MAN, WOMAN, AND FATE.

Evening Star, Issue 11697, 1 October 1902, Page 2

MAN, WOMAN, AND FATE.

COPYRIGHT.

UPubtialwd by Special Arrangement.]

BY IZA "pUFFUB HARDY, •Author of 'The Lesser Evil,'' MacGffleroy'» Millions,'" *A'New Othello,' 'The Girl He Did Not Marry,' 'The Mystery of a Moonlight Tryst.' etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXX.—(Continuel.) Lionel turned away and shouldered his way through the crowd that pressed around the entrance of the tunnel—that presently fell back though opening a way for something; a way for—what? Four men emerged from the passage, stooping over soine'burthen they were half-dragging, halfcarrving along. The old professor, stumbling in excrtement and emotion, followed in the way that Lionel's broad shoulders had cleared for him.

"Is he alive?" The question broke from almost every lip but Claire's. She had no breath to utter a word. There was a call for " Brandy r" Brandy I Was it only to refresh the wearied workers in the dark tunnel? The doctor pushed his way forward, and a voice said : " Keep back! Give hhn air'." Air! Did the dead need air? Claire stood erect, tho light of a wild hope leaping in her eyes. bihe put aside Leopold's no longer needed supporting arm, and sprang towards that eager, buzzing group, coming faco to face with Lionel, who was hurriedly firming from them to bring the news to her. "He is alive, Claire!" he said, in the excited impulse of the moment catching her hand. She snatched it from his and pressed forward, the crowd giving way for her. She sank on her knees by Geoffrey's side. Was he living indeed? He who lay there prostrate, insensible, emaciated to a skeleton, tho wreck of Geoffrey, with closed eyes sunk in purple hollows, his fair hair matted with dust and blood? Lionel and Leopold were bending over him Mith the doctor. Claire had no eyes for them; she saw nothing but Geoffrey's face, the faco she conld not believe was of the living. She knew nothing in the world l«?side and beyond, nothing in past, present, or future, save that he, the victim of her husband's silence, lay there dead or dying. They wero feeling his heart and pulse, moistening his dry, livid lips with brandy. She had lifted one of his hands in hers, the doctor holding the other. It lay cold and limp and passive in ber quivering clasp. Tho doctor was absorbed iu his patient. Lionel met the agonised question of her eyes, and answered their unspoken pleading. '• Ho is not dead; his heart is beating; ho, will come to in a few minutes." But although it was true that in a, few minutes a faint, gasping breath and a fainter moan gave evidence of life, the insensible man .-Nil made no sign of recognition of those ;: round him, showed no symptom of intelligent consciousness, "as they raised him on au extemporised litter and carried him towards his home.

And now, as tho men with-their insensible burthen passed along the path towards the Grange, Leopold and the doctor following, Lionel turned to Claire.

" Claire," he said, " have you no gentler word than that of yesterday for a last one?"

With the sight of Geoffrey's ghastly face —tlm wreck that was Lionel's work—tilling the field of her mind's eye, she looked at him as sho might have looked had she found liim red-handed with his victim's blood.

•' Even if he lives, he might have died—through you ! If he had died "—her eyes, usually so soft and tender, dilated with a look none had ever seen in them before, or would seo again, as she went on—"you would have been his murderer, and vou should have paid with your life for his*!" A strange smile, half fierce, half bitter, curled his lip. ''Would you have sceu to the business? provided for me, yourself? Then we should have been well matched, my wife!"' She recoiled at the word and looked at him. No utterance could have been more eloquent. " That look of hers would hurl his sotd from Heaven."

Sho put out her hand as if to liokl him back, to wave him from her path, and turned to foDow the Jittle band winding their way along tho sands, the slow sion of the bearers and their burthen. Beneath her scathing glance of horror he turned that livid ashen color dark complexions turn tinder stress of strong emotion. °

Claire's xlisastrous. marriage*. - The Story of the broken engagement, ite causi* and consequences, naturally involved an account of the part played by the.Circe whose allurements had drawn Geoffrey into folly and driven Claire to madness, the temptress and unscrupulous adventuress who Was an accomplice in the fraud. The mention of her nam? . evidently startled Leopold; the description, of her personal appearance—although, being colored from Lady St. Julian's'poiot of view, it could not-be said to err on the side of flattery—was yet sufficiently accurate to be recognisable; it confirmed the suspicion the name had aroused in his mind, and greatly disturbed and excited him. He was. somewhat excitable in mood, especially after dinner, as his hostess had already discovered: indeed, then; were points about the real Leopold which she might have- been inclined to criticise somewhat severely if the conditions and cireumstances had nob predisposed \vt so much in his favor. On this occasion the news, as he put it hiinself, rather "bowled kirn over." and the results of the. shock to his mind, and the mpport to which he resorted to steady his nerve* under it, loosened the strings of Ids tongue, so that Lady St. Julian soon, found herself in possession of a fund of gratuitous information about -Mrs Scarlett's pastLady St. Julian had always been certain that the lady hud a .past, and now it appeared, if Leopold's account might, be trusted, that she kid several. She 'had, as Leopold had once put it to the comrade, who' lu hayed his trust and usurped Ids name and place, "a habit of matrimony," and also u habit of wearying of its fetters and seeking release therefrom by the simple process of the West. No doubt she Mould lie ready and willing to marry Geoffrey, lmt .surely Geoffrey in hi? position, even if he had lo;;t his head about her, would hardly lose it to the extent of marrying a woman who had already two husbands living'. ,; Two husbands living!" echoed Lady St. Julian in a horrified tone, but with sparkling eye-s that evinced a .feeling more akin to triumphant satisfaction than dismay. " Why. certainly. Dan Murphy's alive, and flourishing like a preen bay-tree, down New Orleans flay, doing a big deal in cotton. And old Scarlett is. or was a, few mouths ago, shipping timber in Oregon, Wonder why it was his mime she kept, as Murphy was -the la<st of 'em—unless she thought it w|:ded prettier than Murphy. She and Scarlett led a eat-and-dog life; she finished it up by a Dakota divorce; there was ft fellow who was fool enough to think she did it for his wake, and spent his all upon her: then Murphy, who'd a bigger pile, came along, and she threw over the unfortunate foJl who had beggared himself for her, and gave hitn a shove on the downward road that he's been a long time in picking up." It. was clear enough who this ill-used individual was. Under other circumstances his sympathetic interlocutor might have despised his maudlin pity for himself, his contemptible weakness in allowing a woman to wreck his life, but as things were, she was inclined to make large allowances, and to deal gently with the follies and failings of the man to whom she owed the valuable and interesting information which Was presently amplified by brief and gTaphic details of bow Mv Murphy's spouse had sought release from his cruel usage, as she had done from his predecessor's, and how it was reported that Scarlett himself had been preceded by "another," who. if the account of the lady's friends might he trusted, had beharetl even worse than his successors to the martyr of much matrimony. Indeed, with such signal ill-luck in the domestic line, it seemed a wonder she should be inclined to add even the future Lord St. Jrdian to her list of connubial ventures. By the tune that Geoffrey's convalescence —which was, as I have said, rapid—permitted of any exciting communications being made to him, there was thus a good deal more than the bare fact of the discovered fraud to communicate. The fraud was not to Geoffrey, suspicious of his reputed kinsman as he had already become, so startling a surprise, albeit his suspicions had never gone so far as the daring scheme. of personation which was now divulged to him. But the further revelation of the career of the adventuress who had been tho false Leopold's accomplice, who had assisted him from the beginning ia carrying out his audacious plot, and had evidently been introduced by him at Qarstoa Grange for that very purpose, came upon Geoffrey as a (rrcat shouk, that yet was less terrible thun it would have been had it happened before the awful experience which had so nearlv been his last on earth.

"Stay—a moment, Claire!" he said. "Remember one thing. If my silence endangered him, my words have saved him. He will live. I spoke in time, and it's more than my life I have given now for his; you know that, Claire! I've lost you to save him. And one—yet one thing more. Shrink from me—hate me—cast me off as yon will—there's still one thing you can't blot out. You are still my uifo! _ Now go, Claire. Leave me"— his voice grew hoarse—" for vour own sake leave me, while I can still let vou go!"

For in these interminable hours during which it seemed he had passed through the pates of death, that recent past which had been till then a living reality seemed to have faded into a dim dreamland. Itwas as if be had left a, part of his old self behind in the Valley of the Shadow, wherein the fire of earthly passion, had strangely flickered cut, as a flame dies for lack of fuel. It seemed long, long ago since he had loved Olivia, with a passion that he. had survived, iu a past that had paled and melted into mist. It was not only that he looked ill and worn, thin, white, and haggard—in other than outward tilings, it was a changed Geoffrey who came out into the world again, a world that would never more seem quite the same to him.

CHAPTER XXXL It was some hours before Geoffrev fuliv recovered consciousness, and then he renamed for a day or two in a condition of prostration and exhaustion which forbade Jus being excited by conversation or questioning. Youth and vigor of constitution were in his favor, however, and soon asserted themselves, so that when once under the devoted administrations of his Aunt Carrie, he began to recover, his convalesence was rapid. His life had been preserved bv the chance of which Lionel had perceived the possibility j the sliding mass of the landslip had just missed him, and imprisoned him in the care uninjured—save for a blow on the head bv a piece of falling rock, which had struck him and sent him reeling back halfstvrned from the threshold into the sheltering recess. Of the terrible experiences that fftllowed, of the days and nights of his imprisonment, he spoke but little either then or thereafter; it was a memory of horror, at which he shuddered and which he strove to banish from his mind, an endeavor in which those around him did thenbest to help him. Immured in tha pitchy darkness and narrow limits as if buried alive in a tomb, without food, and, worse still, without water to moisten his parched throat, his breathing oppressed by the close' atmosphere, into wheih no ray of fresh life-giving air could penetrate, not knowing night from day as the dreadful hours that seemed like years wore on, he had become delirious at last from exhaustion, and the last thing he could remember before losing consciousness was that, scarce knowing what hfi did, he had dashed himself madly agpinst the walls of his narrow prison-house. Rescue had not come a moment too soon; a little later, and it would have been' too late. •

He might not have placed perfect implicit faith in Lady St. Julian's account of Olivia's career, and her part in the conspiracy, bat it was impossible to doubt Leopold's sincerity in the occasional moods when his tongue was unloosed—moods which, to do him justice, were only occasional, and were now and then curiously chequered by signs suggestive of a survival of Olivia's influence breaking through his lively sense of his own grievance against her' and'against Fate, whilst ha seemed to take an odd sort of gloomy satisfaction in the contemplation of his kinsman Geoffrev, in the character of a fellow-victim to the wiles of the enchantress'.

Lady St. Julian was devotedly attentive in inquiries and sympathy; she visited the Grange duly. Claire, once assured o! Geoffrey's safely, went there no more. Sho never spoke of Lionel Hawkesforth or of his parting words. Since the hour of Geoffrey's rescue he had disappeared from the scene, and no farther word came from or of Ithn. Claire shrank -with shuddering recoil from the subject of her marriage, or the mention of her husband's name, and Lady St. Julian, burning with bitter wrath, though she was against the absent sinner who had wrecked her hopes and her daughter's future, whose act had brought the fatal seizure upon her husband, and whose guilty silence had so nearly cost Geoffrey's lift', yet forbore from torturing the unfortunate girl by dwelling upon the subject, after having once given her to understand that this last piece of villainy was only just what might have been expected of him! For her own part, she would have been quite ready to believe that he had been •instrumental in luring Geoffrey to the spot and bringing down the landslip on his head, She received the true Leopold with favor as a fellow-victim, wronged, though in a far less degree, by the culprit who had injured heT and hers so greatly;. and ho was soon informed in confidence of the strange course--of events, that had brought about

Meanwhile the story of the deception practised, at first so successfully, upon the St. Julians had beeu to. a certain extent hushed up, and kept out of the newspapers by the intlnence of the family and their friends, all naturally anxious, for Claire's sake, to have the details of the disastrous affair brought as little as possible before the public eye. Thus, although strange whispers had crept abroad, the full, true, and particular history of the fraud had not leaked out to general knowledge. It was rumored there was a rnystery about late events at St. Jub'an's Towers,'but the true solution had not come to public light. The report of the Southeliffe landslip, the imprisonment of Geoffrey St. Julian in the cave, and his rescue at the eleventh hour, had, however, appeared in ihe Press, and amongst the letters that promptly on its abearance poured in to Gars ton Grange was one from Olivia Scarlett to Geoffrev. ftilJ of the tendercst inquiries and solicitude, closely followed by another from the same hand to Mrs Musgrave. which cost that gentle soul ninny years. Geoffrey said nothing of his own letter, nor of his answer to it: but as soon as the post permitted he received a response from London; and when time had been given for him to write again ; and the very 'narrowest margin allowed for delay, the fair correspondent herself descended upon Garstou Grange. Lady St. Julian happened, by a chance that appeared to her a special Providence, to be there at that hour, to support poor Mrs Musgrave in the path of resolution and virtue, and to smooth that path for her feeblo feet by taking on herself a task at the mere prospect of which Mrs Musgrave had already dissolved into weeping.

"You are not well rnough to be distressed, dear Caroline," said Lady St Julian, kindly. "Do not come, downstairs. I will see her, and tell her that you are not equal to an interview."

At the sight of Lady St. Julian's stately figure sweeping in at" the door which' the visitor had, though half-doubtfully, hoped might open to admit the fragile little form of Mra Musgrave, Olivia felt the tug of war was indeed at hand, and as she rose up with a graceful and self-possessed greeting, she silently armed herself for the battle. Lady St. Julian benj, her head with due form of courtesy, explained with glacial politeness' that Mrs Musgrave's indisposition prevented her receiving Mrs Scarlett, and was unable to refrain from adding i>n intimation that they bad not expected the pleasure of a visit from her. "I am sorry a4is Musgrave is nob well," said Olivia, calmly, and after the briefest

pause continued, .with unabashed significance, "I came to inquire for Geoffrey." . . "My nephew, Mr St. Julian, is progressing as jrell as possible after the ordeal of such a severe shock to the system,'' was the frigid" reply. " Can I see him?''

"I should not have thought you would have desired an interview. I must own I am surprised that you should wish it." Lady St. Julian's manner-had sank from freezing point to zero. .'' Surely there .is nothing surprising,* Olivia rejoined, steadily, "in a woman's wishing to see her affianced husband."

"Certainly it is a natural wish —when this is the' relationship. But you must be aware, whatever understanding there may have been between you and Mr St. Julian, that recent disclosures have entirely changed the aspect of affairs." " That is for Geoffrey to decide." " He has decided."

''l must hear it from his own lips. Lady St. Julian, I have the right to ask to sec him—to insist oft seeing him." "Not against his trill." " I must; request to be assured by himself that it is against lm will." Olivia was resolute, calm, and persistent. It would have been easier to deal with her if she had been hysterical and violent. Lady St. Julian would faiu have prevented any message from her being conveyed to Geoffrey. But in Geoffrey's house, without his consent or sanction, she could scarcely take upon herself tho authority of such interference. He was no longer an invalid who could be kept in his own room —and in the dark. It ended in her deciding that if the communication were to be made to Geoffrey it had better be made by her, and she reluctantly informed him of Mrs Scarlett's presence and desire to see him—adding her affectionate and urgent counsel that he should not distress himself by consenting to the annoyance of an interview, but entrust her with such a message, or note in his own hand, as would decisively close the matter.

Geoffrey would much have preferred facing a grizzly bear iu his native woods to seeing Olivia now, knowing what he knew, but he felt that he could not in conscience shirk the responsibility. In common fairness and justice to the* woman he had loved (that it should have come to be conjugated in the past!) he could not refuse to giant her tho interview she demanded.

But. it was hard—luird—when Olivia met him with loving Bolicitudo, when her eyes dwelt tenderly on his pale and altered face, and her soft voice mnrmttred: "Oh! my poor boy! How ill you have been, and I not with von!"

He felt himself a brute as he stnirgled miserably to give her to understand'that words, but which she seemed resolved to words, but which she seemed resolved to refuse to receive, or comprehend in any other fo*m.

" Geoffrey," she said, in a tenderfv earnest- tone of almost incredulous reproach, when she had driven lum to a poor, clumsy, halting attempt to express himself, "do you hold me responsible for my brother's sins?"

' Heaven forbid that I should condemn any woman or mnn for another's fault But. Olivia, it. is not—not only——" "What is mv fault, then?"" she interposed, as he floundered. -'lf I kept Leo's secret—at what a cost to myself yon can never know!—was it for a taster to betrav a brother?"

Geoffrey -was no match for her in argument or eloquence, and was further handicapped by his deeply-rooted reluctance to resort to -what seemed to him the brutality of plain speech. The position of arraigning the woman he had so lately regarded as his plighted wife was hirmiliating--hor-nble! He chafed against it. Her power over him was weakened almost, to extinction, but he hated to hurt her—would rather have hurt himself.

He shrank more than she did from allusion to her concealment of the true state otthe case with regard to her former union, for she was readv to meet him on that point, as on nil others. She had practised no intentional or deliberate con-cealment—-merely a natural reserve on a painful subject, a reticence, -which she would have accredited him with the delicacv of comprehending. She had never denied that her life had been shadowed bv sorrowhad never stated in plain words that Mr Scarlett was. dead; had thought, and thought still, that allusion to her brief and unhappy union Mr Murpbv was entirely unnecessary. Geoffrev had asked her no point-blank questions," and she had not dreamt that he was one who would wish to pry into the trouble of a past she had hoped he would help her to forget. She was a woman who had been sorely tried, and had dreamt of bte that in him she had found one who woald rebuild her broken faith in man. She either was or seemed incapable of realisine: Geoffrey's views of the marriage bond—the principles in which he had been nurtured, the deep influences of his home life and training—as incapable as a creature of another world.

She made the most of evorv point in her presentment of herself in the character of a much-mahgaed and injured victim, the martyr of man's cruelty, the tool of a tyrannical brother, com'pelled to complicity in his plots, loyal to Geoffrey, her true lover, yet constrained against her will to keep her brother's secret from him. But she failed with Geoffrey now for the first time.

OfiviX" he said, far more in sorrow than in anger, but feeling like a creature driven to bay. cornered, compelled to tho decisive declaration he had desired to avoid, "my faith is shattered—it can never be rebuilt."

"These are hard words from you, Geoffrey," she murmured, her eyes liquid with unshed tears. "I never ibought the day would come when I should hear such from your Ups."

"Nor I that I should ever hare to say them, Olivia. And still, there's ono. thing more I must say—that must "be understood. Even if it were otherwise—if that ruined faith could be restored, even then the circumstances of the case render any marriage between us impossible. It could not be, Olivia—it would not be recognised by Chm-ch or State. lam sorry to have to be obliged to say it. Surely—surely you must see it for yourself." "I see that. Mrs Gnmdy has you faster bound hand and foot iu "hep toil* than I bad thought," sho rejoined with a curling lip, and in a more reckless lone than she had allowed herself beforo with Geoffrey. "I see that, as you view it, it must bo good-bye between us " —the soft voice had a hard and steely ring. " I fear it must," he rejoined, pained, yet relieved, "though it is a sad word to say. And if there's ever anything—any help, In any way—that I can be to you, now or at any other time, lam at your command. I hopo you'll always turn tq me for any—any——"' " Geoffrey, do you mean to insult me at the last?" she interrupted, raising her head with a flash of resentful pride, as Ite floundered miserably in the attempt to express his meaning. "So, I do not," he rejoinod, warmly, with a touch of resentment on his own part "I cannot imagine how you can twist my words into conveying such a meaning. But if you can so misinterpret me, I do not knoul that tharo is anything more to be said between us."

The last thing they would have expected was that Leopold would volunteer to charge himself with-the task of making the desired inquirks of Olivia..: Yet Leopold itl.<W?& Who undertook this.mission. ' •.*,.<

He waft going to town, wad would seek hk.- at this: address Geoffrey awe him.. Tlie truth was, Leopold was -irked by a.n «'&•• easy feeling, as if ho had sttucfc Olivia. Ml j unfair blow—a "teasing,. irritating deshii to see hex face to face once more. Ho had'said not a word more than the truth—indeed, a good deal less than he 'might have said ;'• and under the circumstances of Geoffrey's 1 relations with Olivia it might bo argued that it would have- been wrong to conceal his knowledge of kef history when- might b8 instrumental in rescuing hie-kinsman from so undesirable an alliance. " . On the other Kami, he conld not shut- o«t from his mind the suggestion of an uncomfortable consciousness, that the disclosure of her complicity in her brother's nefarious-' schemes would have been sufficient for (Geoffrey's enlightenment. There might have been no need fctf histft to add his own revela : tior«;. They wero yet he had 'a. guilty foelmg as if he had stabbed a woman ia tue dark.

Certajuiy, as he told himself, she merited no consideration from him. He had not changed from Iria chronic mood of grievance' against her. Ho.still and evet reproached her in his heart with having given him a push downward oft the broad road to ruin; but even if she were to be held responsible for that descent, it had how been at least partially retrieved. It may be true that revenge is sweet, yet 4 man's revenge.orj a woman seemed to him but a mean and paltry thing. It was not in a mere spirit of rwengafttlttase that he had spoken, jrefc now 1 be saw bis careless freedom of. speech as it might seem to others—saw how.'mere loose wagging of the tongue might be interpreted as purposeful vindictivenear—and he had a leli-reproachM feeling that, although, he might have -said more, he yet had said too much. CHAPTER XXXII '■ Olivia looked up with a startled of the heart when""Mr fib. Julian" was announced. Had Geoffrey relented ? But not It was Leopold who walked into the room following the announcement. Her momentary shock of disappointment passed quickly into questioning surprise and doubt. What was his business hew 7 She had not been aware of his presence in London, still less expected a visit from firm. She knew, of course, of his reappear'auce, recognition, and reception at tho Towers. She had heard the whole story from her brother, who had gone straight to her after leaving Sorrthclilfe to tell her that " the game was up," and to bid her good* bye. They had then parted, not knowing when or where, if ever, they would meet 1 again. . *. !

In spits of Lionel Hawkcsforth's news of the discovery of the fraud, Olivia had not lost hope. His "game might be up," bet she was not so certain that hers was. She uiight still plead her own cause with- GeofJ frey, and make out such a case in her own behalf a.s would preserve her influence over him. Lionel had staked and lost, but ehe clung still to the hope of. attaining the si-mmit of her ambition by a marriage with. Geoffrey, though it was bftt a straw of hope—a bare chance. Still, though tie chance were but one in a thousand, she would not lose it; she would do her best to hold Geoffrey still in her toils. And she had done her best, and. failed—failed with Geoffrey! Never had failure been so bitter to her before! Was it that for once something more than vanity, pride, ambition, greed, was stricken? Had she spoken no more than the truth when she told Geoffrey that she had never liked any man belter, nay, nono so well— '. as the one who had escaped her now? Rightly or wrongly she held Leopold sponsible for tie breaking of the toils and setting free her captive. Although Geoffrey had not specified his authority, it had not needed the mention of Leopold's name to-guide her to the source of information. It- was Leopold and nono other who had ruined her hope.s, snatched her ambition from her very grasp! And ho wrufhere! Why had he sought her out? On what errand had he come? I .She stood up and looted at him. She. haJ been pale, but the color rose in her. cheek, tie spirit "in,' her eyes; his guilty ccnwJence read or fancied a reproach in her look. She saw at a glancj that he had not come to exult over her, or to renew the* reproaches with which he had left her years* ago.. He looked rather Bulkily—shame-faced—-half ready to be uneasily defiant ? half inclined to apologise for his'intrusion.. Somewhat haltingly he "explained, his mission, and she, listening, quickly seized thesituation. She threw no difficulty in his' way; she quite understood the family anxiety under the circumstances, and was ready and willing to give what mformation j she could. But that was very little. Lionel had come to bid her good-bye, and she ■ knew nothing of his present whereabouts or prospective movements.. And whflo she •spoke, quietly, simply, straightforwardly,' she felt, even when she did not meet them, that Leopold's eyes were upon her; was aware, as if by some mesmeric conseioosneEs, 6f the reluctant fascination of reminiscence that drew them to her face.

Time had passed since they parted, ami not entirely without leaving its traces, but in the softened light of the shaded room tltoso traces were faint and few indeed. Olivia's charm had never consisted in mere bloom and freshness, nor m perfection oi feature. Form and color alike' fell short i>! faultlessness in her. Hers was a face that a man might pass by unnoticed twenty times, but the next time, if he chanced to pause and dwell on it, it was graven on his; mind's eye for ever. Leopold had looked on it too often for his own good in old days—those old days in which her voice, the low, dear voice, with its insidious, cool sweetness, had not been sweeter than now, as she questioned: " Well, have you, anytling else to ask—to say to me!" Leopold paused. Had he anything else to say? There was uracil—much that need not be said. After a, moment's hesitation he embarked oh a remark which there certainly was no absolute necessity to make. "It's a queer business this, all round, Gli-' via. I didn't think what I was coming home for."

"To give us all a surprise," she rejoined with a curious little smile. "How was it you escaped from the wreck of the North Star? It was supposed that only one boatload escaped. What became of you and the rest?"

" Why, I dare say you heard how the, first bo.it they launched capsizod with nil the unlucky beggara iu it, and the second boat got away clear. I wasn't in either of them, and when the ship went down 1 was floating about, clinging to a Moating spar, when I washed bang up against that unluckv boat, floating bottom upwards, just as she'd turned turtle! I managed to pet her righted somehow, and scrambled in. By a chance of luck the locker hadn't been smashed, and there were kegs of biscuit and water in it. The night was dark and thick, and I saw nothing of .the other boat. There were no oars, and I just drifted about for days until a whaler picked me up. But I was a regular Jonah; the whaler camo to grief, and I finally got on board a tramp vessel bound for Honolulu. There I had an accident. 1 was laid up on niy back . for weeks. But there's no need to bore by inflicting all my adventures on you. I ,expect you wish I hadn't pulled through. It was to your ..interest I shouldn't conic back."

•' Well, certainly, as far as strict reason goes, I have little cause to rejoice at your return; it happened at a bad time for me. The spider who has been carefully weaving a fine web. is seldom glad to welcome "the bioom that sweeps away his careful work at one fell stroke. But I suppose it was poetic justice that you should be the broom."

" No, there is not," she rejoined, bitterly. "You have left nothing more to be said." But after this painful interview was over it occurred to Geoffrey that there was one thing more that h«f should have said, one question he should bave asked that in the distressing embarrassment of the strained position he had forgotten. It was of interest to tlw family, for Claire's sake, 10 know anything that was to be known of the whereabouts and movements of Lionel ■Hawkesforth; he had lei; slip the opportunity, of making inquiries of Olivia, and, as it presently appeared, Olivia was" the only channel through which it seemed probable that any information could reach them, for Hugh Halcombe had sailed on his delayed voyage to the Cape, and Percy.Enderby had heard or *eeen nothing of Hawkesforth. The reoponing of communication with Olivia by Goffrey or any of the Garston Grange household waa undesirable, by any of the Towers family impossible; yet through what other channel could they obtain, news of her brother?

" Yes, I was the broom," he assented' dryly, " and Geoffrey was the fly so neatly entangled." She bent her head assentingly. " You made sliort work of my poor web,* 1 she said, with a faint, fmile, half dreamy, half bitter. "I behaved badly to you, I know. lYe thought of it sometimes, and been sorry for it—though I don't suppose you will believe that, and I may save" my breath. But you may be well satisfied now. You have had your revenge." He winced. "Kevettge!" That was the very word he had been trying to escape in his own mind. . ' "I didn't look at it in that way ' Oliviai" he said. "I spoilt your ganie, I know; or, rather,..! teumjied one trick. ' But, to

use y<raE ;own simile/.' if I was the broom, Pate was the hand! And there are other webs, to weave, and other flies to ensnare.” “And I—l eia Ufcs ptssfcdimt model spider f. But even that poor insect emstfe to ctid 1 ot his te&IM and wove his Hast web at Mot. 1 ’ ‘"Tdir dofft look Much like weaving your last web,” he r%|eined, looking with reluctant} bn the face that Was .still fair—yes, ’ quand memo!—fair as ever, in his eves.. ' : ■ ’ ■' “Do I hot?”-she re joined. “Who shall say? It might, have been my last hops that. you, ruthlessly destroyed!” with a mocking smile—thesame audacious, baffling smile that had pKjued" and tantalised, enthralled and maddened him in the pastdeya .-rHffeat, did not now seem so long ago. : “How Hire you. Olivia!” he said, involuhtsrily; and like a M&ile of reminiscence broke .through the gloom; of ■his expression. ‘ ' * • ’.“Yon don’t find hm tooth changed, then! la it the old Olivia Still? 1 ’

"The old Olivia still," he echoed. Meet-, lug bis eyes, the smile on hep lips changtd .its character a little; it seemed to'defy aMd yet allure; a softer'and more subtle glance stole into the eyes that seemed to have •■caught their lights and shadows from the green aea> as a dim glimmering dawned upon her of ft way. opened through the darkness of dssappomtattttirt--«jf deep and" bitter nwttiftcatrott. Hero tit leftst Was Wife who hid not forgotten. Though Geoffrey cast- her off, another might forgive. There was much to be said Between these . two,- it seemed that the longer they talked the more they found to say; and Olivk did not shrink from the subject Leopold would have scrupled to introduce. She knew that he must be aware of her cognisance of Lionel Hawkesforth's scheme—indeed, her. complicity in it. That could not be escaped or denied, and it was a matter better i grappled with than evaded. lb would be idle to evade or deny anything with Leopold ; he knew her too well. Arid she knew him—knew that there was a certain primttiveness about., his ethical perceptions —r-a vein of carelessness-, even lawlessness, in his nature. Where she had failed with Geoffrey, in whom a steady conservatism of principle underlay hfe emotional mipul--siveness, she might succeed with Leopold, ■! who had never cumbered the ground by the \ growth of too abundant a crop of raotal | principles. She knew, too, the streak of J an odd sort of wrong-headed chivalry in Leopold i knew that with her schemes shattered, her plans and ambition wrecked by his means, she was nearer to reviving her old influence over him than if she had been successful and triumphant; yes, eventrwugh she had acted under-her brother's influence —been persuaded to be his tool. The fish which has been caught, landed, played with, and thrown back into the i water is seldom, befooled into nibbling at the same bait again; and Leopold was quite determined he would not enact the part of the ioolish fish'wbo is twice deluded. BUll, he drifted into talking of old i days with Olivia—-speculating aa to the curious workings of Fate or Chance in this 3trango stary that involved the past and present generations of the St. Julians,, telling her his amazement at the discovery of Lionel's secret motive, Lionel's bitter | brooding over a buried wrong. Yes, there ; was much to be said, much to recall, and j much that in her .presence Leopold strangely forgot. Olivia, for ber part, knew very j well what she meant him to remember and. j what she wished hhn to forget. If nothing i could reinstate the ambition so cruelly j snatehed from her grasp almost on tie very , eve of attainment, she might at least re- 1 trieve a step of the downfall that had ' plunged her into the depths of mortification. It was maddening to think that sh& might, in the course of a few weeks—or months at furthest—have been Lady St. Julian, mistress of The Towers. The ruin of that shattered castle in the air was bitter enough—bitter and irreparable. Geoffrey had determinedly broken off with her; shecould not weave her weT> around hira anew. I But here was one of the same name, blood, aud racer—in whose power it lay to pivo her, i if he so chose, that name which Geoffreybad deemed her unworthy of bearing. Yes, I the name at least, if not the proud position, i might even yet be hers, if only Leopold could. be ■ ensnared once more! For the. doubts as to sanction of Church and State that Geoffrey had plainly intimated, Olivia eared not a jot. Let her only once have the ...light to claim the name, of St. Julian, and she would bear it, in, triumph .in lands where ho one would think of challenging it. After all, the world" was wide, and life was not over with one failure.

(To be, coochidwL}