ACROSS THE FACE, OR THE SECRET OF OSMONDALE.

Evening Star, Issue 13002, 22 December 1906, Page 11

ACROSS THE FACE, OR THE SECRET OF OSMONDALE.

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CHAPTER VI IT. VOICES OS THE SIGHT. There was an amateur dramatic performance to take place some distance from Osmondalo on this eventful evening, to which Mr Pascoe felt bound to go, and with him went the fragment of the KavcriEcrag partv, with tho exception of three-'-Garth himself, Mr Broughton, and Bertie Lester. Kavcnscrag had taken leave of his guests before they drove away merruy, and thou he went to the room where Broughton and Lester sat reading. “Remember, tho house is your own during ibv absence,” he said; and soon after dinner he took his leave. Mr Brou; will wont back to Ins reading, and Bertie, .niera vain attempt to produce sweet sounds fio'gi his violin, strolled out to the tool night air. He had declined to join die theatrical patty on the pha of not feeing up to tho mark, and Pascoe had said ihat. Mr Lester had not yet recovered from Tyner’s blow. 'Broughton sat watching the rod eye of Lester’s cigar shining in the dusky garden as he wound in and out among tho trees, and then it faded away, and tho restless steps were still. His calm brown eyes gaged still buforc him in a dreamy fashion, and Iris book was forgotten, for ho scanned the pages of his own life, not that of an imaginary hero.

“ Claim thine own, And see how gladly I, thy thankless heir. Would yield theo' back possession of thy throne; I am not so in love with inches grown That such can comfort me!’’

he murmured, holt aloud, wandering on the shores of that sea wherein he had seen many a barque freighted with hopes and loves sink iu hopeless wreck. Now its reaves were calm and grey ; they neither rose to storm nor ®nk to rest. The sky above was ncntral tinted. How time went on he knew not. Ho was roused from reverie by hearing a ring, and someone enter the balk turning his head, he saw Ravenscrag pass the door, and in his surprise ho called to him. "Have you misted your train?” The other answered not, but presently ho came into the room and closed the door, and Broughton thought ho had never seen such wild eye* set in a face to white. “Whati is the matter?” he asked, involuntarilv.

‘‘l am not going, that is all.' And then he, the strong young man, flung his hands before his face and sobbed. “I wish I were in my grave,” ha said, bitterly. "Don't, Broughton; let me bo !” Broughton resumed Ins scat, quietly watching his friend. “I cannot offer advice or consolation,’ he said, "became I do not know what troubles you, but you may depend o * me for both, and for help, if it ho in my , otter to gtvo it.” ' ,

** Yon cannot help me, a.,d don’t question me. I beg you. Bcmorse that comes too late is enough to bear. And perhaps if I did tell you you would turn against me.” “That is vour idea of friendship.” “ Yours will be tested soon enough,” said Bavenscrag bitterly. “ Oh, tho discovery will come; it.cannot be avoided. What is done cannot be undone, and then you will one and all leave me.” “W rv well, if vou think so,” said Brough, ton quie 4|' . and' Garth continued to pace up and uov.ii the room in uncontrollable agitation, while the brown eyes studied him with growing alarm. “ What have you done?” he said at last, sterclv. “Don't ask me. O, Broughton, I havo been mad to-night!” “You still are. I think.” “From this night my name will be dishonored,” said the younger man, clenching his hands, and then the other rose and looked at him. “One of two things,’ he said— either tell me right out what you have done, ot drop these hints. Half measures never suit me, and if you can’t give me your full confidence keep it. And if you were to sit down, instead of stamping about like that, vou would have more chance of recovering vour semes. " The <irv, matter-of-fact tone seemed to act like *a charm on Bavenscrag. He pressed his hand to his head. •‘Where is Pascoe?” he asked, and the others?” . “They have not returned yet. Bertie is oat by himself.” , Another long silence, broken at last by the entrance of a servant. “ If vou please, sir, a man wishes to see you.” -To see me?” cried Bavenscrag. “Who is he? What does he want? Excuse me a moment. Broughton.” Mr Broughton nodded. Ho was leaning on the mantelpiece, the firelight glowing on his dark face and long brown beard, grave and sad in aspect, bewildered in mind, and so he remained until Garth returned, struggling into his coat, his face even whiter than before. “ Here's a horrible thing, Broughton 1 ho exclaimed. “ Cosmo Tyner has been found shot deal on tho roadside.” Air Broughton sent some fragile ornament down with a crash by his movement of alarm and horror. "Great heavens! Bavenscrag, it is not possible!” "Av, and that is not tho worst! They i'.ivo arrested Bertie Lester fur it, and he is a prisoner!’’

He, tho calm, cool cynic, lifted both hands to his head with a‘wild gesture, and trembled like a girl. “ I wish it would please Heaven to restore my senses !” he said. “ Ravenscrag, do you actually mean this?" “ I do indeed. It is horrible!” “ Horrible! Merciful heaven, it seems onlv a moment since I was watching him in "the garden! Where arc you going ? What do you mean to do?”

“I am going to Bertie. I must see him.” “ Wait a moment, and I’ll go with you,” said Broughton. “No; stay here, please. All the others will bo coming in, and I must see him—

“Well, he is an older friend of yours than of mine. Go, by all means. But he cannot be guilty.’’ “ Well, I am going,” said Ravenscrag, hurriedly; “ here is the man who brought the message, if you like to question him.” As soon as Garth had gone Broughton turned to the messenger—none other than an ostler from the Goat's Head. “Is it true t" he asked. ” Has Mr Lester been arrested?” “ Yes, eir, ho have. They was takin’ him off when I see him, and they did say as ho had been caught just shooting Mr Vyner.” “Is he dead ?” asked Broughton, * wincing. " Stone dead. And his father going on awful.” “ Did Mr Lester seem —did he look ” “ Queer? Well, not more than you’d exijfct, sir. He was very white. There was *lond on his band, and when some of ’em m the crowd pointed it out he looked as if he’d faint. But he was quite cool when be spoke to me. ‘Jo,’ ses he, ‘will you go up to Ravenscrag and tell ’em as I shan't bo home to-night?’ Which I did. Bless ver ’cart, the town’s full of it.” Broughton asked no mora. He leaned his aching head against the cold windowpane, staring out at the quiet moonlight, and back to bis thoughts came the memory of another night, when he had seen those mild, serene beams fall on the face of the beloved dead, with horror and dismay. And now that bright little skiff, with its shining white sails, the Bertie Lester—was that, too, wrecked? Erwn bis melancholy tausiars r ka .was

' BY MART GROSS, Author of ‘Under Sentence, ‘A Woman’s Victory,’ 'His Own Enemy,’ etc.

roused by the sound of laughter and merry voices. 'The dramatic party were returning, and how horribly incongruous was their mirth! lie heard their quick feet in the hall, their gay jests and badinage, with a shudder.

“ All tile family out, it seemeth, shabby follows!” “Oho!” ‘‘Violin .‘olo.to the waning moon, by Herbert Lester, with a croaking chorus by Diogenes Broughton!” “ Come along and find them. Pascoe, don’t stand posing there as the hero in the third act!” "My word, Pascoe would give his ears to be as good-looking as that fellow was! liost amateur ever I saw in my life!” “ Which one ?’’ “Why, that follow, what’s his name? Prank Milton, on the bills.” ‘‘Why, wherever was you born and eddicated not to know that Frank Milton is a professional from an A 1 London company? Amateur, forsooth !” ' •

“ The young man did very well,” said Pascoe, gently. “Great shame they always give him second parte. He only wants a chance to get on the top of the tree,” said Brown. “ All second-part actors say that,” put in Pascoe.

" Ah, but Milton, doesn’t, and that's why I think there’s stuff in him. lie’ll lead in your dramas yet.” “I should like to see him,” said Pascoe, ironically, and not knowing that ono day his words vsould come true. " This isn’t finding the babes in the wood, though.” Then harum-scarum Cecil Hawdou hurst in on Mr Broughton, as ho stood liko a statuo in bronze. "Yoicks! Tally-ho! Unearthed! Tantivy, tantivy!’ he yelled, bringing the whole tribe clattering in, with Pascoe last, cool, clean, leisurely, with his chin in the air. "\ cm are making a great noise,” said Broughton, grimly, "and you have all had enough wine.” “ Bless your heart, it is the salmon. Salmon always makes us so!” returned Hawdon. “Someone been rubbing your fur the wrong way, eh? Where has Bertie eloped to? Where is he?” “He is in gaol, I believe,” replied Broughton. “ Gentlemen, can yon he serious? I would not spoil your mirth and fun, but you are bound to be told. A horrible thing has happened. Cosmo Tyner has been found shot, dead.” There was a solemn silence; the voices died, the faces grew grave. Hawdon gave a law whistle. “ Lester has returned his blow with good interest,” said Mr Pascoe, with awe, and Hawdou turned on him furiously. " How dare you say such a thing? What right have you to accuse any man of murder?” “ Bless my life, sir, Mr Broughton said Lester had been arrested,” returned the astonished dramatist. “On suspicion,” said Broughton. “Wo shall all be ready and willing to believe the worst of him, no doubt.” “Hanged if I am!” said Brown, a school friend of Lester’s. “ And the only thing I am sorry for is that Bertie didn’t take two witnesses and measure the ground, supposing he did fire the shot, which I doubt.” They had exhausted their comments, and thoroughly cross-questioned Broughton, when Bavenscrag returned to add to the excitement. “What dees Bertie say? What is the next?” asked all the voices together- “ He has refused to see me,” said Garth, very quietly. “Nonsense! You don’t mean it?” “ But I do. I pressed hard, and finally got this note from him. You may as well hear it, perhaps.” He handed it across the table to Broughton, but Mr Pascoe intercepted it, as if it had been to himself, and read it: I beg you and all others to leave me to myself. You can do no good, and it is my desire to be left alone. It was written hurriedly in pencil, the end torn off from the slip of paper, to which Pascoe called attention. " Something else has been written here,” ho said. “ One or two sentences, meant for my eves only,” said Bavenscrag, with dignity, and Arthur bowed and apologised. “ Leave him to himself, indeed!” said Brown. “ Poor old Bertie ; he was always running his blessed yellow head against some wall or another!” “ It looks very black,” said Mr Pascoe. “ The worst is his refusal to see anyone,” put in Hawdon. Bavenscrag looked round upon them, drawing himself up to the full of his majestic height. " Gentlemen,” he said gravely, “MrLester is my friend, and until bo admits himself guilty, the man who speaks against him is my enemy.” “What do you mean to do?” asked Broughton, drawing Bavenscrag aside, and speaking in a low tone. "The only thing I can do is to employ counsel, if . Wc must wait until the inquest is over. lam very much afraid.” “What,? You know more than you have told?” “ No ; but I wish I had seen him.” He left ihem to their comments, and in the empty library once mere read the scrap of paper he had tom from Bertie’s note :

“ Show me some mercy. Let us part in peace; do not make it harder for me. I know the truth about to-night, but I will not betray you. In return, leave me to myself.” In the little town of Osmondalo there had been no such sensation as this death and rapid arrest since tidings had come of tbo Earl being killed in a duel. Great sympathy was expressed for Colonel Tyner, a discreet silence observed as to his son ; whilst, as to Herbert Lester, no sane man could doubt bis guilt. After the first outbreak. Colonel Tyner settled into a cold sternness that suited his cast of face. No ono saw him weep, or heard him complain, but there was a deadly firmness, a dangerous inflexibility about him, that told he was bent on revenge, and would not he baulked ol it. Ho sat for hours beside bis dead sou, and no one dare disturb him, not even bis poor, heartbroken sister. Since that fatal night Clarice had been completely prostrated, and had kept her room. She felt sure that her guardian hated her, and was almost afraid of him. Therefore* when ho came to sec her ono afternoon, she was surprised to find him unchanged—nay, kinder than before. She did not know that her red eyes and pale chocks gave him a strange comfort; that he looked on her as another victim, owing to certain words of hers repeated by Cady Lamlash, which led the Colonel to regard her as a dead man’s bride, bewailing Cosmo, whose suite she had' refused only in girlish, coquetry. If she had really cared for Ravenscrag, ho argued, she would not so have mourned for the death of his rival, and these tears for Cosmo pleased him, gave her a share in bis sorrow, and made hztn pardon her. When die town bad discussed the tragedy in all its lights and shades, it prepared to bold its breath and suspend its excitement until the inquest, and had in a degree calmed, when there came a fresh incident, a fresh subject of discourse. The prisoner had escaped. He persisted in bis refusal to see his friends, and no one, therefore, saw him. This had looked bad for him; his flight was a tacit admission of guilt. How he hnd managed it, no one knew. Whispers .vest about that by influence, bribery,...and

corruption, his friends had managed it. A door had been accidentally left open, a .key unturned, and the bird had flown, whither no one know. Opinions were divided on the matter, some saying they were glad, ter Bertie had been popular-; others citing the connivance as a proof that justice for the rich and justice for the poor are very d.ffereut, and that if he’d been a tramp, “in ” for stealing a loaf, ho wouldn’t have got away. However, ho\had got away, ra, clearly and completely as if he had possessed invisibility. No one bad seen him, or heard him.

An extraordinary escape? But not more extraordinary than the fact that two gentlemen could bo cut to pieces, almost, in a public park, in broad daylight, and no eyes see those who did the deed. A rumor went about that, when the news reached Colonel Vyner, he was like a madman with fury and passion. He was seen rushing into the Police Office, with livid lips and wild oyer, to be met by a wooden-faced, imperturbable gentleman, who beard his ravings with professional patience, let him exhaust himself in invective, and then quietly informed him that the detectives wore on the prisoner’s track, and his capture would be effected, almost immediately.

So tho day of the inquest came, and a pale jury viewed the ghastly figure of the dead man, and heard how he had been found lying on the roadside, with Herbert Lester standing over him, and the pistol which had been taken from that young man being produced in court, two ’susceptible fenndes went into hysterics. Evidence was given as to tiro, arrest, and due prominence given to tho fact that Mr Lester had made no resistance. As to the crime, iic had observed a marked silence, but had refused to sec or receive messages from hi; friends.

Then witnesses were called to prove illwill between tho deceased and tho escaped prisoner, among them Arthur Pascoe and Cecil Hawdon. The latter gentleman related the incident of the horsewhip, with tho gratuitous information that it was a cruel blow, and would have staggered a strong man—which Bertie wasn’t. "Had Mr Ixistcr used threatening language?” . "I am not sure. I will not swear that he did.” “Do you think ho did?” “ What I thud; is not evidence.” Cecil was or. guard, but ho had to admil that Mr Lester had quite’changed in man ncr since the blow, this information beiir. got out of him like a tooth. Then Mr Arthur Pascoe was called, and gave his evidence in n sclf-po?«essed, gen tlcraauly nay, and, when he told how 1m would repay the blow with good interest, there was a sensation in court, and an audible murmur. Others confirmed his testimony, and tin inquiry resulted in a verdict of wilful minder against Herbert Looter, and tho olfo; of a large reward for his capture. So, ‘‘Stop, Cain!” was cried, and the dogs of law lot slip, and tho hunt began aftci the man who had fled for life and liberty, tho role thing ho had left. Fur “It is not much that a man can save On the sands of life, in the straits of time ; Some waif washed up with tho strays and spars, That ebb-tide shows to the shore and the .stars, Weed from tho water, grass for a grave, A broken blceeom, a mined rhyme.” Bertie fled to save his waif, and weed, and grass, when all things else had perished—love and friendship, good name and fair fame. They were very dull at Ravenscrag. The verdict had east a fearful gloom upon them, and there would be to-morrow a general exodus from the house, which would then be left to the master and his Jonathan. “ Poor old Bertie,” jaid Brown, dolefully, as they sang his requiem tlris last night, “maybe that presentiment of hi. had something in it. But to think he should lose himself tor Cosmo Vyner.” “Say of tho dead but what is good,” said Mervyn. “ Hang it,” said Cecil Hawdon, “if 1M been struck as Bertie was, I would have paid my debt at once.” “ I think wo have had enough of hasty words,” came Broughton’s quiet voice. “ Bertie Lester paid dearly lor his. which everyone so carefully treasured in memory. If he had said anything kind, would you so well have remembered it?” “It was scarcely likely we would perjure ourselves, oven for Mr Lester,” said Arthur Pascoe. " If you met him in the street you would feel it a matter of conscience and duty to give him in charge. The young dramatist uplifted his chin as he answered: “I have a bad memory for faces. If I met Mr Lester in the street to-mrorow 1 should not know him.” Who racoon Broughton gave him. a Grandisonian bow.

“ I wonder where he's hiding,” said Brown, musingly. " Possibly hi this house,” said Pascoe, with significance. “ Hold your tongue,” said Cecil Hawdon, low and sharp. Up wont Pascoe’s eyeglass and chin simultaneously.

“I beg your pardon, Mr Hawdon. May I ask it you wore addressing me?” ” I was, and 1 said Hole your tongue! Like poor Bertie Lester's, it goes too last sometimes.” Pascoc turned to Brown.

“ Would you oblige me with a glass ol water, please?” and as that gentleman passed the carafe, he poured out a glass and drankit. That was all. Some thought that Hawdon was to receive it in the lace, but Pascoe simply remarked that he felt better, and sat down, whilst Cecil laughed and clapped his shoulder. ‘‘Arthur went into a restaurant onco on a time,” he said, “and ordered a dozen oysters. Proprietor brings only eleven, whereon Arthur remonstrates. Proprietor rubs lus hands, smiles sweetly at Arthur, and says there is an old superstition against thirteen at table. Pascoe, old hoy, that was ono to you.”

There was a good deal of laughing at Arthur’s expense, iu the midst of which Broughton got up and left the room. ‘‘Gracious hcavon !” he said, “so short a timo ago they heard the man whom they caressed, and petted, and flattered, convicted of a crime which will cost him his life if captured, which blots him out of tho world, and heaps upon him everlasting disgrace and shame! If taken, he would bo condemned to a disgraceful death. And ono man calls another an oyster, and makes us all very merry under the pleasant shade of the gibbet! Most friendship is feigning, most loving more folly. I wonder what is next?” How could ho foresee the revolution which tho next- evening would bring? By noon of the following day all had gone—Cecil Hawdon to his long-suffering parents, with Pascoe and another—and dark night closed round the towers of Eavonscrag. CHAPTER IX. BKVEJCOE IS SWEET. Tho mists and shades of a dull evening wero closing in, the autumn was in its melancholy old age, the trees bare and gaunt. Ravenscrag was dull and quiet, its master going about like ono half dead, whilst of til the guests only Broughton remained. He sat by tho fire in semi-darkr.c-.SB, its full glow on his face, finding pictures in the warm red, a quiet, solitary figure, whoso thoughts were with tho blue-eyed boy who had passed away in clouds of shame,' when all at onco there came upon him the uneasy’ consciousness of being watched, and lifting his head with one of the slow, calm movements that characterised him he met a pair of eyes, and saw a face pressed to l ho. window, regarding him very earnestly. Broughton got up, quietly walking to the window, but the owner of the face stood his ground, and beckoned impatiently. Broughton opened tho window. “What do you want?”

“I want to speak to you. Como out.” “You are the man who knocked me down when 1 caught you prying here before,” said Broughton, bending down to look closely into the stranger’s face. > “ Yes, and I’m a-going to knock yon down again,” was the surprising reply which Broughton, received with h:s natural coolness.

Then ho turned to his informant. “Is this true?”

“You had better do eo, then,” ho said quickly. “Ah! I want to tell yon something about that murder,” said the man, lowering his voice, and Broughton at once stepped out. i , “Tell me then, and bo sharp about it.” “ You’d better come away a bit from the 'home. You won’t want ’em to hear. Don’t be afraid.” Broughton turned Ids eyes on the man. “ Afraid of you ! Tell mo what you came to tell, and don’t waste time, my good fellow.” They had halted among a cluster of trees, and Broughton leaned against a broad trunk, his anus folded. “ It’s about your Mr Herbert Lester,” began tho man. “ I’ll give you a hundred pounds if you’ll tel! mo where ho is,” cried Broughton eagerly, and the other coughed. “ You’re very liberal, sir, I must say. But we’ll settle accounts when I’m done. Your Mr Lester didn’t do that murder ; he never fired that shot. Hold hard, don’t ask any questions till I’m done. I know nothing bat what 1 heard and reen. Corning along home that night through tho fields, I secs a man lying in the road, sees him as I look over the hedge, and am just a-looking when up comes Mr Lester, pulls up when he nearly falls over the man, gives a groan, and goes down ou his knees, and lifts tho other chan's head. ‘Great ’Evans,’ kcs he,

‘it’s Cosmo Vyner! My poor fellow, who done this?’ Then Mr Vyner gives a groan. I’m done,’ lie ses. ‘ he’s made sure of Clarice this time, curse him.’ Then Lester feels Ins wrist. ‘Who done it?’ ho «cs. ‘Did you sec who done it?’ And Mr Vyner turns his head a bit. ‘ Your friend,’ ses? he, ‘Garth Ravenscrag. He’s paid your debt for yon, hasn’t he?’ Then Mr* Lester bursts out a. sobbing, and sea he: ‘Don’t say Garth done it, for God’s sake!’ And Mr "Vyner lifts himself right up and straight, and ses: ■Ho did. He said : “Clarice is mine now,” and fired; and he is my murderer.’ Then he flings up his arms, and falls back dead. And Mr Lester kneels there a long time like as if he was praying. Then he gets up and flings up his hands, and ses ho : ’ I’ll .save him. Of what use is my life?’ And then—yon know vihat come next, sir, eh?” Broughton took out his handkerchief ami wiped his face, which had grown livid. “ History repeats itself,” ho murmured inwardly. ’’ How do they always contrive to got a scapegoat, though ?”

“ I’ll swear'it,’.’ replied he. “L am not asking you to swear it. 1 laroaiiv you would. 1 ask you in the presence of Him who will one day judge you, lid you actually hear and soo this?” Vos, I did. It’s as true as death,”

“And why did you conceal it? Why lid not you fell it at tho inquest?” “ Well, what was Ihe good when Mr Lestur had gone, and Mr Ravenscrag never ■-.aid nothing? It was for him to speak. Mow could I prove yit?” “And why do you tell me?”

“ Whv, raly, governor, I thought you’d vo thai. without asking. I thought as .-on was, a. friend of Mr Ra.venscrag’s. and '■on all thinking the world of him . never mind. There's a young lady at the Colonel's would maybe, give me- the twice of mv silence.”

“ 1 understand yon now, scoundrel Von want me to buv it,” said Broughton

“ h'oeins a pity that both gentlemen should suffer, doesn't it, for one man! And I might get talking.” “Why do you conic to me? Why not llavenscrag ?” “ Ah. 1 knows.him. He'd turn round and laugh, and say : ‘ Provo it. Who'll take vour word against mine? Who’ll believe that any man would bo such a tool hosier?’ There he’d have mo.” “ You arc a very clover villain,” said Broughton grimlv, "and now what is to prevent me from telling tho truth and saving Herbert Lester?” “ Why, I have you there, gov’nor. I’d say prove it, and, with Mr Lester "one, and Air lia.vcnscr.ig saving he never done it. and me saying I never heard nor seen nothing, and you must ’a’ dreamt it, where’d '-oil be, sir, 1 ask? And when Air Lester has clean gone, what's the use of bothering about it?” “ You me very considerate. You want money. Do I look like a rich man?” “ You doesn’t, but that ring is worth something, oh?” “And when you get that you’ll get my hand with it, my good man ! And suppose 1 s:i'- to you ‘ Prove it ; who’ll believe that any man would bo such a fool as Lester?’ What then?” “ Natcrally I goes to Aliss Kilsyth.” “ And if site says tho same, you scound- “ Why, I begins to prove it. And I asks where was M r Eavonscrng at the time if the murder? You ask him that yourself.” The. man stuck to his erred with a cool, calm pertinacity that stagesred Broughton. “ Well, give mo a moment or two to consider,” ho said, “and never mind flourishing that stick of vours. lam not to be frightened. The worst you can do with it is to knock my brains out, and that won’t benefit you.” “ You’ro a cool hand, gov’nor,” said the •i.an with a grin. Air Broughton moved away a little. Too clearly did he remember Bavenscrag’s extraordinary maimer on the night of the murder. And he had greater cause for eiimitv against Cosmo Vyner than had over poor Bertie, who. to have his friend s honor and life, had flung himself in the breach, ami sacrificed Ills own. No matter what might be his • birth. _ noblesse oblige became a noble motto in his hands. He applied it to love and friendship and held himself above selfishness even in trifles, and in great, how did ho excel ! His friendship was a love- massing that of woman his faith bound him to the stake, and made him a martyr. Ho was innocent. The ’"111 beaut vof that soul was still" pure. The lil- he had always carried. now he bore with it the martyrs palm. So thought Broughton. In the meantime this man must be knot silent. No good could bo done by spreading tho story until Bertie Lester was found. And "found ha must be. What if tho man who let him sutler lot him bear tho shame, and made no sign ? “Poor llavenscrag,” thought Broughton,

“a cup of water arid a thirsty man! His freedom was offered him. and ho took it— Ho stood there almost forgetting the presence of that witness to Vyner's death. For the man spoke tho truth. He had been present, aim whilst 11 rough to n etancs musing we mav go back to that fatal night, bridle' following Herbert heeler when fate or chance, good or ill, Ic’d him from the garden to tho outer lanes, and then t<» tho cliffs, where, white and sparkling in the moonlight, heaved the bosom of tho sea. He sat down on one of tho great boulders, thinking of the story he had by accident heard —his own melancholy history.

No delicate lady could have a more sensitive nature than had ho; and the humiliation, not only cn himself, but on the dead mother lie had never known, made deep and cniel wounds. And jyow lie understood what separated him from others, why other men could speak of their parents, could oather relatives about them, whilst ho liad none, or if he had, was'to them a disgrace and a. reproach. He got np and walked away, for the voice of the sea seemed to mock him, and, wandering along the road, he came upon the body of Cosmo Vyner, recognising him with horror indescribable.' As lie lifted .the languid licad ho felt ills hands wet with blood, and the eyes of the wounded man met his with a wild blending of rage and pain. And as he uttered his dying words neither he nor Bertie raw the dark figure closo beside, listening .stealthily—the figure of a man who had, made the revelation to Broughton. Cosmo died ; and then Bertie saw as in a vision what would come. Kavonscrag’.s disgrace, Clarice’s misery, an eternal infamy on a proud and honored name that traced itself back, hack through long centuries of glory to the dim splendors of tho Pendragon himself. How could this be averted, how could ha save tho man whose friendship had long helped him, which had been his guarantee? He was very deeply in Garth’s debt —more deeply than any one knew —and lie saw now rlawniug upon him a great and terrible sacrifice.

A life for a life! There are more wuya than one of reading; that sentence. /.

. He lifted his face, white and agonised, to those calm, limpid skies beyond which was that Mercy and Help He had never learnt to doubt, between whom and his own heart no cloud of scepticism, had ever conic. Pure as in the days of his sinless childhood was the faith ot* the young man’s soul; as a knight might, liear the standard of his prince, so ho bore it above the tneerfc of unbelievers, and the well-bred- doubt and d belief of the world. “ Strong set in a sure affection, He looked to the golden prime, When a mightier resurrection Should burst on the -doubts of time.

When the thoughts of all the sages, Uko waves of the fretful main. At the base of tho Rock of Ages, Should foam and fume in vain.” This was his hour of agony, this place his garden of olives. Yes, it must be. What stain could be on his name when he was nameless? And was he not better dead than living? ho when tho others came they found him, and he left his innocence to heaven; he took ip the burden of another’s rin.

Truthfully he coiud not plead guilty, and lie dare not avow his innocence. He had ,still life, and he fled, dying to tho world forever, all unconscious of that witness, who now demanded a price for the young man s sacrifice.

An impatient cough roused Mr Broughton from hi-- lengthy reverie, and he turned to the .stranger. “How much do you want?” ho asked curtly, and the man named a sum. “I don’t behove I have it.” He turned over the leaves of his pocket book slowly. “ I have iiot so much about me. It is not a very large, sum. You will want more, I know'. Name your pries right off, all you

Therefore he did, after a little reflection, during which Mr Broughton apparently made'notes in his bock, but in reality drew the) man's face. “Well, I can’t give you all that now. You must wait.” “But you can give me a part, for I’m hard up.” “ I can give you those notes, all 1 have now.”

“ Yon can give me a cheque for more, maybe?” . , „ . . Mr Broughton looked up quietly from Ins sketching. “ Can yon write, Mr -? You didn’t give mo your name.” “I can writo middling.” “Well, I shall not give you a cheque now nor any other linv.-, becaifc c you might want (o improve your writing eorne day. ;uul might lake my signature for your model.” “ Yoti’ro a ’cute one, you are.”

“You have got your money. You shall have the rest, the'full sum on application, after to-morrow. But mind, I buy your silence outright. It is mine, and, being mine, you nro not to offer it to anyone else. If you go and ring money out nf anyone else, take cure. You have chosen a dangerous game, and you are playing it with a dangerous man. Your name?” “William Thomas.”

“ Well, William Thomas, yon go. After to-morrow you may have your entire hush-money.”

“It’s a very large sum ’’ “Very generous of you to admit it.” “For a poor chap like mo. I’d maybe lose it. Couldn’t you let me have it in bits, eo much tho quarter like? It would bo outlier for us both.”

Broughton suddenly caught tho man by the threat and .shook him.

“ You scoundrel! Do you think I am such a fool as to put myself in your power ? To give you power to say I keep a ruffian like you in my pay from month to month? Take what you have got and go.” Ho went. It was perhaps the wiser plan, as these quiet- men are the most dangerous when roused. Ho turned hack and waved his hand.

“All right, Mr High-and-mitrhly! But it’s ono for me to ha\'o you paying mo at all. Some day somebody- may- he asking why <lid you want Mr Lceter out of tho way, and why did you pay me to keep dark t-o as he daren’t come back? Queer things turn up at truest.” Unconscious of this soliloquy, Broughton went back to his house. Ravenscrag was still writing in his private room, and he got.on his coat and hat, turning his stops in the direction of the town.

■‘Ho was sorely tempted,” he mused, ns he wont ; “ the man was hi.s rival, and insulted him and tbcisa dear to him. But Bertie was Ills brother, Ida guide, his own familiar friend, yet must he be sacrificed too ! I suppose. a. good and virtuous follow would fly from him in horror—would leave him to shift for himself. Not being good, I stay beside the wreck. He has been kind to mu. We have been friends these many days. All things come to linn who will but wait, and the hour may come when I shall find tho boy who ban sacrificed himself, and teach Iho man for whom, ho did it how to atone.” By this timo he had readied Ids destination. and walked into a room where an irnpa-ssivc-laccd man sat writing. He rose as Broughton entered. "Business, sir, 1 suppose?” " Yes. Do you know that face at all?” He showed a sketch done on a leaf torn apparently from a pocket hook. "Can’t say I do know it, particular.”

'■ It. is the face of a man who calls himself William Thomas. He is going about CJ.unonda.lu just now. Find out what ho is, where he canto from, and all about him, as quickly as pcr-sible. It won’t do for him to Kuepcct.” “1 understand, sir. Perhaps you would give me your namo and addiess.” " Yes, ;uid you may bury it among the other things you know. This address will always iiud me.” Ho gave, him a card on which he had pencilled something, and the man glanced at it. * “ That. i.> for your private use, remera’ber,” raid Air Broughton. “ Good-night.” '• Good-night, sir,” very respectfully. “ It has gone hard with the Colonel’s son,” mused Air Broughton as bo returned to Eavenscrag. Garth was waiting for him when be got back. “ X wondered where you bad gone,” he said, lifting Ins heavy, eyes, but Air Broughton did not explain. As he glanced at the young man tic noted something new in him, a sharper air of excitement. “Wiiy do you look at me so?” lie asked abruptly. “Garth, I wish to heaven there were full and open confidence, between us: I wish you would trust me—bow earnestly I cannot put in words.” “What can I tell you, Broughton? Ask your question.” “ Where were you tho night Vyner was shot';” Kavenscrag turned on him with flashing eyes, nit in anger, but pain. ’ “ Never ask that again, Broughton.” • “ Perhaps I know,” said tho other very eadly. “ Then if you do know, bo silent. Thcro has been a. fearful break up, but one at least may bo spared. I suppose you will go with the. tide, now that it has turned against mo.” “I think it lias turned against others as well.” Ay, that unfortunate Bertie. .I’d give tho world to iind him ; but if I do, so will Vyner. He is sure to keep a watch on me, and I would not havo Bertie discovered—by him.” Broughton went to bis room at a comparatively early hour. Going upstairs bo encountered tbe housekeeper, who woro an inscrutable air of mystery blenaed with resignation, and ho wondered what was the latest. In tho morning Eavenscrag was abstracted and gloomy to a degree, Broughton scarcely I as so, and they sat in silence. Merry "voices had died with tho laughter and the many footsteps ; the sad, old house was quiet. Ko light snatches of song, no airs on tho violin, now in long-drawn . strains of sweetness, now in light, bright, tripping notes. They sat among ths ashes and the ruins of tho past. All at ones tho door opened, and a,servant entered, telling his master that the lodgokecper’e little uoy wanted to speak to him, and presently tho child appeared, hat in hand. “Well, my hoy, what is it?” asked Eavenscrag. , “ If you pleuse, sir, fathor_sentanQ xnn-i

ning to toll you Colonel Vyner's coining and some more.”' “ Colonel Vyner!” echoed Ravens crag, and Broughton, raising his hegd in surprise and alann, chanced to glanoo through the window, and beheld the Colonel advancing, not alone* There were others with him, ami the truth seemed to come liko a flash of lightning on him. " ho looked. “ Ravenscrag,” he said, “do you know what that means? They have got a warrant to searcli your house, and they are coming hero now to use it.” And tho words were scarcely uttered ere there was a loud peal at the bell, and the search party were admitted.

CHAPTER X. THE STAB OE HONOR SETS. Ravenscrag had changed color, going from red to white and white to red, bat ho had no opportunity of speaking, for ere he could do so Colonel Vyner had been shown in. Bows the most formal were exchanged. '■ You know my eri-and, Mr Ravenscrag? I have reason to believo that—the escaped prisoner is in hiding under your roof.'* “ And you have come to search for him ? Colonel Vyner. will you take my word that ho is not here?” “ No ; I will not.” “If I give you my word that ” “Mr Ravenscrag* I have power to search your house, and I will use it. No doubt, you would give me your word to save your friend.” “ You had better make use of your warrant. Colonel Vyner,” said Ravenscrag coldly. Ho followed the Colonel into the hall, where, a detective and Vyner's solicitor waited, and he looked at them* scornfully. “My home is not made into a show place when I am at home, as a rule,” ho said, with a short laugh. “ Gentlemen, you better begin. No one will oppose you.” “You go with us?” asked the Colonel, suspiciously. “ Not from fear of my property.” said Ravenscrag, with the same harsh and bitter laugh, “ but to be. in at the death.” And then the search began, Mr Broughton remaining as they bad left him, highstrung with "excitement. Through room after room they filed, Ravenscrag following, and a stolid footman (lung open door after door as if showing the house to unappreciative visitors. Through the long drawing room suites, opening one out of another, with newer splendors, upstairs and down, in vain. All the, lime the owner followed with an expressionless face. "Arc there any secret rooms?” asked Colonel Vynor of the footman, as they came to the west wing.

"Don't know, sir; I’m shaw, sir.” As they entered this part of tho building the detective's keen eyes saw a change in° that impassive face—a slight flush and quiver of the eyelids. "Found at last.” ho said inwardly, noting this. "What wo want is hero.” Ilavcnscrng halted all at once, glancing at his servant.

"Those are the last rooms, James; you may go.” And then they fded through a fine suite for a lady—boudoir and dressing room —into music room, and but. All vain, and a look of baffled vengeance came into Yyner’s eyes, a raging disappointment.

"That is the last," he said, with a sigh. I beg your pardon,” interposed the detective : “ this room we have not been into yet.” It was one they had previously passed, and llavenscrag placed himself before the door.

“ I give you my word of honor that the man you seek is not there,” he said; “ I beg you to take my word.” " Weave not mad,” said Vyncr, with a meaning smile. _ ■ “ The Uavenscrags don’t lie !’■’ said Garth, his eyes flashing. •'"Herbert Lester is not there.”

“Who, then, if one may sock? Open tho door, officer; I am not to bo duped.” liavenserng stepped aside, his lip hard pressed between his teeth, ami tho door swung slowly open. As it did so someone inside came forward —a tall woman with black hair and eyes, gazing at tho group in evident astonishment. Tho detective and tho solicitor drew back; after a slight hesitation they walked slowly away. Vyner remained as if he had grown to the spot, staring at iho colorless face of his dead son’s rival.

“ Thank yon, Air Eavenscrag,” he said, with a bow, and showing plainly at this crisis that he was not thorough-bred, proving that he was not a gentleman—“thank you, on my ward's behalf. So this is the house to which you proposed to bring her?’’

“Well, sir,’’ said Garth through his tooth.

" Villainy and effrontery go together. Who,this woman may be •”

“Woman!” said the person referred to, with flaming cheeks. “ Don’t insult a lady in her own house, sir.” “A lady—in her own—house,” said Tyner slowly. “ Yes.” interposed Eavenscrag, stepping forward. “ You may spare yourself and me. Colonel Vyner. This lady is—my wife.” To say that Colonel Vyner was astounded would bo to use a mild term. This revelation of villainy, of deceit, of dishonor, amazed him. He threw up his hands, then, turning on his heel, lied downstairs to the hall where his companions awaited him. “Lot me get out of this infamous house,” ho said. “You have not found what you sought ?” asked Air Broughton, who had come to the library door. “How can you presume to address a gentleman';” retorted the Colonel, turning his heavy chin and fierce eye on his questioner. “I am not aware that I w as doing so,” replied Broughton slowly, levelling a long look a: him before he turned bank into the room with a shrug, and then the three baffled searchers loft the bouse. Husband and wife remained standing as tboy had boon left, be leaning against tbe wall with Iks head bowed on his hand, silent and motionless as the dead; then, she came forward and touched his arm. “What do you want?” he raid, starting. “Have you not humiliated me sufficiently? Am I not low enough to satisfy even your vengeance ?” “ Garth ” “.Mr;: Bavcuscrag." “I have told you 1 did not come back for vengeance sake. I came because——” "Y r on need not begin that again, madam. There is no question of affection or of love between us. Why you married mo was made very clear in the honeymoon. Y T ou are come back ; you are my wife ; there is no more to be said.” “ If you’d wanted to free yourself then yon could have done so.” “ Ycs, I could leave escaped by a quibble of the law, and pleaded minority. The thing called honor, which, in the eyes of men is mine no more, prevented that. And there was another loophole; but mine was not a name to l>e dragged through the mire of a Divorce Court.” “ Y r ou couldn’t havo done it cither. The wish was father to the thought, but you’d no cause. But if the marriage wasn’t legal, it could be done again.” “ I am bound fagfc enough, madam, never fear.”

“ You arc determined to make an enemy of me. It wasn’t for that X came hack; it wasn't in hate.” “ I know that, my affectionate wife. You have been silent seven years, allowing me to believe you dead ; allowing me in that be I iff fo offer marriage to another. Then your love prompts you to fly back, to completely degrade me in the eyes of all May 1 ask jq what form your hatred would have shown itself, or your revenge?” “ It wasn't lor hate I left you,” she said fiercely. ‘•No, Mrs Eavenscrag, that I believe. I was starving, penniless, outcast. You left me to return with gentle help and consolation when I was ■ surrounded with wealth, indisputably a rich man. Should I need proof of your disinterested love at this hour?”

“You had better mind, Garth Eavenscrag.” “ Do you think I mind or caro lor anyjdiing. nowi”

*’ I suppose you’ll take to drink," she said, with scorn, and Garth laughed. “Stoop to that degradation because of you? I aan low enough already, madam.” He turned to leave her, bat she caught his arm. “ Let me go,” he said fiercely. •' “ What can we two ray to each other? What, in heaven’s name, have we in common? You arc my wife ” “ And mistress of this house. Ravensorag, I’ll have my rights. This is my house, and I'll be acknowledged as its mistress.” ‘‘You must please yourself. I shall not present my friends to you, and the house is not large enough for us both. You may’ have it; you shall not wont for money, but we are as wide apart as if tho grave wore indeed between us—ay, wider, because then I could forgive. Now, words arc too weak to express the hatred and loathing you have inspired me with. Da you think I believe your story of affection? The foolish boy who married you mighthave done; the man you have wronged does not—never will. This morning m.v honor was lost through you. The man wlio was here and saw you would not hoar ray story, would not believe, it if he did hear it, and his ward was to have been my- wife. Now tho world will hoar that my wife was living when I spoke of love to Clarice. To save her good name I would give my life—for my own, what does it matter now ?” Ho left her standing there, and went downstairs to Broughion, who remained waiting, and who glanced at tho wild eyes and face of his friend with pity’. " Broughton, I wish I had been found as Cosmo Tyner was—dead on the roadside! I wish that bullet had found me instead of him.” ’’Garth, is Herbert Lester under this roof;'’ " I wish he -were.” said Garth, with a heavy sigh ; ” they would not find him, I ran tell you. But —they found someone else. My wife.” Brought on looted up sharply. ” When did your marriage lake place?” “ \Vhen 1 was only twenty.” “Garth, are you losing your senses?” “ No, my friend. I say that in tho days of my youth 1 made a, mad marriage. I believed my wife dead. (She has conic back to me, and here she. in Aud Colonel Tyner has it in his power to say that Garth Bavenscrag was a. married man when he offered Ins love to Clarice Kilsyth. Aud ho kicked me when I was down.” Broughion drew- along breath. He often said that lie wav part being mi prised, and now indeed he felt so. He leaned tack in Ids chair, looking at that prdo and haggard young face in profound silence. ” Will you hear ihy Wretched story? I have kept it to myself all these years; not even Bertie Lester knew it, poor fellow.” "If you like to (til me. Garth, do. And vf.at 1 can do for you I will. Tell me all. I have been in the world many years longer than you have, ami understand things better possibly.” ,'f Well 1 shall not linger over it, Broughton ; it is not a thing J care to dwell upon,” .’■■aid Garth, beginning to walk up and down. “You have heard me speak of my father’s devotion to mo before; he had always one fear, that I would grow up a scapegrace. I was born under an- unlucky star, or some old family prophecy was to be fulfilled in me, for he was afraid that wildness was in tho blood, for he had a cross in bis brother, 1 can assure vou.”

“His brother';” said Broughton, suddenly, lifting his head.

“ Yes, my Uncle Godfrey. He died in Paris, but, however, it is my own story I must tell. To counteract all these evil influences, my father decided on educating me after a plan of his own ; that was not to allow mo to have any companions of my own age, after my first school-days, so that I should not be led into wildness or"folly. A fatal error. Comrades would have saved mo committing tho folly which had spoiled my life. Tho sins of my youth have found roc out!

“ He put mo in Hie care of a private tutor, a Mr Corley, who left me very much to myself. And myself led mo into rambling about a river, near which lived Benson, the miller, and he had a daughter. Wo were always meeting, by pure accident, you know, and'the village gossips began u> talk. I

suppose I am not the first to be mined by poisonous tongues! I give you my word, Broughton, 1 never thought of anything at ail. 1 scarcely tlsoagJit of the girl unless she were wit!’, nic. and nut always then; hut one day her father forbade my speaking to her, which began the mischief. And tho next time I ca.no across her there wera tears in plenty—how 1 hate a womans tears—and reproaches without end, and through me her good uo was gone. 3 don’t know what a river- vise would have done ; I took her to London and married her. Of course, when my fatW knew. M cast me off, and 1 was loft ahrulwwly pennir less in London. " I don’t know if you can imagine too clinking about the etieets in rags, eyeing cook-shops with ravenous hunger and empty pockets, but it was so. Once I was nearly singing in the atneet. I was about played out, wh<fi> I came across a young schoolboy, pulled him from under a cart or something, saved his life or Ids limbo —the former he was pleased to say——and that was rnv first meeting with Bertie,” ■■ Ah !” said Broughton ; a light broke on Bertie’s sacrifice; thus read be a life for a life , •‘And that day my wife left me, why, how, or for where sho left me to guesa. But .-m old sweetheart of hers had been seen about tho place, and I came to tha conclusion that she had gone with hum That night my father found me, and there were mutual explanations. "Tho entail had been broken in my grandfather’s time, to that my father could w ill the property as ho chose. Ho was not likely to leave it to a stranger, and the only Havenficrag living besides myself and be was Godfrey, his brother. So I stood between him arid wealth, vou might say. "He know that. Perhaps ho knew too' what a fool I was. At any rate ho wcat to Fountain St . Mary’s, and did hia best to bring about my marriage, knowing my father would feci himself disgraced by each a ntarriage, and punish mo for it. Ho Etnfceeded admirably, did my gentle uncle so far as the marriage went, lint my father, going-to St. Mary’s to inquire into tho affair, discovered his brother's plot, and was so enraged that be resolved to defeat it. That could only bo done by restoring me to favor. No doubt fatherly love in some degree also influenced him. He found mo in abject misery, and I told him haw my wife~bad left me, as I then thought He was very proud, and ho could not bear the idea of the story being made public, so it was hushed up. “ Between my father and hia brother there was a bitter quarrel, which ended in Godfrey leaving England, and the next I heard of him was that he had died in Parra.” " Tho next you heard,” said Mr Broughton to his inner 'consciousness, and Garth resumed.

•• Xvvo years after I was in London, and saw taken from Liio river a woman whom 1 firmly believed was my wile. Indeed, I was to sure of it. that on her tombstone I had her initials out—ll. It., for .Elizabeth Eavenscrag. “ Soon alter that lire property came into hit hands, X had met Bertie mv! wo recognised each other, but the circumstances under which we liad first met were not alluded to by either. *• And the next link in the chain is Clar ice Kilsyth. Broughton, 1 can't dwell on this. You must spare me. You know I loved her. Until the fatal night of Cosmo Vymr’a death 1 had every hope of making her my wife. Well, I left the house, as you know. I had several things to do before leaving Osmondale, and I was walking qnickly along, when I heard my own name pronounced, and, turning round, I saw—the woman whom I bad married in the days of my youth, and whom I had believed dead.

“ Broughton, I need not attempt to defiiu my feelings oh recognising her. I need not attempt to depict tho scene that took placi when the reality made its full horror apparent. And of course I heard tho true story of tho thing too late. “Alv wife had not gone with Tom West, hut went back to her father. They left Fountain St. Mary's, and sh® remained with him until Ids death. After that sho had supported herself, and improved herself as she put it, as lady's maid or nursery governess, in a private family, and had no

' mtentioa of troubling me, until she heard that I was about to marry again. “Sbo did not know that I had belicv-cd her dead. To use her own words, she was not responsible for my mistake, and no ■ doubt I was ready and willing enough to be deceived by a resemblance. “I suppose*l was. Every man has hio double, and every woman also, probably. So my wife was dead to mo seven years, and came to life just in time to save me. Well, I told her my position, and she said fho was sorry for me. When I came home that horriblo night, I expected to find her here, but I saw no more of her until last night, when she came home. Yon weM> out. and, thank heaven, Banco© and all the others far enough ! She offered to leave mo if I would give her sufficient to live upon, but I objected to that. I don’t want ho: to die, and come to life a second time. She is here, and here she must star; Sho is my wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. “ Besides, have I not vowed to love and cherish hex till death do ns part? " There is my miserable, wretched story, Broughton, and our old name, ones highhonored, dies with me in shame and rrueerv.”

He stopped in his walk, leaning against the window, his head on his arm, and Brought on began walking up and down, shaking his head. “You saw your wife tho night of tho murder. Do you remember the time you left her? The hour?” " Between eight and nine, I think. Yes, nearly nine when I left her. I think. But what matter?’* Broughton sighod as a hope vanished ; i bo murder had been committed after nine. " Colonel Yyncr saw her this morning?” “ Ho did. I told him who sho was, and naturally ho believed mo a scoundrel, do will everyone.” “ Not when it is known that yen thought your first wife was dead.” “ Who will believe that? Not that I <aro now about anything. I have lost my love, mr first friend, my good name; and what haves I—Mrs Ravenscrag?” “You are sure of that? You arc not being imposed on ?” asked Mr Broughton. “ Not likelv. I know tho face too well.” “ So you did when you saw it dead in Ixsndon streets.” “ Well, then, I know tho voice, the eyes. No, there’s no doubt about it, Broughton : no impostor could bo so well posted up in everything. That woman is my wife; this bouse is hors, and sho shall have it.” ‘ Don’t bo rash, Ravenscrag.” ” Can you advise me to stay here ?” “ It is not often that I do advise anything; advico is never taken. But be a inan. Garth, as bravo and strong in soul as you are in body, and make tho best of it.” “ There is no best of it, or in it. 1 ,-ii ill go away from here. I can’t risk :i:-vting Chirico, you know. I shall go to my cousins, quietly, leet my wife follow me.” Broughton wafi about to answer, when the door opened and Mrs Ravenscrag came slowly into tho room. CHARTER 33. wisxownio and sirrtsT,. Mr Broughton looked up quickly as the lady entered, taking her in with ono glanoo of his quiet eyes, and Ravenscrag waved his hand. “Permit mo to present my friend, Mr' Broughton, to my wife, Mrs Ravenscrag,” ho said, and then threw himself on tho sofa, with a glitter in his dark eyes, his thin lip curved, half sneering, half disdainful. “You are Mr Ravcnscnvg’s friend and advisor?” “His friend, yes. I am no man’s adviser.” “Yon know everything, of course?” sho demanded. “Yes. I am sorry for him, and for you.” Ho answered very gently, and she pnt lior hand to her eyes. “You were always good at tears,” said Garth, quietly. “Don't go too far,” slk> cried, angrily; “ 1 was willing to make terms ” “I don’t choose to bo at your mercy again, though.” “ I might bo your enemy instead of your wife!” she cried. “ My wife you are. certainly; hut not ray friend. I’rom love such as yours, heaven save roe. But don’t make scenes. J beg you. There is a stranger to you—hero.” She turned to Broughton, and looked at him keenly with her bright black eyes, whilst Garth sat gnawing his nails. “ W as my marriage legal, sir? Could it he annulled T’ “ It might have been then. Now, I am not sure.” “ Still, it was a marriage,” sho said, “ but it might be some day questioned, lir Broughton, Garth, I appeal to you both os men of honor, let tho ceremony be performed again!” Sho had clasped her hands piteously, and looked from ono to tho other in an agony of appeal, but Garth was unmoved; he saw in her only tho means and the Instrument of his degradation. ‘ ‘ I admit the marriage, so it will not be questioned. That is all. You will havo your legal rights as my widow. And T hope that will be soon- I hope tho last of tho Ravenscrags will soon bo in his grave, find the old house left to the owls and tho bats.” “ Mr Broughton, will yon help me ? as a gentleman T ” “I cannot,” ho replied. “Your husband admits tho marriage: the ceremony need not. bo gone through again : if I can prevent it. it shall not be. It would bo a I'-ix-kery, it would be superfluous. And it vcuhl ruin Garth Bavenscrag’s naroo for . icc oven in the eyes of—of ttiosote whom .be was dearest,” I don’t seo that, it would, sir.” “Yon may not, but I do. There is no necessity for a second marriage,” said Broughton, firmly. " It would put my mind at rest, that is all.” sho replied, with a heavy sigh. Garth shrugged kis shoulders and strode out to the terrace, where bo stood staring gloomily liefore him, and his wife contemplated his tall figure pensively. At length she turned to Broughton. • ■ Did I do wrong in coming back ? ” “ You should not have left him,” replied Broughton, who was idly taming over his I 'ockot-book, from which a loos© leaf flut-t-wned almost to Mrs Ravenscrags feet. Nhe raised it, looked at it, and returned it. “Thank yon; drawing is an amusement of mine.” ■ Yon know that man, sir? ” “ I havo seen the original of tbo face, I Minposo, bat that was drawn from memory. As I said, von should not havo left Mr Ravenscrag.” “ But I wanted to help him by not troubling him. And then be said I’d run away with Tom West to Australia.” “Bat yon did not, it seems. West did. in tho Ariel.” ■“The May Queen." she corrected; “at least. I've heard so.” “And what in the world brought him back. I wonder?” said Bronghton. “ May I ask you a fow questions? ” “ Yes, bnt it doesn’t follow that IT an swer them.” Broughton looked up in natural surprise, and she colored a little. “ I simplv wish to ask you how you ramo to know of Mr Ravenscrag’s intend* '! marriage ? ” “ I was told by one who knew.” “Yon were told'by Tom West, that is." “ How io you know that-, sir? ” “T do know,” he said, with a faint smile. “ Well. sir. he had spent all his money in Australia, and he came home. Naturally looking for old friends, ho fotrod me. and told mo that.” “Doing his duty,” said Bronghton, gravely. “ So I think, sir.” “ And after yon loft Mr Ravenscrag you went home ? ” “Yes, and wo left Fountain St. Mary’s, and I stayed with father till ho died, nearly two years after my marriage. And then I went oat as lady's maid.” “To whom, if I may ask?” “ Mrs Fairhnrst- of Moreton Lea.” “Thank von. And yonr father died at •> ” “ Gr . Excuse me,” she said, suddenly stopping herself. “I don’t admit yom right to question me. You. are Mr rmtrrdTKv,” - —i-.

•' I beg your pardon, madam,” said Broughton, rising, and then sho walked from tho room.

A fow minutes after he followed, put on his hat, and went out. seeing Garth sitting moodily by tho lake, but ho did not stay : ho strolled onwards. “I wonder if my friend will keep his appointment, and claim his hush-money,” ho mused, walking along to the very place he had gone before, where the very same impassive- faced man looked up to greet him “Fine day. Mr—Mr Broughton.” “Very, for the season. Found anything about, my man?” “ Not much. Seems to be a species of tramp. ■ Nothing against him. Ho has left Osmondale, I believe.” “Yes. Well, instead of William Thomas, try Thomas William West, formerly of Fountain St. Marv’s. Left for Australia in the May Qneen in 18—. Is next heard of here, and knows something of tho Vvner murder—perhaps. And now follow this also. Benson, a miller, at Fountain St. Mary’s. Find our when ho left that place, and with whom, and where he went. f don't know whore, except that Gr — begins (.ho name. Ho died there, leaving a daughter. Follow that clue also, if possible. Those are three. And now a fourth and I liavo finished. A Mrs Fairhnrst, living in the town of Moreton Lea ” “I have a relative there, sir.” “Very well- This Mrs Fairhnrst bad perhaps a lady’s maid, named. I think, Elisabeth Benson, a tall, dark woman. I want to know as much of her as possible. Don’t spare expense. And in the meantime take this as a slight compensation for the trouble you have already taken. Good morning. If Mrs Fairhnrst is a myth, or if she never had a lady’s maid, let me know.” He walked away in profound thought, not going back to Ravenscrag. but turning his footsteps to the shore, to think out his puzzle, which was making his brain swim. Then he saw before him a young man who reminded him of Berlio Lester, and he thought of what Garth had said of every man having his double. But the resemblance was only in the color of tb© eyes and tho height and outline of tho figure. These were striking enough ; the expression and style were quite different. “ I beg pardon, but can I get to Osmondale by following this road ?” asked tho young man, removing his cigar from his lips to pat the question. “The town or tho house? If tins former, straight along.” “Thank you, much obliged.” “ Have we met 'before?” asked Broughton. “ You may have seen me before, very possibly. My name is Frank Milton, of the Royalty, London.” “Thank you: mine is Broughton. You resemble someone whom I knew, that is all.”

They bowed and separated, Broughton going to the shore, the young actor to tho Osmondale Station for London and the Royalty, where hb light was eclipsed in tho blaze of that planet Mr Gilbert Fernan, who played “ leader ” in all the Royalty pieces. Mr Broughton went down to the seashore, where blown flashes of foam shivered and died on the cold, grey sand; the sea had a dull, sombre color, and was stormy, with wandering clouds moaning over it, and dark wings of drifting cloud sweeping across, but hb thoughts turned back to the day when ho had first seen Nelly Fores! by these waves, beneath these cliffs. “ ‘ There was something the season wanted, Though tho ways and tho woods wore sweet, Tho breath of your lips were panted. The pulse of the grass at ynur feet; You came; and the sun after ’ Why, what in the world brings that- poem into my mind now?” he asked of himself, suddenly pulling r.p. “ How strange if wc met here again! On my word there is a lady coming.” But it was not Nelly Forest who advanced to find herself face to face with Raymond Broughton. It was Clarice Kilsyth, and before sho perceived him audible remark had escaped her lips, which brought a little color into that usually impassable face, and made the brown eyes look into hers with quick and half suspicious inquiry. (To be continued.)