EARLE WAYNE'S NOBILITY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVIII, Issue 6099, 4 June 1881, Page 2

EARLE WAYNE'S NOBILITY.

BY iIES. GEORGE SHELDON, Author o( "Sibyl's Influcnco," tlio " Forsaken Bride," " Brownie's Triumph," £c. CHAPTER XXXII. " Kovengo, at first though sweet, Bitter are long taek on itself recoils. Evrlk suddenly reeled afc these astounding words, as if some one had struck him a heavy 3 °«Vlr. Dalton ! Sir !" tie cried, aghast, and regarding him for a. moment in helpless amazelUC" Papa !" Editha exclaimed, an expression of utter incredulity upon her face. She really thought that her father was deranged. . She believed that he had cherished his bitterness toward Earle until he had become a monomaniac upon that point, and now under the excitement of the moment, and tiieir defiance of him, he had lost his reason cn- "" Does all this surprise you, my children?" Mr. Dalton asked, with a gloating emphasis upon that last word, and a malicious mn at Earle. "It is not to bo wondered at he went on; " but it is true, nevertheless. Mile Wavne as he calls himself, though ho has no more right to the name than I have, is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Earle was terribly moved by this speech. His breath came laboured and heavily, his teeth were locked together, and his hands were clinched until they were fairly livid. He took one fierce stride forward, as if he could have felled the man to the floor, then suddenly stopped, and asked, iu low, concentrated tones :

" Prove what you have said ! Is your real name Dalton ?" yet even as he asked the question a cold sweat settled upon his forehead and about his mouth.

"Yes, I have always answered to the name of George Sunmer Dalton, though for brevitj 's sake I dropped the first name many years ago." . '■George Simmer Dalton !" repeatod; Earle, mechanically. " Yes, you have it correct. Do you recognise any part of it?" .vas the mocking reply. " I see, I see," murmured the young man pressing his hauds upon his temples, and looking as if he , was parlayzed with the suddenness of the intelligence. Then all .his mother's sufferings, all the wrongs and disgraces of his own early life suddenly surged ever him with overwhelming force, and he turned fiercely upon the man who dared stand there and taunt him with those cruel facts.

"Then you are the man whom I have been looking for for seven long years!" he cried. "You are the wretch -vvho 'plotted to betray my mother, and you dare stand there and own the dastardly act—you dare acknowledge the deed that makes you a man to be shunned and despised by all true, good men, brands you worse than a second Cain, and makes me loathe you until my very soul is sick, notwithstanding that the same blood may flow in our veins ?"

-"Earle! Earle ! what are you saying ': cried Editha wildly, and springing to his side, as the burning words fell with almost blighting force from his,lips. " Spare him, Earle— I do not think he knows what he has been sajing—this wild, wild story cannot be true ; he must be mad !"

And she clung to him trembling in every, limb her teetli chattering with nervousness. Earle himself shuddered as her words fell upon his ear, aud his very heart seemed dyiuu within .him, as he bent a look of keenest anguish upon her face. Sumner Dalton his father and hers ! Cciild any torture be more horrible than the knowledge oi that fact ? Yet lie saw that she did not credit the story ■—ay! it seemed too wild for any one to credit! But he knew it was true.

He put his arm arouud her and led her to a seat.

" My darling—my darling !" he cried, in a voice of despair, "can we evei , bear it? I thought our sorrows were all at an end ; they have"but just besnin. God give us both strength to bear it." " Earle,!'. she said, with a piteous look into his quivering face, '' you do not believe what he has said ? Oh !" clasping her hands with a frightened look, "just think what it means, if it should be true. You do not believe it, Earle ?"

He bowed his head until his forehead touched her golden hair, and groaned aloud. " My darling, I believe the knowlege will kill me, but I know that it is true," he said, in a hoarse and unnatural voice. She shrank from his sheltering arms with a cry that rang in his ears for years. Folding his arms tight across his breast a3 if to keep his hands from performing a swift and terrible vengeance, Earle instantly turned and faced the man who owned himself his father. "You know it, do you ?" Mr. Dalton said, before he could speak. " You own the relationship, then '! You know all your mother's story, and how she cheated me, and kept from me the knowledge who she was, the position she occupied, and the great wealth she was to inherit some day ? If she had told me, I should to-day have been the father of the Marquis of Wycliffe, aud occupying one of the proudest positions in England. . I would have married her honourably if she.had told me, but she cheated me ont of a magnificent fortune, and I stand here to-day a ruined man, a beggar. Do you wonder that I hated you, for her sake, when I. found out who you were ? Do you wonder that I have always hated Marion Vance for defrauding me thus ? ? ' "Hold!" ci-icd Earle, so sternly that he stopped involuntarily ; "do not dare to take my mother's pure name upon your vile lips, nor vent your petty spite upon her for what vou were alone to blame."

. " Pure name !" burst forth the furious man recklessly. "Doubtless you are proud of it— the name that you should bear instead of the one you do. But I have had my revenge, or at least a part of it ; for if through her obstinacy, I lost the glory which should have been mine, 1 did not suffer alone—she was driven out, a nameless outcast, from her ancestral home, never to enter it again, while her proud inheritance descended to another branch of the family, though I don't know, who, and made her offspring a beggar. If she had only' told me, that night in London," he went on, talking more to himself than to any one else, "I would gladly have married her on the spot. But she didn't; when she found I wouldn't compromise myself, she let her—pride ruin both her and me : and how I have hated her ever since ' But her suffering was the greater, aud I .know her sensitive soul must have nearly died within her at the idea of entailing her disgrace upon her offspring. Ah ! if I could have lound her after that, I'd have made her pay the penalty for cheating me so !" he concluded, with intense bitterness, remembering what he had lost. "Do not forget that you were the traitor," Earle said. " You lured her on to destruction with soft words and smiles ; you won her pure heart, and tempted her into a secret marriage, pvofessinsr to love her as simple Marion Vance, and for the innocent love she lavished upon you. You did all this to amuse yourself and pass away an idle summer ! She believed you, and trusted iu your honour; and she gloried in her secret, because of the joyful surprise she would be able to give you when you should go with her to her father to confess that she was your wife. If you had been true to her, if'you had not tried to play that dastardly trick upon her, you might have attained to the greatness which your mean and ambitious soul coveted. You cheated yourself, and now the meanest of all traits that weak human nature is heir to, is revealed in you—you hate the one you sought to injure, simply because you overreached yourself, and the wrong recoiled in a measure upon you." __ Suniner Dalton glared angrily at him, for Earle read his degraded naturelike an open book, and it was by no means pleasant to be compelled to view the picture. :;|;"You appear to know all about your mothers history," he said, at last. With' some curiosity. . ' !

'■'" ' ■ Y'es," ho answered with a look of pain ; ."I know it all—how she suffered when yon: (lid not come to her ; how anxious she grew when she discovered thiit her honour must he vindicated, and you did not even write to her in answer to her licart-rcmling appeals ; how. ..she detennined that she would be acknowledged as your lawful wife, and sought you in London one dismal night, and begged you, with all the eloquence which she could command, to right the wrong you had done hev. Had you consented, she resolved to tell you then and there of the brilliant future await-

ing you. But you spurned her from you instead, you turned coldly from her and her almost indolatrous love, mocking her misery, and telling her that.the woman you married must bo endowed with wealth and position ; if she could assure you. of these you would consent to make her an honourable wife ; but you would not marry her to save her from tlie shame that you had brought upon her. Then it was that she learned your utter hoartl(!3sness—that you cared for nothing or for no one but yourself and the things That would eierve to gratify your selfish ambiticn.

She would not be an unloved wife, and she J knew that when you should discover the I greatness you had missed you would be l> rightly punished, and so, in her pride, she t. turned from you in silence regarding her prospects, vowing that she would not -wed a you if it would save both your lives ; she rosolved to bear her shame alone, knowing that ' the day was not far distant when you would s be willing to sacrifice much to undo'that wrong c —when you would curse yourself for your 1 folly. I judge from your words to-day that t that time did come —that you suffered keenly < when you discovered that the trap you had i set for your victim had also sprung on your- 1 self. As I said before, you are the man for 1 whom I have been searching for the last seven i years that was the business upon which I ( went that night when this house was robbed, ( and returning became entangled in the affair, i I thought I had gained a clue to the whereabouts of a George Sumner, : and I meant if I i found you to brand you the traitor and .the i coward that you are —" "Softly, softly, young man/' interrupted Sumner Dalton, a white light gleaming from his eyes. "I suppose you mean by that that you would like to pommel me within au inch of my. life, but this is a country which does not permit such things—there are penalties for such indiscretions as those, and as you have already served one term for the benefit of the State, I hardly think you would enjoy another." '■■ Oh, how the heart of Earle Wayne rebelled against this insult! But he knew that retribution did not always fall upon, the offender in the form of blows, and he answered,-with quiet scorn : " You mistake, sir. I would not degrade myself enough to lay even a linger upon you." This shot told ; Earle could see by the twitching of the muscles about the mouth and the sudden clenohiug of his hands, and he replied, with malevolent spite : "Yes, what you say is tiue—l am the George Sumner who enticed Marian Vance into a secret marriage. I got Austin Osgood to perform the ceremony, a clever fellow, and always up to all sorts of mischief, but the scamp has never shown his face to me since, for some unaccountable reason. I must confess, I did feel a little squeamish and sorry for the girl when she took on so; but when I found how she had deceived me, I had not a regret I gloried in her shame, and the shame she must entail on her offspring. I gloried in the suffering I knew she would experience as, day after day, she looked upon her child, and thought of the noble inheritance'she had deprived it of by her folly, A week after she came to me one of my friends told me the story of Marion Vance's dishonour—how that all the world knew then that she had been driven from her father's house in disgrace. It was then that I learned who she was, and what I had lost. I left everything, and began to search for her, resolved to make her marry me, so that our child might be j born in wedlock and inherit the estates of Wyclifle. But she had hidden herself so securely that she could not be found, and when the time had passed that must elapsebefore her child was born I gave up the search and returned to America. But I had learned to hate her witb. all the strength of my nature, and if by any means I had ever encountered her I would have crushed her as relentlessly as I would crush a reptile. When I discovered that yeu were her son, I knew that through you I could doubtless make lu-r suffer, and I meant to crush you, too. Now you know why I have been your bitter foe all these years,"lie concluded, with a look so baleful that Earle turned" away in disgust. "My mother is forever beyond your reach —she died more than seven years ago," he said, solemnly. A slight shiver disturbed Sumner Daltoh/s frame, but he made no reply. " How did you discover that I was Marion Vance's child '!" Earle asked, after a few moments of silence.

Mr. Dalton laughed, but a feeling of shame made him colour, notwithstanding. " Perhaps you remember leaving a package of papers with Richard Forrester for sale keeping while you were absent for three years," he said, recklessly. "He left them with Editha when he died, and being somewhat curious to know what was so carvfully guarded by so large a seal, I took the liberty to inspect them, little thinking that I should discover so near and dear a relative by so doing." Editha here started up, and lifting her white face from her trembling hands, cried out :

"Shame !" " Thank you ; a very respectful "way of addressing a parent," Mr. Dalton sneered, while Earle's lip curled disdainfully, and a hot flush again mounted to his brow.

"I must say, however," Mr. .Dalton continued, "that the package was not worthy of the effort it cost me to open it, and contained nothing of interest to me, beyond the pictures and writing that proved to me you were Marion Vance's child—unless, perhaps, I except some hieroglyphics on a piece of cardboard, that I could not read."

Earle's expression was a peculiar one, as he asked :

"Did you examine that piece of cardboard critically?"

"I\o,'l tossed it one side when I found 1 could not read it."

"I have it with me now—l always carry it with me, for it contains matter of the , most vital importance to me, and might possibly interest you considerably." He drew it from his pocket as he spoke, and held it so that Mr. Dalton could see the writing in cipher. He recognised it instantly. . "These hieroglyphics, as you call them, merely tell what the cardboard contains."

"What it contains ?" repeated Mr. Dalton, his curiosity now" fully aroused. To him itappeared only , a single piece, of rather heavy cardboard., ■■;

■■." ■"Yes: if you had examined it carefully you would have noticed that it is apparently composed of three layers, but the middle one is out out very near the edge, so as to allow of some closely, written sheets of thin paper to be inserted. I remove one end of what appears the..middle layer—thus, and you perceive that the papers easily slide out of their pocket." " ;... He held it upside down, gave it a little shake, and some very thin, sheets'of paper, upon which there was writing, with another long, narrow slip which was not so thin, fell upon the table. '■■ "This, perhaps, may contain something of interest to you," Earle said, taking the latter up and holding it before Mr. Dalton. it was the' marriage certificate which the old rector had given Marion on the evening of her marria»e. . He laughed long, loud, and scornfully as he saw it.-'-'. , "I always thought Austin Osgood carried matters"a little too far when he dared to sign the old rector's name to a real marriage certificate and give it to Marion. But I suppose it made it seem more real to the girl, only I wonder at her keeping the useless paper after she discovered the fraud. As for.Austin, I told you before I never saw him again. Perhaps he also thought lie had gone too far in the matter, and was afraid he might be overhauled for forgery." Earle did not make any reply to these remarks ; he merely returned the certificate to the cardboard pocket, and took up another paper. "Here is some information that I stumbled upon purely by accident—no, I should not say that," he added, in a reverent tone, "I ought to say, a Divine Providence led me to it. Shall I read it to you, or will you read it for yourself? It is very closely connected' with that little drama in St. John's Chapel fit.Winchelsea." . ■ ~. ;,',;,'. -Mr. Dalton moved uneasily in his'chair. ..;:. Somehow the words of this grave, .-"calm young man, with his self-contained. bearing, and a suspicion of great reserve force about him, made him feel as if he might have the advantage in his hands. ■' ~" : " . V' . ' ''■' ; He began to fear that those "papers might -, something" very\fdisagreeable, and that hair been' reserved especially him.' ,; U^; ; |g- ;i;^:i : .What' could' Earle". \Yayiicfhave',i been searching for him for duiing'all these.years ?■ Surely,■■ not,-.merely -.to.,acquaint?.him;-..with the fact that lie kuew'ljo'was'the lllegitithate , son of himself and Marioii..A"arice-!js*-'fti;;= i -" :^ But he held out his ..hand for the paper/ , preferring to read for himself... ." ■;;' . ; ), : \, ' Earle gave it to him, saying •''"'' ""'''"'■■'.'''"■"■■ '.. "This is simply a copy 01 something in Bishop Grafton's diary. I made it myself from the original." Sumner Dalton unfolded that paper with a. feeling of great uneasiness, and began to read how the sexton had confessed to tiouble on his mind to the'rector—how the old man had himself gone to the chapel, and concealing himself, had seen a young man come into the robing-room, disguise himself, and then proceed to assume the sacred vestures.

He road how the rector had interposed, ascertained the names of the young couple, driven the accomplice ignonuuionslv from the field, filled out and signed the marriage certificate, and then himself proceeded to the chapel and married the unsuspecting pair.

A terrible oath Dalton's lips, and the paper his nerveless hand as he finisliprl- 'f 0 ™ this startling revelation n,llsllo 'l reading "Itis a lie !''■ he cried, hi s f ace , a great fear in Ins eyes. ai »en, f . n^ "It is no lie," K.irle returnpd "I went myself to see the K w supposed my gentle mother h-JT , lerr - I cruelly deceived. I sought tbclt" sohe told me concerning his part in H>» , ' ail(1 tion, and then directed me toßishonP daughter for further I dead She was only too glad to aid Z mS me of her father s diary, and vhatT? 14 read of this there. She then W ou J • ha(l me, and kindly allowed me to malVV 0 copy. The signature upon the nnL 3 certificate corresponds exactly w,'H \r a S e in the journal, and -Miss Grafton i s n ''- o '*? willing that any one iutensted"or cS» in this matter should see theori^malT?I*,1 * , is a little more," Earle added fciV anotlier paper, '* which I think will '"& B P you beyond a doubt of the truth you have already read." . . I,n at He then read •himself aloud how the man's heart was troubled on account cf mT young man and the tender maiden and f ing tnat some great trouble mir-ht coTitT her, he had resolved to make that w' ° in his diary. .' LUt ca try " Married in St. John's Chapel, WincV, August llth, 13- by the Reverend tT , Grafton, Uiahop and Rector of St T M parish, George Sumner, of R ye , to \y 3 Marion "\ ance, also of Rye. 1 take m" V»k that tliis is a true statement. ' J '" "Sept. 10th, IS—.". ' ao '- For what seemed a long time after t\ reading of this, Summer Dalton sat as "t turned to stone, his face white as his «r,+ bosom, his eyes wild and staring '5:" hands locked in a painful clasp. = ' ' Then starting up with au-exclamation m horror, lie cried : ul "Then I have been doubly cheated -nl duped ! Ko wonder that Austin Osgood n■> • . dared to come near me again." = te ' ■ "And,' , Earlc said quietly and imp,,, sively, "Marion \ ance s hoiiour was ,f e .-" marred by the shadow of a stain, thou«li'>.V suffered the .iiaiiie as if it liad been. aiiS—C son was not Jjor",illegitimate!" ' ' " Cr CIIAI'TEK XXXIII. "YOU CAN SEVER CROSS MY THRESHOLL.; , " Oh, why di<l I not know of this!" "rci;. t ,-, Sumner Dalton, beating Ins brow \vuii"lC hands. "I was, after all, the le't'a' lies'--.1 of the heiress of Wycliffe. All these I might have occupied that proud position'ajid with unlimited wealth at my command. It is too much—too much to bear. What' evil genius has been pursuing me all my !if e i should have missed it all:-" ' k "That 'evil genius," as you term it w« but your own villainy—the spirit that rales j B your own evil heart. You sought to ruin M innocent girl, and you overreached yourself" Karle answered, sternly. " Tis false 1 She s'hould have told jae She had no right to hide the kuowledi'efrc"i me—her husband." '' You forget that you scorned her, and told her she had no claim upon you; and rlso that you refused to give her any right to'call you husband." "But she had no business to consent to many me under such false pretences. Twb she who has kept me from my rights, when! might have been master at'Wyclifte al[ years—twenty-five years of glory and henonr lost! It is too niueh ; and ii I could iiirJce licr feel my vengeance now I SvoukU" he groaned. Karle turned from him ahnoit.sick with disgust. Me -was like many other people v,-!io have sought to do another some irreparable injury. He hated his blameless victim, because, having overreached himself, tlie -htoiii had at last rebounded upon himself, and ht"v..w tiie chief sufferer from his own fo!!v. Gentle Marion Vance had "done him h> •onscious wrong. She had loved and trusted him : she would have devoted her lire to his and his interests. Uufc although he li.ui cot reall3 r succeeded in destroying her, and entailing lasting dishonour upon her name, yet sire had suffered for the time as if he had accomplished his purpose.

But the truth had triumphed at. last, ■ as it always does. He stood exposed in all his baseness ; his evil doings were revealed, and the shame and injury done to himself irere far greater than he ever dreamed of brrogiiupipon iier.

Marion at last stood vindicated baore the world as the pure and innocent girl she v;as, while the whole black catalogue of Suamer Dalton's guilt was now sweeping down like ail avalanche upon him, threatening to rain and crush him utterly.

' He might live ten, twenty, even thirty years l.biiger, but his treachery would follow him fol- ever. It would never be forgotten bj any one who had known of it. Henceforth he would be a marked man, and one never more to be trusted or honoured. "Stay !" Mr. Dal ton suddenly exclaimed, as if a new thought had struck "him. "The leg.il husband, of Marion Vance would have rights there even now. I will see to this matter. "Who has been master at Wyeliffe all these years ?" " Warrenton FairfieM Vance, my mothers father, has rnled there until his death, vrjjicfi occurred only a few months ago," £a:le answered quietly, but reading at once what was passing in the man's mind. "And who came into the property then?' he demanded eagerly. • " A eousiu of my mother's—Paul Tressslu by name." "Zounds! Girl, do you hear that?" siclaimed Mr. Dalton, very much astonisM, and turning to Editha. " "But," he lepa again, with a perplexed look. "But he is not master there now/'Esrle. interrupted, calmly. "Ah!" Mr. Dalton uttered, leaning forward with forea'bless interest, half expecting what was to follow. " I am now the acknowledged Marquis CI "Wycliilb and Viscount Wayne," Earle'said. . "Have you proved your eliiim? Was hot contested ? How—" Mr. Dalton was- very much exeiteJ, so much so that lie trembled visibly, and leased back white and weak in his chair. "I have proved, my claim; it was no: contested," the young man began. "When I first discovered that my mother's uiarrLuK was valid, and that I was the rightful heir to AVycliffc, I thought I would go at once and compel my grandfather to acknowledge me as such. But lie had been so sttm md cruel to my mother that I recoiled from him. I was under age, and I knew he would fce apt to deal sternly with me also, and demand, implicit obedience to him. I knew if I wait to him he would in all probability "refuse to allow me to follow the course I had marked out for myself. So I resolved I .would never cross the threshold over which mvmorherhsd been so relentlessly driven, until'l had either discovered the man who had so wj'o'njed her. and could tell the marquis that I had tound him and proved that he had leagally board himself to her, or until his death.'when oi course it would become necessary th.it I • should reveal my identity. So "I k'gan my lonely wanderings upon a very uncertain mission. I discovered upon enquiry thai a George Sunnier had been studying sa . certain German university. 1 &i " illately repaired thither, 'anil ' iVanu. ivpon examining the books, that lie wasau American from a certain town iu the State of Xew York. Ami now allow ine tos£» why .you registered onlv a part of ycur mffl e intcad of the whole ?" Earle asked, pansiog:j:;;;"lt does not matter," Mr. DaltouinKttereu .uneasily, and with a risingtiuah. H ;, ltmic;ht as well be mentioned lic-rc vrhi» . Earle afterward discovered, that he h&&* implicated in a very shameful affair w> l6 studying in a noted college of h ; s own country, and was expelled in deep disgrace, «'berenjK« he had immediately gone abroad to au&- J ls course in the German university referred .0. ;■ Fearing that there micht be other Amencan students there who knew of the ihsg»«" ful allair in which-he had been a 1«"»*. *' ■ resolved not to; give, his,whole name, anthus escape being a marked man. He accordingly gave'only his first W> names, and though there were, ashefearui other- students there who did k' lo,v c ,,r: e escapade previous COW= life, yet "they never ' suspected that ■Sumner "ana'Geoi-ge Dalton. as , he had »' been, known, was the same person. % slight curl of hisUvv«* reply, Jiai-lo oontiihieci : . . ;iu "As soon as I found he was ai: I resolved to come to America and 1 11W Ire . my search. But I was a poor boy 1 *■■•■, j fused the aid which my S nuulf f, ' otl u« hitherto given my mother—l could " the money of a man who. had f° lon f ", e owned me, even though it miglit belong ;_ by right—and so I was' obliged to «'o -c thing for my support. That was Iio« >■ ; to be in Mr. Forrester's employ, an* <■ ' t holiday, every spare day that Iw wou £ =.r----me, I Ilevotcd to my search. IpW« "' ~ p directories of several cities, and s \ ui t , on is all the Sumners they contained, W'_ l find none, upon seeking them out, v* ' swered to the George Sumner tn.u • ■>- dyiug mother had described to '•> never thought of such a' thin' , "

tS man I was seeking ; had I even | dieted it I never should have had to serve ■fJtL three years in that miserable prison,: Jr as I told you before, it was while search- ?°~ forvou tfot Ibecame entangled in that '"vberv You, it seems, knew, dnnne the my imprisonment, of therelation f sustained toward you. It would seenvas if Son humanity would have prompted you Sake some effort for my release, or at least W a mitigation of my sentence; but, instead «„ sounht to deprive me of the only comfort tWI for lam convinced that it was you iho intercepted all the flowers and kind messages which I should otherwise have Te< Fwle fixed his stern glance upon Mr. Daltoii as he said this, and knew by the guilty ," f,; s eyes fell that he was correct in his sU < r < l j c \o not wonder at it, now that 1 know something of your" nature, but it will only be an' added thorn planted in your pillow of remorse, as will also be the injuries -svhich you sought to do me after my release, and in t' ie vou we * n0 wors ' ; sufferer. Bat in spite of your every effort I conquered. I was begining to make for myself a name and reputation, when I read in a paper of the death of the Msrquis of Wyclifle. He iia<l 'been dead some time, for this notice was only an item gleaneel frbni European news, and reported in connection with the fact that Mr. Tressalia, of Newport faine, ;; bad succeeded to the vast property. r ; I knew then that I must'attend to iny claim at once, and I immediately left for Europe. I found Mr. Tressalia, as I expected, already established as the Marquis of Wyclifftf; hut, like the' noble' man that he is, when he fouhd'thatl;was:the rightful heir he relinquished everytlunjr, and kindly assisted me in establishing niy identity. Tlien feeling that the change in my prospects would be sufficient to'make you wave all objections Tegarding me, I left my affairs in hw ■ hands; alia returned for Editha- •" •; - Earle suddenly stopped appalled—ho could; not go on.' All his dreams 6f happiness were at an end now ; that hour'had crushed his every hope—Edith<V Daltpn was his_ half-: sister, and lie intist'never dare to think of her again as bc'coiiiing his wife. ? ! : But God forgive him ! he could never love heras a sister. -' ::■:"'.;■ "'.' ..■•■■

His great heart-Welled him with agony at the thought; the Veins upon his forehead filled :out hard and full, while the .perspiration gathered npon his face, and, rolling off, dropped upon the floor. ■ - ' Edifcha Diilton his half-sister! : .

He could not realize it, ; and it was the bitterest blow his life had over known. How could he live all the lona years that were before him, with the sin of this undying love clinging to him? . ' ; '- . ' Nok- he knew something o£ what -.*. Aul Tressalia must have suffered from his quited affection. ; ' . '•'" '. ; '"' . Paul Tressalia! The thought of him thrilled him with a sharper, fiercer paiii, Perhaps, in time, now that Editha'was lost to him, he might succeed in winning her. It wae too much for him. to bear silently, and bowing bis-head upon the table near which he had sat down; , he groaned aloud. - Sumner Dalton smiled at the' sound, while a cunning, sinister expression crept into his eye 3. It did him good;to know .that Earle could suffer, and his strange hatred of him on bis mother's account made : hiin inwardly exult over the sight; , ; . '.'',"■.". I. ' But he had beeiißevolving matters of importance in his mind wliije Earle was.'talk-? ing. He had beeh : immeasuni,bly : startled and mortified to leai-ii how the rector of St.'Jphn'g •chapel at Winchelseahad outwitted him,' aiicV fearfully angry and irritated when he realized Jiijvr he. had missed 'all the luxuries and magnificence of Wycliffe for so many years. •; If he had only Tinown that the marriage J'.acl been legal wheii lie had opened that package and discovered .that Earle was his son and heir of all the Marquis of 'Wycliffc's great possessions, how differently lie would have conducted himself ! ■

If he could but have known what that piece of cardboard . contained—if he could have read all this evidence then, and assured himself of its. truth, as he would have taken pains to have done,., how eagerly he would have worked forEarle's release, and concealed every evidence of the evil passion within , him. He would then have made, peace with him, and have reaped all the advantages .which the father of so noted a person as the future Marquis"of Wycliffe would be would naturally enjoy. " . ',' . But a faint hope animated'..him' that per-; haps it might not be tod late, after all.

Earle was his son—that fact was estab-.; lished beyond a doubt—and; he had said he: ■would never stoop to anything.like revenge ;■ lie had once said-that he would not avail himself of the slightest advantage to do him an injury; he had also»said that he desired; to put in,practice the mandate, "Love your enemie3, clo good,to those who despitefully; : injure you." • If that was the case, he would doubtle.s3 be ready to. forgive him for. all the wrong he had. done him in the past, and if lie •expressed ; soitto^. , : in. a ; .proper manner he would-doubtless receive him into favour, and lie could after all be able to worm himself iuto Wycliffe' and be looked up to and hononred 03 the father of the young marquis.'

It was strange that no feelings of truilt or shame restrained him ! He did riot hate Marion one ; whit the less, nor Earle either,; ■because he henceforth might be able to enjoy what had so long been denied him. . :

But he was resolved to-,make the fact of their relationship serve him a good turn ; he would get all he could out of him, gratify every selfish desire, accept every good thing thing that he could-possibly worm out of him, and let!the former wrong lie had done him go for naught. He still hated him, I say, as such natures

always hate those who have risen triumphant above them, and he would have gloried in it if he could have hurled him from his proud position and. made the whole world despise and hate him likewise; but as long as .there was any prospect of advantage to. be gained for himself, he must hide it, and put on the semblance of regret and future good will. "You say that your claim is indisputably established at Wycliffe ?" he asked, after he had thought these things well over. " Yes." Earle answered lifting his haggard face,'with aheavy sigh ; "everything was so ■clearly proved that ho o:ie t could gainsay ; t _.. •■■-• -■ -■- .■■■-■:-■-.■■

: "That : is exceedingly fortunate. When shall you return ?'!; • "Immediately;" Earle said, with white . : . lips. . : .'/.. ■■ ■"■■ ■ • •■: : '' ■ -.'".' " Howdid yon find the estates and rent- . roll?" Mr. iDalton asked, with another cunning gleam in his eyes. ; "In a very.- flourishing;condition," Earle -•■•answered,' briefly. He was. beginning to : mistrust toward what these inquiries' were ' • '•',..-■• "Rut what will you do?—you have never ■ had any experience in managing so large a • property.". > ' "I can learn, sir." .'■ .-r . : ■ .'.- "I know, but: that wonlu. be so tedious, ■ and you are liable to make many niistakes. ■Youa need older; and ■ wiser than yourself to advise you." Mr. Dalton hesitates a moment and leans ; .nearer Earle, eagerly searching his handsome '■ ■ face - '■; ■• ■ ■-'■ '/■■'■ •*•- ''' : ; ';■■' Biit Earle sits; pale and quiet, knowing : nevertheless what is to follow, and conscious \ aUa.if'w-hat the result willbe. ' f -r^'lf—if," began' ! Mr. Dalton, with some "hesitation; "you : could be-^ahem! —per- - suaded to—to overlcok the we could , 'make a treaty to bury the hatchet, and be at peace. I—l'really, regret, you know, all that has gone by,'and if we could, conic to ' soine sort ; of'terms," 1-4-would cohseut, to return to Wycliffe with, you, nnd give; you .'" the benefit-of my auperior-judgment and advice."- ■ ■ ■, i . . ::■.•■'■.■■ . ■■ ' .- .<

: Such amazing disinterestedness; suchiinblushing assurance was absolutely startling ! ■'•';: A quick,- hot-flush mounted to Earle's. •Vr^r ow *' an * or a raomenthia lips trembled as "y'w scathing aud terrible words rushed un-->."hjKlden there for utterance. • f£\ T hen -he'rJifted: his dark eyes and fixed V_-them"ts..a qtuety: steady gaze upon, the man ; >yop{Kwitt. fej. -.'■■•■,■'. ■■.•■■■>■■•'■ ■•■■■•■■■■■■ ''V.-',. '"-.Sn'ttihev DaVion could not meet that fjazo, ; -_nnrnoved.: ; Tn apite of. his: hardihood, a -■' bl '^;; ,l oi confusion mantled his'faee, audhis .'guilty look told that all sense of shame"'was. "Tfuot yet quite dead within him ■■ ' ,'."Whenl was simply Earle Wayne," he ■ Wjjia, without removing his glance, "a « . poci> boy working-for his daily bread, I was imworthy of your notice. -"- When misfortune '■:_, overtook m&aiicl I became a criminal in the ,- sight ofthe law,: even after you knew that it soii'w&b had been sentenced to hard labour ;for tKr.s».... Yeats, 1 you made" no ■ r effortto did not come near me * . to'offisr me one Kind 1 and sympathising word v eVen. ; .iyhenyour ; ilaaghter.was kind to nie, to feel a : tender regard for her, ('.>'. you resolred to crush hie.. When-a kind ;| v friend Tememiiered me on his death-bed, you '.', would have-wrested from me the compara- •: P- yci }y small sure that he had bequeathed to _,'.B»e out of his abundance. " You have scor- ;. insulted, arid wronged me in every -■■/-■[.poaaible way. You have even owned ;to ;. an.implacable.enniity toward me. For all - i Jj" 3 .1".; could forgive you, if convinced f 'that you -iVero truly repentant, since

it was against -mo alone thsit~al'l your'' malice and hatred were, turned , ;-bat for the slight, the scorn, and the misery -which you jvtott&l, and, to all intents 'and purposes, executed against my gentle" and innocent mother, I cannot. I haveno right to forgive you. By your own wickedness and folly y'ou have forfeited all-right to be acknowledged as either her husband or my father. Mr. Dalton, you can never cross the three--hold of Wycliffe '."■ . : : ' , He had listened to Karle with a sinking Heart, and when he concluded, he fairly gnashed his teeth from anger and disappointmentl ' : ■. '. . :. - : ■.; ■ ... 1 Earle had spoken very quietty-. There was not the slightest excitement visible in his manner, but every word had in it the ring of an unalterable purpose. "Do j'ou mean it?" Mr, Dalton asked, in low, repressed tone 3. : "Host emphatically, sir; you can never enter the home from which my mother was driven in disgrace, on account of your baseness and treachery." ; Mr. Dalton sat in sullen thought for awhile. > How he hated this calm, proud young man, from whom, even though he was his own son, he knew lie had no right to expect anything of respect or consideration. ; But the things of the world were desperate with hini just at present; and he controlled his fierce passion, to make one last appeal. ~ ! It was truo that.'Editha,"still had her fortune,/and while she' remained single he knew he need not want forjranything within : reason ; still he could not i,n any. .way. control, her property, and all "lie received had to, come through her hands,,.w,hicii,to.a. man so proud aad spirited as himself, was, to say tb.eleastl.huinilia.ting.'. ... '; .-:•,-,;..,, ; But i£ he could' but once lay his hand upon the overflowing eoffei-s ' of; .Wycliffe, his future would be one long day,of,luxury and pleasure, and having;jbeerL.wronged out of jhis share for so many he, .would feel 'no. , compunctions . about ~scattering with ilavish hand the .shinihg ; ,;treasui:e\.of the ihouse of Vance. .. r,, r ~.,•.:■ t........r^ I "I will bo frank .with .'you;,"'he said, Strying to Speak .in a.cb'nciliatoryitone.; . "I 'am a ruined maoi I;have bgeuspeculating, and every dollar of my handsome property is ! gone. Even my house "and furniture are inortgaged, and liable to be taken from me any day-' I say, ac;airi,- ! I-regret the past sincerely.": And ."so'-lie did; : somuoh of it as had ssrved to keep himouti'oE Wycliffei •though no part ot his sin H> '.'I Svish to.be at' peace with you; but if you turn.against me 'now,"l must come downHo the level ;of the common herd. '■'" •■■■'•' i-'J ; ; {~ ■ "" •

To the level of the common; herd !.' How 'the words galled He would sink to the level of that cemmoii vberd, ■ of whiehhe had once believed His-mother was :onc,'tuid so it had not mattered if he had ■vniuedher. ' ; - ; ■ ■■■■■ ■■■ i> : J- ■■ T -'i"> ; -- ; '-'

i Bitter words arose to his- lips; his heart I was-' full of scorn iahd indignation, but he [controlled -it; and' answered'ias-calmly- as : before, but with an unmoved face :- ■ ' i" "I regret that you'have been-sounfortu-jnate—speculr.tiria is.very precarious business, ■ ;but I can never consent to your-becoming aniinmate of Wyclifte, prof the.home where I [reside. It would I .should 'overlook" the.past, and treat -you.as if you i had been guilty of no wrong";~ you have rio i right to expect me to', entertain anything of. Neither respect' or affection, : for you," even though the same blood, may-flow in bur veins^ ■ —you have forfeited' all "right and title to : any such, feelings. '.I'nriist, on the other hand, frankly confess to an aversion for you, but I would harbour no ill 'will, I would do you no injury even though I cannot tolerate your presence." .. "Is this your vaunted creed?'.' burst forth Mr. Daltoh, unable to control himself any longer; ""is this your .boasted forgiveness of your enemies—your 'good will toward men?' , ' ... • ,'.-'"■

"You do not wish to-be forgiven, you have no real sorrow for your sin.- If any effort of mine could serve to make you truly repentant before God I-would not spare it. If you were sick and needy, I would minister to you, for my Master's sake, as I .would to any other, stranger.. But your feelings toward me are unchanged—were it not for what I possess, you would not even now make these overtures to me,'and all idea o£ our residing under the 'same roof, or of sharing anything in common, is entirely out of the question. Still, I repeat, I bear you no malice, or cherish no spirit of revenge toward yon, and to pre-ve it, since you have been so unfortunate,. I -will make over to you, if Editha does not • object, the ten thousand dollars' which■': -Mr. Forrester bequeathed to me, and <which i has remained untouched since she invested it for me. The interest of that will give you a comfortable living during the remainder. <of your life, if you do not touch the principal." A perfect tornado of wrath ; raged in Sumner Dalton's breast at this calmly spoken but unalterable decision.' ' r~. ■ ) .---:.';. '

"So you will' deign to give me, your father, a paltry ten thousand out of your exhaustless " revenue !" 'he / sneered, with exceeding bitterness....... • "I owe you nothing on the score of relationship," Earle. answerecT, coldly, " and as for the 'paltry ten thousand,' allow me to romin'l you that you did not consider it in that light when Mr; Forrester bequeathed it to me." ; ' '.'. ■■■•;-

' Again Mr. Dalton flushed; ' \ How all his sins, one after another, were being visited upon himself. : - With a'fearful look of 'rage and hate convulsing his features he leaned toward Earle and hissed : ;-' "I would crush yon this instant if I could ; there is nothing' of "all'the world's ills too horrible frir me to wish you, and I will yet be revenged'upon you for what I have suffered this day. • I will yet make you feel the power of ray hate !" and he glanced darkly toward Eflitha as he said this. Earle's eyes involuntarily followed his look, and the bitterness of death seemed upon : him as he realised that they two would have a life-long somnwto bear. A sudden fear startled him. as Mr. Dalton spoke, that ho contemplated injury to her in order to carry out the revenge he meant to wreak upon him. :_ " You will lie Very careful what you do," he said, with' a sternness that cowed the man in spite of his bravado ; "you will , not forget that you occupy a very delicate position even now, and that I have it in my power to make your own future very uncomfortable." . ;■• . "What do you mean?"demanded Mr. Dalton, with glittering eyes. '' "I'mean that if I choose, I can make yon answerable to the law'; for, -while one wife was living yoiv married another, and are liable at any time ;to be' prosecuted for bigamy!" : Snrnncr Dalton swore a fearful oath, _his white face testifying to the dreadful punishment which anything of such a nature would be to him, while a low, heart-rending moan burst at the same moment from Editha. [To be continued.} '