THE EVIL GENIUS

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIII, Issue 7650, 29 May 1886, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE EVIL GENIUS

LY WILKIE COLLINS. CHAPTER LII. l/ffOSIME PROPOSE, ET IjIKD DISPOSE, Captain Bennypeck met Catherine and her child at tho open door of her room. Mrs. Presty, stopping a few paces behind them, waited in the passage, eager to see what the Captain's face might tell her. It told her nothing. But Catherine saw a change in him. There was something in his manner unnaturally passive and subdued. It suggested the icsoa of a man \vho3o mind had been forced into aa effort of self-control which had exhausted his power, and had allowed the signs of depression and fatigue to come to the surface. The Captain was quiet, the Captain was kind ; neither by word or look did ho warn Catherine that the continuity of their intimacy was in danger of being broken ; and yet her spirits sank when they met at tho open door. He led her to a chair, and said sho had como to him at a time when ho specially wished to speak to hor. Kitty asked -.f sho might remain with them. Ho put his hand caressingly on her head: "-No, my dear; not now." The child eyed him for a moment, conscious of something which .-he had never noticed in him before, and puwied by the discovery. he walked back, cowed and silent, to the door. Ho followed her and spoke to Mrs. l'rcsly. " Take your grandchild into the garden ; Wd will join you there in a little while, C.-.0.1-bye bye for the present, Kitty." Kitty said good-bye mechanically, like a dull child repeating a lesson, Her grandmother led he*. , away in silence. Bennydeok closed the door, ami se.ttcd himself by Catherine. " i [hank you for your letter,' , he said. "If such a thing is potail !.■, it has given mo a higher opinion of >ou than any opinion that I have held yet." She looked at him with a feeling of surprise, so sudden aud so overwhelming that she was at a loss how to reply, Tho last words which she expected to hear from him, when he alluded to her eonie&siou, were the words that had just passed his lips. " You have owned to fault.; that you have Committed, and deceptions that yon have sanctioned,' , he went on. "with nothing to gain, aad everything to lose, by telling the truth. Who but a good woman would have done that?' 1 There was a deeper feeling in him than he had ventured to express. It betrayed itself by a momentary trembling in his voice. Catherine drew a little closer to him. " You don't know how you surprise me, how you relieve me,'' she said, warmly, and pressed bis hand. In the eagerness of her gratitude, in the gladness that had revived her sinking h?art, shy failed to foal that the pressure was not returned. " What havo I said to surprise yon '.''" be asked. " What anxiety have 1 relieved, without knowing it?' "I was afraid you would despise me." " Why should 1 despise you " "Have I not gained your good opinion Under false pretences 1 Havel not allowed you to admire mo and to love rue, without telling you that there was r.i.ything in my past life which 1 had reason to regret"' Even ::ow, I can hardly realise that you excuse and forgive me; you who have read the confession of my worst faults : you who know the shocking inconsistencies ci u;y ! character —" "Say at once,' , he answered, "that I know j you to l>. , a mortal crcirure. is thtrc any human character, eve:; the noblest, th.it li j always consistently good ?'' "One reads ol them sometimes," she i suggested, " in books." '' Yea," he said. "In th worst books you cculd possibly read—the only really immoral books written in our time. ' " Why .ire they immoral "For tr.ii plain reason, that they deliberately pervert the truth. Ciiptrr.p, you innocent creatures, to catch foolisn re- le. r '. When do the.3! consistently good ;> v'..•;!■-■ appear in the life around u:- , , the life thai *.c j all see ? Never ! Are the best mortals that 1 ever lived above the reach of temptation t ■ do ill, and are they always too good to yield to it? How dees the Lord's Prayer instruct humanity? It commands us all, without exception, to pray that we may not bo led into temptation. You have been led into temptation. In other word?, yen are a human being. All that a human being could do you have clone : you have repented and confessed. Don't I know how you have suffered and hew you have been tried ! Why, what a mean Pharisee 1 should be if 1 presumed to despise you !" She looked at him proudly and gratefully ; she lifted her arm as if to thank him by un embrace, and suddenly let it drop again s.t her side. " Am I tormenting myself without cause ':" she said. "Or is there something that lcoks liko sorrow showing itself to me in your face ?" " You 303 the bitterest sorrow," he answered, "that I have felt in all my tad life." " Is it sorrow for me?" she went on, trying to speak calmly. ".Sorrow for myself." " Has it come to you through me? Is it my fault "It is more your misfortune than your fault." " Then you can feel for me 1" " I can and do." He had not yet set her at ease, "I am afraid your sympathy stops someWhere," she said. " Where does it stop V" For the tirst time he shrank from directly answering her. "I bet;in to wish I had followed your example," he owned. "lc might have been better for both of us if I had answered your letter in writing." "Tell me plainly," she cried, losing all fear of him in her anxiety to know what was in his mind—"tell me plainly, ia there something you can't forgive ''.' " There is something I can't forget." "What is it? Oh, whatisit! When my mother told poor little Kitty that her father was dead, are you more sorry than I am that I allowed it? Are you even more aehiuned of me than of myself?" " No. I regret that you allowed it; but I understand how you were led into that error. Your husband's infidelity had shaken his hold on your respect for him and your sympathy with him, and had so left you without your natural safeguard against Mrs. Preety's sophistical reasoning and bad example. But for that wrong-doing there is a remedy left. Enlighten your child as you have enlightened me ; and then—l have no personal motive for pleading Mr. Herbert Liiiley's cause, after what I have seen of him —and, then, acknowledge the father's claim on the child." " Do you mean his claim to see her ?" " What else can I mean ? Yes ! let him see her. Do —God help me, now when io'a too late !—do what you ought to have done on that accursed day, which will be tho blackest day in my calendar to the end of my life," " What day do you mean ?" " The day when you remembered the lav/ of man, and forgot the law of God ; the day when you broke the marriage tic, the sacred marriage tie, by a divorce." Ishe listened—not consciousnow of suspense Dr fear ; she listened, with her whole heart in revolt against him. " You are too cruel !"shc declared, " You can feel for me, you can understand ino, you can pardon me in everything else that i have done. But you judge without mercy of the one blameless act of my life,since my husband left me—the act that protected a mother in tho exercise of her rights. Oh, can it be you ! Can it be you ?" "It can be," he &aid, sighing bitterly, and it is." " What horrible delusion possesses you?" she broke out. " Why do you curse the bappy day, the blessed day, which saw me safe in the posseasion of my child?" "For the worst and the meanest of masons," he answered—" a stilish reason. Don't suppose I have spoken of divorce as cne who has had occasion to think of it. I have had no occasion to think of it; I don't think of it even now. I abhor it, because it stands between you and me. I loathe it, 1 curse it, because it separatee ua for life." " Separates us for life ! How ?" "Can you ask me?" " Yes, I do ask you !" He looked round tho room. A society of religious persons had visited the hotel, when it was first opened, and bad obtained permission to place a copy of the Bible in every room. One of those copies lay on the ehimneypir?e in Catherine's room. Bonnydeck brought it to her, and placed it open on the table near which she was sitting. He turned to the New Testament, and opened it at the Gospel of St. Matthew. With his hand on the page, he said : • The proprietors of tlio Nkw ZEALAND IIBKALD liaro purebred the sole rifiht to publish tills story in the North Island, of New ZualaucL

"I have done my bust rightly to under-1 stand the duties of a Christian. One of J those duties, as I interpret them, is to let J what I believe show itself in what I do. I You have seen enough of me, I hope, toJ know (though I havo not been forward in speaking of it) that I am, to tho beat of my poor ability, a faithful follower of tho teaching of Christ. 1 dare not set ray own interests and my own happiness above His lawa. If I suffer in obeying them as I suffer now, I must still submit. They are the laws of my life." " la it through mo that you suffer? , "It is through you." " Will you lull me how ?" Tie bad already found the chapter. His tears dropped on it as he pointed to the verse. "Read," ho answered, "what the most compassionate of all Teachers has said, m UioCH-rmcn on the Mount; and forgive mo and pity me, if you can." Sho road: "Whosoever .shall marry her that is divorced, coimnittcth adultery." Another innocent woman, in her place, might have pointed to that first part of the viuse. which pre-supposes tho infidelity of tho divorced wife, ami might have asked if those words applied to her. This woman, knowing that she had lost him. knew also what she owed to herself. She rose in silene?, anJ held out her hand at parting, "!Uvo you nothing to s:;y to me?" ho ask "Good-bye, my 0113 List friend—good-bye for ever !" When she had said that, she had said all. lie drew her to him gontly, and kissed her on the fort-head. The agony in his f:u:e was 11.ore thuti sho could support; she recoiled from it in horror. His lust act was devoted to the tranquillity of the one woman [ whom he had loved. Ho signed to her to leave him. CHAPTER, Mil. Tl/K r.AKGK.n , NATI'KE, thk I.ATJCKST LOVE. •Mrs. [Yeuty watted in the garden to be j >ii:cd by her daughter and Captain Bauuyucci;, and waited in vain. It was past her grandchild's bod-time ; sho decided on re.turning to tilt , in)'.:; e. "Suppose we lo.'k for t<.era in the sittingroom'/' Kitty j:i\>jjo3cd. "Suppose wo w.vit a moment, before wo go in ': ' her wise grandmother a Ivised. "it 1 !:•..:<• them talking, 1 shall take you upstairs to bod." "Why?" "li-jcsus? we mustn't interrupt them." " Why '." Sirs. Presty favoured Kitty with a hint roLiliag to the management of inquisitive children, which might prove useful to her in after-life. "When you grow up to bo a woman, my dear, beware of ruakiufS the mistake, that I have just committed. Never lip foulii'h enough to mention your reasons when a child ai.k3 why." '■ Waa that how they treated you, grandmamma, wlicu you were a child yourself?' , " Or course, it was !" "Why;" They hail reached the sittingroom door by this time. Kitty opened it without ceremony, and looked m. The room was empty. Having oiutided her granddaughter to the nursemaid's cart , , Mrs. Freaty knocked at Catherine's bedroom doer. " May 1 com? in '.'" "Come in directly. Where is Kitty ?" '■ Susan is putting her to bed." j "Stop it! Kitty musiu'c go to bed. No questions! I'll explain myself when you comeback." Therj was a wildtusa in her eyes, and a tone of angry command in her voice, which warned her mother to set dignity aside and submit. "1 don't ask what h.13 happened," Mrs. E'rasty resumed, on her return. " That k-tt-r, that fatal letter to the Captain, has justified my worst fears. W hat iu fcleaven'j came are we to do now ;"' "We arc to leave this hotel," was the instant reply, " When '.'' "Tonight." " Catherine ! da you knew what time it is?' " Tims enough to pack up and catch tne last train to London. L'oa't raise objections ! If I stay at tins place, with associations in every y.wt of it which remind me of that unhappy man, i shall go mad ! The shock I have suffered, the misery, the hnniiliation —I Cell you it's more than i can bear. Stay here by yourself if you like ; 1 mean to go." biie paced with frantic rapidity no and down the room. Mrs. Prcsty took the only way by which it was possible to calm he. " Compose yourself, Catherine, and ail that you wish sibull r.o iU>ac. I'll settle everything with the landlord, and give the uuiitl her orders. Sit down by the opc;i window ; let the wind blow ever you." The railway service from Sydenham to London is a lute service. Ac a tew minutes before midnight they were in time tor the last train. When they left the station, Catherine was calm enough to communicate her plans I -;r the future. The nearest hotel to the termiuu3 would ofi'ir them accomiaodati -a for that night. On the next day they could iiuil some quiat place in the country — | no milter where, so long aa they were not disturbed, "(Jive me rest and peace, and my mind will be easier," Catherine said, "Let nobody know where to tiad me." These conditions were strictly observed, with an exception in favour of Mr. Sarrazia. While his client's pecuniary affairs were still unsettled, the lawyer hr.d his claim to be taken into her confidence. The next morning found Captain Bennydeck still keeping his rooms at Sydenham. The state 01 his mind presented a complete contrast to the etate of Catherine's mind. Ho far from sharing her aversion to the personal associations which wore connected with trie hotel, he found his or.c consolation in visiting the scenes which reminded him of thn beloved woman whom he had lost. The j reason for this was not far to ssf.k. His was the largest nature, and his had been the moat devoted love. As usual, his letter were forwardcl to him from his place ot residence in London. Those adroised in handwritings that he knew were the first that be read. The others he took out with him to that sequestered part of the garden in which be had pasaed the happiest hours 01 his life by Catherine'.-! j hide. I He hr.d been thinking of her all the morning ; he was thinking of her now. Ilia better judgment protested; his accusing conscience warned him that he was committing, not only an act of folly, but (with his religious convictions) an act of sin; rind still she held her place in his thoughts. The manager had told him of her sudden departure from the hotel, and bad declared with perfect truth that thcplace of her destination had not been communicated to him. Aaked if she had left no directions relating to her correspondence, he had replied that lii 3 instructions were to forward all letters to her lawyer. On the point of inquiring next the name and address, Bennydeck's sense of duty and sense of shame (roused at last) filled him with a timely contempt [ for himself. In feeling temptad to write to Catherine, in encouraging fond thoughts of her among scenes which kept her in his inoinory, ho had been falso to the very principles to which ho had appealed at their farewell interview. .Sho had set him the right example, the example which he was determined to follow, in leaving the place. Before he could filter in his resolution, ho gave notice of iiis departure. The one hope, for him now was to tied a refuse for himself in acts of inerjy. Consolation wa& waiting for him in his Home. JI S3 unopened correspondence offered a harmless occupation to his thoughts, in the meanwhile. One after another lie read the letters with an attention constantly wandering and constantly recalled, until he I opened the last of them that remained. Jn a moment more his interest was absorbed. Tho lirtt sentences in the letter told him that the deserted creature whom he had met in the garden—the stronger to whom he had offered help and consolation in the present and in the future—was no other than the lost girl of whom ho had been so long in search, the daughter of Roderick Westerficld, once his dearest and oldest friend. In tho pages that followed, the writer confided to him her sad story, leaving it to her father's friend to decide whether she was worthy of the sympathy which he had offered to her when tic thought she was a stranger. This park of her letter was necessarily a repetition of what Bcnnydcck had read in the confession which Catherine had addressed to him. That generous woman bad been guilty of oue, act! but one, concealment of the truth. In relating the circumstances under which the elopement from Mount Morven had taken place, she had abstained, in justice to the sincerity of Sydney's repentance, from mentioning Sydney's name. "Another instance," the Captain thought bitterly, as he closed tho letter, "of the virtues which might have made the happiuesa of mv life,"

But ho was bound to remember—and he did remember—that there was now a new interest, tenderly associating itself with his life to come. The one best way of telling Sydney how dear she wan to him already, for her father's sake, would be to anHwer her in person. lie hurried away to London by the first train, and drove away at once to Randal's place of abode to ask for Sydney's address. Wondering what had become of tho poetscript to his letter, which had given Bennydeck tho information of which he was now in search, Randal complied with his friend's quest, and then ventured to allude to the report, of the Captain's marriage engagement. " Am I to congratulate you?" ho asked. Congratulate mo on having discovered Roderick \Vcsterlield's daughter." That reply, and the tone in which it was given, led Randal to auk if the engagement had been prematurely announced. "There is no engagement at all," Bennydeck answered, with a look which suggested that it might not be wise to dwell on the subject. But the discovery was welcome to Randal, for his brother's take. He ran the risk of consequences, and inquired if Catherine was still to be found at tho hotel. Tin: Captain auswered by a sign in tho negative. Randal persisted. " Do you know where she hag i;oue ?" " Nobody knows but her luwyor." "In that case,"Randal concluded, "I shall get tho information that I want." Noticing that lijimydeok looked surprised, ho mentioned hie motive. "Herbert ia pining to see Kitty," he continued ; "and 1 mean to help him. He lias done all that a man could do to atone for tho past. As things are, I firmly believe 1 shall not ofiend Catherine, if 1 send him straight to the piano in which Kitty and her mother are now living," They left the house together—one to go to Sydney's lodgings, the other on his way to Mr. Sarrazin's oiiicc. CHAPTER LIV. LET £Vi;.iNi:s El! BYUUN'ES. When the servant at the lodgings announce , .! a, visitor, and mentioned his name, .Sydney's memory (instead of dwelling on tho recollection or the Captain's kindness) perversely recalled tho letter she had addressed to him, and reminded her that she stood in need ot indulgence, which even so good a man might hesitate t;> grant. Benuydeck's iirst words told tho friendless girl that her fears had wronged bun. " My dear, how like your father you arc ! You have his eyes and h:s smile ; 1 can't tell you how pleasantly you remind me of my dear old friend." Ho took her hand, and kissed her as he might have kisaod a daughter of his own. " Uo you remember me at home, Sydney, when you word a child ? No ; you must have been too young for that." She wr.3 deeply touched. In faint trembling tones, ttho said, "1 remember your name ; my pour father often spoke of you." A m:i.i who feels true sympathy is never in dinger of mistaking his way into a woman's heart, when that woman has autlered. Lennydeck consoled, interested, charmed Sydney, by still speaking of the bygone days at home. " I well reiuembor how fond your father was of you, and what a bright little girl you were," the Captain went on. " You have forgotten, I daresay, the old-fashioned sea songs that he used to be so fond of teaching you. It 13 the strangest and prettiest coutrast, to hear your small piping child's voice singing of storms and shipwrecks, and thunder and lightning, and retting sails in cold darkut'33, without the least idea of what it all meant. Your mother was strict in those days ; you never amused her as you used to amuse your father and me. When she caught you searching my pockets for sweetmeats, she accused mo of destroying your digestion before you were live years old. I went on spoiling it, for all that. The lait time 1 saw you, my child, your father was singing 'Tho mariners of Kngland,' and you were or. his kueo trying to sing with him. You muss have often wondered why you never *a\v anything more of me. Did you think 1 had lurgoitui you?" " I am quite sure I never thought that !" " You sco I was in tho navy nt the time," the Captain resumed ; " and we wore ordered away to a foreign station. When 1 got back to Kuglaud, miserable news was waiting for mo. 1 luard of your father's death and of that shameful trial. Poor follow ! Ho was as innocent, Sydney, S3 you are of tho oifence which he was accused of committing. The first thing I did was to set inquiricj on foot altar your mother and her children. It was some consolation to feel that; 1 was'rich enough to make your lives easy ami comfortable to you. 1 thought money could do anything. A serious mistake, my dear ; money couldn't find the widow and her children. We supposed you were somewhere in London ; and there, to my great grief, it ended. From time to time long afterwards when we thought wo had got tho ciua in our bauds, 1 continue,l my inquiries, still without success. A poor woman aad hoi little fa:;.ily are 80 easily engulplied in the big city. Years passed —more of them than 1 like to reckon up—before I heard of you at last by name. The person from whom 1 got my information told me how you were tinployed, aiui where." •'Oh, Ciptain Banuydeck, who could the person have been V "A poor old broken-down actor, Sydney. You were hi.i favourite pupil. Do jou remember him ''." '"I should he. ungrateful indeed if I could format him. lie was the only person in tho school who wax kind to me. Is the good old man still living ?" " No ; he rests at last. I am glad to say I was able to maku hiz last days on earth the happiest da,s of his life." "1 wonder," Sydney confessed, "Low you met with him." " There was nothing at all romantic in my first discovery ot him. i was reading the police reports in a newspaper, Tho poor wretch was brought before, a magistrate, charg> d with breaking a window. His one last chance ot escaping starvation in the streets '.van to get into prison. The magistrate questioned him, rind brought to ligiit a really neart-brcaking account of misfortune, embittered by neglect on the yart of people iu authority who wero bound to help him. He waa remanded, eo that enquiries might be made. i attended the court on the day when he appeared there again, and heard his statement continued, i paid his line, and contrived to put him in a way of earning a little money. lie was very grateful, and came now and then to thank me. In that way I heard how his troubles had begun. Ho a-jked for a small advance on the wretched wages that he received. Can you (/.ness how the Bchuolmi»tresß answered him?" "I know but too well how she auswered him," Sydney said; " i waa turned out of the house, too." "And I heard of it," tho Captain replied, "from the woman herself, lv very thing that could distress am she was ready to mention. Shu told me of you mother's second marriage, of her miserable death, of the poor boy, your brother, missing, and never heard of since. Bat when I asked where you had gone she had nothing more to say ; she knew nothing, cared nothing, about you. If 1 had not become acquainted with Mr. Randal Liuley 1 might never havo heard of you again. Wo will iiiiy no moro of that, and no more of anything that has happened in tho past time. From to-day, my dear, we begin a new life, and, please God, a happier lite. Have you any plana of your own for the future?" "Perhaps, if I could iind help," Sydney Eaid, resignedly, "I might emigrate. Piido wouldn't stand in my way ; no honest employment would ba beneath my notice. Besides, ii 1 went to America, I might incut with my brother." "My dear child, after tho lime that has passed, there is no imaginable chance of your meeting with your brother; and you wouldn't know each other again if you did meet. Give up that vain hope, aud stay here with me. Be useful and be happy in your own country." " Useful Sydney repeated, sadly., " Your own kind heart, Captain Bennydeck, is deceiving you. To be useful means, i suppose, to help others. Who will accept help from me ?" " I will, for one," the Captain answered, "You!" " Yea, You can bo of the greatest uso to me : you shall hear how." • He told her of the founding of hie home, and of the good it had done. " You are the very person," ho resumed, "to be the good siatcr-friend that I want for my poor girls. You can say for them what they cannot always say to mo for themselves." The tears ro3e in Sydney's eyes. " It is hard to see such a prospect as that," she said, " aud to give it up an soon as it is sceu." " Why give it up?" " Because I am not fit for it. You are us good as a father to those lost daughters of yours. If you give them a sister-friend, she ought to have set them a good example, Have I dune that?

Will they listen to a girl who is uo better than themsjlves ?"

"Gladly! Your sympathy will find its way to their hearts, because it is animated by something that they can all feel in common— nearer and dearer to them than a sense of duty. You won't consent, Sydney, for their sakes ? Will you do what I ask of you, for my sake ?" She looked at him, hardly able to understand, or, a3 it may havo been, perhaps afraid to understand him. lie spoke to her more pla'nly. "I have kept it concealed from you," he continued ; "for why should I lay my load of suffering on a friend so young as you are, so cruelly tried already 1 Let me only say that I am in great distress. If you were with me, my child, I might be better able to bear it." Ho held out his hand. Even a happy woman could hardly have found it in her heart to resiat him. In silent sympathy and respect, Sydney kissed the hand that he had olterecl to her. It was the one way in which she could truat hcreslf to answer him. Still encouraging her to seo new hopes and new interests in the future, the good Captain spoke of tho share which sho might tako in the management of the Homo, if she would like to be his secretary. With this view ho showed her some written reports relating to the institution, which hud keen scut to him during the time of his residence at Sydenham. She read them with an interest and attention which amply justified his confidence in her capacity. " These reports," he explained to her, "are kept for reference ; but as a means of saving time, tho substance of them ia entered in the daily journal of our proceedings, Come, Sydney, venture on a lirat experiment in your new character. I sou pen, ink, and paper on the table ; try if you can shorten one of the reports without leaving out anything which it is important to know. For iiiotauce, the writer gives reasons for making his statement. Very well expressed, no doubt, but we don't want reasons. Then again, he offers his own opinion 011 the right course to take. Very creditable to him ; but I don't want his opinion ; I want his facts. Take the pen, my secretary, and sob down his facts. Never mind his reflections." Proud and pleased, Sydney obeyed him. She had made her little ahatr.ict, and was reading it to him at his request, while he compared it with the report, when they were interrupted by a visitor. Randal Linley came in, and noticed the papers on tho table with surprise. "Is it possible that 1 am interrupting business V he asked. Benuydeck answered with an assumed air of importance which was in itself a comliment to Sydney, " You tiad me engaged on the business of the Homo with my now secretary." Randal at ones understood what had happened. Ho took his friend's arm, and led him to the other end of the room. "You gooil follow!" he said. " Add to your kindness by excusing me if I ask for a word with you in private." Sydney rose to retire. After having encouraged her by a word of praise, the Captain proposed that she should get ready to go out, and should accompany him on a visit to the Home. He opened the door for her as respectfully as if the poor girl had been one of the highest ledius ia the la- 1. "I have seen my friend Sarraxin," Randal began, " and I have persuaded him to trust me with Catherine's present addi'ean. lean send Herbert thoro at once, if you will only help me." "How can I help you ?" " Will you allow me to tell my brother that your engagement is broken o!*"?" Bcunydeck shrank from tho painful allusion, and showed it. " Is this necessary ?'' he asked. " Most necessary. Herbert left Sydenham firmly persuaded that you were to marry Mis. Ormond; and, let me. add injustice to him, resigned to that event." " Resigned, after what he said to mo when we met ?" " Yes. Ho had not then spoken with Catherine ; be had not been asked to rend tiie confession which she addressed to you. 'There were remembrances in him which felt that appeal ; lib conscience told him that you were worthy of her. lam grieved, Bennydeck, to distress you by referring to this. But if my brother is left under the impressioo that your engagement will bo followed by your marriage, ho will refuse to intrude himself on tho lady who was once hie w.fe. There arc tho circumstances. What 13 your reply to my request —' Yea' or 'No , '.'" Frankly and fairly the Captain answered : " Yes." [To be continued. 1