THE LEGACY OF CAIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9160, 15 September 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE LEGACY OF CAIN.

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

BY WILKIE COLLINS, Artlior of "The Woman in White," "The Evil A Genius," &C, &c.

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]

CHAPTER LVIIL j-VE>'TS E* THE FAMILY RELATED BY MISS

.TILLOALL.

«If anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write an account of it, and to send the writing to me. I will come to voa at once, if I see reason to believe- that Jjiv presence is required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to me, rouse my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which has always been one of the strong points in my characer. Every suspicious circumstance which occur? in this house will be (so to speak) seized on by my pen, and will find itself (so to epeak again) placed on its trial, before your unerring judgment. Let the wicked tremble ! I mention no names. Taking up my narrative where it came to r,n end, when 1 last wrote, I have to say a word first on the subject of my discoveries in regard to Philip'* movements. The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which 1 read in a newspaper, put the thing into my head. I provided myself with money to pay the expenses by—l blush while! write it—pawning my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has been rewarded by success. 'Skilled investigation Ins proved that our young man has come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion when he was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been followed to the farm. I have been staying there myself for a day or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice 'to relent. The hope has not yet been realised. But Philips devotion, assisted by my influence, will yet prevail. Let us not despair. Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold on Philip, I. cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could'have made the discovery just yet. The one thing of which I am certain is that she looks like a fiend. Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. He will get away from "the wretch, who has tempted him cue and may tempt him again, under prenee of using the interest- of his friends in London to find a place under Government. He has not been very well for the last day or two. and the execution of our project is in consequence delayed. I have news of Mrs. Tenbruggen which r>:::. 1 think, surprise you. She has kept away from us in a most unaccountable manner. I called on her at the hotel, and heard that- she was engaged with her lawyer. On the next- day, she suddenly | returned to her old habits, and paid the customary visit. I observed a singular j alteration in her state of feeling. She is i now coldly civil to Helena ; and she asks after Eunice with a maternal interest touching to see. I said to her : " Elizabeth, you appear to have changed your opinion of the two girls, since I saw you." She answered,""with a delightful candour which reminded me of old times : " Completely !"' I said: "A woman of your intellectual calibre, dear, doesn't change her mind without a good reason for it." Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I ventured to be a little ir.ore explicit : " Von have no doubt made some interesting discovery." Elizabeth agreed again; and I ventured again: "I suppose 1 may not ask what, the discovery is":" "No. Selina, you may not ask." This is curious : "but it- is nothing to what I have got to tell you next. Just as I was loneing to take her to my bosom again as my friend and confidante, Elizabeth has disappeared. And, alas ! alas ! there is a reason for it which no sympathetic person can dispute. I have just received this overwhelming news, in the form of a neat parcel, addressed to myself. There ha? been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human form, Elizabeth husband, is aware of his wife's professional fame, has heard of the large sums of money which she earn? as the greatest living professor of Massage, has been long on the look-out for her, and has discovered her at last. He has not only forced his way into her sitting-room at the hotel; he insists on her living with him again ; her money bein? the attraction it is needless to say. If she refuses, he threatens her with the law— the barbarous law which, to use his own coarse expression, will " restore his conjugal rights. All this 1 gather from the narrative of my unhappy friend, which forms one of the two enclosures in her parcel. She has already made her escape. Ha : the man doesn't live who can circumvent Elizabeth. The English Court of Law isn't built which can catch her. when she roams the free and clorious Continent. " The vastness of this amazing woman's mind is what. I must pause to admire. In the frightful catastrophe that has befallen her. she can still think of Philip and Einiet-ce. She is eager to hear of their marriage, and renounces Helena with her whole heart. ''I, too, was deceived by that cunning young woman," she write.-. '• Beware of her, Seiina. Unless lam very much mistaken, she i≤ going to end badly. Take care of Philip, take: cure of Euneece. If you want help, apply at once to mv favourite hero in real life—the Governor/' I don't presume to correct Elizabeth's language. I should have called you the Idol of the Women. The second enclosure contains, as I pose, a wedding present. It is carefully sealed—it feels no bigger than an ordinary letter—and it contain-: an inscription which your highly-cultivated intelligence may be able to explain. I copy it as follows :— "To be enclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, at Percy's Private Hotel, London, and delivered by a trustworthy messenger, on the (i ,v when Mr. Philip Dunboyne is married to Mi"s« Eunice Gracedieu. Placed meanwhile under the care of Miss Seiina Jillgall."

Why is this? mysterious letter to be sent ' to Philip's father i wonder whether that circumstance will puzzle you as it has puzzled me. I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news relating to Philip's state of health. To my great regret, his illness teems to have mad-.- a serious advance since yesterday. When i ask if he is in pain, he says: "It isn't exactly pain; I feel a? if "I was sinking. Sometimes I am L'idrly ; arid sometimes I find myself feeling thirsty and sick."' 1 have no opportunity of looking after him as I could wish ; for Helena insists on nursing him, assisted by the housemaid. Maria is a very good girl in her way, but too stupid to be of much use. If he is not better to-morrow, I shall insist on sending for the doctor. He is no better : and he wishes to have medical help. Helena doesn't seem to understand his illness. It was not until Philip had insisted on seeing him that she consented to send for the doctor. You had some talk with this experienced physician when you were here, and you kn'jw what a clever man he is. W hen I tell you that he hesitates to say what is the matter with Philip, you will feel as much alarmed as I do. I will wait to send this to the post until I can write in a more definite way. Two days more have passed. _ The doctor has put two very strange questions to me. He asked, first, if there was anybody staying with us besides the regular members of the household. I said we had no visitor. He wanted to know next if Mr. Philip liun'uoyne had made any enemies since lie has been living in our town. I said none that 1 knew of—and I took the liberty of asking what he meant. He answered i.o this that he has a few more inquiries to make, and that he will tell me what he means to-morrow.

For God's sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole burden is thrown on me—and I am quite unequal to it. I received the doctor to-day in the drawing-room. To my amazement, he asked leave to speak with me in the garden. When 1 asked why, he answered : " 1 don i want to have a listener at the door. Come out un the lawn, where we can be sure that, we are alone." . . When we were in the garden, he noticed that 1 was trembling. (| " Rouse your courage, Miss .lillgall, he faicl. "In the Minister's helpless state there is nobody whom I can speak to but yourself." I ventured to remind him that he might speak to Helena as well as to myself.

* The Proprietors of the Nbw /.kal-ano HERALD have purchased the sole right to publish this story lu the Nurlb Island of New Zealand.

He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he said was, "No !" But, oh, if you had heard his voice — and he so gentle and sweettempered at other times—you would have felt, as I did, that he had Helena in his mind !

" Now, listen to this," he went on. "Everything that my art can do for Mr. Philip Dunboyne while I am at his bedside, is undone while I am away by some other person. Ho is worse to-day than I have seen him yet." " Oh, sir, do you think ho will die?" " He will certainly die unless tho right means are taken to save him, and taken at once. It is my duty not to rlinch from telling you the truth. I have made a discovery since yesterday which satisfies me that lam right. Somebody is trying to poison Mr. Dunboyne ; and somebody "will succeed unless ho is removed from this house."

I am a poor feeble creature. The doctor caught me, or I should have dropped on the grass. It was not a fainting-fit, I only shook and shivered so that I was too weak to stand up. Encouraged by the doctor, I recovered sufficiently to be able to ask him where Philip was" to be taken to. He said: "To the hospital. No poisoner can follow my patient there. Persuade him to let me take him away, when 1 call again in an hour's time.' . As soon as I could hold a pen, I sent a telegram to you. Pray, pray come by tho earliest train. I also telegraphed to old Mr. Dunboyne, at the hotel in London.

It was; impossible for me to face Helena : I own 1 was afraid. The cook kindly went upstairs to see who was in Philip's room. It was the housemaid's turn to look after him for a while. I went, instantly to his bedside.

There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken to the hospital. "I am dying," he said. "If you have any pity for me, send for Euneece. Let me see her once more, let. m-3 hear her say that she forgives me, before I die." I hesitated. It was too terrible to think of Euneece in the same house with her sister. Her life might be in danger ! Philip gave me a look, a dreadful ghastly look. "If you refuse," he s:iid, wildly, "the grave won't hold me. I'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

"She shall hear that you are ill," I answered —and ran out of the room before he could speak again. What I had promised to write, I did write. But placed between Euneece's danger and Philip's danger, my heart was all for Euneece. Would Helena spare her, if she came to Philip's bedside? In such a terror as I never felt before in my life, I added a word more, entreating her not to leave the farm ; and I mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to us immediately. "Do nothing,' , I wrote, " without his advice. " My letter having been completed. I sent the cook away with it, in a chaise. She belonged to the neighbouroood, and she knew the farmhouse well.

Nearly two hours afterwards, I heard the chaise stop at the door, and ran out, impatient to hear how my sweet girl had received my letter. God help us all! When I opened the door, the lirst person whom I saw was Euueeee herself.

CHAPTER LIX. EVENTS IN' THE FAMILY RELATED ET MISS

JILLGALL.

One surprise followed another, after I had encountered Euneece at the door.

When my fondness hail excused her for settincr the well-meant advice in my letter at defiance, I was conscious of expecting to see her in tears ; eager, distressingly eager, to hear what hope there might be of Philip's recovery. I saw no tears, I heard no inquiries. She was pale, and quiet, and silent. Not a word fell from her when we met. not a word when she kissed me, not ;>. word when she led the way into the nearest room—the dining-room, "it was only when we were shut in together that she spoke. li Which is Philip's room :"' she asked. Instead of wanting to know how lie was, sho desired to know where he was. 1 pointed toward-! rhe back dining-room, which had been made into a bedroom for Philip. He had chosen it himself, because the window opened into the garden, and he could slip out find smoke at any hour of tho day or night, when he pleased. "Who is with him now?" was the next strange thing this sadly-changed girl said to me.

" Maria is taking her turn," I answered ; ■■' she assists in nursing Philip." "Where—" Euneece got no farther than that. Her breath quickened, her colour faded away. I had seen people look as she was looking now, when they suffered under some sudden pain. Before I could offer to help ner, she rallied, and went on : " Where," she began again, " i≤ the other nurse ?"

" You mem Helena ':" I said.

'•I mean the Poisoner. 1,

When I remind you, dear Mr. Governor, that my letter had carefully concealed from her the horrible discovery made by the doctor, your imagination will picture my state of mind. She saw that 1 was overpowered. Her sweet nature, so strangely fro/en up thus far, melted at las:. ""Sou don't know what I have heard," she said, '"vou don't know what thoughts have been roused in me." She left her chair, and sat, on my knee with the familiarity of the dear old times, and took the letter that I had written to her from her pocket. " Look at it yourself," she .said, " and tell me if anybody could read it and not see that you were c mcealing something. My dear, I have driven round by the doctor's house —■ I have seen him—l have persuaded him, or perhaps I ought to say surprised him, into tellinir me the truth. Bufc'thekind olrl mnn is obstinate. He wouldn't, believe me when 1 told him I was on my way here to save Philip's life. He said :' 'My child, you will only put your own life in jeopardy. If I had not seen that danger, I should never have told you of the dreadful state of things at home. Go back to the good people at the farm, and leave the saving of Philip to

me.' "

" He was right. Euneece, entirely rigid." " Xo, dear, he was wrong , . 1 begged him to come here, and judge for himself; and I ask you to do the same." 1 whs obstinate. "Go back !" I persisted. " (Jo back to the farm '."

" Can I see Philip?" she asked. I have heard some insolent men say that j wemen are like cats. If they mean that we do, tifuratively speaking, scratch at times, I am afraid they are not altogether .wrong. I An irresistible impulse made me say to I poor Euneece : " This is a change indeed, since you refused to receive Philip !" "Is there no change in the circumstances?" she asked, sadly. "Isn't he ill and in danger ?" I begged her to forgive me; I said I meant no harm. " I gave him to my Bister," she continued, "when I believed that Ids happiness depended not on ine, but on her. 1 take him back to myself, when he is at the merey of a demon who threatens his life. Come, Selina, let u= go to Philip." She put her arm round me, and made me get up from my chair. I was so easily peri suailod by her that the fear of what i Helena's jealousy and Helena's anger might ; do was scarcely present in my thoughts. I The door of communication was locked, on ! the side of the bedchamber. I went into the hall, to enter Philip's room b> the other door. She followed, wail ing behind me. I heard what passed between them when Maria went out to her. '• Where is .Miss Gracedieu?"

"Resting upstairs, miss, in her room." "Look at the clock, and tell me when you expect her to come down here." "lam to call her, miss, in ten minutes more." " Wait in the dining-room, Maria, till I come back to you." She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip's room. It was not out of curiosity ; the feeling that urged me was sympathy, when I waited a moment to .see their first meeting. She bent over the poor, pallid, trembling, suffering man, and raised him in her arms, and laid his head on her bosom. "My Philip!" She murmured those weeds in a kiss. I closed the door ; I had a good cry ; and, oh, how it comf< i-ted me ! There was only a minute to spare when she cams out of the room. Maria was waitin" for her. Euneece .said, as quitely as ever : " Go, and call Miss Gracedieu." The girl looked at her, and saw—l don't know what. Maria became alarmed. But she went up the stairs, and returned in haste to tell us that her young mistress was coming down. The faint rustling of Helena's dress as she left her room reached us in the silence. 1 remained at the open door of the diningroom, and Maria approached and stood near

me. We were both frightened. Euneece stepped forward, and stood on the mat at the foot of tho stairs, waiting. Her back was

towards me ; I could only see that she was as still as a statue. Tho rustling of the dress came nearer. Oh, Heavens ! what was going to happen ? My teeth chattered in my head ; I held by Maria's shoulder. Drops of perspiration showed themselves on the girl's forehead ; she stared in vacant terror at the slim little iigure ; posted linn and still on the mat.

Helena turned the corner of tho stairs, and waited a moment on the last landing, and saw her sister.

" You here ?" she said. " What do you want?"

There was no reply. Helena descended, until she reached the last stair but one. There she stopped. Her staring eyes grew large and wild ; her hand shook as she stretched it out, feeling for the banister ; she staggered as she caught at it, and held herself up. The silence was still unbroken. Something in me, stronger than myself, drew my steps along the hall, nearer and nearer to the stairs, till I could see the face which had struck that murderous wretch with terror.

I looked.

No ! it was not my sweet girl ; it was a horrid transformation of her. I saw a fearful creature, with glittering eyes that threatened some unimaginable vengeance. Her lips were drawn back ; they showed her clenched teeth. A burning red flush dyed her face. The hair of her head rose, little by little, slowly. And, most dreadful sight of all, she seemed, in the stillness of tho house, to be listening to something. It I could have moved, I should havo lied to the first place of refuge I could find. If I could have raised my voice, I should have cried for help. I could do neither tho one nor the other. I could only look, look, look ; held by tho horror of it with a hand of iron.

Helena must havo roused her courage, and resisted her terror. I heard her speak : " Let me by I" " No."

Slowly, steadily, in a whisper, Eunceco made that reply. Helena tried once more — .still fighting against her own terror; I knew it by the trembling of her voico : " Let me by," she repeated ; " I am on my way to Philip's room. , ' " You will never enter Philip's room

again." " Who will stop me?" "I will."

Sho had spoken in the samo steady whisper throughout—but now she moved. I saw her set her foot on the first stair. I saw the horrid glitter in her eyes (lash close into Helena's face. I heard her say :

" Poisoner, go back to your room." Silent and Juddering, Helena shrank away from her— daunted by her glittering eyes ; mastered by her lifted hand pointing up the stairs. Helena slowly ascended till she reached the landing. She turned and looked down ; she tried to speak. The pointing hand struck her dumb, and drove her up the next flight of stairs. She was lost to view. Only the small rustling sound of the dress was to be heard, growing fainter and fainter ; then an interval of stillness ; then the noise of a door opened and closed again ; then no sound more—but a change to be seen ; the transformed creature, a fearful creature no longer, was crouching on her knees, still and silent, her face covered by her hands. I was afraid to approach her ; I was afraid to speak to her. After a time she rose. Suddenly, swiftly, with her head turned away from me, she opened tho door of Philip's room—and was gone. I looked round. There was only Maria in the lonely hall. Shall I try to tell you what my sensations were? It may sound strangely, but it is true—l felt like a sleeper, who has half awakened from a dream.

CHAPTER LX. A little later, on that eventful day, when I was most in need of ail that your wisdom ami kindness could do to guide me, came the telegram which announced that you were helpless under an attack of pout. As soon as 1 had in some degree got over my disappointment, I remember having told Euneece in my letter that I expected her kind old friend to come to us. " With the telegram in my hand, I knocked softly at Philip's door. The voice that bade me come in was the gentle voice that 1 knew so well. Philip was sleeping. There, by his bedside, with his hand resting in her hand, was Euneece, so completely restored to her own sweet self that 1 could hardly believe in what I had seen, not an hour since. She talked of von, when 1 showed her your message, with affectionate interest and regret. Look back, my admirable friend, at what I have written on the two or three pages which precede this, and explain the astounding contrast it you can. I was left alone to watch by Philip, while Euneeco went away to see her father. Soon afterwards, Maria took my place; I had been sent for to the next room to receive the doctor.

He looked careworn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had brought bad news with him.

" The worst possible news," ho answerer!. "A terrible exposure threatens this family, and I am powerless to prevent it." He then asked me to remember the day when 1 had been surprised by the singular questions which he hud put to me, and when he had engaged to explain himself alter lie had made .-rune inquires. Why, and how, he had set those inquiries on foot., was what he hud now to tell. I will repeat what he said, in his own words, as nearly as I can remember them. While ho was in attendance on Philip, he had observed symptoms which mado him suspect that digitalis had been given to the young man, in doses ofien repeated. Cases of attempted poisoning by this medicine were so rare that he felt bound to put his suspicions to the test by going round among the chemists' shops—excepting of course the shop at which his own prescriptions were marie up —and asking if they had lately dispensed any preparation of digitalis, ordered perhaps in a larger quantity than usual. At the second shop he visited, the chemist laughed. " Why, doctor," he said, "have you forgotten your own prescription ?" After this, the prescription was for, and produced. It was on the paper used by the doctorpaper which had his address printed at the top, anrl a notice added, telling patients who came to consult him for the second time to bring their prescription? with them. Then, there followed in writing : "Tincture of digitalis, one ounce"—with his signature at the end, not badly imitated, but a forgery nevertheless. The chemist noticed the effect which this discovery had produced on the doctor, and asked if that was his signature. Ho could hardly, as an honest man, have asserted that a forgery was a signature of his own j writing. So he made the true reply, and asked who had presented the prescription. The chemist called to his assistant to eome forward. " Did you tell me that you knew, by sight, the young lady who brought this prescription ?" The assistant admitted it. " Did you tell me she was Miss Helena Gracedieu?" "I did." "Are you sure of not having made any mistake?" " Quite sure." The chemist then said : "I myself supplied the tinctuie of digitalis, and the youne lady paid for it, and took it away with her. Von have had all the information that I can give you, sir ; and I may now ask if you can throw any light on this." Our good friend thought of the poor Minister, so sorely afllietcsd, and of the famous name so sincerely respected in the town and in the country round, and said he could not undertake to give an immediate answer. The chemist was excessively angry. "You know as well as 1 do," he said, " That digitalis, given in certain doses, is a poison, and you cannot deny that I honestly believed myself to b<3 dispensing your pre- : scription. While you are hesitating to give me an answer, my character may Miller ; 1 may be suspected myself." He ended in do daring he should consult his lawyer. The doctor went home, an.l quHStiond his servant. Tlifj man remembered the day of Miss Helena's visit in the afternoon, and the ini tention that she expressed of waiting for j his muster's return. He had shown her i into the parlonr, which opened into thecoti-sultiug-rooin. No other visiter was in the house at the time or had arrived during the I rest of the day. The doctor's own expert- ' ence, when he jj-ot home, led him to conclude that Helena had gone into the con-sulting-room. He had entered that room, j for the purpose of writing some prescrip- ■ tions, and had found i.he leaves of paper that lie used diminished in number. After what ho had heard, and what lie had di.-s-I covered (to say nothing of what he suspec-

ted), it occurred to him to look along the shelves of his medical library. He found a volume, treating of poisons, with a slip of paper left between the leaves ; the poison decribed at the place so marked being digitalis, and the paper used being one of his own prescription-papers. "If, as I fear, a legal investigation into Helena's conduct is a possible event," the doctor concluded, " there is the evidence that I shall be obliged to give, when I am called as a witness."

It is my belief that I could have felt no greater dismay, if the long arm of the Law had laid its hold on me while he was speaking. I asked what was to be done. "If sho leaves the house at once," the doctor replied, " she may escape the infamy of being charged with an attempt at murder by poison ; and, in her absence, I can answer for Philip's life. I don't urge you to warn her, because that might bo a dangerous thing to do. It is for you to decide, as a member of the family, whether you will run the risk." 1 tried to speak to him of Euneece, and to tell him what I have already related to yourself. He was in no humour to listen to me. " Keep it for a titter time," he answered ; " and think of what I havo just saiil to you." With that he left me, on his way to Philip's room. Mental exertion was completely beyond inc. Can you understand a poor middleaged spinster being frightened into doing a dangerous thing ? That may seem to be nonsense. But if you ask why I took a morsel of paper, and wrote the warning which I was afraid to communicate by word of mouth—why I went upstairs with my knees knocking together, and opened the door of Helena's room just wide enough to let my hand pass through—why I threw the pa petin, and banged the door to again, and ran downstairs as I havo never run since I was a little girl—l can only say, in the way of explanation, what I have said already; I was frightened into doing it. What I have written, thus far, I shall send to you by to-night's post. The doctor came to me, after ho had seen Philip, and spoken with Euneece. Ho was in a hurry, as usual. " One or two tilings," he said. " Either that girl is crazy, or she is one in a thousand. 1 shall put oil' insisting on Philip's removal till to-morrow. A day's delay will tell me if Miss Eunice's sense and courage are to be trusted." Having no doubt of her sense and courage myself, I was not surprised when those good qualities showed themselves on the doctor's departure. While i remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of both rooms locked, Euneece went out to get Philip's medicine. She came back, followed by a boy carrying a portable apparatus for cooking. " All that Philip wants, and all that we want," she explained, "wo can provide for ourselves. Give me a morsel of paper to write on."

Unhooking the little pencil attached to her watch chain, she paused, and looked towards the door. "Somebody listening," she whispered. " Let them listen." She wrote a list of necessaries, in the way of things to eat and things to drink, and asked mo to go out and get them myself. "I don't doubt tho servants," she said, speaking distinctly enough to be heard outside ; " but I am afraid of what a Poisoner's cunning and a Poisoner's desperation may do, in a kitchen which is open to her." I went away on my errand—discovering no listener outside, 1 need hardly say. On my return, I found the door of communication with Philip'" room closed, but no longer locked. "We can now attend on him in turn," she said, " without opening either of the doors which lead into the hall. At night we can relievo each other, and each of us can get sleep as we want it in the large armchair in tho dining-room. Philip must be safe under our charge, or the doctor will insist on taking him to the hospital. When we want Maria's help, from time to time, we can employ her under our own superintendence. Have you anything else, Seiina, to suggest?"

There was nothing left to suggest. Young and inexperienced as she was, how (I asked) had she contrived to think of all this ? She answered simply : " I'm sure 1 don't know : niv thoughts came to me while I was looking at Philip." .Soon afterwards I found an opportunity of inquiring if Helena had left tho house. Sho had just rung her bell ; and Maria had found her, quietly reading, in her room. Hours afterwards, when I was on the watch at night, 1 heard Philip's door softly tried from the outside. Her dreadful purpose had not been given up, even yet. It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer to the telegram which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne the elder. The next day's post brought the explanation in a letter to Pliilip from his father, directed to him at the hotel here. This showed that my telegram, giving my address at this house, had not beer, received. Mr. Dunboyne announced that he had returned to Ireland, finding the air of London unendurable, after the sea-breezes ao home. If Philip had already married, his father would leave him to a life of genteel poverty with Helena Gracedieu. If iie had thought better of it, his welcome was waiting for him.

Little did Sir, Punboyne know what changed had taken place since lie and his son had last, met, and what hope might yet present itself of brighter days for poor Euneece ! I thought of writing to him. But how would that crabbed old man receive a confidential letter from a lady who was a stranger'.' My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked mo to write a few lines of reply to his father, declaring that hi.3 marriage with Helena was broken off —that he had not given up all hope of being permitted to oiler the sincere expression of hid penitence to Euneeee —and that he would gladly claim his welcome; as soon as he was well enough to undertake the journey to Ireland. When lie iiad signed the letter, I was .so pleased that I made a smart remark. I said, " This is a treaty of peace between father and son." When the doctor came on the same day, and found an improvement in Philip's health, lie was satisfied. On the day after, there was more improvement. He spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. Xo more allusions to the hospital as a place of safety escaped him. He asked me cautiously for news of Helena. 1 could only tell him that she had gone out at her customary time, and had returned at her customary time, lie did not attempt to conceal that my reply had made him uneasy. "Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?" 1 asked. " I am afraid of her cunning," he answered. "If she is charged with attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has some system of defence, you may rely on it, for which we are not prepared. There, in my opinion, is the true reason for her extraordinary insensibility to her own danger." Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection of lock and key. On the evening of the. second day (which was a Monday) Maria came to me, in groat tribulation. On asking what was the mattor, 1 received a disquieting reply : il Miss , Helena is tempting me, She is so miserable at being prevented from seeing Mr. Philip and helping to nurse him, that it is quite distressing to see her. At the same time, miss, it's hard on a poor servant. She asks me to take the key secretly out of the door, and lend it to her at night fur a few minutes only. I'm really afraid 1 shall be led into doing it, if she goes on persuading me much longer. I commended Maria for feeling scruples which proved her to be the best of good girls, and promised to relieve her from all fear of future temptation. This was easily done. Euneece kept the key of Philip's door in her pocket; and I kept the key of the dining-room door in mine.

[To be continued.]