UNKNOWN

Daily Telegraph (Napier), 19 June 1886, Page 5 (Supplement)

UNKNOWN

■E PARR. , I. terview. camo sullenly up and the sough of i and shriek about library rich with the lore of ages, and furnished with princely magnificence, a man sat gloomily listening, now and then lifting his bowed head with a sharp, alert movement, as if expectant of some other sound. Directly it came—a quick but cautions tap upon the closed shutters of ono of tho long, low windows. ' At last!' he muttered. Speaking the words he rose from his seat beside the table, extinguished tho light, and groped his way to the window. In a moment it was open. 1 Is it you, Lawrence ?' he asked, softly, | gazing out at the figure, barely discernible in the double darkness of the night and the overhanging branches of tho overgrecn trees. ' Yes, my lord—Lawrence,' was breathed as softly in reply. ' Give mo your hand. So ! The room is dark.' Tho man safe within, tho shutters wero closed, the curtains droppod, and the lamp re-lighted. For a moment the two stood looking at each other. His lordship looked with a keen, incisive gazo that would fain have penetrated the soul of the man before him, while the man returned it with one of uneasy enquiry and doubt. His lordship broke the silence. ' You are late,' he said. Then, suddonly interrupting tho explanation parting the man's lips, added, quickly : ' It eloes not matter. You are here now. Sit down.' He pointed to a chair opposite the one he had just vacated, at the same time re-seat-ing himself. There was another moment of silence, in which they looked at each other, the unshaded glow of the Argand lamp falling full upon both. His lordship was a man well past sixty. He was short and thin, and the waxen whiteness of his delicate features spoke plainly of some wearing disease. His hair and beard wero an iron grey; his eyes small, dark, and unpleasant in a certain vindictivoness of expression that had survived even tho brooding melancholy and unrest stamped upon his countenance. The man so intently regarding him was also short and slim, but quito ten years younger, and in perfect health. He was boardiess, of light complexion, and the prevailing expression of his large-featured face one of indolent good nature. He had once served his lordship as valet. From that position he had retired twenty years before. It was at the time of their return from a protractod stay on the Continent with the motherless heir to the earldom of Langdon. From that time to this the two had never met. Now the ex-valet's anxiety overbore his respect. He spoke first. 'Your lordship's note,' he said—'your lordship's note, with its dark hints, and the summons here, flustered mc. I hope nothing is amiss, my lord f' There was a moment's pause. The answer slow, brief, emphatic, followed : ' Something is amiss. I repent!' said the earl. . Lawrence Hood fell back before the answer as if he had been struck. The next instant he cried, tremulously : ' What does your lordship mean ? Not— not—' 'Yes ; I mean that !' returned the earl, as Lawrence finished his question with a mute, pleading look. ' I mean that when I am gone the wrong shall be righted—the lie confessed. I have sent for you to toll you so, and—to pay you for the disappointment.' * It's hard lines on Bobby—it's very hard on Bobby, after being brought up to it!' murmured the ex-valet, in troubled tones. ' Hard lines! And what of these twenty years in which he has lived like a prince ? And these last four, in which he has run riot in vice, wasting my substance, and disgracing the name of Langdon every hour that he breathed ? Hard lines ! Ah ! cursed bo the hour when I vengefully exalted your low-born son to my side as the rightful heir to my title and es—' He stopped, starting violently, while Lawrence Hood sprang to his feet, and shot a glance of questioning alarm about the length and breadth of the room. With tho sough of tho wind and the swash of the breaking waves a quick, hissing breath had seemed to mingle. ' Wo are not alone!' said the ex-valet, in smothered accents. ' That was a man's ' ' It was a freak of the wind. Now and then it hisses up the chimney liko some human thing,' interposed the earl, recovering himself. ' Besides, no ono could bo here ; tho place has been closed for the past six weeks. There ! Hear that!' Lawrence turned toward tho firoless hearth, listened a moment, and sat down again convinced. 1 ho carl resumed. But directly a pair of blazing eyes peered cautiously from behind the massive back of a lounge in a distant corner of tho room, and watched the speaker with a fixed and deadly malevolent gaze. 'Yes, I repent!' went on tho earl, his voice quivering with all the bitter passion with which he had before spoken. ' Ho is a curse to me, a disgrace to my proud name, and will soon be a pest—' Lawrence Hoad's easy good-nature gave way a trifle.. He interposed, a little sullenly : ' The boy might have done well enough if he'd been left to his own kind, and the earning of an honest living.' ' Evil is in him,' answered the earl, silencing tho outburst with a peremptory wave of the hand. 'But ho shall have grace—double grace—both time and money. Despite my ill health I may live for some years ; and while I live he shall continue to be recognised as my son ; but when I die—the lawful heir will assume his rights.' He paused, and took from his breast a roll of bank notes. He unfolded it. He resumed: ' I said he should have money. Here it is. Invest it, reaely for his hour of need. He has been educated to expensive habits, and it is only an act of justice on my part to secure him the means of a fresh and honorable start iv life.' ' As usual, your lordship is munificent,' replied Lawrence, somewhat appeased by the amount placed in his hands. _' But I wonder your lordship don't wait till—till the eDd comes—till you are gone.' 'One thing only will be done iv this matter when I am gone—the proofs of my deception estaolishedi I choose, for various reasons, to indemnify Robert now or never.' He spoke with quick, stern emphasis, and rose, thus declaring the interview ended. But as he rose he laid a few notes, extracted from the sum just bestowed, across Hood's hand. ' It is the price of your disappointment, he said. The ex-valet renewed his thanks, and then added, with a touch of bis former sulkiness: ' Another man wouldn't take a price— he'd hold your lordship to your bargain. But I'm too easy, and ready to make terms —' ' Since it would be impossible to do anything else!' interposed the earl, with haughty scorn. ' But it grows late—it is time you were'going.' ' Well, I suppose your lordship's right ; anyhow I'm too easy. I wish your lordship luck and a long life, especially for poor Bobby's sake.' He bowed, moved to the window that haa admitted him, and the earl extinguished the light. A minute later the earl was alone. ' The first step taken !' he muttered, as the flame of the lamp again shed it's glow about the room, 'but—the second ?' Ho loft the table and began walking to and fro in Bhort turns, his chin upon his breast, his hands clenched at his back. ' No,' he presently went on. ' I will not do that. Robert, I am convinced, has more than or.cc opened my escritoire. I am here. I will make it safe here. His dishonorable hands must never fall upon it. For, Bince I cannot cover myself with shame by a confession during my life, I will insure its publicity -when I am dead. Gibbs is out of London at present; but this day week he returns. This day week, then, I place a sealed paper in his hands with instructions to open it immediately after my death. That paper will simply Btate where and how another paper at Langdon Abbey is to be found. That other paper fonnd, justice will be done. It is a late repentance, hut, thanks to Heaven, not too late. I shall die in peace.' He stopped his hurried walk, seated himself at the table, and took from ono of its drawers a supply of writing materials. For the next hour the profound silence of the room "was broken only by the rapid scratch of his pen. .....,".. And for the next hour the secreted watcher hided his time. Once ho rose and mado a few stgalty pteps in the direction of the" absorbed writer, as the latter sat with bjs back toward him, and then, suddenly

aia purpose, smiled darkly^meT HKfted again. w ~ The earl finished his task. His hands were cramped and blue with cold, but a restful satisfaction composed his features. He lighted a wax candle standing on the table, and taking up the oarefnlly-soaled document, left the room. In a moment the secreted man was on his feet. He was a tall, dark, lithe young- fellow, well-formed and handsome, the world said. But at this moment his aspect was that of a fiend incarnate. His olive skin was livid even to the lips, juet showing through the coal-black moustache, and his coal-black eyes scintillated with the deepest and deadliest malevolence. He leaped to the door by which the carl had departed, and, placing his car against the crack, listened to the steps ringing lightly from the marble floor of the hall without. 'Ah !' he laughed evilly, after a little, 'he takes that way ! —As I thought!' He opened the door softly. He leaned out cautiously. Tho next instant he stopped from the room, reclosed the door, and ran headlong toward another, from which issued a faint ray of receding light. CHAPTER 11. A DANOEEOUS SPY. The Earl of Langdon's unsuspected pursuer reached the door, glanced into the long stone passage on which it opened, and again darted fleetly forward. As he did so tho earl, visible at tho extreme end, disappeared and the light with him. But, dark as it was, the pursuer ran on boldly. The passage wis empty, and his boots were carefully felted. Arrived at the spot where the earl had vanished, he turned sharply into another passage, some ten feet long, and descending by a few broad stono steps to an ancient sacristy. The sacristy opened into as ancient a jhapel. His lordship had already entered and crossed the former, and was in the act of swinging back the chapel door. With his unseen pursuer cautiously upon bis heels, he passed into the chapel. Despite its great age it had been kept in % state of excellent preservation ; but the lim aisles, high altar, long, slit-like winlows, ancient benches, and huge curtained family pew, looked strangely weird in the lull, flickering gleam of the candle. The two men saw nothing of its weirdaess. Each was intent upon his purpose. Lord Langdon emerged from the sacristy in the shadow or' tho towering pulpit's winding stairs. But once within the chapel his step slackened. Directly ho stopped. He looked thoughtfully toward a low iron Soor, a few feet in tho rear of the pulpit. The door opened into the crypt of the old sepulchred Langdons. After a moment the earl, as if casting off fill doubts, moved briskly toward it, and, taking a key that hung in a little niche close by, proceeded to insert it in tho lock. The key inserted, he suddenly paused. Moved by somo mysterious instinct he suddenly turned around. His pursuer, cautiously alert, was just stealing out of sight beyond the. pulpit stairs. The earl saw him. With a_ angry aspiration and a lightning movement he thrust the candle into the niche and leaped the space between them. The fellow tried to fieo. The earl was too quick for him. In tho semi-darkness beneath the overshadowing pulpit he seized him as he darted crouchingly among the benches. ' You villain !' he cried. ' You insolent villain! And you have dared to watch mo!' His hand fastened firmly upon the back of the fellow's coat collar, he hurried him head-long round to the sacristy door. ' You villain !' he went on, ' how did you make your way—' There his voice failed. Hi.s hand dropped to his side like lead. The light from the glimmering candle had suddenly shown him tho captive's face. Like one struck with catalepsy he stared at the face. It only mocked him with glittering eyes and curling lips. Presently he stirred, muttering faintly, dazedly: •Robert!' At that the curling lips opened. 'Robert! —Robert—Hood, at your service !' Again tho earl stood dumb, motionless. Again the young fellow mocked him with silent lips and scintillating eyes. At last Lord Langdon faltered, uncertainly : ' I—thought you were in—in Paris.' ' I am here, my good father!' He laughed evilly, paused a moment, and then went sneeringly on : ' One day you left a letter on your writ-ing-table addressed to Lawrence Hood. I read the superscription with a certain fmrprise. In the course of years I had learned that a Lawrence Hood had onco been your valet. Why should you be writing to your old valet ? I asked myself that question with rising curiosity. I answered it in my own way. I opened the letter. As you can imagine, its contents only whetted my curiosity. I resolved to be present at the interview at Langdon Abbey on the evening of the 18th of November. I was present. I—am here! Need I say for what purpose ? Need I say lam not '«ny,' like my revered parent? I think you understand that I meant to quietly possess myself of the proofs that Solicitor Gibbs was to find. I think you also understand I mean now to have them, and likewise to insist on the absolute relinquishment of your design. I propose, my excellent father, not only to retain my exalted position during the term of your life, but long after your bones have been sepulchred with your ancestors. So that paper, if you please! Next, if you please, the irrevocable promise of a Langdon.' He paused, his hand extended, his eyes fixed menacingly upon the earl's. The response was as unexpected as sudden. Before he knew what had happened to him the earl had swung him off his feet, and he lay in a heap beyond the pulpit stairs. The next instant the candle was extinguished. The next there was a quick sound of a grating key, a soft, almost noiseless rush, and all was still. Surprised, confused, onraged, the defeated man struggled up with a savage oath. But the oath died on his lips as that gentlo rush caught his ears. 'Hah!' he breathed. 'And you are going back, are you ? Well, I'll be in time. It's just the same to me whether we have it out there or here.' He groped his way to the sacristy, his lips drawn from his teeth like a wild beast in pursuit of its prey. He moved on cautiously, aud with listening ear; but not a sound broke the silence. He burst into the library. It was empty. « Outwitted !'he hissed. *I have come upon a fool's errand. While I have been wasting time in coming here, he has entered the crypt, and made his escape by the chapel.' He snatched up tho Argand lamp, and rushed back to the scene of his defeat. As the bright light streamed from the sacristy door, he was brought to a startled pause. The earl's voice, echoing sepulchrally from somo unknown quarter, called, sternly: . • ' Cease your efforts—they will prove unavailing. The paper is safe. Justice shall be done.' At first young Hood glared around in a dull, confused uncertainty. One moment the voice seemed strangely near, the next as far away. Was it the effect of the echoes? And was it the vast, empty space that gave the stern tones that chillingly solemn and hollow sound ? A sudden current of air, striking his cheek and flaring of the lamp, all at once 1 roused him to activity. He put down tho lamp, and rushed to the great doors at the further end. > They were fast. * He ran to a small side door not far from tho pulpit. It, also, was fast. But tho k key was in the lock, and, as he knew, the 3 lock caught almost noiselessly into a 1 spring. The blast of air had come from the opens * ing and closing of that door. The earl was 3 making his way through the Abbey grounds * to the station. 3 He chuckled at the thought. A murderV ous revenge blazing from his eyes, he tore I open the door, secured the key, and shut - himself out in the darkness of the night. . V Nearly an hour later he returned, pale, c breathless, dishevelled and furious. V The earl had not been found. > He cast one malignant glance toward - tho crypt as ho seized the lamp, but made '• no pause. « Any time will do for that,' he hissed, d 'Now for the part he has driven me to lf play.' (To be continued.) >f ' d , - ~,_,,., , ,„. . The testimony of a woman before a Salt d Lake court the other day in a polygamy d case was in substance that ■'. she didn'tknow )f; whether her husband had another wife or h not; it wasn't of sufficient importance to y talk about.'

THE SUNDERED HEARTS; v OR, A ."War of the Household. BY MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. CHAPTER XXXIII. SIR GEAIIAM GALLAGHER. The astonishment and rage of Warnor, as he beheld Dora in the very act of escaping with his rival, for a moment held him spellbound. Then, with a cry that rang through the garden like a summons to battle, he bounded towards the young couple. The Narrs, alive to the situation, sprang after him. Dora, by this time on the ground beside the young squire, clung to tho latter ilea wild dismay. 'O, Noel! Noel!' she whispered, 'what shall we do ? The gate is locked; escapo is impossible' You will have to leave me.' 'Never!' returned Noel, with an enorgy that went far to reassure her. ' Trust in me, Dora. All is not yet lost.' He put his arm around her, slowly retreating to tho angle of the house. By this time Warner hael regained his coolness and self-possession. ' See here, Mr Weir,' he exclaimed, in a tone that at any other time woulel have angered the spiriteel young squire. ' What do you mean by stealing like a thief into people's gardens at this hour ? Is it like an honorable man to try to steal away from her parents' protection a young girl too innocent and inexperienced in tho ways of the world to know what risks she is running ?' 'Pardon mo,' replied Noel, in a tono of ' cool and supreme contempt, ' but I fail to see the appropriateness of Mr Warner's assumed solicitude for the reputation of a young lady whom he has insulted most grossly.' ' You can at least see that you are laying yourself liable to a charge of abducting a minor, I suppose ?' demanded Warner, sharply, stung to fury. ' Release the arm of that misguided girl, and let her mother asume the charge of her !'' ' I utterly decline to do so,' replied Noel, halting by a clump of lilacs at the corner of the cottage, and waving back Warner and the Narrs. 'Mr and Mrs Narr have proved themselves unfit to have the charge of an innocent girl. They are ready to sell her to you, without regard to Dora's welfare. And, moreover,' he added, looking fixedly at Warner, ' I doubt that Dora is the daughter of this people.' ' You doubt it ?' cried Warner, foaming. ' I do. They have yet to display the first token of parental regard for Dora. From the fust moment of beholding her, they have conspired against her happiness, her honor, her well-being. I would as soon give Dora up to wild beasts as to them !' The young squire spoke firmly, and as h'6 felt himself able to withstand the threo opposed to him. Warner sneered. ' You refuse to giye her up, eh ?' he exclaimed. ' How elo you propose to escape with her ? The gate is locked. A single cry from me will bring here a policeman or a watchman, .who will take you in charge for burglary. What to say to that ?' ""■• The young squire bent his head to Dora, who still clung to him, but who was now ready to bear her share in the struggle. ' Dora,' whispered the young lover, ' now is our time. I will keep these three at bay, while you fly. Run around the rear wall. Climb by the vines over into Sir Graham Gallagher's garden, and make for the street beyond. Wait- for me in the shadow of the hedge by the doctor's double gates. Go.' •Without you, Noel?' asked the girl, trembling anew. '.I cannot leavo you alone with them !' ' I shall be quite safe. I will escape over the front wall, and rejoin you at the earliest possible moment. Now, Dora—now!' He put her gently from him. As quick as thought Dora obeyed him, disappearing behind the angle of the house. Warner, comprehending her movement, oried out hoarsely, and sprang toward Dora's lover. The next moment the two clinched in a hand to hand struggle. The Narrs wore' for the instant spellbound and speechless. 'After her!' cried Warner, from the midst of his contest. ' After the girl!' Narr and his wife bounded away in pursuit. Meanwhile Dora had gained the rear garden, has crossed it with the fleetness of a fawn, and had commenced to climb the wall by means of the trained peach-trees and vines along its surface. The cries of the Narrs as they came in sight of her only spurred her to wilder exertions. She gained the top of the wall her hands smarting and bleeding, her chest panting. Pausing a moment on her narrow footing, she looked sharply through the light gloom for somo mode of descending the physician's garden. The ladder which Sir Graham's gardener had carelessly left leaning against the wall attracted her gaze.' At the same moment the Narrs, rushing over their gloomy waste «f yard, toward her, called out to her to stop, that escape was impossible. 'We'll see if it is!' said Dora, bravely, ' I will not give up until compelled to !' She ran along the narrow top of the wall, her lithe, slender figuro swaying, her arms outstretched to balance her and prevent her from fill ling, a strange sensation of dizziness creepingovev her. She gained 'i»e ladder and commenced the descent into Sir Graham's garden. At this juncturo Narr commenced to ascend the wall on the opposite side. His mutterings and cursings reached Dora's ears. Half way down the ladder, the girl made a misstep in her haste, and fell headlong to the ground. Narr heard her fall and redoubled his exertions to reach her, but the sound of his frequent slipping attested that the vines he had selected were scarcely strong enough to bear his weight. Dora aroused hastily, bruised and wounded from her fall, and darted into the gloomy shadows of Sir Graham's garden, making for tho point to which Noel had directed her. The silence of midnight was on the scene. The paths and alleys of the doctor's garden were all wrapped in the gloom of a deep shade. Dora crept along the dark labyrinths like a deeper shadow. She could still hear Narr on his side of the partitition wall, cursing loudly, and calling on her to come back and surrender herself. Suddenly a woman's 6hriller cry, sounding nearer, startled the girl, compelling her to pause and look back. She beheld Mrs Narr upon the top of the wall, creeping cautiously upon her hands and knees, along the narrow surface to the spot where the gardener's ladder was still standing. ' ' Why didn't I throw the ladder down r" thought Dora, in keen regret. ' Too late ! Sho -will soon bo upon me.' She quickened her steps, flying through the shadows like a spirit. She passed a handsome fountain whose steady, ceaseless dripping sounded like a gentle, endless flow of tears, and stole around the doctor's mansion, on her way to the double gates. Hero there were no trees to screen her. The grounds consisted on this side of an open, grassy lawn, uushaded by tree or shrub, and at this moment bathed in the pale glow of a light that streamed from the doctor's study windows. Dora hesitated to cross this line of light, and looked earnestly to see if her presence or movements were likely to be observed by any occupant »f the dwelling. The windows of the study—long French ones, opening like doors—were not only uncurtained, but partially open, to admit the soft night breeze. Dora could see tho tall solar lamp on the central table, surrounded by piles of books, and the empty easy-chair closo at hand,, as if the doctor had just risen from his night's study. 'I see no one,' thought the gn?l. 'He may havo gone into another room. -Now is my time. If he spes me, he will give me up to these people who claim to be my parents. Ah, there he is !' Sho shrank back into the shadow of a laburnum tree as she beheld a man's figure slowly cross the floor of the study, his arms folded behind him, his head drooping low on his breast. It was Sir Graham Gallagher himself whom Dora beheld, and she instinctively comprehended the fact. He was a tall, portly, patriarchal looking gentleman —this famous court physician — with a long white beard, and a orown of snowy ihair that fell almost to his shoulders. Dora was .watching him with shy, wild eyes, wondering if she woidd ever dare to cross the lighted space before his very eyes, when a quick and heavy tramp down the garden paths, and a voice calling her in threatening tones, and steadily approaching her covert, startled and electrified her. A deadly faintness seized the girl. It seemed to her that all was lost. Yet, with the instinct of tho hunted haro, she sprang forward, darted into tho lighted space beforo the study windows, and t,hen the faintness swept over her again in one resistless wave, -With a wild moan, she threw up her arras and fell unconscious on the sward.

Sir Graham Gallagher heard her piteous cry, it rousing him from his thoughtful trance. He started, and looked from the window. His glances fell upon the prostrate figuro on his lawn. Without pausing to consider, ho hurried out, gathered the helpless form into his arms, and carred her into his study, laying her upon a lounge. Then ho went back to the window. Mrs Narr was not yet in sight, but her menacing tones were echoing through his garden. Dimly comprehending that something was wrong, and that the owner of the threatening voice was not friendly to this young girl, he and let fall the s hrouduH^fiUHHH|M|jßJMurawithout. «aß^B^^S|^^^^^^^^^H He then rc t u She a y'_|^____HHflH______j left her, her cushion, her sculptured fr'QjPSH_HNfl____H____i was in her glowing eyes veiled, the soft, white as a snow-drift, the exquisite lips just parted, and tho shadow of a great grief yet lingering on her wide, white brow. The heart of the old doctor warmed towards her. * Poor little thing ! ' he muttered, his eyes beaming with a kindly expression upon her. ' She looks as if she were in deep trouble.' He brought from a small side-table a caraffo of water and sprinkled her face. Then, as she did not revive, he felt her pulse. As he did so, the sleeve which Warner had torn fell back from the white and daintly rounded arm, exposing it clear above the elbow. The eyes of the court physician dilated as they rested upon the exposed arm. The little irregular cross—Dora's birth mark —gleamed out slender and vividly scarlet ! from the snowy, marble-like flesh, as if embossed upon it. Sir Graham stooped eagerly with a swift swooping movement, his countenance changing. ' Strange ! ' he muttered, examining the mark. ' I never saw but one birth-mark like that; and that was on the arm of Lord Champney's child. I remember it distinctly—the moro especially as I had a letter from his lordship yesterday, asking mo to look at a picture ho is getting up of his dead child as a present to his wife, and desiring me to recall all that I can of the child's tiny features. And here comes along a young lady with that child's vory birthmark ! Strange! Strange! He dropped the arm softly, and applied himself more earnestly to the girl's restoration. His efforts were soon rewarded. There was a faint quiver of the dainty figure, as if a sensation of cold had seized her, then a low gasping cry, and Dora opened wide her glorious eyes, and fixed them iv an expression of alarm and wonder on the patriarchal face at her sHe. 'Do not bo afraid, my dear,' said the doctor , kindly reading her terror. * I am Sir Grahrm Gallagher. You faintcel in front of my windows, and I saw you and brought you in. I have not had time to call up Lady Gallagher or any of my family, but I will do so at once ' ' No—no !' exclaimed Dora, starting up. ' Don't call any ono. I must go. Oh!—' She sank back again on the lounge, a piteous appeal in her eyes, as Mrs Narr's shrill, threatening call rang past the windows, and the heavy bounding tread of the woman was heard hasting toward the doctor's gates. 'No one shall harm you.' Sir Graham said, gently. ' You are safe here my child. Who is this woman who is searching for you, and of whom you aro in such fear ?' ' She claims to be my mother,' said Dora, bitterly. ' I have just fled from her house—' The doctor's face grow grave. His gentle, kindly oyes looked at Dora with a changed expression. 'My dear young lady,' he said, gravely, ' have you not acted rashly and wrongly ? I have tho greatest respect for the claims of a parent. lam a father and grandfather. I know the hot-headodness of youth—its tendency to rebellion against authority— and I know that parents are often harsh and severe. But better the too rigid authority of stern parents than no guidance at all. If the woman out in my garden, calling for you, is your mother, I shall be compelled to give you up to her. You are too young to cut loose from home and parents.' He moved toward one of the windows, to put his resolve into execution. Dora sprang towards him, with a gesture of passionate entreaty. ' Wait! ' she pleaded. ' Hear my story. Then, if you choose to give me up to my enemies, you can do so. We live at the Black Cottage behind your garden, and you can return me to it at any time. Only, for the love of Heaven, hear me first! ' Sir Graham paused, with his hand on the curtain, and hesitated. By this time Mrs Narr's voice had passed out of hearing. The woman had emerged into the street, and was hurrying up and down in a frantic search for the missing girl. * I will hear what you have to say,' said Sir Graham. ' I knew that a family had moved into tho Black Cottage, but I did not suppose it to be a gentleman's family,' he added. It was evident that the gentle tones of Dora, her patrician ways and well-bred manners, had convinced the good old doctor that she at least was a lady. * Nor is it, as the world ranks a gentleman,' responded Dora. ' Nor is it, in any sense. These people who claim to be my parents are scheming, hard-hearted persons, who love liquor better than anything else, and who would sell me to my ruin. I have not been brought up by them. Until a few weeks since, I have lived ail my life, from my earliest rememberance, with a noble old Sussex squire, whom I believed to be my father in truth, as he was in tenderness and love.' 'Her lips quivered. Her eye 3 flooded with tears. The memory of that rugged, kindly face that had never looked upon her save in love, shook her soul to its bitterest depths. 'He died,' she said, brokenly—' poor papa ! And with his death my troubles came. These people claimed me. And he whom I had been taught to consider my brother gave me up to them, to be rid of the burden of my support. The woman took me to London, where the man joined her. And since then my life has been made a burden to me.' She went on to tell of Warner's insult to her, of her flight, of the young squire's delicate kindness and constant friendship, of her ro-capture and transportation to the Black Cottage at Chiswick, and finally of the occurrences of the present night and the circumstances of her esca2so. Throughout the story she had mentioned no names, and had spoken in a tone of moderation and sincerity that attested her truthfulness. Sir Graham, his hand still on the curtain, listened gravely, his gentle eyes searching her pale and sorrowful face. ' A strange story,' he observed at last, when the trembling, passionate _ young voice had ceased to thrill through his Btudy, and the lovely head bowed itself on the heaving young breast in an attitude of utter hopelessness-—' a strange story, my dear young lady ; but I believe it to the smallest detail. You have had a hard and bitter experience. It does not seem possible that these people can be your parents. They show no evidence of parental affection. Yet such cases are not unusual. You have been brought up away from them, and in a different rank of life, and these facts may alienate their affection from you. Your education has put a wide gulf between you and them. While I say,'he added, 'that it don't seem possible that these people are your parents, don't think me so romantic as to believe them false pretenders and impostors. I believe you to be really their daughter.' 'I am not!—l am not!' cried Dora, a passionate thrill in her young voice. ' There is something within me—l call it instinct— that tells me I am not of their blood. There is a barrier between them and me stronger than education and years of estrangement. My lips have never pressed that woman's cheek. My heart has nover warmed toward her. Instead of that, my whole soul revolts against her claims upon me.' ' Strange !' muttered the doctor. ' I don't know what to make of this.' Dora's face grew eager and impassioned. Her eyea glowed like stars, their brown depths seeming translucent. ' Not only do I turn from that woman who claims to be my mother,' she said, lowly and eagerly, ' but I cherish dreams of what my ow_ mother was, or might have been, My mother! Oh 1 she was good and tender and kind, with a great heart and a noble soul—my unknown mother ! And if I never know hor here, I shall see her face to faco by and by in the hex-eafter. She may have been poor and lowly and ignorant;—it is possible—but there was that in her that could call forth my tenderest love and reverence. This woman of the Black Cottage my mother! Oh, no—no!' There was something in the pale, passionate young faco that stirred the chords of Sir Graham's memory. ' You look now like a lady I know looked in her youth,' he said, his thoughts reverting to the Lady Barbara Cfcpmpney. ' She is as white and fair as a lily, and her hair is of pale gold; yet somehow, you, with your dark hair and bright brown eyes and clear brunette skin, remind mo of her. I cannot analyze" the resemblance, but it is there.' . (For continuation see neyi pag.4.)

Dora did not answer. She was listening for the possible return of Mrs Narr. A sound, as of one cautiously opening the gates, broke the stillness. 'You will not give me up?' panted Dora, in returning alarm. ' You will not let that woman take mo away ?'

Tho doctor listened. Thoro was surely some ono on the gravelled path. ' Not yet,' ho said, kindly. 'I am too much interested in you to lose sight of you so soon. The intentions of these people against you, and their collusion with this false lover of yours, cause me to waver in my resolution to give you up to them. You have not yet told mo your name. What am I to call you ?' ' Dora Chessom. It was tho name papa gave mo—poor papa who is dead !' ' I understand. It was given you by your adopted father—tho Sussex squire ?' Dora assented. ' And this noble young fellow who loves you in your adversity as in your prosperity —who is ho ?' «He is Noel Weir. They call him the young Scaur, down in Sussex, whore he is known.' ' And these people who claim to be your parents—who are they ?' ' They were formerly tenants of a farm in Surrey,' replied Dora. 'They left it in consequence of the man's committing a forgery. Their name is Narr.' The doctor started, his face full of amazement. 'What!' he exclaimed, in sudden excitement. ' What aro their names ?' Dora shrank back a little. The doctor's name ?' ' Yes, sir. I have heard her say that her name was Artross—Catheiinc Artress.' The doctor uttered a stifled ejaculation, of which Dora failed to comprehend the purnort. Then he took another hasty turn or two about the room, his excitement seeming to increase with each moment. Suddenly he paused and regarded the girl yet more closely. Her graceful, slender figure, the dainty poise of her head, the exquisite beauty of her faco, the intellect enthroned on her broad brow, tho soul in her glorious eyes— he marked all these with the look of one weighing so many items of evidence. ' She tho daughter of Catherine Artress ?' ho said to himself. 'No wonder she can't believe it. The thing's an impossibility. Figs do not grow on thistle shrubs. A lily does not blossom on a weed stalk. The girl is not theirs. Who, then, does she belong to ?' He took another hasty turn to and fro. 'The birth-mark—tho red cross!' be then resumed, in an agitated whisper, regardless of tho girl's presence. 'The fleeting resemblance. I sec it all. There has been a terriblo fraud committed—an awful wrong done!' His face paled with emotion. His questionings of the young girl had convinced him of her identity with the child Lord and Lady Champney believed to bo buried in their family vault, and whom they had so long mourned as dead. Dora had been watching him with a, ) fascinated gaze. Now that slow aud cautious tread in the doctor's garden held her breathless and silent. She was waiting to hear Mrs Narr call her again. The doctor roused himself and looked at nor - , x, V'l shall not give you up to the r< am, Miss Dora,' ho said, his heart molting within him at sight of her pale, wistful countenance. 'lam in great mental distress. I have just received a terrible shock. I will call up Lady Gallagher, and we will then discuss the situation.' He left tho room hastily. At the same moment Dora heard a low voice, freighted with anxiety, calling softly in the garden: ' Dora! Dora! Where arc you r The voico was that of Noel Woir. Flushing all over with excitement, Dora impulsively pulled up the curtain and opened tho window, stepping out on the lawn, in the full glow of the light from the study lamp. The sound recalled the youug squire, who was in the act of plunging into the shadows of the lower garden. With a cry of joy, he ran toward her. ' Oh, Dora !' he ejaculated, ' I thought I had lost you, although I knew you could not have left this garelen. The Narrs and Warner have gone up toward the railway station in search of you. I have got a boat down by the river, If we hasten we may escape. Come, Dora!' Ho did not wait for her to explain the circumstances of her meeting with Sir Graham, but hurried her away toward the river. And so when, five minutes later, Sir Graham and Lady Gallagher entered tho study, eager and excited over the doctor's great discovery, they found tho window I open, and saw that Dora had vanished. (To be continued.)