Between Two Loves

Lake County Press, Issue 1091, 19 November 1903, Page 2

Between Two Loves

CHAPTER XLIT. daisy's stratagem. The woman who had so powerfully pxeited Daisy's curiosity did not appear to notice her; during the greater part i f the journey she occupied herself in studying a torn book of accounts; tlie crowded streets 'disappeared. and stunted trees, with ill flavored flowers, gave s >nic sign of a hotter air. Holloway was reached, and Daisy lookod out for Meadow Lane. Thp bell rang: the omnibus stopped. "Mondow Lane," said the conductor; and the housekeeper-elect got out. Daisy followed her. She walked down the lane until shp reached a row of pretty cottages, with little gardens in front. The woman entered the third of these, and Daisy, to her intense delight, saw "Apartments to let" in the window.

"How my difficulties vanish." olio said to herself. "1 can go into the house at once, on the plea of engaging rooms; in fact, T will engage them." But a sudden idea occurred to Daisy. What if. in the after time. Sir Clinton brought her home as his wife? It would never do for people to recognize her. She must disguise herself. Away went Daisy, without rest, or time, or thought, only anxious to do everything as quickly as possible. She bought a black wig; she bought a white cap and black veil, through which her face could not be seen. With these she returned to her hotel. She dressed herself in her room. Brushing back the golden brown ripples, she put on the black coiffure. It so completely changed her appearance that she did not recognize herself. She surmor -ted that with a cap that she was assured was of the style worn by all housekeepers in good families. She had asked for that kind of thing at the shop. She laughed aloud at herself. "Even baby would not know me," she paid. "He would take me for a stranger. She fastened the thick veil carefully down, so that if she met any of the servants of the hotel they would not pee the change in her; and then, armed for victory, as she thought, she set out f»r Meadow Lane. It was the dusk of the evening now; and Daisy rapped at the door. It was opened by a small child, who wore a very large bonnet. "You have some rooms to let." said Daisy. "I should like to see them." "Mother," cried the child, "here i 3 some one about the rooms." "That's rare good luck, Eliza Ann," Daisy heard; "I shall be pleased if I can let them just as you are going." "It will be very fortunate," replied a stiff er, ccJder voice, which Daisy at once said to herself was the housekeeper; then a stout, active, motherlylooking woman came out into the dimlylighted passage. "You want to see the rooms, ma'am?" she said to Daisy. '.'We have two, a parlor and front bedroom."

"I should like to see them," said Daisy; and the mistress of the house led the way into the front parlor. She looked round with an air of pride in its Xvossession.

"It is a pretty room, ma'am, and very clean," she said, mentally appraising her visitor's dress. "Not worth more than ten shillings a week." she said to herself. '"Still I may get that."

While I>aisy thought. "She has an open face, probably an open heart; if I remain quiet. I shall hear all about it." She was not far wrong in her estimation of good Mrs. Freeman's char acter.

"The rooms are well aired, ma'am," the said; "indeed my sister, Mrs. Jordan, has been staying with me, and she has had »them." "Is your sister leaving you?" she asked, in a tone of kindly interest. "Oh. yes; she is going out again as housekeeper. She is going to live at Sir Clinton Adair's."

She pronounced the words with such an air of importance that Daisy involuntarily thought: "What would you say if you knew that Ixidy Adair was speaking to you?"

"My si«tcr, Mrs. Jordan, has heen a widow some years. She has been housekeeper in many grand families. She was at the Duke of Trevlyn's."

And again kindly Mrs. Freeman paused to see if her visitor was overcome by the mention of such names. Daisy, making no signs, she continued: "My sister had only one son, and they say that he has grown to he a rich man in America; he was to have sent for his mother, but he has not done so. She left the Duke of Trevlyn's on purpose to go to him; but, o-s he has not sent, she has taken this place. She has been giving me twelve shillings a week for the rooms, but I am willing to take ten." "I will give you fifteen," s*id Daisy, quietly, and the woman looked up Ruickly. "I will make it up to you in attention, madam." she said, smilingly. "The only thing is, these rooms will not be at liberty until my sister goes, next Thursday—that is four days yet." Daisy's face fell; she hoped to be in the house and to know her husband's secret before then.

"Perhaps." she said, "you will n«t mind in trying to accommodate me unt'l then? I am not over particular, and I should not like to take other rooms, after seeing these." "I will speak to my sister, Mrs. Jordr.n," said the woman. She raised her voice, calling out, "Eliza Ann. will you come this way?" and then Daisy saw again the woman who had come smilingly from Messrs. Cooper's office. She h.oked doubtful on hearing what was wanted. Turning to her sister, she said: "You know, if a letter does come from Harry I should give up Sir Clinton's and start at once, so that, after all. my plang are uncertain. Yes. I think we may manage to accommodate the lady." So it was derided that Daisy should remain and share the rooms with Mrs. Jordan for a few days. Nothing could have suited her better. Mrs. Jordan hardly understood the Intense interest with which their lodger listened to every detail of her life. To Daisy's disappointment she knew nothing of Sir Clinton Adair. The only thing that she could tell her was, he had a very large and magnificent estate in the country: it was called Eastwold, and was quite a palace in its way. "Then you are not going there?" said Paisv.

"No," she relied, "I ani. for the to.vn house; these grand people all have two or three houses, you know—one in Tendon and others in the country." "Have they?" asked Daisy. "Is he, then— this Sir Clinton Adai*—one of bhe grand people?" Mrs. Jordan looked at her with some little contempt.

"T should have thought." she said, "that nn.r one knew that: ho is n baronet, and is one of the richest and noblest in England." "Ts he married?" asked Daisy. "No; and I wonder nl it. T saw him once at the Duke of Trevlyn's, and a hendsotner man, to my mind, never uns."

"Arc you sure hp is not married?" asked Daisy. Mrs. Jordan laughed. "Yes," shp replied. "Mr. Cooper, the lawyer, who enpigod me, told me there was no Lady .Adair."

Daisy sat in silence for some minutes, then shp said:

"That seems a groat pity. With so much, he should have a wife to share It. Perhaps ho will be married." "I cannot tell," she replied, cautiously. "Is there any rumor of the kind'.'" "None that I have heard," she answered.

And then Daisy proceeded to put her through a catechism of a housekeeper's duties. Already a scheme was forming in her busy brain. She learned from Mrs. Jordan during those two days the chief duties of a housekeeper—what was expected from her, what to do, what to avoid. "Do you gee much of the gentlemen?" she asked. "Do you take your orders from them when there are no mistresses?"

"Well," replied Mrs. Jordan, frankly. "to tell you the honest truth. I do not think much of men myself; rich or poor, gentle or simple, they are pretty much alike. I lived two years with a husband —well. I say no more. But. when they give an order, they never seem to know what to say. The way I manage them is, I listen to every word, and then do what I think best."

Daisy smiled at the notion; she did not lose a minute. Mrs. Jordan had never found such an intelligent, appreciative listener before. "Shall you see Sir Clinton Adair very often?" she asked one morning, among other questions, and Mrs. Jordan thought how simple and ignorant she was.

"If the same rules are observed there as in runny other places." she replied, "I shall see hitu every morning after breakfast. The Duke of Trevlyn used to go to his lihnrv after breakfast to read the papers. I went to him there and received all the orders he had to give. That was a tiresome place: theTe were always guests going and coming, room* to prepare and arrange. My greatest trouble." continued Mrs. Jordan, growing confidential, "was not so muoh the grand people themselves as their servants. To my mind, a duke's valet is more trouble than a duke: a duchess' maid gives more trouble than her mistress; but I shall not have much of that kind of thing at Sir Clinton's. "Why not?" asked Daisy, trying hard to conceal the interest she could not help feeling. "He docs not entertain —he visits a great deal; but Mr. Cooper said, "beyond a few dinner parties, there would not be much in the way of gayoty." So Daisy learned her lesson. She had almost revsolved to ask Mrs. Jordan to let her go in her place. She would offer her a hundred pounds, and promise to provide for her afterward; but fate was kinder to heT. On Tuesday morning the letter that Mrs. Jordan had so long and so anxiously expected arrived; she was in sore distress—it ought to have reached her a fortnight since, and had been misseuit. It was from her son, saying how anxiously he was expecting her, inclosing n handsome remittance for her expenses out. In the pride of her motherly love, she showed the letter to Daisy. It reid: "Xo more work, mother. I am a rich man now. but I shall never enjoy my riches until you are here to share them. I have a grand, beautiful house, but it will never be home to me until you are in it. I will not return to England; I like America best —men are more equal here; so you must come to me. mother. Corne by the Cunard line, and come first-class—have every comfort. You shall not keep house again for any one but me."

"He must be a very kind son," said Daisy, as she returned the letter. "You will en, I suppose?" Then a sudden hope throbbed in her heart and flushed her face. "You will not no to Sir Clinton Adair's now, I suppose?"' she said. "No; lam sorry about r 't. I sho.iM not hare gone about the place, but I fancied my son had changed his mini, and thought he had got manned or something of that kind. I hardly know what to do. I told Mr. Cooper this might happen." "Do you mean Mr. Cooper of the firm in Trevies Inn?" asked Daisy, pretending ignorance. "Yes; do you know them?"

"I have had business with them." was the evasive reply. "'lndeed, strange to say, I am going there to-morrow. I know what I should do in your place." "What?" asked Mrs. Jordan, briefly. "I should write to Mr. Cooper and tell him what had happened, and that, as you could not now take the place, he must look out for some one else; and. if jou like. I will take the letter." "It will be the best plan." said Mrs. Jon'.an. "I shall not certainly have time to call myself."

CHAPTER XLIII. THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER. Nothing succeeds like success. There had been a time when, strong as Daisy's resoive was. she had no idea how the task before her was to be accomplished; now it seemed as though her path was made so straight she could not help tripping over it. Mrs. Jordan confided to her that she was no great scholar, and she therefore offered to assist with the letter. It was written, sealed and addressed. Only for a few minutes had Daisy a horrible pain of suspense- it was when Ms. Jordan, looking with svme complacency at the letter, said: "Perhaps, after all. it would he better to send it by the post." She dare not show any anxiety, but replied quite calmy: "Perhaps it would. I am going to the post with some letters of my own: shall I take it for you?" Then, with the privilege that ought to be reserved entirely for ladies, Mrs. Jordan changed her mind. "After all. it -will be better for you to take it." she said; it will save them the trouble of writing to me, and you can tell me what they say." Daisy started on her errand. "There is only one thing in the way," she thought; "Ishall have to evade the truth. I will not tell a lie. but I cannot adhere to the strict truth—l must evade it. I will go to Thavies Inn and wait about there until I see Mr. Cooper; that will help me. If she leaves England on Saturday next, as she says, I am safe enough. She will not have time to think about Sir Clinton." She went to Tiiavis Inn, and waited there until Mr. Cooper came out of his office, then she went back to Meadow Lane.

"1 have b«.-*n a long time away," she Kiid, ' but I have had several little matters to nitejad ro."

Mr*. Jordan did not se.->m vitiMv interested: Hip hud d>; o with ; t all >v>w. mid oulv waul ■•! to be wi»h her son. Her heart was over the sea with her hoy. not in London. "I went to Th.-ivie-J Inn." sa'd Daisy. "«md I saw Mr. O»o| or." "Well." said Mrs. Jordan, "was ho

angry 7" "No. he Hid not seem to bo. T think they hare some one else—some one hP knows—to go in your place." "That is all right, thou," said Mrs. Jordan; "I should have been sorry to inconvenience tlipm; but if thty have, soup our- else in my place, 1 shall not give the matter nnother thought." "Now." said Daisy to herself, "the cxast is clear for me." She made nil her arrangements; she purchased a plain. Mark silk dross. white lace caps such as shp saw Mrs. Jordan wore; slip purchased a pair of spectacles, and laughed at herself when she was fully equipped. "I shall be able to look Sir Clinton Adair in the face." she said, "and he will not know me." On tho Thursday morning slip affected to receive a letter: she called her landlady into her room, and told her how sorry she was to be compelled to leave nt a day's notice, but she had resolved upon paying a month's rent.

The busy little woman looked somewhat crest-fallen at finding that she was to lose so good a lodger; the money consoled her, and they parted on good terms.

Some short time after that, with all her difficulties ended, Daisy found heself at the door of Lifdale House. She took with her two boxes, which she hoped would present a sufficiently imposing appearance.

It was soon known among the servants that the new housekeeper, Mrs. Jordan, had arrived. They vied with each other which should pay her the mosit attention, knowing that much of their comfort would depend on her good will. A pleasant-looking housemaid, Margerie Low, volunteered to show her her room.

Daisy was thankful for the relief—her heart was beating so fast, it was with difficulty she breathed. At the top of the grand staircase y?.rgorie pointed to a suite of apartments. "Those are Sir Clinton's rooms,'' she said; and again Daisy was in dan.'i.' of losing her self-possession.

It seemed so curious to hear her husband's name from these strangers. Then she we.it to her room, fondly hoping to have a few minutes' rest; but Margerie Low intended to stand high in the good graces of the new housokee[>or. She persisted in remaining to help her, and Daisy was compelled to submit.

"Anything I can do for you. Mrs. Jordan?" said Margerie. "Sir Clinton said that I was to wait upon you."

"That was very kind," said Daisy, unguardedly, and the housemaid looked up in wonder at the expression.

Then she became eloquent about her Juwister—telling what a good, kind mastor he was, and how much bet or it would be for him if he would marry, he seemed so sad. so lonely.

"Lonely!" said Daisy—it was on her lips to cry out. "he has a wife and child;" but prudence prevailed, and she said nothing. Margerie smiled again.

"We live in hopes." she said; "people may think what they will, but I know that Sir Clinton loves some one."

"How do you know it?" asked Daisy. "I could tell by a hundred signs," replied shrewd Margerie. Then Daisy saw that if she were to have a few minutes to herself she must send the good-natured girl away. "I wish you would make me a cup of tea Margerie." she said: "I am tired." Away went the housemaid, and the young wife was left alone. She fastened the door, lest, returning suddenly, Margerie should surprise her; then kneeling down, she buried her face in her hands. She wanted to pray—to ask Heaven to help her to bless her enterprise—but she could not: her heart boat, her hr.iin burned: she could not only pray with parted lips that seemed to ask for mercy in their faint whispers. She was under the shelter of her husbands roof at last—here in his housein the house where she ought to have been so eagerly welcomed—here in disguise—heir- where she should see him, speak to him. and he would not know her. It would be a terrible trial, but she could bear that, and more, if she could only find out his secret.

After a time she grew calmer. 'Die h< usemaid returned with the tea; she drank it. and then was rather startled at seeing Margerie's large brown eyes fixed on her face. The girl looked at her so intently that Daisy grew startled, and said to her at last:

"What makes you look at me so?" "I cannot tell." said Margerie. "You look young, yet you look old; you have a strange face Mrs. Jordan—they said you were elderly."

"So I am." said Daisy, sharply. "Your face looks so smooth. I thought you would be a very different person." And in some vague way afrer that Margerie was much less familiar with the new house-keeper.

The housekeeper's room was on the first floor, and as Daisy went down she heard the well known, well-loved voice of her husband; he was speaking to one of the servants, inquiring if she had come. For one minute Daisy stood quite still, and it seemed to her that she must fall on her face and die—that she had neither the strength nor the courage to meet him. She stood still and silent as a marble statute, then roused herself; she must either go on ami meet him. or she must run right away. Again she heard the well-loved voice: "You can tell Mrs. Jordan that I will see her at once; I am going out and have not many minutes to spare. I shall he in the library." A reprieve. She drew a long, deep breath: she was saved, at least for a few minutes.

Then Adolphe. the valet, came to her. Ho bowed, after the fashion of his nation, polite to every one in woman's

garb. "Sir Clinton wishes to see Mrs. Jordan; he is in the library." "Which is the library door?" she asked.

He showed it to her. and, bringing nil her courage to bear, she knocked at it.

"Come in." said her husband's voice, and Daisy, with trembling hands, opened the door and went in. He was seated at a table, writing busily. He laid down his pen when she entered, and, turning round in his chair, looked at he r .

"Good-day, Mrs. Jordan," ho said, in a cheerful voice; "I am very glad to see you."

She stood quite still, thanking Heaven in her heart that she had put on blue spectacles, still without the least movement. She Raw a puzzled expression pass over his face, ns though something huJf bewildered him, then it passed away, and he was himself. "I am afraid." he said, "that you will find everything in gTeat disorder; my Jat* h<nuiekeei>er left me a very hurried

faMvon; you must try to manage as wHI as you can." Daisy made n courtesy that at any other time would have made her smile. She did not answer, indeed she could not have spoken a word then to have saved her life.

"I nm not vpry much at home, myself." he continued, "so thnt double vigilance is required on the part of my housekeeper. I should like you to come to mo every morning for orders. Today I shall not return to dinner—tomorrow I have some friends-. You can make your arrangements for them, and submit them to me."

"Yes. Sir Clinton." she said, in a faint low voice, so faint that he barely heard it; oven the low sound caused him to look iimre curiously at her. "You saw Mr. Cooper. Mrs. Jordan. I suppose?" he continued; and again her reply was hardly audible. "He informed you of all needful arrnrgomeints. and settled everything to your satisfaction. I suppose?" "Yes?" said Daisv.

The impulse was so strong upon her to fly to him. to clasp her arms around his neck, to sav:

"Do you know me? Can any disguise hide me from you? I am Daisy, your wife!"

For one half-minute that impulse was so strong, it was with the utmost difficulty she eontroled it.

She saw Sir Clinton take up his pan and dip it into the ink; then she saw that their interview was over.

Sir Clinton looked up suddenly again. "You must bo sure to tell mo." he said, "if there is any evil that requires remedying. In a large household, without a mistress to superintend it, servants are apt to grow careless; if you have any complaint to make, I shall always find leisure to attend you."

■ Then he resumed his writing, and she went away. She trembled in every limb; her face was pale as death: great drops stood on her brow. It seemed to her that no woman should have gone through so much and lived. "He did not know me," she thought. "Ah, well! no disguise that he could have assumed would ever have hidde.i him from me; 1 should have known him in spite of all." She had been half startled by his pale, worn fare; evidently he was not in England for the solo purpose of enjoying himself; he lookod wan. haggard, full of care—he lookod worse than she had ever seen him. Could it bo that he was lonely and unhappy away from her?

Tt was hard work to attend to the duties of a house, to give her attention to plate and linen, to the complaints of housemaids, the blunders of footmen, the wants of the cook; it was not for that she was there, but to know the secret of her husband's life—to find out if ho loved any one else instead of lovJn*r her—to know why ho loft her in I-ranee and never spoke of bringing her homo.

Those were the thoughls that occup'ed her mind, causing the servants to look at her in wonder as she made one error after another

Then Daisy, when she saw the expression of surprise on the faces of those nround her, roused herself. She must be on the alert; she must not give way to dreams. If she was ever to muster the secret of Sir Clinton's life, she must be more on the alert, and not cause any 6uspicJon of herself.

CHAPTER XLIV. THE TREASURED ROSE. ""Was there ever a fate so strnnge as mine?" said Daisy to herself. Here I am housekeeper in this magnificent mansion, where I ought to be mistress; here 1 am servant in my husband's home—l, who am really Lady Adair." She had risen early on this morning after her installment at Lifdalo Douse. She wanted to look about her, to he.'ome familiar with the rooms, to find her way —above all, to see if there was anywhere any trace of herself, or of any other's love. She asked Margerie to show her the different rooms, and the good-natur-ed girl cheerfully consented, talking g.iyly to her all the time.

"I have heard." she, said that Sir Clinton's place in the country, Eastwold, is very beautiful. Have you seen it, Mrs. Jordan?" No; Mrs. Jordan had only beard of it.

"I have heard that at Eastwold there is a macrnifioent suite of rooms, that were prepared for some lady whom he never married after all."

The housekeeper turned quickly away, lest the girl should see the pallor that overspread her face. "A >lady that he never married!" she repeated: "who was it, Marperie?"

"I do not know. I have heard the servants talk about it but I do not know nothing myself. They said that he loved some lady very dearly, and that he bad tPiese bountiful Vooms all made ready for her; and afterward they parted, no one knows how or why. The rooms have been shut up ever since, and he will not allow them to be opened."

"Did you ever know who it was?" asked poor Daisy. "No; nor I never heard why they parted; but I shall always think that is what mikes Sir Clinton so silent and so sad—though he seems to have cheered up a little of late." "Can that be because of m*?" thought Daisv.

Rut her heart misgave her sadly. r lhere must be another love in the way. She did not like 1o ask any more questions. A moment's reflection showed her that it was an injury to her husband's dignity to ask questions of his servants. Se quickly turned the con vernation, but she did not forget one word of it. She looked through lihe rooms- there was no trace of her. none of the child —no photograph, no note, no half-finished letters, nothing that could have betrayed his marriage even to the most curdoua of servants. She saw nothing else, not one single niomento of nny woman. She looked at the cards lying on the hall table. There were all kinds of grand names—none that interested her.

She was surprised at the splendor of the house; everything in it was superb; the thought that occurred to her constantly was that he had all this, yet had never told her. Her baby, the lovely. laughing l>oy she had left in France, was heir to all this splendor, heir to the title his father hore, heir to Eastwold. Ah, how carefully she must ke v p the secret of tflias masquerade of hers for her boy's eake! —no one must know that she had been in his father's house disguised. Tn the drawing-room Daisy saw one picture that attracted her attention: it was not a portrait, merely a study of a toman's face, laughing and fair, with golden hair and white brow, with dark vioiet eyes, and sweet mobile lips. It was a picture that had attracted Sir Clinton's attention because of its likeness to Lady May. Daisy looked long and eagerly at it—she had seen no one like it. Could it be that it resembled any one Sir Clinton knew? "You ure admiring that picture." said Margerie; "Sir Clinton likes it. I often aee him standing before it with a auwle on his lips. If I were in tea place, young

and handsomt and rich, and loved a beautiful lady like that. I would soon make her Lady Adair." Thp name struck Daisy like a blowshe was Lady Adair; no other could ever lay claim to tJw title or bear the name. Then she asked where Sir Clinton took his breakfast, and was told in thp morning room.

"Very Gad and very unreal it looks," said Margerie, "to see a gentleman like him sitting down to the breakfast tab'o alone—always alone; he does not care to u<*e the dining-room unless we have company."

"It is to the morning-room, then, that I must go," she said, "when I want to see him'.'" The answer was "Yes." "There are some rooms you have not seen yet, Mrs. Jordan—Sir Clinton'?* rconi his study; very few people arc allowed to enter there; he keeps his papers and all kinds of treasures there; the housekeeper always (loaned that herself; he would not even let us enter.'*

"And there." thought Daisy to herself—"there, if any place, I shall find tJie clew of my husband's secrets." After breakfast she wont to him. As she looked at him she half wondered that he should prefer this solitude of hicheerful home at Seville. Here he was alone; there she had always been with him, ready to wait upon him, to attend him. to talk to him: he sat in the midst of blooming flowers and singing birds; this seemed to her very lonely by contrast. Sir Clinton did not look up this time.

"We shall dine at eight. Mrs. Jordan; I have four gentlemen coming; you will 6oe that the cook sends us a good dinner. Have you found everything, so far, to your satisfaction?" "Yes. Sir Clinton." replied Daisy. "Mrs. Jordan." he said, "have I seen you before? Your voice is strangely familiar to me."

She was half alarmed, but consoled herself by thinking that it was quite possible that he could recognize her. "I do not remember. Sir Clinton." she said. "I have been in many places."

He looked attentively at her. "You have a voice exactly like another one that I know." he said: to himself he added, in a low voice, "It troubles me." »

Daisy made a courtesy, and went away. "I wish T could disguise my voice," she thought. "It will betray me."

"It troubles me." said Sir Clinton. Why should it trouble him? Then she met Adolpho, who told her his head ached, and he should like 6ome green tea.

"Were you up late last night?" she asked him.

The discreet valet replied that he really never looked at the clock when his master returned.

"It could not have been late though," ho continued, "for he was at Cliffe House, and he never stays late there."

That day Sir Clinton was out in t<ho morning. He rode after lunch; then h's friends came to dinner; so that she did not see much of him; but going into tlie library.later on. she saw a letter addressed to herself, lying on the table: she read the direction —"Mrs. Clifton. Seville. France." Then he was writing to her. he was not forgetting her. It was such a strange life, this others. Put as yet she had seen nothing to corroborate her suspicions, no letters came to him that caused him any emotion. One evening he came home to dimmr, and in his hand he held, very carefully, a white rose: A small, lovely rose, so nicely arranged, with the green leaves, Daisy felt sure that some lady had worn it. He passed her in the hall. "Mrs. Jordan." he said, "get me some fresh, cold water; I want to preserve this flower."

With her own hand she brought him n small containing clean, cold water: and he placed the white rose in it. She saw that hp had eomplotelr fr>r-gotte-n hf>r presence: he bent over the little bud. She saw him "touch j.t wil.h his lips, and she wondered wh&re he had obtained it. She notW'd how jealously he guarded it: he allowed no one to tonch it. lie kept it living as long as he conld. When faded, it disappeared, and Daisy knew that he had taken it.'

"If he loves any one." she th'nuritf «o herself, "it is the person from rcho<r. he had had that flower." How was she to discover who that was? She longed to know how he received his letters from Fiance —if they gave him pleasure or pain: and she so man-aged one of her morning visits to his study, that it ooenrred identically at post-time. Just as she opened the door thy footman was there with a small bundle of letters on a silver salver. Her quick eye detected one from herself, from France, anions: them.

"I will give those to Sir Clinton." she said, ami the man left the salver in her founds.

As usual Sir Clinton was reading when she entered. She laid the salver down.

"The letters, Sir Clinton," she said, in a low voice.

He took them up instantly, and she saw the first that riveted his attention was her own. It was not pleasure that shone in his face, for from it his eyes seemed to take a deeper shadow; his hands slightly trembled; he took it up and put it in his pocket: the others he lay carelessly on the table. There was trouble in his face and in liis voice—no delight, no pleasure, no love—deep, bitter trouble, and the last gleam of hope died, faint as it was. in her heart when she saw that troubled face. He did not seem to hear what she said; he waved his hand to the do©. 1 . "Will you please to return in half an hour?" he said. "I am rather put about: I can attend better to you then."

It was her letter which put him about —she felt quite sure of Hint; he had locked right enough at first. There was a horrible pain in her heart as this conviction flashed over her: sihe had felt but little hope; the certainty seemed more than she could hear. She returned in half an hour, and had rapped twice at the door before beheird her; then, when she entered, she saw her own letter lying on the table open before him: his head was bent on his hinds: he had evidently read 'A, and was thinking deeply. Was she mistaken, or Could it he possible that (he eye« raised to hers were dim with tears? There were gro.it lines of pain round the lips. Before speaking to her. he look the letter in his hands and tore it iti'to shreds, even those shreds he most carefully burned; then he gave his attention to her. hut she saw that it was quite mechanical. He listened; he paid yes or no; but she felt quite sure that he had not heard one word.

"I beg your pardon, <* Clinton," she said, respectfully, in that feigned voice of hers; "I hope you have had no bad news." "i\"o," he replied, listlessly, "I have not." "You are not looking sq well, sir, this morning. Is there anything I can do for you?" Ho seemed pleased by her kindly interest. "Nothing." he replied, "thank you, Mrs. Jordan."

She lonjred to say more, hut dare not. Slowly eliouph slip wont away, closing tlio door behind ljor. "1 know what is (ho matter." she thought, indignantly: "yon have a letter from the wife yoti dislike, and the thought of her has been painful la you.'' She noticed that all tht' morning Sir 01'liton remained in his room. She nn v t. Adolphe gn'ng out with a tri-corroretl note in his hand. "Hoes Sir Clinton lunch at home?" she asked.

"Yes; he was engaged to go to Oliffe Hou«e. hut I am just taking « note of ap logy there.*' It was the sernnn time that she had heard the name "CHfle House," and in tin' midst of all her pain she felt a dull \\<.u<ler as to who lived there, and why he went so often. More than once that day she heard the comments of the servants- how out of spirits Sir Clinton was! how dull, how depressed, how ill he was looking! "Why does he not marry?" cried h< nest Maigeiie; "he would not sit at home alone all day in that fashion if he had a wife." Another solemnly shook her head.

"In my opinion." she said, "there is seme reason why he dues not marry, and the same reason makes him always sad."

Daisy, listening, h?ard all. and kept the words buried in her heart.

To Be Continued