FROM JUBILEE TO JUBILEE.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2170, 20 August 1897, Page 3

FROM JUBILEE TO JUBILEE.

| (Concluded.) CHAPTER V.—A SURPRISE AND A CONFESSION. Next morning at breakfast the old man hummed and haahed considerably. ;in/i finally offered to take Frank into j partnership, and let him manage the i place as be liked. "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing." he wound up: "so if you like to <ake it. do: and, if not. let it alone." Frank, utterly astonished and confounded. could not at first find anything suitable to say, knowing the old man would hate to be thanked above everything. At last he jerked out—"Very much obliged, I'm sure. I don't know why yon should, but first I must tell you something about myself." and he straightway toldt he farmer all. .very much to his own surprise, it must be confessed, for he had most religiously guarded his secret.

The old man listeued without making any sign, and when Frank had finished he just nodded and said. "All right ; I'm sure you never did it. Dou't let us mention it again," and Frank thankfully assented. The years rolled on. and Frank's schemes were at last completed, and Farmer Jones' acres duly irrigated, not extensively, it is true, but still sufficiently, and Frank hoped some day to carry out his plan on a more elabonito scale.

The land had more than come up to his expectations; the olives were in themselves a source of income, l>esides sheltering the crops, aud Frank seemed to have settled down, and was almost happy—almost, but a good many degrees removed from quite. Despite his affection for the farmer, despite his deep interest in the farm, lie still had many dark days. He still trembled, when a stranger rode up to the farm. He still started up from awful dreams, more than thankful to feel he was free. He never; opened the paper without thinking of .what might be there headed —"Discovery of the Grosvenor street murderer." But yet there were hours when his buoyant spirit would pick up. and he would find some of his old lighthearted feelings cropping up. One day he opened the paper, and the fierce old pain shot through him keenly, for his eyes encountered this heading—"THE DIAMOND JUBILEE." "THE RECORD REIGN CELEBRATIONS." ''GENERAL REJOICING TiIROI*GLIOUT THE COLONY." With a shudder, he threw aside the paper and strode off. only to return, for the subject fascinated him. He hated to read of it, yet coulu uot refrain. Jubilee ! Jubilee ! How he loathed the word, and the papers from that time on seemed to hold nothing of importance outside that one subject. CHAPTER VI. A DAY OF JUBILEE.

At last June 22nd arrived, and Frank opened the paper with a feeling of relief to think that surely now tliis fuss must soon end.

The tall, strong bearded man of today was a very different being front the slim yonth whose life had seemed so shattered by last Jubilee's mistake. One felt instinctively that the danger did not exist from which this man ■would ran, and so it was. Indeed [Frank sometimes had serious thoughts of going back to England and standing his trial now. anil he certainly would have douo had he boou sure of Constance.

Bat there was the ml). To go back aid find her a happy wife would only iw inflicting needless pain and misery *>n both. Then—who had done the deed? iff the man he thongbt. Constance's flight would be even worse th;iii now. All this floated dimly through his mind as he sat) on the verandah and tried to read the paper on that memorable Diamond Jubilee day. The same verandah, almost the same spot, from Which Farmer Jones had superintended ibis first digging. Frank smiled as he remembered his violent exertions and Intense discomfort then. Now In* could dig or ride or plough if need he for tlie whole day and not turn a hair. nhe opened th»* itaper to s»«e ilie price of wheat, etc.. and in doing so looked up. Then he' drew his hand aeross bis eyes and looked again. Yes. it was no vision—a lady stood at the other end of the verandah regarding him intently. Frank rose and took a few steps towards her. mechanically raising his cap. Then he stopped and looked again. Constance! Surely it mast l»e she. Constance, a woman, but more t>eantifnl. sadder. a trifle careworn, bm Htill the one woman in the world for him. In a moment she was in his arms, thongh no word bad lieeu spoken. It was evening, and two of the trappiest people on tliat happy day wanklered np and down the little path in front of the farmhouse, while one of the most miserable of old men sat in the icfark sittingroom and tried to picture ibis lonely life stretching out before feim when Frank had left him and taken the girl he had loved so long ibaek across the seas. The old farmer felt an unfamiliar [moisture dim his eyes as he remembered Frank's unfailing good nature and gentleness under the trying crustiness of his own morose temper. No man had ever longed more for the power to utter a few kindly words than Hour old Farmer -Tones, but it was simply impossible. The more kinilly he felt, the more terse and abrupt his manner, and none felt it as he. Hut [Frank understood him. and no one* else lever had. and the old man was grateful. He went to the window, and watched for a moment the two figures so close together. each so al)sorbed in the other : then he strode out of the room, and went iu search of some of the farm hands, to whom he administered the soundest bullying he had eVer given, which was saying a good deal, his performances in that direction being particularly unique and forcible. Meanwhile it is little wonder that Frank and Constance were absorbed, for the former was hearing the details of the wonderful news which the gill had (travelled to Australia to bring hiiu. When Consoince had answered a few vital questions. Frank suddenly remembered his o'd friend and thought tiat this had been rather a lonely day for him, though the old fellow wonkl sooner have died than admit it. i*y he took Constance into the sittingroom and settled her before a rosy tire, .while he went and interrupted the farmers rampage, and not without much persuasion, managed to get him sc.!ted before the fire also. Then he I tide Constance begin from the beginning, and tell them her strange ptory. -jpHAPTER Vlf.-FKOM I'NDEK THE SHADOW OF DEATH. ""Well." the .girl liegan. turning to Farrier Jones, "to iK-giu at the lieginnins:. I was born ;u America, and when I was O'ast two my father and mother were both killed in a dreadful railway acci--37 L

dent, and my brother (IS years my so-, nior) and I found ourselves without k' single rotation in the w*rld, at least, trtat we knew of. We were left fairly well off. though by no means rich, so my brother left me in charge of some dear old maiden friends of my mother's, while ho started off for Africa, where the diamond mines were making a .stir. I lived quietly there for eight years, hearing regularly from my brother (who seemed to be doing very well) though never seeing him. At last a letter came telling ray dear old friends to find some suitable person as nurse, and let her bring me to Paris, where my brother intended to live tor the future. It was a great grief to me to leave those dear old ladies, but I could uot help being delighted at the prospect of seeing my only brother again, whom I loved dearly, though, of course, could not remember.

"Well, we arrived in Paris, and settled down there for some months: then Harold told me an old friend of his had died and loft him some mouey. on coudition that he took his name, which he intended to do, and I thought I might as well adept it as well, to save confusion. I was delighted, much preferring 'Staughton to Hawker"(our right name), so 'Stanghton' we called ourselves from that time on. Soon we moved to London, where we lived in great style, and luxury, until about five years ago, wheu things changed altogether. "We still lived in our grand house, though I begged hard 1o move into a small one. where the army of servants we still kept would not be needed: but Harold was obstinate, and quite determined to stay on. Life was a perfect misery by reason of duns constantly coming and demanding money. The tradespeople were unpaid. The servants, also, just received enough 1o quiet them from time to time, and bills swarmed in from all quarters, and things seemed hopeless. We struggled on, I hardly know how. for three years more, then things grew even worse. Dreadful men came and stayed all night, playing cards. Ilarold grew morose and badtempered. and my life was spent almost entirelv in my own room, the only place where I could be free from the gamblers. At last the climax came. The house aud furniture were seized and we were homeless. We went into dingy lodgings in Kensington aud stayed there a few months. Then one morning the landlady came and told me that Harold had shot himself in the night, leaving word that his writing case was to be given to me at once. Of course the shock was terrible. but I had suffered so much during the last few years that I'm afraid I grow callous. But a still greater shock was before me. From a paper he had drawn up and singed I found that for the last eighteen years he had practised a cruel deception on me. He was not my brother at all'

"My own brother had died IS years before in Africa, though this was known to only one man bosido Harold, a Frenchman named Dinnerosqnc." Hero Constance stopped, and Frank taking pity 011 her. went on.

"Yes," ho said, "and the scoundrel then confessed that lie himself h;id shot Dumeresque in my rooms, whore ho had made au appointment with him on purpose. Well, by jove, he's had to pay for his villainy. It seemed the Frenchman had .been making the hush-money too heavy, and was always threatening to tell Constance, so Harold got desperate and hid behind the door in my room, and as the Frenchman walked in. shot him dead. There was no one living on that flat except myself and he calculated on the people from the other parts being out at the illuminations, and he was right unfortunately. His only redeeming point is that he always seems to have iwen kind ro Constance." "Yes." said the girl, "but I'm rather afraid my little annuity of LliiO had something to do with that. Ho conid not touch it. and latterly it was all wo had to live on."

"And this young man is free to go back to England now?" asked the farmer, speaking for the first time. "Yes." said Constance smiling, "quite free if he likes. It is nil cleared up now. He would have had news earlier, but I thought I would come out and reconnoitre. 1 got his address at the Melbourne Post Office, where he had left it some years ago, and then I came straight away and took up my abode at the pretty little town Toolamba. I thought l>erhaps Frank might Ik- married (now don't interrupt)" as Frank made a movement towards her. "I know I should have written, but I hart strong suspicions I was watched, aud, besides, there was no good news. It was funny at Toolamba to hear of the two unsociable old bachelors, whose house a woman had never beeu known to enter, with the exception of the deaf old cook. You can imagine what a ferment the iadies were in when it was known that I intended to beard the lions in their den. 1 waited a week for Jubilee Day.tliiuking it would 1m! an appropriate time for good news." "Ah." said the old man, "and what boat will you be sailing by V "Well." said Frank, "Constance aud I have l>een flunking we'd like to live on here if you'd have us." The old man stared hard at Frank for a second. "Well. I'm blest." he said, thickly, and hurried off to bed. And on Frank explaining that the remark was equivalent to a v#ry pressing invitation, they stayed.