THE LOOMS OF DESTINY.

Lake County Press, Issue 1066, 28 May 1903, Page 6

THE LOOMS OF DESTINY.

COPYRIGHT

BY J. MONK FOSTER.

CHAPTER XXX. BACK TO THE OLD LOVE. After that surreptitious overhauling of a letter intended for his fathers eyes alone, and,the exclamations consequent on his reading thereof, Oeoflrey Blandford to pace his room, his dark face mirroring all the fleeting passions, emotions, and feelings, flitting swiftly through his cunning brain. Then suddenly he went back to the table, lifted the flimsy sheets, and began to peruse them anew —more slowly now, as if he desired to reassure himself on doubtful points, and commit the general sense of the whole to his memory. As that letter has (o do with this story it may be given in full here, it was to the following effect:— “ 29, Pellerington-street, Liverpool. ‘ March 27. 189-. “ My Dear Mr, Blaudford, —At last, after all this running about, here, there, and everywhere, I have discovered something which you will be glad to hear of. I feel absolutely satislied now that i have got on the right trail at length, and when you read this 1 believe you will think so too. Since 1 last wrote to you 1 have been in no less than three different towns on the hunt after that missing daughter of George Cariupton’s; and it was only after I had gone back again to Ellsbury that I dropped upon the clue which sent me like a flash to Liverpool. Von will recollect what L told you about that woman who once had known a young woman called Ethel Curing ton. Well, you know that it was because she told me that the young woman had gone somewhere up North-east Lancashire way that I decided to hunt up this Ethel Carmgton there. So I went in that direction, scoured Blackburn, Burn ley, Accrington, and other places thereabouts in vain, and at last in despair went back to Ellsbury, and to Mrs. Latimer. It was lucky I did, for what do you think Had happened while I was away 'i “ I will tell you. Mrs. Latimer and her husband had gone to Liverpool one week-end for a holiday, and while standing on the landing-stage, waiting for the New Brighton steamer,had met the missing woman. Ethel Carington. Ho they spoke to her; told her that a man from America had been looking for her with good news for her; and in the end got her address for me, in case I called again. ■ Alter that I at ouco rushed otl to Liverpool, and at No. 42, Westernroad. West Derby, I found this Miss Ethel Carington, sure enough. That isn't the name she is known by here. She’s a widow, it seems, with one child-a boy of two; but that she is the daughter of the man you wronged so long ago seems as certain as that I have been playing at hide-and-seek after her. But wait till you hear how 1 went on with Mrs. Jefiries—that s the young widow’s name.” J course. I opened business by telling her the old story. 1 had lately ooaao from New York, and was paid to find the relatives of a man who find died there. His name was Carrington—or Carington—he had been a native of Ellsbury, had left relations there, and I was seeking them. That set the woman talking at once. In a few minutes she had given me all her history, and all the particulars she gave me now follow. “ Miss Ethel Carrington that was, before she became Mrs. Jefiries, is a young woman of twenty, and nicely figured and good-looking Hhe was born in Ellsbury; her father’s name was George Carington; her mother died soon after she was born. Her father was well-to-do once, he had heard, but he had failed in business, and committed suicide in consequence, when she was quite a child in arms. After that 1 was convinced that this was the damsel you had engaged me to hunt un. and who someday was to have handed over to her that snug fortune of a score of thousands which was meant to kill two birds with one stone, t mean by this that while it would ease jour conscience on the one hand, it would he a lit reward for the young woman on the other, and it* would in that way square-up everything. And when one thinks of it that is the best way after all. “ Well, I say 1 was satisfied, but, of course, 1 didn't show it. I didn’t show my hand, but went on with my cautious questions, and this is what 1 gathered. This Ethel Carington, after her father’s sudden end, was taken care of by a married couple, an uncle and an aunt, and remained in Ellsbury till she was three or four. Then the family moved to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where the uncle had got a better situation. There Ethel Carington remained ten years; then her rrncle died, his wife married again, and not being able to get along with her aunt’s new husband, the lass ran away from home, and of all places went back to the place of her birth, AtEllsburyEthel Carington stayed till she was over sixteen, working in the mills there, and then where do you think the Fates drifted her r Why, to your own town of Spindleford—ay, even to your own works. But she was there only a little over a year, working in your own weavingshed, it seems; and while there she met some young gentleman—a traveller from Liverpool—who mar ried her, and, dying early, left her a widow with one child and a small income of a pound a week “ That’s about all, air; and, like me, I think you will he inclined to say it is enough. I shall stop at the above address till you write me what to do further. Of course I am keeping my eye on Mrs. Jefiries. A small fortune of five hundred or a thousand pounds would be looked upon by her as a godsend, but, of course, I have never hinted how much or how little she may expect to get some day. Hhe believes that the money, whatever it is, will come from America. Owing to my exceptional trouble and ex-pense-1 made the pretty widow a present of five pounds in order to gain her entire confidence-and ray success also, you will perhaps send me ten or a dozen quid extra. Your faithful servant, Levi Crane." After re-perusing the foiegoing with the greatest interest and care Oeoflrey Blandford made a few notes in his pocket book, then proceeded to reclose the letter with the utmost exactitude, and that done and all things made straight and squarelooking, put the communication from Liverpool in a place where his father would nut miss it on his return, and then followed David to the mills. An hour alfer that Oeoflrey was on bis way U Die great seaport in Lancashire. By a happy and singular eo’meideiiee the elder «'•» i>f the m i I lowlier was enabled :L:d ia> i o.iio make business and desue tun on ■*-! »ouis with each other. A

letter h«d reached the office that morning from one of the great cotton-broking firms with which the Blandfords did business, and making a very good reason out of that communication, Geoffrey bad caught the first express for Liverpool. But ere quit ting the mill offices our astute friend and schemer bad filled up a ttlegraph form, and on his way to the station be had given a newslad be bought liiß papers from occasionally a tip to take it to the post office. Early in the afternoon Geoflrey Blandford strolled down to the landing-stage, his business with the cotton brokers :ir ranged suitably, and quite eager now for the further business he had still in hand. He boarded the New Brighton ferrj boat at thrqe o'clock, and mounting to the upper deck, leaned against the rail, looking shoreward. It was a mild afternoon, and the waves of the dark, turgidly-flowing river were dancing in the sunshine. A few widewinged gulls wore soaring and skimming over the water with occasional screams, the pufi and shrieks of various tugs were to be heard,the law lying mass of theUheshire shore rose blackly against the south-western horizon, and the great sweep of landing-stage was filled with the bustle and olalter and life of an ever-changing picture. Geoflrey was watching the last aspect of the scene about him with earnest gaze. Every woman's figure that hove in sight was carefully scanned, and, at last, the lighting up of his dark countenanoe and bright eyes.showed that someone he was expecting had appeared. Presently another passenger boarded the boat, and mounted the stair leading to the higher deck.This was a gracefully shaped woman of twenty or so, well, if somewhat showily attired, and with a rather uretty, if somewhat weak face. She had seen Geoffrey ere she boarded the boat; he had seen her also; a glance of recognition and pleasure had Hashed between them,and when they joined one another, just as the starting-bell clanged out, their greeting was warm enough. The boat was only half-filled, a great sweep of the upper deck was empty, and sitting at the rear end of the vessel, with their backs to the sea, they could converse without fear of being overheard. " You got my wire, of course, Ettie ?" he asked. " Certainly, Geoffrey!" she answered, volubly. " That is why I am here: and I was so glad, because it sa\edmetbe trouble of writing and telling you all about a very strange thing that has happened." " That American relative and small foitune ?" he queried, with a half-smile. •' Why, yes!" she cried. " But how can you know that ? 1 understood that not a soul beside myself and that man knew anything; and he told me that I wasn't to take even my biggest friend into my confidence till everything was properly arranged and settled." " Levi Crane, you mean ?" he answered, quite evidently enjoying her manifest amaze. " Yes; but you ? How Geof " " You shall know everything soon, Ettie. That is what 1 have come to tell you—and much more. But that Levi Crane was right. Yon must breathe not a word of all this to any living soul save oursehes. And thin man—Ciane. Has he a big black mark on his cheek r"" "Yes; a birthmark just like the half of a plum." " That's the man. Well, even to him you must never drop a single word respecting our connection. He has not asked 'i You have told him nothing ?" '' Not a word. I'm the widow Mrs. Jetlries to him, dear; that is all." " Ho let him think always. There are reasons why that man must know nothing further yet. Now drop your veil and saunter all round the boat. I half fear that this Levi Crane may have followed you. Look everywhere, and let me leave the boat first. Then if all is right follow me. Now go. She dropped her veil at once, and left him obediently. He did not speak to her again till he had left the vessel, had mounted the landing-stage at New Brighton, passed through the turn-atile into the street, and then sauntered slowly along the shore in the direction of Egremout. He had paced across the sands a hundred yards or so ere she overtook him. "You saw nothing r"' he queried, glancing around. 1 Nothing. Geoflrey.'' " Come along, then. Now, my dear Ettie. we can talk the whole business over in absolute safety. For some moments they paced the deserted sands in silence. He was considering how he should begin telling her what he had come there specially to say: she was eager to hear more of that fortune of which both her old lover and Levi Crane had spoken. At length her impatience loosened her tongue. " And you, Geoffrey !" she began. " How did you learn that this man was seeking me with such good new* ?" •' Hasn't lie told you how he found you ?" he asked, evasively. " He told me scarcely anything. He said he bad been hunting after me ever so long at Ellsbury. and at ever so many places—even at Spindleford, too; but lie never so much as mentioned your name.' " He had his reasons for that, I daresay; and you must never let him suspect that you and I are—are friends, Ettie. It was really simple how I came to know that he sought you, and his object in seeking you. He had heard, J suppose, that you had worked at Spindleford, and when he came to the office, and iold me all, I gave him your address. But you must never let him know that you know this!" he insisted again, " Of course not," she answeied with a readiness and a firmness which bespoke his power over her. '* But you said yon had something to tell me, Geoflrey. You know perhaps how big, or little, this windfall of mine may be ?" •' Not I!" he exclaimed. " 1 really came to tell you something more important still." " More important, dear Y" and the wonder m her voice, the hunger in her eyes, told their own tale of love buffeted and beaten, yet hopeful at ill. " Yes. dear! What if it became possible that we should marry after all Y If this fortune turns out to.be anything considerable my father might drop all his bitter opposition to our marriage. Of course, he know* nothing still, save that [ love you, and that you have gone away. But even if he persists in his opposition I may lake the law inlo my own hands, eventually, and decide to make you my wife! What have you to say to that, Ethel ?" •• What can I say r*" she whispered brokenly. " I am your wife now in God's sight, if not in the world's eyes; and 1 would pray to Heaven always if J could only be married to you!'' " Even if this American fortune of yours, dear, should prove to be greater than my own r"' lie asked playfully. • Yen. Geoflrey. yes! Even if it were a million pounds, you were a beggai in the street! - ' •• There speaks my own dear iove. lie cried warmly, and honestly glad of her uunavering affection. " Well, cheer up, dearest, and hope for the best, as J do. Only trust in me and all will bo

well in the end. Now let's push on to the hotel at Egremout, have a cosy tea there, and then to settle everything. I've much to tell you yet, and I must get back to Spindleford this evening." CHAPTER XXXI. THE CRUX OF THE PKOBLEM. John Blandford had got back to I'arkhurst House one afternoon a day or so later, and while he was refreshing himself with an appetising meal he brat heard of the letter which had come on the first morning of his absence from home. " Oh, there was a letter for you the other morning. Mr. Blandford!" the staid Miss l'limmer cried, in a sudden access of recollection, as she poured out her master's tea. " I had forgotten all about it, but I put it away—and, yea, here it is now!" And she picked the missive from the mantel-piece, where ahe had placed it. A glance at the haudwriting on the envelope, and the postmark it bore filled the cotton-master's fate with some interest; however, he said nothing just then, but placed it near him and finished his meal in the usual quiet, methodical wav. Not before the table was cleared and he was left alone did John Blandford open the letter from Lei i Crane. When he had mastered its contents he lay back in his easy chair, a curious look of contentment on his dark, saturnine features. His moody reverie of introspective reflection continued for many minutes. The envelope and sheets lay on his kuee; now and again ho raised one or ether of the latter to con its words anew, and then he would relapse into his former attitude of intense moodiness, nothing seeming to live in his face save his keen dark eyes, which glittered and gloomed, as his eye-lida rose and fell. At last he sighed deeply, but not morosely, as was his habit, and rising he stared first into the sullenly burning tire, and then went to peer through the big window. It was dull and grey out of doors, the countryside had not yet awoke to the touch of spring, and there was something sombre, almost brooding, in the cheerless skies, fields, and trees. " Surely, surely, ' there's a divinity that shapes our ends rough hew them how we will!' " Ho was speaking to himself in that rapt, deliberative tone which comes to him who realises some great truth after well-nigh a whole lifetime of doubt. "All this must bettue that Crane writes of to me. How strange that the woman should drift to this very town after me—should work for me as an obscure ' hand,' as 1 once worked for her noor father —and that I should never dream of such a thing." He went back to the fire, poked it savagely into a cheery blaze, murmuring still, " How well, after all, that it should be so. This woman shall be raised, as her unknown father was lowered, disgraced, ruined, killed! Crane has done well. I will writehim soon. This Ethel Carington must be George's daughter. Everything points to that conclusion. An extra 'r ' in the name signifies nothing. Ignorant people would spell Carington in that way. Besides, her father's name was ' George,' too. Still we must make certainty doubly certain now. Ah! I have it! That, will be the crux of the whole thing. Now to write to Crane at once." He rose, obtained the requisite materials, and seated himself to write, with Crane's communication in front of him. In a minute his pen was speeding over the paper. When he bad done he lead it out in low tones to himself. It ran thus:— " Parkhurst House, Spindleford. " 3.30 p.m. Wednesday. "My dear Crane,—When your letter reached here I was away on business,an hour ago I have but just gathered ils import. You have done wonderfully well in every way, and I compliment you on your skill or good luck. You are right. This woman, Ethel Carringtou, must be the daughtei of the George Carington we both knew so well and have such cause to remember. Everything points to that end. The woman'." name and history, her birth at Ellsbury, her father's name, ruin, and sad late all point to the same conclusion. *' But having discovered so much we must not stop short of the most absolute and positive certainty now. The issues of your inquiries are so tremendous that we cannot afford—we daie not make any mistake. When 1 make the great act of restitution it must be final; there must be no mistake in any way; it must be proved beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that the person whoinheiits my £20,000 is the daughter or boii, or next blood-heir, of the man whose ruin, disgrace and end rest on my conscience. And then, that act of tardy repentence made, I may finish my days in peace " I say this not because I fear thai Ethel Carringtou, otherwise Mrs. Jeffries, is not the woman we seek. 1 think she is. Still now that the realisation of my great scheme approaches, a great fear possess me. What if I were to hand over that fortune to someone, only to discover later that a mistake had been made! Such a vast blunder would kill me; and I should die doubtly cursed and unforg'ven. That would be an irony of fate which would drive me mad. and lead me to end my life as George Carington did. •' Now, I have thought of something to prevent that. To find two persons of the same name is not uncommon even in the same town; those two persons might even have fathers who bore identical names also; but J take it that it is next to an impossibility that those two persons' fathers, mothers, grandfathers, and grandmothers, could bo all named alike. Do you see my point? ft is this. I know the names of George Carington's relations and hiß wife's relations on both sides for two generations at least. "All you have to do is this. Get to know in the best, the easiest, and safest way you can the names of this Ethel (Jairington's father and mother, and then the nanieH of her grandfather and grandmother on both sides. That in itself will settle everything. I think. " I am sending money order for £lo.—Yours, etc., " John Blandford." Closing the Utter without wetting the ilap of the envelope, the cotton-master placed it in his pocket, and then after calling Hannah l-Mimmer to help him on with bii overcoat, lie went towards the town. The day seemed to brighten as he strode along,and ere he gained the centre of Spindleford John Blandford had yiown less sombre of countenance, more alert of loot and brighter of eye than he had been for many day*. He had done his business in the post office, had stamped and fastened up his letter with the money-order inside, and was dropping it in the box outside,when a quick, light foot rang behind him, and a cheery voice cried in his ear: " Good afternoon, father. So you've Hot back again, eh ? You enjoyed your visit to Manchester. 1 hope." Evm before Jim Blandford could twist round on bis heel he knew that his son David was at his elbow. In another moment they were shaking hands cheerily, and the father was remarking pleasantly: •' Yes. David, I got back an hour or more ago. Have just been writing a line to an old acquaintance. But you Y (low comes it that I find you lounging about the town while I am away from the mills r"

Neither voice nor look was other than kindly, ani David went on to explain bin business, just with the least trifle of hesitation in hia manner, and the slightest evidence of abashment on his kindly and handsome face. '• One of onr workpeople has been oft work ill, father, for a few days, and, as I bad nothing particularly pressing at the miliß to keep me, I thought 1 would go there to make a few inquiries." "Just like you, my lad! Well, go. But there is one thing I can guebs David." '* What is thai, sir ?" and a shy flush ovt.rspread the young man's face a» he looked up. *' The one oft work is not a pretty girl or a dashing young woman or you would be afraid to face her. One of the men, I suppose Y Well, be oft, lad. I shall see you at home after business." David hurried away, glad beyond measure that his futber had not cared to push his inquiries further. Had he done so he would have felt compelled to ad niit that he wait then on his way to visit not the workman his sire had so confidently suggested, but the very handsomest, sweetest, and most true-hearted young damsel of all those who laboured at the Swan Meadow Mills. Thankful for his escape the young man trudged oft on his errand, and when be knocked at the door in Hampton-street he was greeted very heartily by Nancy Kletcher and at once ushered into the trim little parlour. There Doris Lonsdale rose from the eusy chair near the lire, where she had been reading, and welcomed him in the sweetest way. " Oh. Mr. Blandford," she cried, holding out her hand, "how glad I am to see yiou. However can I thank yen enoujfli for your very great, kindness and pretty gifts. I could have written, I know but I preferred not to. I have been expecting yon several daytf but you didn't come; and 1 wanted to tell you that I prized your gifts beyond all saying in mere words, and shall never forget your kindness." " I was afraid of intruding, Miss Lonsdale," he replied..literally blushing like a shy girl under the warmth of her words, aud the glowing glamour of her sweet face and eyes. " But lam more than repaid by seeing you look so well again, and so soon. 1 hope the books I selected for you have pleased you as much an I knew the flowers would do." '• More! even more!" she said, with a deep indr?wn breath of pleasuie. The glory of rare dowers cannot be described, but it perishes with the dowers themselves ; while as for books—good and great books—once read and understood they aro never to be forgotten, but seem to become part of cue's life." " You have read some of them . then?" he answered, as he took the chair she placed for him. " Now which of them have you read ?" '• ' The Ordeal of Richard Feverel,' by George Meredith ; Thomas Hardy's ' Woodlanders' ; Stevenson's ' Master of Ballantrao' and ' The Little Minister " by Barrie." " Those are my favourites. I am pleased you like them." " So much that 1 could alnioat wish to be ill—no not ill, but off work another week—to repeat the pleasure, Mr. Blandford." " And you feel almost well again now r" he queried, his eyes resting for a couple of moments on her now flushed and quite gloriously beautious face. " So well that I intend to begin work on Friday or Saturday." " You must not exert yourself too early, Miss Lonsdale." " Oh. lam quite well again, now. It was nothing after all, and I shall be better working, you know." He had glanced at her as she spoke, had seen the cloud that had darkened her sweet face momentarily, but although he half-divined it 3 cause he asked no questions. " I came to-day to ask you a special favour, Miss Lonsdale." " Can you ask one I would i ot grant ?" •' A week to-night Mr. Beaumont is giving the last of his musical parties fqr this season. If you are quite well again then may I tell him you will come ?" " With pleasure!" she cried. (To be Continued.)