A DAY OF RECKONING OR BETTER THAN COLD.

Northland Age, Volume V, Issue 7, 5 October 1908, Page 2

A DAY OF RECKONING OR BETTER THAN COLD.

By Hedley Richards,

(Copyright.)

Author of “The Woman Pays," “The Fatal Blue Diamonds," Etc., Etc* part vm. Lady Olverstonc found Mona In a room that had formerly been her school-room ; now she used it tor willing letters or painting. It was her own special sanctum. She looked up as her mother entered, care.'ully shutting the door after her. “ I want to speak to you, my d* ar,” she said, as she seated her8* If. Mona turned round to face her moth r ; she had been writing to t‘ ■ lady who had been her govern sb. ‘ Yes, mother,” she said gently. “I have re eived an offer of mari u for you, my dear.” 'Whom from?” And there was a •ol ess in the girl's voice that was • 1 o n there. “Mr. Arbuthnot has asked my peril! ion to speak to you, and, of :j rs , I gave it.” '. am sorry you did, because I •hull-refuse him, and it will be pain- ! 1 for us both." Mona, why should you refuse i:n ? He is eligible in every way. i n sure I think you are a lucky He is old enough to be my i ther, and I don’t love him," said

‘ My dear, the difference in age is in .he right side, and he is only in t • prime of life. You forget, *m, that you have no fortune, irtff I cannot even give you a sea* .on in town. I look upon Mr. Ar>u‘lmot's offer as quite providential." “Mother, I cannot marry a man ( do not love, and I don’t want a serson in town. 1 consider the way ve girls are paraded here and there for inspection and approbation is jit< 1 table. 1 only wank to stay ?uie l.v at Olverstone, the# if a man woos me whom I love, I will say •Yti.’ Until then I will remain in the old home,” said Mona, gravely. “That is just what you cannot do.” ‘I cannot remain at home ? What Jo you mean, mother ?" “Well, Mona, I would have spared vou what you may consider sordid li t a Is, but in reality what 1 have lo tell you shows that Mr. Arbuthnot is a man of wonderful generosity, and that he loves you very much,” said Ladv Olverstone. “What do you mean?” asked Mona, Hazarding her mother with wide-open eyes. “The mortgage money has been called In, and it and two years’ arrears have to be paid in fourteen lays. It seems that a month or two before your father’s death it was transferred to Jabez Armvtage vnd he is revenging himself on 01/erstone because that silly little Josey wouldn’t marry him. Mr. Arjuthnot has come to the rescue. He . will pay Armvtage off on two conditions. One is that you become lis wife ; the other that I agree to Lance marrying the girl at the inn,” laid Lady Olverstone. Mona had listened in silence, but the colour had faded from her cheeks ina there was a look of trouble in ner lovely eyes as she said : “Oh, mother, I cannot marry him.” “Then you mean to let the estate pass from Lance to Jabez Armytage ? Mona, it would be enough to make your father come out of his grave.” “Oh, mother, it is very hard. I don’t love him. There are times when I even shrink from him.” “That is nonsense. I suppose you’ve formed an ideal of the sort lover you would have, and Mr. Arbuthnot does not come up to the standard. You ought to be glad to have the chance of a man like him—rich, generous, and devoted to you.” Mona did not reply, and her mother went on : “The other condition—that Iconsent to Lance marrying that girl—- ‘ is very distasteful to ine ; but I shall agree* to it, because the estate must be saved for my son, and you must help me to save it.” Mona lifted her head proudly : “Mother, I will not be forced into this marriage. If I marry Mr. Arbuthnot, I shall do it because I believe, under the circumstances, it is the right thing to do. I have not made up my mind that it is. You taußt give me time to think it over.” “Mr. Arbuthnot will speak to you after dinner to-night,” replied her mother. ."So soon ! Cannot I have longer*? Remember how much depends on my decision.” “Mona, a fortnight from to-day the money has to be. paid, so there is no time for delay. Besides, it is unfair to Mr. Arbuthnot.” “Very well, I will give him my answer to-night. But is there no one else from whom we could get the money ? It seems like selling myself.” “No. Perhaps if the time had been longer wo might have got another mortgage ; but as it is the attempt would be useless. Moreover, the farms are out of repair, ind I question whether we could get is much. And as for selling yourtelf, that's all rubbish,” said her .adyship, as she rose and went towatds the door. “I will give Mr. Arbuthnot an answer to-night, but I shall not come into luncheon. You must make some excuse.” “AU right, my dear. I’m sure I can rely on you not to rain your brother’s life ;” and wit{i these words Lady Olverstone left the room. Mona sat quite still, trying to think what she ought to do. She was an unselfish, good girl, and she asked herself whether it was not her duty to put her feelings on one side for the sake of her brother. It would be a bitter blow to Lance to lose the estate. The verv thought

of seeing It pass into Jabez Armytage's hands struck her with xl pang. There had been Olverstone’s at Oiverstono Hall for five dr six hundred years, and if she could make up her mind to marry Arbuthnot there would .be Olverstones for generations. I*here faas.nothing really objectionable except his age in this man, who loved her so . much that he was willing to pay such a sum of money to keep the j estate in the family. Yes, must j be kind, or he would not have made, .that stipulation.about Lance marry-| *ing the girl he loved. Somehow* Mona did not quite trust him, but ! the more she thought the more she , became convinced that it was her I duty to marry him and make, her . I brother’s prospects secure. Bend- j ing her head she asked. God to guide her, and she 'was feeling more restful when her maid appeared with a tray on which a dainty luncheon was served. Then shortly after she ordered her horse and went for a i gallop on the moor, attended by the elderly groom, who kept a jealous eye on his young mistress, i When they got back to the Hall it was nearly five o’clock, and Mona went at once to her own room, where her tea. was brought to her, I and she did not go downstairs until the dinner-bell* rang. It was I with a very grave though beautiful ! face that she entered the room, and j both her mother and Arbuthnot ! were puzzled as to what her answer j would be. Lance felt uncomfortable as he noticed the grave face, that some- ! how appeared to have acquired a look of sadness in the last few 'hours, and he vowed in his own mind that Mona should not purI chase prosperity and what his heart desired at the expense ofi her own happiness. That evening the gentlemen almost immediately followed the ladies to the drawing-room, and before Lance could speak to his sister Arbuthnot had'joined her. Miss Olverstone, will you have a stroll on the lawn ? It is a lovely, night,” said. “I don’t mind, but I must get a wrap,” she answered.. , Lady Olverstone interposed, saying : “My dear Mona, it has become quite an institution for you to go out at night, and last night I fancied that your wrap was not quite warm enough, so I brought this shawl down and she handed a warm, fleecy wool shawl to Arbuthnot, who wrapped it round Mona’s bare shoulders ; then they passed out of a window that opened on to a flight of steps that led to the lawn. It wa9 a beautiful, J uiy night, warm and tranquil, r The leaves on the trees in the park scarcely moved all nature seemed drowsy, and the moon looked down, bathing the world in its silvery light, But Mona was out of tune with it all. She hated the thought of promising to be the wife of the man who walked by her side. It seemed to be her duty to sacrifice herself for the good of her family,* but she resolved she would be honest with him. For a few minutes they walked silently on, then he looked down at her. She was a tall girl, but he was a taller man. “Mona, your mother has told you that I want you to be my wife. It is the dearest wish of my U/e. I love you, my darling, and this day has been a very trying one. Will you tell me my fate?” ne said. ‘‘Mr. Arbuthnot, I am going to~ tell you the truth. I don’t love you, but if you choose to marry me knowing that, I am willing, for the sake of what it will mean to my mother and brother," she answered. ‘ ‘My darling, I love you so that I would marry you on any terms ; but, Mona, I shall teach you to love me. Child, you have great influence over me, and I shall become a better man when you are always with me. I have done things in the past that would shock and grieve you if you knew, but my future I will try to make worthy of you, my pure white lily.” She shrank back. The passion in his voice alarmed her ; and seeing it, he said, more quietly : “I’ve bought Bythorne Towers—at least, it will be mine when they receive a letter that is waiting to be posted—and it will be our home, Mona ; so you will 1 be near your own people, and you will be able to gratify your every wish. j[ am a very rich man. You shall spend-my money right royally, and the day we are married you shall give your brother the mortgage deeds of the estate to burn.” “ Thank you.y she said, and reproached herself for the coolness of her voice. “You won’t keep me waiting long, Mona, and I think it would be nice if Lance could be married the same clay.” “Dear Lance ! I am glad he is going to be happy," she said. “And you will be happy, too. You will learn to love me, Mona ; I and bending down, he kissed her lips. A little cry of alarm escaped her, and her face became scarlet. “That is the kiss of our betrothal,” he said. CHAPTER XVIII, WANTED. Paula was feeling low-spirited. It was more than a week since she had seen Lord Olverstone, and in spite J of the fact that she had refused to i be engaged to him until his mother gave her consent, she was disappointed that she had not seen him. Not that she had changed her mind; still, she thought he might have contrived to see her, if only to let her know how matters were progressing. She had neither seen nor heard from him since the day she declined to consent to a secret marriage, and now she was perplexing herself with all kinds of doubts as to the cause of his silence. Perhaps, after all, he had decided to marry a girl in his own sphere. She had heard his name coupled with that of Josey Armytage, and concluded that his mother had talked him into marrying her, so it was with a scornful toss of her head that she took up the daily paper. Turning it carelessly over, Paula's eye lighted on the following advertisement : “Wanted, Annette Holden, who about eighteen-years ago left Can-

ada with her child to go to OlverBtone, in Lancashire ; or if she is not living, her daughter, Paula Holden. By applying to Bcetham fthtl Brown, solicitors, Chancerylane, they will hear of something to ifrelr - advantage." Going to the sitting-room door, Paula cried, “Auntie, auntie !” in such ah excited tone that Miss Corwthqr came quickly out of the kitchen. “Whatever is the matter, Paula?” she said, rather sharply. “Juat listen ?" and Paula read the advertisement. “It must mean my mother and me,” she said, in an excited tone. Miss Crowther put on her spectacles, and read it slowly and carefully. “I think it must. There are plenty of Holdens in the world, but both your name and your mother’a are uncommon/’ - “Of course ; and we came from Canada about eighteen years ago. Oh, yes, it means us. Something to my advantage ! Auntie, what can it be ? Will you- write to the people ?" said Paula, who was hopping about like a bird on a tree. For a moment Miss Crowther did not reply, and Paula fetched the inkstand and paper. Then her aunt spoke : “You can put those things away, Paula. We will go to London. I have some papers that your mother left in my charge, and they may be wanted.” Paula executed an impromptu dance. “How glorious to go. to London ! You’ll take me to the theatre* auntie ?” “That depends what time we have to spare,” said Miss Crowther. .“Auntie, do you think somebody has left a fortune to my mother, and, if she is not living, to me ?” “I don’t know. It would be a pity to build hopes upon it ; at the same time I admit it looks like it.” “Of course, it means that I’m going to be rich, and you shall have a share ; and Paula flew at Miss Crowther, giving her a hug and a kiss that somewhat discomfited that matter-of-fact person. “My dear, don’t get so excited,” she said ; but there was a look of pleasure in the sedate face. “But don’t you see it means that if I’m rich, Lady Olverstone will be more inclined to agree to her son marrying me, and—and I feel very happy," said Paula, hopping first on one foot, then on the other. “Paula, don’t build on anything of the kind. A few hundred pounds would be something to your advantage, but nothing to Lady Olverstone. She wouldn’t think it would even buy your wedding clothog/’ “A few hundred pounds ! I don’t believe you’d go to London if you thought it wasn’t more than that." “I should go to London if I thought you would get any money. It may mean that some of your mother’s people want to know what’s become of her, and if she’s dead, take you to live with them," “But 1 .wouldn’t go. Canada ! The other end of the world. Good gracious, I wouldn’t here and —and—never see Lord "Olverstone again. Auntie, you don’t want to get rid of me ?" said Paula, anxiously. “Indeed I don’t; but all the same [ must do my duty.” “1 don’t think my mother’s relations have shown themselves very anxious to know what became of us, and I’m not going to be turned over to them. You told me her father and mother were dead, so they cannot be very near relations. " •‘Your mother managed to tell me, though she’d hardly strength for it, that her parents died when she was about fourteen ; then her uncle, who had a farm near, took her into his house. .1 gathered she hadn’t had a very easy life, and that she didn’t think he’d acted fairly over what her l , father left. Tio had a farm,, and this uncle took it. When she married your father he was acting as a sort of manager for her uncle, but he’d saved nothing, and he advised her to come to his people. Your grandfather was a French Canadian.” “Well, I don’t feel inclined to welcome this uncle who was so hard on my mother, so I hope he’s not come to England," said Paula. Miss Crowther did not reply ; she was studying a Bradshaw. “We must leave Olverstone at half-past nine in the morning. I’ll ask Jerry, the carter for Macphael’s—he’s in the bar parlour—to tell them to send a cab from the Flat Ox,” she said, as she rose and left the room, returning in a minute or two to tell Paula she must take with her what clothing she might require. “You see, we may have to stav a day or two," Miss Crowther added. During the remainder of the evening Paula was in a state of excitement, and she scarcely slept all night, but it was with almost a feeling of regret that she took her seat in the train that was to carry them south. “Perhaps he will call to-day, to tell me all is well," she thought. It happened that Paula was right. When Lord Olverstone, after leaving the lawyer’s, reached the inbi on the moor, he was told by Mary that her mistress and Miss Paula had gone to London. “Gone to London !” he echoed, in surprise. “Do you know when they will be back ?” he added. “Miss Crowther may be back in a few days, but I really cannot say anything about Miss Paula, my lord," said Mary. Then a terrible fear that Paula was being taken back to the convent out of his way took hold of Olverstone. “Is Miss Paula not coining back with your mistress ?’’ he asked ; and consternation was written plainly on his face, but Mary had no pity for him. “My mistress didn’t tell me, but I’m thinking there was a bit of uncertainty, my lord." “Can you tell me where they are staying in London ?” asked Olverstone. “No, my lord ; I don’t know nothing as I can tell you,” she replied, civilly ; then as he “rode slowly away, looking very downcast, she went back to the kitchen chuckling. “It’ll do you good to miss her a bit. The bonnie lass ha* gone

about with a sad face these last few days, an’ if I did know where they’d stay, it wasn’t anything I could tell him,” she thought.

When Miss Crowther and Paula reached London it was late in the afternoon, so they drove at once to a quiet, respectable hotel, whore they had a substantial tea, served in a private sitting-room. Having decided that it was too late to interview the lawyer, they changed their dresses and took a cab to the theatre, where Miss Crowther obtained tickets for the pit, and Paula spent one of the happiest times she had ever known. As soon as breakfast was over next morning, Miss Crowther ordered a cab, explaining to Paula that, as she didn’t know her way about London, she thought it was better to take a cab.

“J don’t see how people manage to get across the streets without being run over," said Paula, who was interested in watching the traffic, and thinking how different it was from sleepy old Olverstone. Presently the cab stopped, and they entered an office which bore on a brass plate the names of Beet ham and Brown. “Can I see Mr. Beetham ?’’ asked Miss Crdwthe:*. The clerk tJ whom she spoke looked her up and down, and finally told her that Mr. Beetham was very busy, but if she would tell him her name he would inquire if he could see her.

“Tell him my name’s Crowther, from Olverstone, and I’ve come about the advertisement regarding the Holdens," she said. As she spoke the clerk's manner changed, and with a glance at her companion he asked them to sit down, then he went into hn adjoining room, returning in a minute or two with a request that they would follow him.

As they entered the room, a tall, grey-headed man, with a kind, cle-ver-looking face, rose and bowed, glancing quickly from one to the other.

“Are you Miss Crowther?” he said, addressing the elder of the two.

“I am, and this is Miss Paula Holden, the daughter of Annette Holden, who is dead." “Indeed, I am sorry to hear that; but sit down ;" and he handed Paula a chair, while Miss Crowther took one near the table. Mr. Beetham seated himself.

“Now, nadam, I shall be glad to hear any particulars you can give me that will prove this young lady to be the Paula Holden for whom I advertised," he said, in a businesslike tone.

“I’ve got some papers in here,” she said, touching a little bag she carried ; but maybe before I show them to you I’d bettr explain how Paula coincs to be in my charge.”

The lawyer nodded, and Paula leaned forward, listening attentively to the story she had often heard, but of which she was never tired, as it was about the mother of whom she knew so little.

“Eighteen years last March, just as the clock struck ten, I said to Mary, my servant, ‘You’d better be closing the door ; there’ll bo no more customers to-night.’ You see, sir, I kept Ye Old Moor Inn, on the moor near Olverstone, then, as I do now. It was an awful, blustery night, and 1 thought it was no use keeping open, and Mary was just going to shut the door, when she stops short and says, 'What’s that?' “I was in the passage, so I went to the door ; but the wind blew in our faces and whistled down the passage. Then as it died away I was just going to tell Mary she was a fool for fancying things, when in the lull I distinctly heard the cry of a child. Running down the steps, followed by Mary, I saw a woman lying at the foot of them, and on the ground by her side was a baby crying with all its strength. The woman lay so still that I felt sure she had fainted, so I sent Mary into the house for a light and brandy. “In a minute or two she returned with a lantern and some spirit in a glass. We put it to the lips of the woman, whom the light of the lantern showed us was young and looked to be very ill. After a few minutes she revived, and Mary first carried the child and laid her on the rug in front of the sittingroom fire, then she came back to help me with the mother, and between us we carried her up the steps into the house, then laid her on the couch in the sitting-room, after which Mary fastened the front door. Then we attended to the woman and her child. An hour later they were both in bed in a chamber where a good fire had been lighted, but tho woman was so weak that I sat up with her all night. The next morning I sent for a doctor, and his verdict was that her days were numbered. She must have been in a decline when she left Canada, and the voyage had made her worse. He said a week or two at the most was the longest she had to live.

“A day or two passed, and she rallied, so that I thought she was going to be better, and she talked about finding her husband’s people in Olverstone ; but the doctor told me that the improvement was fictitious, and he also warned her, with the result that she told me her story," said Miss Crowther, who then related what she had previously told Paula. “The voyage had taken nearly all her money, and when she landed in Liverpool she was taken ill, and had to remain in lodgings a week ; then at the end of that time, when she was able to travel, she -found that she had not sufficient money to pay her fare to Olverstone, so she took a ticket to Barfield, a town about ten miles from there. It was late in the afternoon when she arrived there, and she hadn’t even money to buy piece of bread for herself or a drop of milk for the child, but she struggled on. She told me that a man gave her a ride in his cart for about five miles, then he showed her which rohd to take. Weary aridfaint, she struggled on, resolved to keep up till she got to Olverstone and her husband's people, but in the darkness and gale she lost her way, and fell exhausted in front of the inn. ‘But now all will be right if I don’t get better. Jack’s mother will see to my child,’ she said. “Sir, I thought it better not to tell her that her husband’s father.

and mother were both dead within a week of her husband of small-pox —and when things came to be looked into it was found that by selling the goodwill of the little 1 shop—they were drapers in a small way—and the furniture there was just enough to meet the creditors’ demands. I knew it would make it harder for her to die if she knew this, so I said that Mr. and Mrs. Holden were away on an outing, and she believed me.

“The next day there was a sudden change, and, feeling that she was going to die, she told me that in th© little bag she wore round her neck I should find papers that would prove the baby was Jack Holden’s daughter. She had left her box at Barfield station. That night she died, and knowing the child was friendless, I made up my mind to adopt her. The poor mother was buried with her husband'B people in Olverstone, and after the funeral I sent for the box at Barfield, and I have kept the contents.

“Paula, as her mother told me she had been christened, was then four months old, and from that time until she was about eight years old I kept her at the inn ; then I sent her to a convent in Belgium. I thought it was the safest place in vhich a lone girl could be brought up, and I knew she get a. good education. Every summer she had two months’ holiday, which she spent at the inn. Now I think I’ve told you all, and I may as well give you the papers. “You’ll find among them the marriage certificate of poor Annette Holden’s father and mother and the certificate of her birth. I suppose they were among her parents’ papers. I found those in the box she’d left at Barfield."

Mr. Beetham examined the papers critically, then ho .went to a desk and took out a paper, which he read. Finally he raised his head and looked at Paula with a smile. “ I think I may safely congratulate you, Miss Paula Holden, -on beirm your uncle’s—or, rather, I should say your great-uncle’s heiress.” Paula looked at him gravely. “Do you mind telling me how much I'm heiress to ?” she said. “About fifty thousand pounds. It won't be less, and it may be more, in fac” “Hip, hip, hurrah !” Paula shouted in her pretty, clear voice, clapping her hands delightedly. “My dear young lady !" said the lawyer, who looked disconcerted. “Paula !" exclaimed Miss Crowther. She laughed merrily. “Oh, you can tell your clerks I was so happy I couldn’t help shouting ‘Hurrah !' And you, auntie, shall have just half the money,” she said, dancing across the office and hugging Miss Crowther vehemently. Mr. Beetham watched her with an amused smile, and as', Miss Crowther put her bonnet straight, he said : “I think, madam, the young lady’s vivacity proves that she has French blood in her veins. But I should like to explain matters if you feel disposed to listen,” he said, turning to Paula, who had resumed her seat with a smile,

CHAPTER XIX. PAULA MAKES A GOOD IMPRESSION. “As your mother is dead,” began Mr. Beetham, “you are the sole heiress of your great-uncle, James Wilton. Your mother’s father was his only brother, and at her father’s death she went to live with her uncle. He had then four litle children, and, according to what I am told, he made a complete drudge of her. Moreover, he admitted on his deathbed that he had wronged her financially, as her father did not die in difficulties, as he had told her, but had appropriated what his brother had left. There were two reasons for this. One was greed, the other that he hated his niece, because her mother had refused to marry him, choosing his brother in preference. He had never forgiven her, and though she was in her grave he marie up his mind to make her child suffer. “When you were a month or two old your mother was left a widow. In accordance with her husband's wishes she returned to England, and her uncle lost sight of her ; in fact, ’-he never troubled himself to make inquiries. Years passed, he prospered greatly, but his two eldest children died of fever. It was a great blow to him, but there was a boy and a girl left, and he went on amassing wealth. Then his daughter, whom he had sent away to be educated, died, and only the son, a fine young fellow, was left. But one day he was bathing in the river, and he was drowned. Then he gave himself up to money-mik-ing ; but illness overtook him, and two months ago he died, but not before he had made a will leaving all he had to your mother, or, if she was dead, to you. If she had married again, you were to take half of what he left, and the rest, if she had other children, was to be divided among them, A solicitor in Montreal drew up the will, and agreed to act as executor. He is a cousin of mine, and he placed the' finding of the heiress in my hands, and I have been advertising for quite a week." “It was quite by chance Paula saw the advertisement," said Miss Crowther. Then she added : “I suppose there won’t he much delay in her coming into her fortune?” “No. But my cousin said in case the mother was dead the child or children would be under age, and a guardian would have to be appointed by him. He suggested that I should act in that capacity. Of course, you see, a young lady with fifty thousand pounds can scarcely" Then he paused, slightly embarrassed. “You mean to say she cannot go on living at an inn,” said Miss Crowther. “Well, you see, madam, the heiress' of fifty thousand pounds should go into society, and" Miss Crowther smiled. “I’ve got a bit of common sense, and I know that a country inn—though, mind you, it’s a respectable one—isn’t the place for a girl with a fortune.” “Just so. There’s her future to consider. Now, I haven't any family, and my wife would be delighted to have Miss Holden to live with us, and Mrs. Beetham is related to Lady Dunstable* she could get her

into good society—if not the best, still, good society.” Here Paula interposed. “Where do you live, Mr. Beetham*?" she asked. “In Russell-square—though, as you don’t know London, I don’t suppose that will enlighten you much," he answered, pleasantly. “In London ! Then I won’t live with you, thank you," she said, decidedly. He smiled, thinking it was Tier dislike of a town life that made her speak' thus. “I can assure you, Miss Holden, that London is a very pleasant place to live in. Wb have some beautiful parks, and the theatres would be a treat to you.’-* “Oh, yes. I enjoyed myself tremendously last night. Auntie took me to one. We were in the pit. I always call her auntie," she said, mistaking his look of consternation. “You went into the pit !” he exclaimed, in a tone that had something of disgust in it. “Yes, and I wish I could go again to-night ; but all the same, I won't live in London." “Why not, may I ask ?” he said, looking at her, and coming to the conclusion that this vivacious little beauty had a will of her own. “You know, Paula, it would be better for you to live with this gentleman. You would meet nice people," said Miss Crowther. “I don’t care a fig for that. Now, auntie, understand I won't settle to live anywhere until he knows about this money."

The lawyer's face clouded. “So the gill has a lover," he thought ; but Miss Crowther’s next words electrified him : “You mean Lord Olverstone ?" she said. “Yes, it may influence his rnother when she knows I am rich," said Paula, in a low tone. “As I have promised my cousin to act as your guardian until you are of age or marry, I should be glad if you would explain the meaning of what vou have said." Paula looked at Miss Crowther, who said :

“I don’t know how it happened, but Paula became • acquainted with Lord Olverstone."

“Oh., yes, you do, if you’ll only think. A tramp tried to rob me. I was riding my bicycle on the moor, and he’d got my purse, when Lord Olverstone came up on horseback, and he made the man give up the purse ; then he would walk home with me—at least, as far as I dare let him. After that he always seemed to be seeing me, and—and he wanted to marry me secretly, but I wouldn’t marry him unless his mother gave her consent," said Paula, speaking hurriedly. “I gather that she-hasn’t given it," said Mr. Beetham. “No ; it’s more than a week since I told him it was no use bothering me until he could tell me his mother would receive me, and I haven’t seen him since." “And you think your accession to fortune will make a difference?" “Yes ; the Olverstone’s are poor, and Lady Olverstone is horribly proud. It’s just a question whether even the money will reconcile her to her son marrying a nobody." The lawyer smiled, thinking she was a very pretty nobody ; then he said : “I am inclined to think the best plan would be for Miss Crowther to return and inform Lord Olverstone of the change in your position, then if he gains his mother's consent he can marry you from my house. Paula stood up. “That won't suit me ; I'm going back to Olverstone. Auntie can write and tell you how things go,” she said, with decision. For a moment he hesitated ; then he said :

“Vety well ; but if j r ou and Lord Olverstone don’t settle matters in a month I shall expect you in London.” (To be Continued).