SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 122, 25 May 1928, Page 16

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

M m^ 1 ™ is the eldest child of thf Vicar of she Is amanced to MALLERTON, a young doctor. wka 8 *"* e t0 assist a lady has fallen down the side of a disused Jl*. J' 1 ® rescued lady is so grateful -? Maisie, as hostage of her gratitude, a ring of great brilliance, but peculiar appearance, the setting of the stones forming a strange hieroglyphic. j.ne woman. MHS. BANBEBRY, tells Maisie to keep the ring for two months, then bring it to Key dell Court, when she will have the gleasure of giving her the reward it is r er , Arm purpose to bestow. She obtains ualsle's promise that she will not wear «ie ring or show it to anyone until the day she returns it to Reydell Court. A MB. RODNEY GLASHIER comes to stay at the village Inn with his servant— «> CHUNG—a Chinaman. Maisie and Hurray take an Instant dislike to these two. Glashier calls on the vicar, and Fo Chung amuses Malsie's younger brothers and sisters by showing them conjuring tricks. He says he could show them the best trick of all if only he had a ring. The vicar is seriously pressed with bills, and Glashier obliges him with a small loan, and says he will not consider this a debt If he can have a small gift as compensation. He would prefer a ring, If Maisie had an old one of any sort to give him. Can Fo Chung and Glashier possibly have anything to do with Mrs. Banberry and the mysterious ring? Glashier is not convinced when Maisie says she has no ring, and threatens her. Later Fo Chung by artful means, conto lock himself in Maisie's bedroom, and make a frantic search for the ring. He is not successful, however, and escapes by the window. Maisie is now thoroughly alarmed, and determines to take the ring back to Mrs. Banberry, although the stipulated time is not yet up. CHAPTER VII. *1 wonder," murmured Maisie to herself, as she hurried down a long hill, "why everyone looks surprised when I ask the way to Reydell Court. I shouldn't think Mrs. Banberry was a very popular person!"

There had been plenty of conveyances at Skivington station, for the place was more town than village, but Maisie had no money to spare for cabs or taxis, though her heart had sunk on hearing that Beydell was six miles distant.

And those six miles had been the longest she had ever walked. Twice she had missed her way. Indeed, the whole day had been unlucky; ahe had lost her connection, had changed trains twice, and now to her dismay found the short November afternoon beginning to close in.

The idea of walking back to Skivington was most wearyful. Maisie hoped ardently that the gratitude of Mrs. Banberry would rise to a conveyance. At long last a girl pointed her to tumble-down gates, which apparently led to her Mecca.

"That's Reydell Court," said the girl slowly. "It's a queer old place, it is. More fuller of toadies an' bats nor anythink."

"Doesn't a Mrs. Banberry live there?" asked Maisie. "A—a rather rich lady."

"Dunno for riches," replied the artless maiden with a vigorous headshake. "Her's queer, so folkeses say. Only got two servants, a man an' a woman. They ain't regular English an' they ain't Tightly foreign. Sorter twixt an' between Bat they keeps to theirselves an' don't trouble the village. All their food stuffs barrin' bread and milk come down by rail, I've heard. And now there's talk of the lady goin' away and the place to be sold by Sir Eustace.?' This did not sound very encouraging, but Maisie, after all, was only concerned about returning a talisman to its owner. As she went up the winding drive the girl could not help wondering whether the ugly old ring could really possess any magic power for good. Drip! Drip! sounded, as the drops of moisture resolved from the fog which crept down like some grey panther, fell from the screening twigs where bare boughs met and interlaced.

Drip! Drip! "Beastly!" said Maisie, aloud and energetically.

If only tiresome old Sir Archibald had not thought about dying just at this Cirticular time she would have asked urray to come with her. She hated the lonesome feeling at her heart. Keydell Court was as dilapidated in appearance as its gates, a typical old "family seat" where the family has long since fallen, like its own ancestral pile, into decay, Maisie, remembering how the village girl had mentioned a "Sir Eustace," felt pity for the unknown owner, for—if it hadn't been so. tumble-down—the place would have been picturesque enough with its high gables, mullioned windows and broad black beams. As to the grounds; the shrubs were gorgeous, and the weeds most prolific.

Altogether, Keydell Court was the "back of the beyond."

Maisie had to possess her soul in patience as she waited at the front door, intermittently pealing the rusty old bell. She longed to hammer on the blistered panels, but felt it to be incompatible with dignity. Stepping back at lust, she surveyed the house. The blinds were up, and all the windows closed, screened, too, by untrimmed creepers; but Maisie noticed a woman looking down from an upper window. It was not Mrs. Banberry, but answered quite well to the .description of the "twixt and between" foreign servants given by the villager. The woman was about forty, black-haired and handsome, but in a foreign fashion. Her skin was dark and her eyes slightly oblique. Seeing herself observed, the woman withdrew, and, shortly afterwards, the front door was opened by Mrs. Banberry hei self, though Maisie hardly recognised her. The heroine of the oalteis Pits adventure looked ill and anxious, her face had become thinner, and she was wrapped in a 16ng woolly brown coat which did not look of English make, °

At sight of the visitor the remaining colour drained from her cheeks, and she looked as if she were about to faint. "You!" she exclaimed. "You! Why have you come now? I told you two months. Yesterday I wrote to ask you to postpone your visit for another six weeks—till Christmas time."

Her agitation was extreme, and, as she spoke, she clung for support to' the door.

"I came to return your talisman," said Tvlaisie, quite dismayed by such a reception, and regretfuly dismissing a cherished hope of that, promised reward. "May I come in and explain ray reason for doing so?"

Mrs. Banberry leaned forward, peering out into the fog which was rapidly blotting out the landscape, , through which both ahruta and leafless trees loomed gaunt and grim.

"Are you alone?" she asked, her voice trailing into a low hiss of intense anxiety. "Quite alone," replied Maisie. "May I come in?" Mrs. Banberry stepped back. "Yes, yes," she said impatiently, "As you are here, you had better come in. I shall catch my death of cold if I stay here, for I have been ill. What a sudden fog! I hate fogs; they—they hide things—and people." Maisie felt decidedly uncomfortable. She could not help recalling what Rodney Glashier had said about this relative being mad. She certainly behaved like it, and looked —odd—as well as ill. Heartily wishing she had never oome, and resolved to leave as Boon as possible, Maisie crossed the threshold. Mrs. Banberry instantly closed the door after her and began barring and bolting it. Maisie noticed that though the door was old and dilapidated the bolts were new and strong. A small fire burned in the hall grate affording the little light there was! Maisie looked around and shivered. In spite of the fire, the place swelt damp. And, oh! how gloomy it was. Black oak wainscoting ran round the walls; there were some very ancestral and ugly portraits and most uncomfortable antique chairs and a table. Mrs. Banberry opened a door on the left and led the way into a lamp-lit and quite comfortable apartment. It must have been the original library, and there were still many fusty old books on the shelves, and what surprised Maisie was to see that the room had evidently been converted into a bed sitting room, part of it being screened and fitted with bed washingstand and wardrobe. A travelling trunk of compressed cane was placed against one of the bookcases whilst the other part of the room reintact in its original character. Mrs. Banberry watched her visitor's face of surprise and smiled. I told you," she said, "on a former occasion that I suffered with my heart. I have been forbidden to go up and down stairs, that is why I practically live in this room. To tell the truth, when I rented this house I expected to fill it with a large party of friends, but I have been disappointed. Financial catastrophes ruined my plans, and I live here $,lone with my two faithful servants, Mito and Sana. Come and sit down, my dear, after taking off that damp coat. I will ring for tea and then you shall tell me what brought you to-day. w Maisie was only too glad to obey. The very word tea was refreshing. She was very tired and very cold. Mrs. Banberry's manner had completely changed. Instead of speaking resentfully at Maisie's call she did her best to make her comfortable.

"I suppose this is a typical English November," she exclaimed. "And I guess I hope it's the first and last I shall ever locate. It's lucky Sir Eustace left plenty of coal in his cellars." As she spoke she heaped fuel on to the already blazing fire and drew an easy chair close. "Wait a moment," she said. "Your skirt is soaking. Take it off and pop on my dressing gown. That is better. Ah. Sana, you see my visitor has come. Bring tea quickly and plenty of cakes. Sana is always making cakes," she added to Maisie. "And very good they are."

"She is not English, is she?" said Maisie, feeling half her miseries slipping from her as she sat toasting her toes over the cheery blaze. Mrs. Banberry shook her head.

"No," she replied. "She is Tibetan, or rather I should say a native, as her husband is, of Lolo Land. I was travelling in that most interesting but alarming country of unexplored wonders, with my late husband and my younger brother, and Mito and Sana returned with me. I am afraid, however the tale of their leaving their native land is too long to explain at present. Ah, here is tea. you will be glad of it." Maisie was surprised that her hostess had not alluded to the reason 'for her visit, and, putting her hand to her throat, untied the ribbon holding the ring in its hiding place. "I would rather give back your talisman first," she said. "I am very glad indeed to say good-bye to it." Mrs. Banberry held out her hand and took the ring. She did not display any unusual emotion.

"Of course," she said, "I am delighted to see it back, but what vexes me is that I have not the power yet to reward you for the great service you rendered me on that terrible day. You smile. Ah, but you do not know what heart trouble means, or at lease " and she glanced at Maisie's left hand on which sparkled a pretty little engagement ring—"only a very curable kind. But give mo your hand a moment and you shall try to realise what I suffer even whilst I am talking to you." She took Maisie's hand and laid it against her left breast. The girl could feel the wild bounding of the other's heart, which seemed to tell of some torturing excitement. Pity filled her. "I am sorry,'' she exclaimed. "How terrible. But please do not talk of leward. I am only glad to have helped you that day. And equally glad, to have restored your talisman. I found it too— difficult—a responsibility to keep longer." Mrs. Banberry thrust the ring into her dress and took up the teapot. "You must positively have tea first," she said. "There will be plenty of time for storytelling afterwards."

Maisie flushed. "I am afraid I ought not to delay," she replied. "I promised to be home early; my people will be anxious. I "

"It is quite impossible," said Mrs. Banberry firmly, "for you to think of leaving the Court before to-morrow. I have no sort of conveyance, and—look at the fog." She drew back a heavy curtain as she spoke, and Maisie saw to her dismay, that the fog had come down so thickly as to bring premature night. It would be sheer madness to think of walking six miles to the station along an unknown road. (To be continued daily.)