A DAUGHTER OF MIDIAN.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 9938, 8 December 1900, Page 6

A DAUGHTER OF MIDIAN.

CHAPTER IX. We spent the whole of that afternoon and the following morning in an unsuccessful hunt for rooms ; and trivial as the difficulty had seemed at first sight, I soon recognised that it was likely to prove a serious one. It was imperative that 1 should remain in the neighborhood, for I could do nothing at a distance, and I felt tolerably certain that if I, were ou the spot I would soon find a way of getting acquainted with some of the family at the Castle. But I could not go on staying at the inn for an indefinite time. It was not a suitable place for me, and it was very expensive ; besides, my doing so might excite remark. On the evening of that second day the Professor, as 1 call him, left me, and went back to London. This was my doing. I saw plainly enough that he was sincere in begging thac he mightetay on till I had settled down, but—to tell the truth—l felt that our relations were becoming rather more intimate than J had bargained for. We were practically compelled to take our meals together, and though the room was a public one, I could see that people were wondering what relationship existed between us. I feared that I might compromise myself, and I told my friend this plainly. He could not deny that I was right, but before he went he extracted from me a promise that if he could be of service to me I would write or telegraph to him at onse. The Professor's devotion to me touches me. I hope I am not quite heartless, and I fear I am doing him a wroDg. But it is useless to think of that at present. He has gone now, and I must let the future take care of itself. Such were my thoughts as I watched the coach that carried off the only friend I have in this country—l might almost say in the world. I went to bed early, for I had an idea that next day I would explore the glen that lies to the east of this one and try to find there a farmhouse that would give me shelter. 1 carried out my plan and that day I walked long and far, but a?l to no purpose. Except the shepherds' cottages, which - were scarcely better than huts, the only houses were those belonging to large grazing farmers, who would have thought themselves insulted if I had asked them or their wives to let rooms to me. About six in the evening I wae trudging wearily home, and had got to about two miles from Inveroran, when I overtook a stout, respectably dressed woman, bending beneath the weight of a marketbasket and several parcels which she was carrying. I paused for a moment to ask her whether I was in the right road, and added, " Can I help you ? Shall 1 take one of your parcels, since we are going the same way f The woman stared at me, as if I had suggested something unheard of, and then slowly, and almost reluctantly, resigned one of her packages to me. It did not seem heavy at first, but by the time we had gone a mile I was tempted to repent my offer. My companion proved to be very taciturn, receiving my efforts at conversation with curt responses that were barely oivil. Still, I thought, I might as'well have some information, if it was to be had, in return for my toil, so I pat the question that I was riositively tired of hearing from my own lips— ' Can you tell me of any rooms to let in this neighborhood V 1 An' wha' micht they be wanted for ? Is't for yersel'?' ' Yes —for myself.' A long pause. • I should not be very particular about cooking, and so on, for I know that it is not easy to find apartments here,' said I, by way of encouraging the woman to make some sort oi reply. • An' wha' micht ye want them for V she said at last. ' Oh, I'm fond of the country ; and the scenery around here is very beautiful. I want to paint it.' • You'll be an artist, I'm thinkin'?' ' In a very humble kind of way. 5 • And wha' would you be thinkin' of giein' for twa quid rooms ' ' I would give a pound a week.' I expected her to say that this was far too little, but there was no answer of any kind. It was difficult to believe that the woman had been questioning me from the mere love of asking questions, without any definite end in view, but such appeared to be the case, for we went on in silence for another half-mile without another word being said on the subject;. We were within a few minutes' walk of the village when she turned and faced me. ' A pound a week, ye said, without lights or firm' ?' • Yes. Have you any idea where I could find—?' ' An , ye would want no late dinneis or breakfasts in bed ?' ' Certainly not. , • And would ye promise no , to gang up the hills and disturb the game V ' Certainly I would promise that. But do you know of anything likely to suit me ?' No answer. I repeated my question. 'I micht —and again, 1 micht not.' To quarrel with the woman would have been useless, besides being undignified, so I held my tongue. I was tired and out of temper, and though my pride forbade me to hand the woman back her parcel and leave her, I was heartily glad when ehe stopped at a door in the garden wall that belonged to the fine stone house inhabited by the factor. 4 Ye'U be the better of a cup of tea,' said my companion, as she laid down her basket, and, producing a key from her pocket, unlocked the garden door. I declined the invitation somewhat coldly, foi it seemeii to me that it was not one which a housekeeper —as I took the woman to be—had any business to offer. 4 Come in by,' she said, with a touch of impatience—' come in an' see the rooms..' 1 stared at her a moment in surprise, and then followed hpr up a weed-grown path and through a neglected shrubbery to the house. She took me into a large, gaudily-furnished room on the first floor, and asked me to sit down while she got some tea. In a few minutes tea, with home-baked scones and oatcakes, delicious butter, honey, and jam, made its appearance on a tray, carried by a rough, bare-armed girl. ' I couldna let ye hae this room and a bedroom under thirty shillings,' said my hostess, while we discussed our second cup of tea, ' but there's a sma' room at the back you could hae for a pound — that an' a bedroom.' ' But I understood that this wae the factor's house.' ' An' what for no V ' Don't you think he would object—' ' Hoofca ! Never fash yer tnoomb about that ! Yell keep quaite, I'se warrant, and no be wantin' to keep nmckle company. You'll no meddlo wi' him, and he'll no meddle wi' you. Say the word and the place ia youra.' 'Are you Mrs M'Phail, then ? ' Wha else sud I be 'i '

I said in a moment that I had not known the factor was a married man, and that I would do glad to take her rooms. So that matter was settled. I glanced at Mrs M'Phail with greater interest now, and I liked her appearance better than I had done at first. True, she was rough in speech and manner but there was au honest look about her homely face ; she was red-haired and freckledj and her hand showed that she spent most of her lime in housework. She was not at all the kind of woman one would have expected to see at the head of the establishment, but that was no j business of mine. It struck me that probably her husband was a "near"man, and that she liked to make a little pinmoney when she could do so by letting lodgings in the summer to one who would not attract much attention, or make any demands upon her time. And this, I afterwards found, was pretty nearly the truth. The following day found me settled at Inveroran-lodge, and I immediately wrote to the Professor to tell him of my success. But I knew that I had a waiting game to play. Weeks—months— might pass before I found an opportunity of becoming an inmate of the Castle. All I could do in the meantime was to ascertain exactly who the family at the Castle consisted of, and snatch at any chance of making their acquaintance. Possibly, I thought, I might be able to induce Miss Dalrymple to let me stay at the Castle as her companion during the winter. That would suit me admirably. But Fortune proved my friend in an unexpected way. On the second morning of my stay at the Lodge I was passing along the stone passage that led to the kitohen when I met an aged woman dragging herself painfully along by the help of two sticks. I went forward to offer her my arm, but almost before I reached her she dropped one of her sticks, and staring at me out of her bleared eyes, cried out — ' Guid save us, bairn, is this you ?' My heart beat fast, but I had presence of wind euough to answer—' Of course. Who else would it be ?' 'And does he ken ? Does the laird ken that you are here?' she asked in a loud whisper, thrusting her face close to mine in her eagernes. ' No, I haven't seen him yet,' I said gravely. She mumbled something to herself, still staring at me. Then aloud— 4 Ye've grown up a fine, bonny leddy, as I aye said ye would. And that like yer mither.' 4 And who was my mother,' was on the tip of my tongue, but I did not utter the words. I felt that I might be on the verge of a great discover} , . It was evident that the old woman mistook me for some one whom she had seen. Or was it that she really saw in me a likeness to my unknown mother. I felt that I must risk something in order to find out the truth, so, putting my arm round her, I supported her to the door. She was on her way to go out of doors and sit in the sunshine on a bench that stood in a sheltered corner under the west of the house. When I got her there she sat down heavily, still keeping her eyes fixed on me. I found it difficult to say anything, for fear of making some terrible blunder, but I felt that I must say something. • You knew me at once, but I scarcely think that I would have known you,' I said with perfect truth. ' Like enough—like enough. I'm an auld wumman, an' no' lang for this world.' 4 Oh, you may live many years yet, Mrs MePhail, and I hope you will.' The name was a great venture, but it passed without remark, and I came to the conclusion that this must be the factor's mother. It was odd I had not been told ot her presence in the house. 4 Let me see—' I said, pretending to search my memory, 4 how long is it since you last saw me ?' 4 May be ten years. I wudna' wonder. Or it might be mair.' It was certain that she had not seen me since I was a mere child, if she had seen me then —certain, therefore, that she was confounding me with some one whom she had seen. And an indescribable thrill ran through my veins as I said to myself— 4 Perhaps I have a sister whom she saw ten years ago.' I longed to think of something to say that would not betray my ignorance and would at the same time produce some information. But it was the old woman who began to question me. ' What did you come here for?' she asked abruptly. 4To see tie laird. I want to know something more of my forebears,' I said boldly. 4 Ay, that's but natural.' 4 Did you know my father ? J I hazarded. 4 Hoo could I ken him ? Was I ever in Australia ?' ' No, but —but I thought you might perhaps have known him before he went out.' She shook her head and made no reply.' But I had gained something. The girl for whom she was mistaking me—the girl whom 1 resembled — was, in all probability, born in Australia. What was her name ? How could I find out that? I was puzzling my brains to frame some question which would bring out the desired answer without raising any suspicion in the old woman's mind that I was not the person she supposed me to be, when I heard a heavy tread on the gravel, and the next moment the factor stood before me. I knew him at once from (Signor Zucatti's description of him —and at the same time I knew him for the man who had lived some time in the house at Brixton. [to be continued.]