THE HAND ON THE PLOUGH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11854, 4 January 1902, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE HAND ON THE PLOUGH.

BY SPECIAL AEEANGEMEN

:■..■■■..'BY/'JOHN STEANGB WIMTEE, :; / Author of "Booties' Baby," "A Magnificent . i Young Man," "Heart and Sword," "The ; ■ Colonel's Daughter/'" Every Inch a Soldier," Etc., Etc.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XVH. :.", Fboii the night when Dick Vincent cam .:■ to the conclusion that under no ciicumstanV ■ could Roger Meredith's daughter ever beco* his wife he kept himself most carefully f ,m :any special- intercourse with her. He} 1 " 0 " posed no more evenings in the Winter-* ar dens, he addressed all his conversatU> or at least a good deal of his conversant to the little'widow; he allowed htnelf no familiarities, and he permitted hj/self .to be. drawn a little further into the/>rtex of ,-Blankhampton society than he wuld have dreamed of doing under ordinal circum;stances. . Indeed, during those fa days in . which he remained- at the/ G<3en Swan more than one mother in Blanfc/ampton had visions of a proprietorial jcerest in the oil well at Santa Clara. T \ But eventually Dick werfaway, leaving behind him no promise ofipring. He. did not even travel up as far London with Mrs. Meredith and Cynthf, but told them "as an excuse for not doin' so that he had promised to dine at the BJck Horse mess. / •! - • Then he went back to London, where he put in a miserable week/-st> miserable that: he more than once ' cauUt himself wishing that he were back on/the ranche again. /After that, he went hcAe to; Hollingridge, where /his mother on© more killed the. fatted calf in his honouj' although the whole louse was in a tumult the preparations for his sister's weddbjj. •. . . " Now tell me, deayboy," said Mrs. Vincent, when dinner wa/over the first evening, and the others had yandered away to various amusements or occupations, " you found poor Mr. widow?" "Oh, yes, I four! her," said Dick. / . "Is.she nice?" I _ , .' ,;. " Very nice." ' ./ ':,'"'.- \"A lady?" ] . : ';".;: .-: ' " Oh, a perfect adv." Dick answered.. "Was she upsef? Do tell me about it. I; am most interested." ''••' " Well, she wasa bit knocked over at first, : yes, she certainly was knocked over, because she has always (lung to the hope that he would turn up agiin." "And the girl?' ' *.*' Oh, well, thegirl doesn't remember him;; she was more pMosophic about it." " Well, dear, me could:not expect her to be anything else, ; Most trying, I consider; to g-i on year after year, never sure from one •.minute/to another what might turn up or come out. •' . Poor soul. I have thought about her so much whilst you have been away.'" You paid over the money; and what will become of the ranche?" "Well,! shall have to prove Meredith's 'will as soon as I go tack," Dick replied. ■ / " Wouldn't you like me to ask them here for a little while?" / "Oh, no, mother, thank you. I dont : think so; not at present, at all events. You see— she's"had a great shock, and she's in very new mourning; and they have gone off for a long holiday for one thing." "Oh, for a long holiday. What sort of circumstances did you find them in?" "Well,'pretty narrow; what' one would call straitened " circumstances. : And, of course, Mrs. /Meredith's first idea was; to •give-her- daughter a complete holiday and change. That was only natural." .//,./;" ; "Well, it was natural enough, poor woman ; I can quite see that. Had she money?" ; " Mrs..Meredith had a little money." , j .;■■■■ "Yes. And did they live on that exclu-j sively?" ; : ', \ ; '- '• ■' | . Mrs.. Vincent was insistent, She meant and Dick knew by long experience that it was useless- for him to try. to wriggle out of ■ giving the information which she required. v " No. "The girl was teaching." " Oh." Mrs. Vincent's tone was comprehension itself. ,"/" Inching, was; she ;. And you say she's "so pretty." ..""/':• " " Oh, very pretty." " '" "And nice?" , - f '-Very nice. Charming. • "And teaching? Dear me! Ah, dear, Well I suppose there will be no fear of poverty in the future?" :- ■"Not the very smallest, said Dick. "She's an heiress now—unless the oil well should dry up, which is most unlikely." "Oh, she'll marry,-my dear. A pretty girl with half an oil well is sure to marry. Perhaps her mother will marry." . . . " I don't think so. "She's absolutely faithful :to poor. old; Roger's memory. The only thing that hurt her. much was his notion that she might have married somebody else, believing him to be dead." ■ _ " Poor thing!" said Mrs. Vincent, feelinrlv- " ! I can imagine nothing more dread- | ful than /to live like that. And all these , : years, poor soul, really living on the,edge of a razor." . ■■■• ~ - , ■'' .• „ ." Yes,' really living on the edge of a razor, _ said Dick. "Great bore to think yourself free, 'and then all at once find a husband turn up again.' W," said Mrs. Vincent. '« Oh my dear boy," said Mrs. Vincent "it was-just as well that your poor friend was taken out of it. They would have had a dreadful.time together." <;■_; - "Do you think .' 'said Dick. : • "Yes dear; sure of it. It doesnt do for people to go'awayand be parted ike that They are not the same when they come together again. • ■ ,- ■ " Oh, I don't know. I have been away seven years; you don't find me any different, d °" 7 wki I do!" said Mrs. Vincent, "You have got some queer, old-fashioned, bachelor ways of your own." * "Havel?" cried Dick. „ ■' "■' " Well Wes, I mist confess that you have. "Not -really?" asked Dick. ; .' ~ ~ "Yes, my "dear boy, really," persisted his mother. horrid!" was Dick's rejoinder "How horrid!" was Dick's rejoinder. . " Well, dear boy, perhaps you will be doing away with your bachelorism. "I don't think so," said-Dick,, shortly. "No? ; It seems a pity." Mrs 'Vincent meant that it would De a pity to let somebody else take possession of the oil well;- but Dick, who had once been as simple and open as the day, was sufficiently changed for her to hesitate in putting the thought into plain words. . . "I don't see that there is any particular pity about it," said Dick. ''■■■".Well, dear, it would be a sad thing it the old name should die out." ( "It won't die out," said Dick : there s Jack Vincent—who can keep up the traditions 'of, the old ; place far better than I should." . . ~. ~„. ,„- f L " "Jack Vincent!" cried his mother, with an air of disgust. " Jack Vincent, indeed— to rule at 'Hollingridge! /.Why,, your fattier would have a fit at the very mention of it "Don't mention it, dearest/' said Dick, easily 'HI want to marry later on I shall marry. If it pleases Providence to send me an heir, well/that will do away . with Jack Vincent's chance. But if I don't : want to Tarry I certainly shall nob.do. bo to keep Jack out of the inheritance, to which he has quite as much right as I have.' _ "No. right in the world," cried Mis. VmCe "6h come, come, you are prejudiced," said Dick. "There's . time enough, dear; and any day the next ten years will do to dSuss y that contingency. I'll bet.you the governor never worries his nead about it._ "More than you think," said Mrs.. Vm- °" Does he? : Poor dear! lam sorry. 'I "Does he? Poor dear! I am sorry. 1 wish he wouldn't, and I wish you wouldn t To tell you the truth, mother, I hate .to thinfcof the time when there will have to be a change of ownership./, The governor is n his right place as the; squire, and you.are in your right place as mistress of HollingridM Why you should be anxious to bring somebody in who would eventually turn you out I can't think. . , . , ■ : " I hope I am not selfish," cried his mother. "Selfish? Never anybody.less so. •■ > "Then you wouldn't like me to ask Mrs. and Miss Meredith down for a few aays. "No, I don't think so. ; \ v z __. ■ , The very thought of Cynthia at Hollmg- : /ridge was' enough to/set his pulse beating j at doubled: quick time. With an insurmount-1 able barrier; between them ,it would indeed,, 'his thoughts ran, be foolish if he allowed his mother fo foster any greater intimacy than existed / between them at present. .Of course, : he reminded himself, she, poor darling, did not know why it was better he should see as little of Roger Meredith's daughter as possible, j : .'■■'/: '. ;V .'. t /-//v:// ; ;;;'-:'/';.: I : -..] : ;/ ;/'//

] "I J think," said Mrs. Vincent to ■; Laura / ew bours - later, " what has come " DP* all right, mother," said Laura. \\ ,y «V' he ; isn't all right.../;': There's ■ some- ? thin/ 11 llis raind. /, He's quite changed; from •.] l? 'he was before he went away." -. . . well, dear, seven years of isolation would ]/ge him." ',';'•, '':..;//^ : //// ;: ' "'(■'■ /- ;; /Yes : but he has changed since he came 16k. I don't know what has happened, but /mething is weighing on Dick's mind. My ; ear, I do think we might ask the St. John girls over." / "The St. John girls? Why?" ' " Because they are bright and pretty—and Dick might fall in love with one Of them." i > " But you don't want Dick to fall in love with one of surely?" . - ■ "Yes, I do." . "But why?" "Because I think it would be better for him to be married and have a nice wife of his own, who would go to and fro between England and California, and make life altogether different for Dick." " I don't think you had better try interfering with Dick's'love affairs," said Laura, wisely. . ■'/ s' - - ;»' "Not interfere, dear, no— for ths world; that I have never done with any of you. But to put nice girls in his way, that is different. I am not like some mothers," she went on, preening herself complacently, " who can't bear to think of their sons marrying. I want him to marry, I want him to have a nice wife—one of our own sort, to be one of ourselves. I like the St. John girls." " Yes. Would you like them as daughters-; in-law, do you think?" " Well, only one at a time, dear," said Mrs. Vincent, with dignity. "I see. I don't think you would like the St. John girls at all. Dad can't bear them." "I never heard him say so," cried Mrs. Vincent. .. " I have, many a time," said Laura. " Oh, don't worry, dear, about Dick. Dick isn't feeling very well he's bothered about the Meredith affairs. Don't get faneying things about him ; he has quite enough on his mind, poor dear, without you worrying. You know, darling mother, you can't worry without "showing it." "My poor boy!" said Mrs. Vincent, pathetically. " I wish he would confide in me." '. But Dick neither, confided in his mother nor hi anyone else. He passed his time betwen Hollingridge and Foxborough, taking all that was to be bad in the way of shooting at either place. Then he received a letter from Mrs. Meredith. • "We feel quite hurt," she wrote, "that you have not yet been to see us. / This isn't keeping your promise, dear Mr. Vincent. Do find time, when you have lulled all the poor birds in your neighbourhood, . to come and see us in our resting-place here._ Cynthia is as happy as a child, and is looking better every day. For my own part, I particularly want to see you, that I may consult you about various business matters which are too much for me to decide alone. Do make an effort and come down for a few days." • So she was as happy as a child; and the little widow could not get on without him any longer. He knew that he had no choice but to go and take up at Brighton the same terms of intimacy that he had been on at Blankhampton. There was no getting out of it; he had no single excuse that could for a moment hold water with an astute little woman like Cynthia's mother. Yes, he would have to go. He broke the news to his mother, halfexpecting that she would grudge his absence, but Mrs. Vincent still had an eye to the other half of the oil well, and she was instantly all sweet and friendly sympathy. "Wants to consult you on business, does she?" she said. " Poor little woman ! Yes, you must go, dear boy. You can't leave her in the lurch.' I suppose she wants to know i how. to invest the money you brought over — something of. that kind. Poor irttle soul! I wish you would, let me have her here for a bit." " I didn't want them here," said Dick, shortly. • ' _. ..■ " No. no; so yon said, dear. But I wish you had. I think it would have been kinder on our part." , " No kindness at all," said Dick. "No?" queried Mrs. Vincent, and dismissed the subject from the conversation. • " Oh, how he does dislike that poor girl, she remarked to '• Laura afterwards. "What poor girl?" asked Laura. • " Why, the Meredith's daughter." "I don't think he does." "My dear child, I'm perfectly certain of it. I wanted to have them here—it seems only a natural thing when Dick was her father's great friend that— that the first visit should be to Dick's father and mother. . f Dick wouldn't hear of it." " Oh, wouldn't he? I suppose Dick knows. What makes you think he doesn't like her?" "I don't think about it, my dear child; I am perfectly certain of it. He shut me lip." . .;' .. - / • „ " Dick shut you up, mother: " Yes, shut me up quite short." "Oh, mother, what nonsense!" 5) "Is isn't nonsense, dear child ; it's fact. "I suppose she's rich?" said Laura. " Bich? She's got the other half of the oil well," cried Mrs. Vincent, with what was almost a scream. "Ah, and you are thinking of the oil well, are you, darling? Well, if Dick likes her, he wouldn't like her to think that he had an eye to the oil well." "This is positively silly!" cried Mrs. Vincent. CHAPTER XVIII. ' ,( Probably a less conceited man than Dick Vincent has never been born into the-world. Nevertheless he could not hide from/himself, when he walked into the Merediths' lodgings at Brighton the fact that Cynthia's grave grey eyes lighted up in a radiant blaze of glory as he entered the room. " - " Now you'll dine with us here to-night?" said Mrs. Meredith, when they had exchanged greetings and she was pouring out a cup of tea for Dick. "No, no. You'll dine with me at my hotel," said he. "I don't think that's right," . "Oh, ves, it is; most right. I haven't been to 'Brighton for years and years; in fact, I doubt if I have been here more than twice in my life and I shall be most hideously disappointed if you don't take me to all the sights and dine with me very night." " Oh, but that is not fair." " Yes, it is. quite fair. You give me your society "And you give us our dinner," laughed Cynthia. , . " ' ; " Well, if you like to put it that way, Miss \ Cynthia. I'don't in the least care how you ! put it, so long as I have my own way." "Well, well," said Mrs. Meredith, making a great show of yielding, " we won't quarrel over a point like that." We won't quarrel about anything," said Dick. And somehow, in spite of himself ! and of his wise resolutions, his eyes sought | Cynthia's, and on Cynthia's soft round cheeks there rose a colour which turned the faint peach-bloom of her natural tint to a fine roseate hue. In a sense Dick lost his head. He was intoxicated by the charming beauty of her presence, by the charm of her manmer, the thrill of her musical voice, the ineffable delight of her presence. /_ Then memory pulled him up with a jerk once more, and with a stifled sigh he turned to the little widow, who looked most dainty in her becoming widow's cap. " You wanted to consult me, Mrs. Meredith?" he said, with quite a change of tone. "Ah, yes,"but that will keep till to-mor-row. We won't talk business to-day. .Tomorrow morning I will show you the papers that I wanted to consult you about, and we will be as business-like as'the most businesslike man could desire. To-day we will forget ; we will only be friends to-day." " I am only too happy to be your friend," said Dick, "and we will leave all the busiI ness affairs -until the cold and calculating i morn. Meantime I see that the theatre is on. Shall we go to-night?" •- ."', . " It would be, pleasant," said Mrs. Meredith. , We have seen so little—Cynthia and " We have seen nothing," put in Cynthia with a gay laugh. ■ " I think, darling mother, that would be nearer the mark. We have seen nothing. You /see, Mr Vincent, dear and sweet as our vicar was at home, I think he would have drawn the line at the schoolmistress going to the theatre. ; So we never went— sometimes when we were at Rockferry for our summer holiday. The theatre ;at Rockferry isn't large." /. 'I ; " The theatre here at Brighton is a large one," said Dick. " There is always a good company, and on Thursday afternoons always a piece down from town. ; I shall take tickets on r my way back to the hotel ;> or stay—l can take them in the hotel itself. i -Jr. It must be confessed that, even to Dick , masculine eyes, Mrs- Meredith; and Cynthia : : : ' >;'/'/'/■-. ■"''■".- ■■"' ;'-; -- ; ' '// ■-. : -'\ y ' * : -'"\ v: /. : ;. r /'.;.'. ■ *■ '''' , -

bad done themselves very well in the matter of mourning. ; It is true that Mrs. Meredith was wearing weeds, but they were of the most ' pronouncedly - fashionable; type.; Her Marie Stuart cap was an airy creation, more like an announcement that its wearer was a widow than any symbol of grief. Her crape bodice was cut square, and filled into the throat with white pleated" lisse. If she had looked .to Dick very •■ young at their first f interview, she certainly seemed ten years younger now that he saw her well and fashionably dressed. As for Cynthia,, she was adorable. Her simple yet elegant mourning toilette was cut so as'to show a little of the softly rounded throat and her round and slender wrists. ' , ■■";' " She is the image of her mother, Dicks thoughts ran, "but, thank God, not so determined a character.'"' And tiien he remembered with a pang that he need not thank God— Cynthia Meredith would never be anything to him. He thought about her as he walked along the seafront to his hotel. She would never be anything to him—yes, always, always the one woman in the world to him: his heart would ever turn to her as the most fair and perfect of her sex; nothing could take that away. She could never be ..his wife because of that secret which lay hidden in his heart. She could never be his wife, but she always could and she always would be his ideal - , , . , .. He felt comforted as he turned into the hotel, and it was with a cheerful heart after all that he ordered a little table to be reserved for dinner, and then went out to th» bureau to see what places he could get for the theatre. ..- ; , This done, he went up to his room and dressed with quite a light heart, and when the two ladies arrived he met them with a beaming smile of welcome. Poor Dick! It was so hard to remember when m Cynthia's sweet presence that he must keep his heart under lock and key, that he must not let himself go, that he must watch every word that fell from his lips, that he must never forget that between them there was a great gulf fixed, a gulf which could never be bridged over on this side the grave. Left to himself, he might have forgotten— it is safe to say that he would have forgotten —but that curious likeness to her father in Cynthia's eyes brought him up every now and again as if he were a bird tied by the leg to a stone. It was curious, because Cynthia was so absurdly like her mother; _ it was only now and again, only when Dick felt the most drawn towards her, that that strange look of Roger Meredith would step in between them, of Roger Meredith as he had seen him last. Well, the morning after the dinner and the visit to the theatre, Dick went round to the Merediths' pleasant rooms in order to see what was the business on which Mrs. Meredith desired to consult him. "Ah, it is you,", she said, in a tone of satisfaction. "How good of you to come so early! Cynthia has gone out for a blow on the front, so we are quite alone. Now, I am going to take you right into my confidence," "I hope so," said Dick. " I daresay you won't be pleased," said the little woman. \ . * " Oh, why not?" " Because ' I am going to tell you what, somehow, I feel will vex you." • " Oh, ho, Mrs. Meredith. Why should anything you tell me vex me?" '"'Well, we like Brighton." "You are thinking of taking a house here?" "Not at present. You know, all our treasuresheaven knows they are not many!" she said, with a sigh and a smile, "I have left in safe keeping in London." "Yes?" " By and by we shall settle clown somewhere", and we shall make ourselves a home; but not yet." _ ' "No? " You desire to travel?" " Yes, that's just it. We desire to travel. Now we want to know when you are going back to Santa Clara." .. " I propose to go back in about six weeks' time," he replied. "Six weeks' time? Now, I know you will be vexed at what I am going to say." "I will try not to be, Mrs. Meredith." " Well, we want to go over with you." "Oh, but—" ''"'■■; " Yes, I knew you would say ' but'—yes, of course I knew that; but we want to go, do you see? And we mean to go." "Of course, if you mean to go, if you have set your minds on going," said Dick, ''well, I suppose you will go." "I suppose we shall," said the little widow. "I quite understand your wish to see the place, it's a perfectly natural wish ; to you there is something very fine and delightful in the idea, but you won't enjoy it.". " No, perhaps not. But I shall have satisfied myself." "Satisfied yourself .'"His heart was beating so that he could scarcely pronounce the words. " Satisfied yourself ho echoed. Mi's. Meredith nodded. " Yes," she said, " I have set my heart on seeing the place where Roger passed the last seven years of his life. I mean to go to his grave. Oh, yes, I mean to go to the place where he -died." " You must do as you like," said Dick, in a steady, calm voice. I am bound to confess that his calmness was the calmness of despair. He felt assured that once Mrs. Meredith found herself at Midas Creek, in the very hotel where Roger had died, she would spotyes, that was the word he used, remember, gentle reader ; do not think that I, his author, am using so unliterary a word, I am but detailing his thoughts at the moment, and that was the phrase as Dick Vincent put it in his mindshe would spot the identity of the man who had fled by the advice of the landlord and Valentine Clegg; she would root out Valentine Clegg; she would do a thousand things that would be inconvenient and tiresome. Well, let her do it. Lei the worst come to the worst; he could but own to it all and explain that his only thought in concealment had been to save her pain. After all, nobody could blame him. It was a mere matter of sentiment, it could be but a mere matter of sentiment that his happened to be the hand on the revolver at the critical moment when Meredith's brain gave out; there was nothing personal about it. Oh, the woman was determined; she must do as she pleased. If.'she chose to go to Santa Clara she must go. " "What are you thinking of, Mr. Vincent?" said Mrs. Meredith, looking at him fixedly. ' . .. " I was wondering how we could manage the journey so that you would be tolerably comfortable," he replied. '" " Oh, as to that we are no feather-bed creatures, sugar and salt, wrapped in cottonwool. You came down; where you came down we can go up." " That doesn't follow," said Dick. "Well, it doesn't; but if we suffer, why, we suffer; and it will be no fault of yours, for I can honestly say that you genuinely tried to scare me off. But I am not to be scared off. I want to see the place that was called after me. I have never had a yard of earth in my lifenot so much as the freehold of a grave. I have.got a fine estate out there; I want to see it." i "Yes, well, that is possible enough," said Dick. " All that I am afraid of is that you will be hideously disappointed when you do see it. Over* here one somehow thinks of California as a garden.' There is precious little' of a garden about it, Mrs. Meredith. However, if you have made up your mind to go. perhaps it is better that yon should go and get it done with. You won't want to stay there very long, that's certain. You think of the ranche as a fine estate; as far as money value goes it is a fine estate ; as far as beauty goes, don't have any idea that you are going to find the counterpart there of what you call a fine estate here. If you go out there, if it is only for a month, you will go out to a rough life, to rough work, i to a total want of convenience, to disappointment I am certain to disappointment — you will be satisfied. I won't say another word against it." > ... "Now, I never thought I could bring you round to reason like that," said Mrs. Meredith, looking at him with a quizzical air. "I told Cynthia to go out and stop out till one o'clock, because I expected it would be a long time before I should bring you to reason." /■/"■ .'■.•' ''... • " But, my dear lady, there's no bringing me to reason. You are free to do as you choose. You have a perfect right to go out if you wish to do so. I only have tried to dissuade you because I have been there, and I know how beastly it all is to an English mind; but if you have set your heart upon it,' why, there's nothing more to be said. I can't stop your going. You won't want to go. twice." ' '" That's as may be. I am delighted that you have come round, and that you are so sensible. I hate people who are not sensible. ■ Something tells me that I ought to go; something that's with me by day aM

most of the night, something that's always about me, says : 'Go to Santa Clara./ Now,' should I have such a feeling for nothing?" " I don't know," said Dick. %-" You might. I don't feel that yon will be any happier for going. But then I am not you, and you must do ; as you like. ; Do you think he—do you wish me to think that—l mean, is it thatthat Meredith himself is calling you," he asked, in a curious strained voice, " that Meredith ; is influencing you from where !he may be, that he wants you to gois urging you to go? Do you think Meredith wants you to clear up anything connected with his death V CHAPTER XIX. -When Dick Vincent r put the question straight- to Roger Meredith's widow which asked whether she had any feeling that there might be some mystery to clear up connect-; ed with his death he 'felt exactly as if he were signing his own death warrant. "I don't know," she said. "It might be. I can only tell you that ever since I knew, that Roger was dead 1 have had the same curious feeling that I must go to Santa Clara, the feeling of somebody calling me. I don't know whether it is Roger or not. I only know that I must go." "In that case," said Dick, "I think that you are perfectly right to make up your mind and carry it through. So, Mrs. Meredith, we will consider it settled. I will do my best to make you feel the journey as little as may be; it's a very tedious journey, and you will find but little comfort when you get to the end of it; excepting the comfort of having a mind at ease." " .:. "You will stay and have lunch with us?" said Mrs.' Meredith presently,' when they had finished their business talk. " Oh, you are very kind. Yes, I'd like to —if it doesn't inconvenience you." '." Not the least. And Cynthia- will be delighted. She wanted to see you ; she has something that she wants to ask you. No, I won't tell you what it is, because I hate having things said for me. Oh, Mr. Vincent, I can't tell you how delighted she will be that you have consented to our going out with you." " Consented? I wish you wouldn't put it in that way. The world is perfectly free to you to do as you like, and Miss Cynthia also. I had no business to give 'an opinion even—let alone consent. Surely, . Mis. Meredith, you understood that from tho beginning?" .'■." Oh, yes ; but we shouldn't have gone dead against you. We've too much faith in your judgment for that. We quite see now what you meant ' about Brighton. Mind, I think it was the best place under the circumstances— I think it was quite the best place that' wo could possibly have come to; but I quite see why you disapproved, and I think you were perfectly right. I shouldn't like to live here, except in the winter ; I shouldn't like to come hare another year—another summer. As it is, I fancy that it has served our turn better than any of us know ; and I think when you see Cynthia you will agree with me." When Dick Vincent did see Cynthia Meredith he was convinced of one thing—that she was the loveliest girl he had ever seen in his life, and that if he should live to be a hundred years old no other woman would ever have quite the same effect upon him as she. She, on her side, was unmistakably' delighted to see him again, but in truth Dick himself was too overwhelmingly in love to bo able to read quite accurately what her face ought to have told him. In his self•abasement he put down tho. softly shining eyes, the delicately blooming cheeks, the gay, insouciant manner to the benefit that she had received from change of air. Without doubt the girl was better for the rest and change and ease which had come into her life ; she was the better for these things, as her mother was indisputably better for being out of anxiety at last; but it was not change of air or ease of circumstances that had made Cynthia look as she looked at that moment. " Now, you see her in the daylight," cried Mrs. Meredith, who was as blind in her way as Dick was in his ; " now you see what change has done for this young lady." . ; "Ah, change is good • for. everybody," cried Cynthia. "Well, have you two settled all" your wonderful business arrangements?" "Yes, darling, we have settled everything. Mr. Vincent is going to stay to lunch, and I have a groat piece of news for you." She looked up quickly at Dick, a sudden pallor overspreading her countenance. "Why, what has happened?" she asked, in a tone of apprehension. "Oh, nothing disagreeable, dearest; nothing but that Mr. Vincent has come round to my way of thinking. He has quite come to see, darling, that it would be better if we go out to Santa Clara when he does." " Oh, really. Why, what magic have you used to make him change his opinion like this?" ■'■-~: ■ '' y X "I don't know that I have changed my opinion, Miss Cynthia," said Dick. As I said in the beginning, you will be woefully disappointed with Santa- Clara. You will have a very long and tedious journey, and you will suffer many and hideous inconveniences, but your mother will satisfy her mind, and, after all, that is an important item." * • Cynthia laughed, the colour rushing back to her face again. " Mr. Vincent," she said, "to you who have been half the world over, it must seem very foolish that we should so persistently want this one thing." To you a long journey is a bore ; to us it is a novelty and an experience ; and the longer it is and the more fatiguing, tho more thoroughly we shall enjoy it. Why, don't you remember the man in Punch, in a third-class carriage between Edinburgh and London? He says, ' What a. ghastly long drive it is!' And his fellow-passenger, a canny Scotchman, exclaims, i 'Mon, the ticket cost one pun, twelve-and-saxpence. Ye need hae something for your money.'" - "Oh, yes, yes," said Dick, "I see your point; and a's long as you are not disappointed I needn't say that to me the presence of ladies nt Santa Clara will be a joy. I told poor Roger, your father; often enough that you would come' there and be perfectly happy." He dropped bis voice so that Mrs. Meredith, who was speaking to the servant who had just entered, could not hear what ha said.

• Cynthia dropped her voice to the same level. " It is my mother's great wish," she': said. "I have never known her so entirely set upon anything. She would have been wretched if you hadn't given way. Thank you very much, Mr. Vincent, , You have i been so good to us." , i "Don't say that," he said, "the goodness is all the other way." Then Mrs. Meredith turned back towards them again, and the conversation passed i into other and lighter channels. ■ . It is hard adequately to convey the state 1 of Dick Vincent's mind at this juncture, j What he suffered was not less than torture, j With every day, every hour, he became more and more hopelessly and passionately in love with Cynthia Meredith. There -were times when he made up his mind that he would risk everything ; that he would ask her to marry him; others when he felt that there was no help for it but making a clean breast of the whole story once for all; but, strange to say, so surely as he made up his mind that he would risk all and ask Cynthia to marry him, so did always that curious look come into her eyes which reminded him of her father. Of course it was a natural thing that the girl should resemble her father in some particular, and her deep, grey eyes were almost the only feature in whioiti there was any likeness to Roger Meredith. Sometimes he would make up his mind that he would tell the mother and daughter that his was the'hand which had sent Meredith to his last account; yet whenever he drew near to the subject, by some chance Cynthia always contrived to check him. That was pure accident, of course, and perhaps something to do with the fact that it was not, naturally, a very palatable confession for a young man to have to make. At such times he would feel that he had been a fool ever to think of upsetting their minds and their confidence in him by saying a single word of what was not actually necessary to be told. " If I cannot stop her from going to Midas Creek," his thoughts ran, ''surely something will happen so that she' will not go ferreting everything out there. . Perhaps it may not be the same landlord : perhaps we might go, and not a soul recognise me or remember much about Meredith's death. It isn't such an uncommon thing. for a man to get put out of the way. like that. I don't suppose the affair made more than a stir of an hour or two ; and evidently the jury sympathise with me, or, they never .would have brought it in ' Died by the visitation of God.' It was only their way of acquitting me ■ of "blame.".!; . -V.--.. Then he tore himself away from Brighton, and went, back to Hollingridge. That time ho was fully determined that, somehow or another, he must break with the Merediths.

Yes, lie fully made up his mind that' life at- this rate was not -worth living, and that anything would be better; than the anguish of mind to "which* he "was now subject. ■ . " " i " Going down to Brighton again said his mother, when eight or ten days had cfune by.-- . - : "- , , , "Yes, I must go down. I have rather important business. I shall ■■ be * back in forty-eight hours." He happened to meet' Cynthia on his way from :;' his hot el to ; the Merediths' lodgings, and-at the sight of the speaking grey * : yes, the quivering of the tremulous lips, and the heightening of the lovely rose-bloom on the face, it may as well be confessed that HI his good resolutions took unto themselves wings ; and flew away. 'V " ■-:'■;■:. , ■; He .stayed two days in Brighton that time, going away more : hopelessly in love than ever—more convinced that the marriage could not be, and that, Cynthia was not for him.-; % . : "I am sure you are not well." said Mrs. '■ Meredith to him on the second day. ' " No, I* am not very well," ue replied. " It's nothing; don't worry about it, I beg" So he went back to Hollingridge, where his mother was much exercised in her mind, and though she did not say a word to him, she several times confided her doubts end fears to Laura." "I cannot tell what is the matter with Dick. I never saw anybody so changed in my life. He's like a "person who cannot rest." •' , - . ■ "I suppose," said Laura, "that he has been doing labourer's work for the hist seven years, and now finds a life of ease and idleness almost intolerable." " I don't think it is that," said Mrs. Vincent, "and yet I don't know what it is. There is something that we do net knew anything about." "Then, my dear mother, you may be sure that we' shall never kn-t w," said Lam a"," 7 wisely. '•: " He's in love that's whats the matter with Dick." "I don't think so," said Laura. -.. ; " I don't think ; I'm sure of it. Now is it that Meredith girl, or isn't it?" . " He says she's very pretty," was Laura's remark. - ' "-Yes, but I begged him to let me ask them here for a few days. I think it would be the only proper thing for me to do. J; He wouldn't hear of it. . He says they are ladies. The girl is very pretty. He seems to like them very much, and—and— j "Well?" said Laura. , i Well, I'm looking ahead at the future a little." :: ( _ • '•• ' _ '.".. -J "As how?" " Miss Meredith is the heiress to half the oil well; which last year yielded a little oyer ten thousand pounds. Now it seems a pity to me, as she is young and pretty, and a lady, and Dick is unmistakably in love with her, that—well, that Dick doesn't marry her." ' . . "Perhaps she won't have Dick." "So likely!" said the mother with dignified scorn. " Where has she had the chance to meet such man as Dick?" ' "Well, dear, it isn't quite that. Girls, especially when they are young, have their fancies—just as men have. Perhaps Dick has: already asked her. He went down to Brighton and stayed two days." "Well, he told me he should be back in forty-eight hours." ; •" But he. wasn't back in forty-eight hours, dearest." "He was only there two days. The question is, did Dick propose? If so, did she refuse him?" " I don't know." " I wish I could see the girl, then I should know in a minute." ~ ' "Well, dearest, perhaps it is just as well that you can't," "was Laura's sensible reply. "Look here, mother, take my advice. Don't say a word to Dick." ""As if I should!" ', / " You might. Try not to think about it. Leave Dick" to manage his own affairs by himself. If he wants the girl you may be sure that he will do his best to win her. Meantime, it's no use asking other girls over, because Dick will have none of them." "T know that," said Mrs. Vincent,- ruefully' . And it was quite true. Dick absolutely declined to be fascinated by any of the young ladies in the neighbourhood of Hollingridge. They might be rich, or wellborn,, or pretty," or charming, or possessed of any other 'desirable quality that young men look for in their wives ; it was all the same to Dick, and before he had been at home a week lie again took flight and his way to Brighton, this time fully"determined that come what might he would not let "1 dare not" wait upon "I will." He would make the horrid plunge, and put himself face to face with the truth, whether, when Cynthia knew that her father had died by his hand, she would scorn him or not. He determined that he would break the news first to Cynthia, that if Cynthia took it in the wrong way he could quietly efface himself without paining her mother by the disclosure. He could leave it to Cynthia whether she chose to tell her or not.: It happened that he had some difficulty in finding a suitable opportunity. He did not choose to tell her in her lodgings, because there they were never free from the chance of being "interrupted by her mother. He planned out a long walk to some point of interest which would offer a feasible excuse for such an excursion. Yes, he would tell her then ; and if she was upset they would be on a quiet country road and nobody would be the wiser if she gave way to emotion. But alack and alas! it poured for the better part, of three whole days; and beyond going to a concert at the Pavilion, to the theatre, and to one of the hotels to dine, neither Mrs. Meredith nor Cynthia ventured out of doors at all. Then, on the third morning, he received a telegram from his sister Laura—" Father very ill. Fear hopeless. Come home at once."