey. "I'll give you one more chance," he said, viciously. "Will you go away, and trouble us no more?"

"No, I will not!" I cried, involuntarily rising to my feet. "Whatever you have to tell me I can bear it. But I do not believe "

"You do not believe!" he sneered. "You will believe nothing on my word. Well, here are the papers—it is lucky that I kept them." He unlocked a drawer in his writing-table ac he spoke, ancl after a little search brought out a bundle of old newspapers, tied together with tape. These he laid on the table before me. "You can take them away and study them if you have a mind," he said, with a cruel smile, "and when you have read them you can come and tell me whether I was right in concealing your existence from the world or hot."

"What do you mean?" I asked stupidly.

"Mean! I mean that your mother was a murderess! She was charged with the murder of your father, ancl she would have been hanged for the crime if she had not died in prison before her trial."

Something seemed to give way or break in my head. I could not see, and stretched out my hands like a blind man groping his way—and I remember nothing more.

(To be continued.)