QUEEN BESS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVII, Issue 8162, 25 January 1890, Page 3 (Supplement)

QUEEN BESS.

BY .MRS. OKOROIK SHELDON, Author of " Kiltie's Legacy," "The Forsaken Bride," " Brownie's Triumph," "Sibyl's Influence," &c. CHAPTER XLI. -(Continued. "HOW DAKE von come to MK WITH such A FOUL SLANDKFi?" Is a certain county about fifty miles from London there is a beautiful villuge called Shannon, and a mile outside the town is the magnificent estate of Shannondale, which, for centuries, had been in the family of the Lords of Langford. This country-scat was the pride of tho whole county, with its hundreds of cultivated acres, its wonderful park with its noble trees and bounding deer, while the lofty, roomy mansion, built in the Tudor stylo, was a marvel of richness and elegance, both within and without. In the grand old library at Shannondale, one bright morning, Miss Kavanagh and her niece, tho Lady Isabellc Laugford, might have been seen sitting. Neither has changed very much during the last year ; Miss Belle has grown somewhat taller, and there is a rather more mature look on her young countenance, but the bright face, tho gentle blue eyes and sweetly smiling mouth are the same that had beamed upon Kenneth when she told' him that she should " love him all her life long" because he had saved her from a dreadful death., A very stately room, be it known, was this library, which occupied one-half of one side of the great mansion. It was finished in cherry, very highly polished, furnished with ebony, upholstered with green and gold, and hung with rich draperies of satin and lace.

The massive ebony bookcases, beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl and precious woods, reached from floor to ceiling, and were filled with costly books, each collection being bound in uniform covers. The carpet was of a very cheerful pattern, in green and gold upon a white ground ; the walls were hung with white and gilt, while, here and there, there gleamed a choice picture or piece of statuary done by some master-hand, and showing that they had been chosen by a connoisseur in art. The windows were open, and through them the soft breeze came floating in laden with the perfume of roses and jasmine, and just stirring tho beautiful lace curtains that hung in graceful folds over them.

Miss Kavanagh was seated in a luxurious chti'r near a small table, and busied with some dainty fancy-work which she was fashioning from bright-hued wools; while, near by, Lady Isabella was half-reclining upon a low, broad sofa, and reading aloud from a book which, evidently, was very interesting, judging from the intensely absorbed expression upon her .young face.

Presently there came a knock upon one of the great doors leading into the hall; the next moment it swung noiselessly open, and a servant, in livery, entered, bearing a silver salver upon which lay a single card. He presented it to Miss Kavanagh, whoso lips suddenly contracted, while a frown of displeasure settled upon her forehead as she read the name engraved upon that piece of pasteboard. That name was—" Kenneth Keith."

"Say to the gentleman that I am engaged," she said, coldly, and with a haughty uplifting of her proud head. " Oh, auntie, don't!" Miss Belle exclaimed, her face all aglow with delight. She had started up upon the entrance of the servunt, and leaned over Miss Kavanagh's shoulder to read the name of the caller.

"It is that Mr. Keith," she continued, who saved me from drowning last summer." " I know it," was the icy reply. " But I told him, if he ever came to England, to be sure to come to Shannondale to see us, and—it would be very, very discourteous to send him away," pleaded the young girl, wistfully. " But I do not wish to see him, dear ; and, I must say, I think it rather forward in the young man to present himself here simply upon your invitation, unsanctioned by mine," returned the elder lady, looking exceedingly, annoyed, but not once suspecting the nature of her visitor's errand.

The little heiress of Shannondale arose, her face scarlet, her slight form' drawn

traighb as an arrow, while her eyes flashed with something very like anger. Usually she was a gentle and docile girl, easily governed if the right way was taken, though she could show her blood and temper to some parpose when occasion required, as the present instance proved. "Then I am going to see him," she said, unconsciously emphasising her words by a decided tao of her daintily slippered foot. "It is inhospitable and unkind to send Mr. Keith away like this, when he has taken the trouble to come to see us. . Aunt Kate, I just think you aren't—nice sometimes."

She turned away, as if to put her threat into execution, and Miss Kavanagh flushed. Her niece was like the apple of her eye ; she seldom crossed her, and it was nob often that the child rebelled against any of her decrees, except now and then, as in this instance, when her instinct of what was right and kind told hor that Miss Kavanagh's haughty spirit was being exercised in the wrong direction. Miss Kavanagh always dreaded a scene like this, for Isabelle very rarely yielded her point, when she became so thoroughly aroused, and she always gob the worst of it, unless she asserted her authority, and made her undergo some severe punishment. " Isabelle," she called after her, but she was interrupted by the return of the servant, who snid the gentleman " regretted to trouble Miss Kavanagh, but he desired to see her upon a matter of vital importance, and must respectfully insist upon an interview."

Miss Kavanagh grew suddenly pale at this, and for a moment sab absolutely motionless.

Then she arose with a haughty, resolute air, as if bracing herself against some impending evil. " Isabelle," she repeated in a tone which she had never used but once or twice during the guardianship of her brother's child, "you will remain here. If Mr. Keith wishes to see me on business I shall see him alone."

" But, auntie, I must see him too, before he goes," the girl pleaded, but instinctively coM'ering before the austere manner of her relative.

The woman made no reply, bub swept from the room with the bearing of an incensed queen. Kenneth arose as she entered the magnificent drawing-room—all white and gold— into which he had been ushered, and greeted her courteously. " You will excuse me, I hope, Miss Kavanagh," he began, " for insisting upon this interview, but I wished to see you upon a matter of great moment to me. I will nob, however, detain you longer than is absolutely necessary." Miss Kavanngh bowed distantly, but remained standing, and waiting for him to go on.

"Pray, be seated," Kenneth continued, politely, for I have a little history to relate to you, and I am sure you will be weary if you stand." He placed a chair for her, but stood himself until she was comfortably seated, when he took another where he could look directly into her face while he talked.

Ho was quick to notice her unusual pallor and the laboured way her bosom rose and fell, although she strove to conceal her agitation beneath an icy haughtiness. Kenneth began by relating his own personal history ; telling how he had been left when an infant only a few days old on the steps of St. Asylum ; how, later, a woman had come to inquire for him, and left that slip of paper bearing his name, and the statement that he would be called for within two years, but that upon her failing to do so, after five years, he had been transferred to another institution. Then he gave her an outline of how ho had struggled up through many difficulties and discouragements to his present position, where now he hoped to make himself honoured and respected. He told her how all his life he had been troubled and hampered by the suspicion and fear that his birth might nob have been an honourable one, until at last he had obtained a slight clue to the mystery of his parentage, and having followed this up, one thing loading to another, he had finally become convinced that ho could prove his identity. Tho quick, anxious gleam that passed into Miss Kavanagh's eyes at this statement, did not escape Kenneth, even though she quickly dropped her darkly fringed lids and sat as immovable as a statue, but manifesting no outward interest in anything that he said,

Her attitude, indeed, was one of chilling protest, as if she were being forced to listen to something which did not in any way concern her, but was too well bred to interrupt, since ho had insisted on her presence. " The cluo to which I referred," Kenneth remarked, after a slight pause in his narrative, and flushing at her forced indifference of manner, "you will perhaps be interested to know was furnished me by the letter which you wrote to me last fall," This was so unexpected that Miss Kavanagh gave an involuntary start. Bub quickly recovering hersolf, she asked, with an appearance of surprise : " How could that be possible?" "The handwriting is identical with that upon the slip of paper which was left at St. Asylum when I was an infant there, and stating what I was to bo called," Kenneth answered, observing her closely. A look of dismay came into the proud woman's eyes; bub she still held herself well in hand, and Kenneth could not help admiring her magnificent self-control. " Do you mean to imply that I could have written both ?" sho icily demanded. "I think any expert would so decide," tho young man responded, calmly, and drawing both papers from a wallet which ho drew from some inner pocket, he laid them before her.

Very reluctantly she turned her gaze upon them, and Kenneth could see that she trembled, as she looked, while she breathed more quickly than before. " It seems to me that this is very slight, very weak evidence upon which to base your belief that I should know anything of the mystery of your birth, Mr. Keith," she observed, with a note of derision in her tone.

" Indeed it does seem so, taken by itself," ho assented, "and I never should have presumed to seek you for an explanation if I had not supplemented it with even stronger proof." " Indeed ! Really, lam beginning to be interested. -Pray let me hear the remainder of this wonderful romance," Miss Kavanagh remarked, with stinging .sarcasm.

" Certainly," Kenneth returned, not at all disconcerted ; then he continued with the utmost deliberateness, " One day, it was the 10th of November, 18—, a woman living in New York city, a nuree by profession, Mrs. Morris by name, received a telegram bidding her come at once to the suburban town or F."

Miss Kavanagh Beemed to have become petrified as she listened to this, for she scarcely seemed to breathe, while her pallor was startling to behold. "Sho had no other engagement," Kenneth continued, " and she obeyed the summons immediately. On reaching the station at F she was met by a heavily-veiled woman, who conducted her to a house located about a mile from the village, where she found a young woman extremely ill. There were many very strange features about the case : the utmost secrecy was preserved upon every point—these two young women, one a few years older than the other, being entirely alone in the house, with not even a servant to wait upon them—while both appeared to belong to the higher class of society and had evidently been tenderly nurtured", and had every luxury that money could purchase. Before morning a child was born, a boy, having his right foot peculiarly deformed, which deformity he afterward discovered had been the heritage of his ancestors for many generations."

A gasp frdm Miss Kavanagh, even though quickly repressed, told the narrator that this shot had told.

" The mother died. The nurse said that ' Blight's disease' had been the cause of the fatal termination of the case, and, bribed by the womau who had sent for hor, who offered her the large sum of one thousand dollars to keep the secret, she consented to suppress the fact that there had been a birth, and registered that disease upon the certificate of death which the law required her to fill out. . She assisted the undertaker in preparing the body for the casket and remained until after it was taken from the house. AH information regarding the identity of these people had been carefully concealed from her—she was nob even told who they, were—the only name she heard spoken while she was there being that of ' Annie.' But, madam, I have been more fortunate; I have since learned that

the name of that poor young mother wa Annie Kavanagh." Miss Kavanagh sprang to her feet at the sound of this name, her eyes blazing with fear and anger, her face white as the delicate lace about the neck, save where a spot of vivid scarlet burned upon each cheek, her whole form trembling with mingled passion and terror. " It is false 1" she cried, with a quivering, angry voice. "Howdare you come here to me with such a foul slander upon my family name ?" CHAPTER XLII. A SUMMING UP OF EVIDKNCE. "It is no slander, Miss Kavanagh—it is every word truth," Kenneth replied, as he drew a copy of old Mrs. Morris' confession from one of his pockets. "I have in my possession a deposition, made by Mrs. Morris upon her dying bed, in which she revealed all that occurred on the night of the 10th of November. She conld not die easy until she had confessed what had lain a burden upon her conscience for so many years. The child which I have told you about was left oh the steps of the asylum, of which I have already spoken in connection with my own history, only a few days after the death of its mother, and, Miss Kavanagh, I was the child." Miss Kavanagh, who had recovered herself somewhat while he was Bpeaking, .turned upon him with haughty scorn. " Of course, I have been expecting some suoh denouement as this," she said, in a cold, hard voice, " but what you expect to gain by coming to me with your sickly, romantic story is more than lean understand." " I expect to gain an honourable name," Kenneth returned, with unruffled selfpossession. "You expect to be recognised as — Kavanagh 1" the angry woman exclaimed, in a tone of bitter mockery. "Yes, if it is my birthright," he answered, steadily. " If !" she repeated, grasping at the implied doubt. " Do you intend to claim it?" " I do, for I think I have abundant proof to warrant me in so doing." " Who do you imagine this person whom you call Annie Kavanagh to have been ?" Miss Kavanagh asked, witli a searching glance. " Allan Kavanagh's wifo !" Miss Kavanagh grew very pale again at this confident statement; but she : as not a person to be easily conquered. " My brother's wife !" she cris,vi, with a short laugh of derision. " How can you prove such an absuid assertion as that? Can you produce her marriage certificate, or any other tangible evidence that she was what you claim ?" There was a note of suppressed triumph in the woman's tone as she made these inquiries, and then she added, loftily, as if to clinch her points : " A man claiming connection with the Kavanaghs of New York must be able to prove his position before he can be recognised as belonging to the family." "I cannot produce the certificate or record to prove that Annie Kavanagh was your brother's lawful wife ; bub I can produce her wedding-ring, and also her en-gagement-ring," Kenenth said, in a quiet tone that was in marked contrast to her indignant excitement. She gave him a quick, startled glance. "Then produce them !" she commanded, in a low, tense tone ; but there was nob an atom of colour in her lips as she spoke. Kenneth took a tiny box from the wallet which he still held in his hands, and, removing the cover, passed it to her without a word. On a little tuft of pink cotton there gleamed a beautiful solitaire diamond ring and a plain but heavy band of gold. Miss Kavanagh recoiled slightly as she saw them; then, recovering herself, she reached forth her hand, took the plain r ing from the box, and examined it with anxious scrutiny. She read the date upon its inner surface, and her face seemed to shrink and contract with some inward horror, but her indomitable spirit would not flinch before even this relic of the dead. " Allow me to inquire where you obtained these rings, Mr. Keith ?" she asked, with a sneer, as she passed the gleaming circlet back to him. He could not help admiring her coolness, in spite of his anxiety to establish his claim, for no knew that she believed that Annie Kavanagh's rings had been buried with her, and, if these were the same, she could infer but one thing—that the body had been exhumed to recover them. " That is a very natural question, truly," Kennoth replied. " Mrs. Morris states in her confession, as you will see if you read it, that after her patient died she asked her companion if she should remove her rings. ' No,' was the reply, ' let them be buried with her.' The woman, it seems, was somewhat avaricious. She saw that the rings were—at least one of them was— valuable, and she thought it a reckless extravagance to bury them ; so she slyly slipped them off the dead woman's finger, just before the casket was closed, believing that the theft would never bo discovered. It never was; bub the nurse's troublesome conscience would nob allow her oither to wear them or to dispose of them, and so she has kept them all these years. She came near losing her life a few weeks ago. I happened to be the one who saved her from being crushed to death, although she was mortally injured, and, only a week before she breathed her last, she made the confession of which I have spoken. You can imagine the surprise of both the nurse and myself upon discovering that I was the child at whose mysterious birth she had officiated more than twenty years before, I have the deformity in my right foot which she described, and upon proving this to her, she believed 1 alone had a right to the rings she had stolen, and she gave them to mo. That is how I came by them, Miss Kavanagh. And now, with the chain of circumstantial evidence very strong to prove that I am a descendant of the Kavanaghs of New York, I come to you to ask recognition as such, and for the missing links in my history. Let me entreat you to do what is right and just, for your own sake as well as for mine !" Kenneth concluded, with great earnestness. The proud woman turned upon him like a lioness at bay. " How dare you come to rae with such a tale ?" she cried. " How dare you, with your doubtful birth, claim to belong to a family whose name.and position have been beyond reproach for generation after generation ?" "Because I believe, if the truth were known, that my own name and position are also above reproach," Kenneth quietly returned. " I believe that my mother was Allan Kavanagh's wife, although never publicly acknowledged as such; but, for some reason, it was thought best, after her sudden death, to conceal the fact from the world. A man will dare a great deal to establish an honourable name for himself, and I mean to prove all this if I can. I have been keenly sensitive all my life regarding the mystery that hassurrounded my infancy, and I have persistently followed up every clue 1 could obtain, until I believe I have a very strong case. Let me sum up the evidence for you, Miss Kavanagh—l will bo as brief as possible—and lam sure you will see it will be useless to contest it." Kenneth glanced at his companion as he said this, but the resolute expression on her haughty face gave him little hope that she would ever yield in a single point, no matter what his evidence might be. But she did not refuse to listen, and he went on :

"A child is born under very mysterious circumstances and with a deformity which has been peculiar to a certain family for many generations. The mother died and the nurse is bribed to conceal the fact of the birth. A few days later an infant is abandoned upon the steps of a well-known asylum in New York. This infant has the peculiar deformity described by the nurse in connection with the child born at F , on November 10, 18—. A short time after a woman leaves a slip of paper at this same asylum upon which she has written that the child abandoned there on a certain date is to be called ' Kenneth Keith.'

"This slip of paper, bearing the unmistakable handwriting of a lady, is most carefully preserved. The following year the nurse who had been bribed to conceal, the birth of the child in the town of F visits St. —- Asylum and discovers the infant there—identifying him by the aforesaid deformity of his right foot. She seeks him again after the lapse of years, but is told that he has been removed from the institution. "The child grows to manhood and is ever on the alert for some clue to his identity, the only thing of the kind in his possession being that slip of paper bearing his name and the promise that he should be claimed at a certain time. At last he receives a letter, the writing on which is identical with

111 ; 3 that upon the long-preserved Blip of paperanyone would be willing to swear that the name Kenneth Keith in both oases was written by the same hand, and the name of the writer is—Katherine Kavanagh— k'a in her own name being exactly like those in, Kenneth Keith.

" Shortly after this an accident— sprain and slight dislocation in the right foot— sends the young man to a noted physician in the city, who seems greatly surprised upon seeing its deformity, and who tells him thab it had been peculiar to a family, whose physician he had been for over thirty years, for many generations ; that it had always appeared in the eldest son of the eldest son. The name of this family was Kavanagh, and, during all his experience, he had never Been anything like this malformation upon any other person. "Following close upon this is the confession of Nurse Morris substance of which I have already given you—who states that the first name of her patient was 'Annie.' She also describes the person of her companion, and this description answers very well to what your appearance might) have been over twenty years ago. On the town books of F it is recorded thab ' Annie Kavanagh' died in that place of Bright's disease on Nov. lObh, 18—. Finally, there is in Greenwood Cemetery, just back of the Kavanagh lot, a single grave, and upon the headstone which marks it there are chiselled these letters and dates : ' A.K.K. Born Jan. 3rd, 18—. Died Nov. 10th, 18—.' What do you think, Mies Kavanagh," the young man gravely asked, in conclusion; " would not a jury before whom these facts * should be related decide that Kenneth Keith was entitled to the name of Kavanagh also ?" The woman before him looked like a statue cut from marble, so absolutely colourless was her face. There were tense, hard lines about her mouth, her delicate hands were clenched so tightly that the beautifully shaped nails were livid, while her eyes had in them the look ot a person who had been mesmerised. For a moment or two after Kenneth concluded she sat as if benumbed by the avalanche of evidence which he had hurled upon, her, then an ominous flash leaped into her dark eyes, a hard, cruel expression settled about her handsome mouth. "I defy you I" she said, bending toward him and speaking in a low, furious tone. "I would not if 1 were you, Miss Kavanagh," Kenneth returned, quietly. "I will ! you simply want to be acknowledged as the child of Allan Kavanagh in order to gain possession of his fortune are a miserable fortune-hunter; but Allan Kavanagh Langford has but one heir—the Lady Isabelle. You shall never succeed in your cunning scheme. I tell you again, I defy you, and if you persist in your demands, you will find that you will have a terrible battle to fight." " What if I tell you that I do not care to possess any portion of your brother's fortune that my only object is simply to establish my right to the name he bore—would it make any difference in your attitude toward me?" Kenneth asked. " No, no," she returned, with a shudder, after thinking a a thrill of pity surged through his heart as he realised that her pride would have to have just as great a fall; her confession would have to be just as full and humiliating to acknowledge him as her brother's son, as if she also surendered his property. Kenneth arose, feeling that he had said enough for the time being. He did not mean to relinquish his purpose, but he thought it might be well to leave Miss Kavanagh to think over what he had told her, before taking any further steps in the matter ; but he made one last appeal before going. " Of course I do not know, Miss Kavanagh," he said, " how far my father may have been responsible in the concealment of my birth ; bub of one thing I feel sure, and that is that my mother would never have consented to having her child abandoned in such a cruel way had she lived. Some time you will have to meet Annie Kavanagh ; how will you account to ller for the child she left in your care—how account for the birthright of which it was robbed ?" The woman turned from him with a quick, passionate gesture of either anger or despair—he could not tell which ; then she sprang from her chair and faced him again, and he marvelled at her proud beauty and regal bearing. "Will you go," she cried, as if goaded beyond endurance, " and never let me look upon your face again? Personally I wish you no ill, but I will not bear anything more from you. If you cross my path again I will not spare you. Money will do anything, and I will make you wish that you had never come here, to attempt to humiliate me with your miserable story." She gave him no opportunity to reply, but swept from the room with a haughty, resolute air, and Kenneth was left alone. She had not deigned to notice the confession of Nurse Morris, and it still remained upon the table where Kenneth bad placed it. He meant she should read it, however, and, after pencilling a few words upon the outside of it, he, too, arose and left the house. He was not disheartened by the result of the interview, for he had scarcely expected to conquer the Kavanagh spirit by one attack; but he was disappointed nob to see his little friend, though under the circumstances he had not thought best to ask for her. He did not, however, intend to leave England without seeing her, for he was more than ever convinced, by this interview with her aunt, that the sweet child was his half-sister, and his warm heart yearned for her with all a brother's tenderness. He walked out from the imposing mansion, and down the wide avenue, lined on each side with mammoth trees ; he Sassed the artificial lake, where a magnicent fountain sent its glittering spray high into the air, and where graceful swans were swimming lazily about; he looked abroad upon the park, where scores of deer were tamely and contentedly feeding, and wondered if Allan Kavanagh, once the proud master of all this magnificent estate, could willingly have beon a party to the desertion of his only son. " There is some profound mystery about) it which I cannot fathom, even though I am convinced of my own identity," Kenneth sighed, as he turned into the highway and pursued his way toward the village inn. Miss Kavanagh went directly to her own room after leaving her visitor, where, locking herself in, she remained throughout the day, not showing herself again until dinner-time.

Then she took her place at the table as usual, outwardly calm, though she was still very pale. , Isabelle, her eyes still red from her disappointment over not seeing Kenneth, questioned her eagerly and anxiously regarding her interview with him, until she suddenly cut her short by sternly bidding her cease her talking. It drove her nearly distracted simply to hear his name mentioned.

As soon as dinner was over she secluded herself again within her own room, and the young girl was left to her own devices for amusement.

She went into the library, where she sab reading for an hour or more ; then, weary of sitting still, she threw down her book and began to wander about. She went into the great drawing-room, where she had another cry, because Kenneth had been there and she had not seen him.

Finally, when she began to recover somewhat from her grief, her eyes fell upon a folded paper lying on the table beside her. She took it up mechanically, and instantly recognised Kenneth's handwriting upon it. "Mrs. Morris* confession," she read, and then further down, the few lines that Kenneth had pencilled there just before leaving the house. They were these:— " Miss Kavanagh, let me entreat you to read this document, and I am sure, after considering it, that your better judgment, if not your woman's heart, will prompt you to do what is right and just. I shall remain at the Shannondale Arms for a few days, and at your service, should you desire to communicate with me. —K.K."

"How queer! What does he mean, I wonder," mused the child. "It must be that he came td\ask auntie to do something for some poor person. I believe I will read the paper, and maybe I can give him some money for her, it she needs it. lam glad he is hot going away for a few days—maybe I shall see him after all;" and with her fair young face glowing once more with hope, she unfolded the confession of old Nurse Morris, and began to read it.:' She , became so absorbed in it, though her face grew both perplexed and troubled, that she did not once look up until" she had mastered the 'whole of it.

1" — " What a queer story !" she murmured, as she refolded and laid it back upon the table; " how dreadful about that poor little baby whose mother died when ho was born I "What a horrid woman that nurse was to steal the rings off her hand I I wonder who Annie Kavanagh was, anyway, and that other lady who sent for the nurse. 1 most ask auntie about it." Her face grow more and more puzzled as she tried to comprehend the strange tale. M How should Mr. Keith know all this ! she went on, musingly. "I wonder if he came all the way from America just to bring auntie this confession ! Ho said it was a matter of business, and it seems to have troubled her too. I can't understand it—there is something just dreadful about it all. Who could that proud woman have been who hired the nurse to tell such a story. She was awfully wicked, and 1 should just like to tell her so." # # She sat there a long time thinking over What she had read, an anxious gleam gradually creeping into her eyes, a sort of horror settling upon her heart. Finally she arose from her chair, carefully placed the paper in the same position that Bshe had found it, and then stole noiselessly bub with a half-guilty air, from the room. [To be continued.]