A SHADOWED LOVE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12955, 26 August 1905, Page 3 (Supplement)

A SHADOWED LOVE.

By PEED M. white. Author of "The Slave of Silence" " Lirlv Bountiful," "The Weight of The' Crown," " Craven Fortune." " Tho Corner House." eta., etc.

[COPYRIGHT.!

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

CHAPTERS I. to V._Diek Stevenson, a .ten--glim: young novelist living in London, finds himself in immediate need of cash. -There is money owing to him ill the Daily Kccord, but the cashier pays only on Fridays and declines Dick's pressing request. Dick calls at the house of Mr, Spencer the manager, who receives him kindly, uavs the rush, mid asks him to call at the office" the following night, with the possibility of getting petmanent work. .Having seer, Mr. Spencer in an imported light Dick lias only a vague impression of the newspaper manager's personal appearance but he happened to pet the house dog, and is struck with Hie beauty of a girl he saw in the hall, apparently Mr. Spencer's daughter. Later the same night Dick has an adventure. He bv chance comes upon a man who has been slightlV hurt and who speaks of having been pursued bv somebody. With some difficulty lie assists the stranger home. II is Mr. Silencer's house' there is no mistaking it, tor there is the house do" and the beautiful girl. The girl i, blind. She' is grateful to Hick for assisting her father and ,-'ivr-'s him a bunch of Bowers to remember her by,' but evades his questions os to her name and identity Arrived home he shows Ids sister Mollv ilie flowers, and out of the package falls a photograph of the blind, girl. Molly recognises the photo. a" that of an old schoolfellow. Mary Guy. Herr Greigstein, a German master in a North London school and a boarder on the same Hat, drops in and on glancing at the photo, displays much agitation. ' r

CilAi'Tßits VI. ami YH.-While glancing over an evening paper Dick comes across an advertisement, evidently meant to catch his eve asking him to return the photograph. He returns' the photo ami licit niglil cull) on Mr. Spencer, and finds' he is the man lie assisted the previous cvenlne The interview is satisfactory, mid Dick "els ""a permanent appointment. Ure.igstein again" drop* in on Dick, and it is apparent that in" some wav which Dick cannot explain the German teacher i's mixed up in the Spencer mystery. CHAPTER VIII. ONE OK Tilt'. STATELY HOMES OF ENGLAND. Triicnr, are some fine houses in the Thames Valley between Oxford and Windsor, but none of greater beauty than Stanmere. It is not large, . but it is pure Tudor, with never so much as a stone or window restored; its grey gables arc softened and beautified by the hand of time; the velvet lawns have been rolled and shaven and shaven and rolled for three centuries. But the beauty of the place lies in its grounds. There are green terraces sloping hi a lake, which is fed by a strong stream. The lake is dotted with islands and surrounded by woods at the far end. which renders it dark and gloomy. There is a summer-house with steps leading down to the water, and here Lady Stanmere spends a deal of her time in the warm weather. The great green woods arc wonderfully cool and silent; great dragon-flies hover over the still water, covered here and there by sheets of white water-lilies; the paths all round are of grass, and behind them are. yews cut into fantastic shapes like a stone cloister turned into living green. Withal the peace and silence is very mournful, as if some tragedy brooded here. And in sooth there had been trouble enough and to spare at Stanmere. Lady Stanmere had lived to sec her husband taken out of the placid lake where the dragon-flies were brooding, and laid in what was no better than a suicide's grave; she had lived to see one son an outlaw and the other a nameless wanderer, until she could do uo more thiol marvel at the amount of suffering she could endure and yet retain her reason. And here she was now, white-haired, broken, gentle, yet with some gleams of the once haughty spirit that had sustained her in the dark years of her life.

But this was not all the mystery. Whom the property would go to when Lady Stanmere no longer needed it nobody knew, save perhaps, Mr. Martlett, the family lawyer, who was never yet known to tell anything to a soul. For all Lady Stanmere, knew, both her sous were dead, and they might|or might not have left a son behind them. And. the mvsterv was rendered deeper by the fact that the last of the reigning Stanmcres had left ids property hopelessly encumbered and had died heavily in debt, It was not an extravagant household, for Lady Stanmere's wants were simple ; but the grounds were superb, and a small army of gardeners were required to keep them trim and in the beautiful order for which they had always been famous,

Yet, despite debt ami difficulty, everythin" was going on just the same as usual. Tlm"orchard houses and the vineries poured out their purple and golden harvest, the green lawns and the luxurious gardens were as trim and riotous as ever, not a single hoy was discharged. And from time to lime the thin, dried'-up little Marllctt presented certain papers for Lady Stanmere to i„ji and with a cough that defied question, stated that this or that further mortgage had teen paid off. A wonderful manager, Martiett, people said. But Martlelt was as dumb as an oyster. Lady Staumere sat in the summer-house overlooking the lake, her long, slim, lianas engaged in some pretty silk meshwork upon whiel. she was constantly working IJosl long, slim hands were, never still for long *°|£ had been tall and straight once, now .be was bent and broken Yet the dark eyes in the pale face could Hash at tunes, i the old imperious ring come back into the gentle voice. For. a long space lln hands with their flashing rings went, m and out of the silken web A goigeous Stterfly hovered round the honeysuckle aver the porch. . -j "Acb, my beauty,"/ deep voice said. "So I've got you now!" ■ , At the sound of that voice the back net ting fell a tangled heap into Lady StaamcrVslap. A %wfM* cry escaped he. There was something like fear i errand yet not so much fear ™J*Wf C( £. pectation. With a great effort, slie com posed herself and walked to the entiance th "CwrS' she said, **%"$" ,nipri s «l,I«a S tam.dofyo«. l*u»» net down and come and tell me * bat !»' V tSi dropped Ins net insUrntly, not wiUiout a iKussini l°» k of rc 8 et fo n Leysuekle. His manner -c i anecd grUer_ ]y that his friend,, would baldly lu ve Raised him. Plainly, as be p iS „J £, there was no suggestion of the .gu* schoolmaster about him Xnd U»g enhad become singularly good and deafly undated. •,„„_ t a a« Stan"l am exceedingly sorry, dear Wg* u mere :fluul not the vemo^^luM were here. I came down to, see you though 1 have been here foiye«c on was off without any attempt to do BfcJ. trying to think out some »°* h ec J * > &e without coming up to the house, sight of that superb a ~ "Still the same strange cor lady .Stanmere cried. h" 11 ~f But ends by the trivia ities | a^ofmir you may come in there is no cnancc u< a you may come in tiered no being interrupted here, Have . news for me?" . , ~ „ „.,ifnl coolGreigslcin followed into the gratoWl ha rdBM of the summer-house, All v ness had died out of 'is eyes, his was gentle, almost subservient. h(j "I believe you have forgiven me,

w id. believe that• I have forgiven every* «] believe that I have fotg ve » fiVe / a b0.1v." Lady Stamnero replied- . hufi . Hungarian patriot like you »■ *£ wild band"ruined himself and died foi on scheme: my son Stephen wW. ; vos -for fear of his life— if indeed he still lues the same cause." , ~,, outlet "Stephen was bound to. have? a* for his tremendous energies, up the ■aid, coolly. "If ho had not token uj cause, he would have given way i alldl and gambling and such like c^> mowhcY never countenanced violence. matt bethat I am a disgraced a,ul broken m« cause [ stood between Stephen grip of the law." . ~ speaker's eyes for moment, Mm gW that one eyes ior a moment, .. geliera l might see on the face 01 a b stanmere in the horn of misfortune. JW on his laid her hand with a pretty g^ 10 arm. i voU " she "I did not mean to wouna 1 fe . -aid, gently. "And I mustnot teW sponsible for the wild blood 01 ]f It is only because I am so utterly

vnii „, ml m vsell retrj-etv. hm tint wis a Von W™!i lnd ,? eth at my mother meeting?'' WlMgeL You W"«» last cd^alol^c^etitrGrcigsteiaa*. "in?TJk» e » " eed^ l f° ißto Lhat ' Ifcis to seenLtf • l ly l ne ™' hoped matter n agam. But Mary was another v r" not to WWe l ° hnd ller fol ' llie > >'«« And ill 1 i I?™', again Ulllil y° dW'so. hJSt '• CHl ' (l • rour voice I"'' 1 »™ my

odlin I k n° l '" , Grei gstein murmurNow 3 aM !™ ll >'-'' that WIS the promise. pea™;:; 1 ,." 16 UIC £tor 7 ° f thc *&> d -l> "A mystery," Lad - V Staamcre.' cried, K l° Vy tlu ( n S connected with this house. Nec emystenouslyjateatuight.wit.ha el note to the effect that her fathers £ «V»l/ U T gei ' and ll,at l was ' to give «' shelter. I can sec hef how, as she. joodntje hall with those beautitellighl ess blue eyre turned oh me intuitively She kl, f"; nothing, she could tell me no lung except , that her father was ; . e. And [ took her to my starved heart, and tor nearly two years I was quite happy." A tear or two stood in Lady Stanmew's eyes Incipient lilted her hand to his lips and kissed it. l "Then, 1 understand, she disappeared again, he said. ll "As mysteriously as she came. She went or a walk in the park, a walk that she had learnt by heart, She never came back again, but an hour or two afterwards a stranger left a card for me, saying Mary had gone, and that as I valued the peace and future of our house I was to do nothing."

"And you consulted old Martlett, of course?"

"I did. His advice to me was-to do just as 1 was told. What could a helpless' old woman like myself, strangled in these mysteries, do? But if you know anything—" " 1 know something, but 'not much. Accident has placed a clue in my hands. 1" or reasons which will be obvious to you, I am in humble guiso in London at present. My single room is in Pant-street, from which charming locality I go to teach German in a school. Beneath mo lodge a charming young couple, by name .Stevenson. They are the son and' daughter of the late vicar here." " This is very interesting," Lady Stanmere murmured. "So it occurred to me. I have made friends with these young people. I have even put money in their way. for they are very poor. Now, tell me, did these Stevensons know your niece by any chance''" "1 don't see how they possibly could," Lady Stanmere said, thoughtfully', " seeing that they left the vicarage some time before .Alary first arrived here.'' "Which only serves to heighten the mystery_ and make, it more interesting," Greigstein replied. "Now, a few nights ago, young Stevenson bad a, queer sort of adventure. There can lie no doubt that he was in close contact with both your— but wo need not go into that." Greigstem paused in some confusion. There was just a gleam of suspicion and anger in the glance that Lady Stanmere gave him.

" You are. concealing something from me," she said.

"Well, I am," Greigstein replied, coolly. " With your gracious permission I propose to go on doing so for the present. Now, young Stevenson told me part of the adventure. He little guessed what a mine of information lie had tapped for me. Mixed up in that adventure was a photograph. I saw that photograph with my own eyes. And it was a photograph quite recently taken of your niece Mary." The silken mesh fell from Lady Stanmere's hands. The agitation of those long, slim fingers told a tale of silent suffering. But there was a hope in her eves now that made the white face beautiful.

"You are certain'/'' she asked. "But you could not make a mistake. Strange that Mary should have made friends with people from our own parish. Then you really have solved the mystery'/'' " Not yet. You must have patience. Your niece was no friend of these young people. By a judicious question or two I elicited 'the fact that the photograph in question had come quite by accident into' Dick Stevenson's hands. The boy knows very little, but his .sympathies have been enlisted on the side of those whose interest it is to keep the matter secret,'' "Then ho declined to tell you''" "Absolutely. For the present Ave must leave things "as they are. Your niece is safe and happy. Later on I may bring her back to you. But you must have patience. Lady Stanmere, you are- attached to this place'/" ■ Lady Stanmere looked across the lake ,to tile silence of the green woods beyond. Her eyes filled with tears. "God knows I am,'' she said. "It's all that remains to me, my dear old home and the recollection of the early days." "And yet there is mystery here. Even you dare not inquire whence comes the mysterious prosperity that lias built up the future of the family again. And in that strange hidden fortune the disappearance of your niece plays its pari. Mind vou, I don't know for certain, I can only surmise. Therefore we must proceed slowly. Of course, I could force the truth, but, at the same time, I might bring about an explosion that would lay Stanmere in ruin;;." Lady Stanmere threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. "As you please," she .said. "I am utterly helpless. Only bring Mary back to me," give me something to love and care for. This place is very dear to me, but there are times when I am utterly lonely." Greigstein kissed the slim fingers once more. ' A little while later and he had forgotten everything of his mission, and his own stormy past, in the heart-whole pursuit of a saffron-hued butterfly. It was characteristic of the man that he could give himself over, heart and soul, to those gentle pursuits. The butterfly was captured presently on the terrace before the house. A horrified footman demanded to know if the intruder was aware of the fact that he was trespassing. Greigstein meekly admitted the fact. ° "Then you'd better be off, my man," Hie footman said loftily. "And mind as I don't ketch you 'ere again." Greigstein went oft' meekly enough, and filled with a proper awe of the gorgeous footman. Relieved of that inspiring prepuce he could afford to laugh. "Not a bad clay's work," he said. "Site has forgiven me, which is much. And, really, that is a very fine specimen of the 'clouded yellow.'"

CHAPTER IX.

"the tiger moth."

" And so I am going to be left to the beauties of Pant-street and my butterHies" said Greigstein, pulling meditatively at his cigarette. " Miss Molly, I shall be desolate. Hera Dick, do not forget your old friend when you are famous' * Dick replied that it would be a long process, It was the last night he and Molly would be in Pant-street, a hot, airless night that brought the moisture .hiding on the faces of them all. loSorrow they would be in a pretty, sweetsmelling place of their own. _ " •'And do you give us an occasional thought from your butterflies, Molly laughed "You pretend to bewail our |m«° and you have been out every night Ms' week' after your specimens., Again this evening?" , , , „ T "I mast," OMigstem protested. I go, „ i l,,ve done constantly ol late, to Cambria Square. specimen into ™,"'« SSj.Vt*" 'a" ly g «"l tO Z C gleamed in GreigJ,l eve At the same time he leanl'bJsmils in his chair watching tin blue smoke drift upwards. A colling else was on thetablebyhiss.de. M ■J "St you don't collect even the Dick regarded him fii »A y 'penny for your thoughts, Herr "!&„«*SteianaJ," Dick replied. jnev were pi" , rk ew your lif& " l """ wishing gj*itiS discovery for hist ° ry r, to'! So? a'harmless coa novelist to make * himhng m lector of feraaattrj g re volver." London sauares with

Again the steely points in Greigstein's eyes flashed.

' And I," he cried, "would give much to wipe out the past and stand as von do. Good night, my dear young friends. I invito myself to breakfast with you tomorrow. Meanwhile, my moth may be waiting." He went off coolly enough, whistling an air as be went. Through "the dark streets ho took his way to Cumbria Square. As he crossed over to the gardens a clock somewhere struck the, hour of midnight. A policeman passing by touched his hat to the German. Evidently the two had met before. Then Greigstein sat down on the edge of the pavement, and proceeded to pull a pair of goloshes over his boots. He took a key from his pocket and proceeded to open the big ; ron gates leading into the gardens. The hinges slipped back noiselessly as if they had been oiled lately.

_ Once inside there was no occasion' for further secrecy. The big trees and the closely-planted shrubs made a perfect screen. Vet. Greigstein crept along noislessly, as if fearful lest the breaking of a twig should scare away his quarry. He crept along in the same eat-like manner until he reached the railings near the snot of Dick Stevenson's adventure. Then ho lay at full length behind a laurel bush and waited patiently. He fumbled intuitively for his cigarette-case, but abandoned the longing for tobacco with a, sigh. He waited patiently for an hour or more, listening intently to any passiug sound. Then a shadow hovered before the railings and another figure crept through into the gardens by means of the railing that moved. '•'Ah," Greigstein muttered, "so I have got my tiger moth!" The figure came along, actually stepping on the back of the German's hand as he passed. The latter was on his feet in a moment. His arms shot out and the cold bine rim of a revolver barrel was pressed against the intruder's neck.

" Don't stir," Greigstein whispered. "As you value your precious and estimable existence, don't stir an inch. Oh, yes, it is a revolver you feel against you right enough. Go down on your knees.'' The stranger obeyed. He seemed absolutely overcome by fear or surprise. "Well, now 1. proceed to place, these spectacles over your eyes. They fit tight by means of extra springs. For the purpose of, ocular display they are not a success, seeing that the lenses are of ground glass. Now permit mc to take your arm and lead you from here. If you' try to give an alarm—-" The pause was ominous. The other man gave no sign, though Greigstein could feel his arm quivering. Presently they were walking rapidly along the deserted streets, stopping ami turning and crossing the road as danger threatened. At length Greigstein dexterously piloted his capture into his own room, locking the door behind him. "Now, my tiger moth," ho said, jubilantly, and speaking for fcho first time in his natural voice, "now, my scorpion, take off these glasses." The glasses were snatched oil' and flung violently across the room. A tall man with a, fine face and noble presence stood confessed. But the thin lips and shifty eyes detracted from the first favourable impression ; there was a nasty red shade in the eyes, a. certain restless movement of the hawklike lingers, " Von Wraugel," he exclaimed. "J. might have guessed it. Always florid, always theatrical, if you had taken the trouble to send for me—"

" You would not/ have come, Stephen," Greigstein said quietly. " Beside?, J. did mot know your address. By accident I heard that you were likely to be found some of these nights near Cambria Square, therefore J waited for you. Only force could have compelled your presence." " But no force can compel me to speak." "You will toll me everything that I desire to know," Greigstein said. " Bali, I have only to hold up my hand, and you are no more than an empty husk of coin by the wayside. A word or a sign and you are a dead body floating ou the Thames. For the sake of your good name and the noble race you belong to, 1 am here in London little better than an outcast. You betrayed us, and you betrayed those who were against the cause. And because of that your father drowned himself in the lake at Stanmere. You nearly killed your mother—she would be dead now if she only shared our knowledge. Bah, you will tell me all that 1 desire to learn, and you know it."

The oilier man muttered something. He was palpably ill at case. "Go on," lie said, " and get it over. 1 don't suppose my society is any more congenial to yon than yours is to mc. Speak out."

" I am coining to it. Sit down and smoke. I. shall hod detain you long; .1 shall say nothing of your search, which is doomed to be unsuccessful. It is of the past that 1 desire knowledge. What have you done with the girl''" "What girl? If you are alluding to Man--"

"Of course I am. How a pure white soul like hers ever came—. Bub I need not touch that. And when your mother came to love her you look her away cruelly without a word. Of all the cruel, dastardly things you ever did—" ".Stop!" the other cried. 'His voice rang clear and loud. "With all my faults- i' loved that child. She was everything to me. lu her presence I was another man ; of my past she guessed nothing. When the time came that 1 could have her back with me, 1 sought her. And she had vanished." "Vanished?" Grcigstein said hoarsely. "Dog! if you dare lie to me—" "Before God 1 am telling the truth, Von Wrangel. I can look you in the face and say it again and again. I know not where the child has gone. I have laid my cherished vengeance aside to find her. Ay, I would go down on my knees to you if you would tell me where Mary is now." Greigsleiu had no reply. The cigarette fell from his fingers and smouldered unheeded on the floor. The man spoke no more than the truth. "For once in my life," Grcigstein said slowly, " I am utterly and hopelessly beaten." CHAPTER X. A POLICY OF SILENCE. Dick Stevenson, face to face with Mr. Spencer in. the Record office, could say nothing' for a time. Surely his new-found friend must recognise him for the man who had done him a signal service so short a time ago. But there was absolutely no sign of recognition in Spencer eyes. Well, it did not much matter. Dick's plain policy was to be discreet.. He would hold the secret of the adventure close, and some day it could be turned to account. He wailed now for Spencer to speak. " Tell me all about yourself," the latter said presently. "Do not be afraid. 1, too, have known what it is to he poor." Dick spoke freely enough. Spencer might have been a mystery, there- might be something terribly wrong- about his past, bub his was a face that most men would trust. And as Dick told his history ho felt that his' companion was following him with the deepest interest and attention. "The old story." he said kindly. "All you want is a start. lb is good work that you have done for us, but, unfortunately, there are so many journalists nowadays who can do good general work. I am going to send you into the assistant editor's office, there to make yourself useful. I can give you £300 a year, and as to the rest, why, that is in your hands."

Dick tried to say something and failed. He had not expected anything: like this. The realisation of a' score of fond dreams was possible now. He could get Molly away from Pant-street without delay. For the. present they would rent a furnished collage. They might even get back to Stanmere again. Manby Junction was only ii mile from the village, and there were plenty of trains Dick came out of his reveries to the knowledge that his benefactor was speaking. As lie looked about the room his eyes caught sight of a large photograph of Stanmere House. Spencer followed the glance. "Do you know that place'/" he asked. "I was born there," Dick said, with a shaky voice. " My father was rector of the parish for twenty years. Ah, if 1 could onlyget back there!" " Bless my soul," Spencer cried. " You are, the son of my old—" "Then you, too, know Stanmere!" Dick interrupted, eagerly. " I never said so," Spencer responded, coldly. There was something furtive in his eyes now, a suggestion of fear, of having Said too much. " T—T was nfiwlv Kinritiir

Hie place once. You must excuse me, but I am on the verge of one of my forgetful tits again." He passed bis band across his eyes wearily. The next moment lie seemed to be trying to look into Dick's very soul. '- I was trying to recall what I know of Sfcaumere," lie said. "I knew Hie'district very well as a boy; in fact, I used to go there in my schooldays and look for white heather or'the uplands behind the Warren. An old friend of mine had a cottage there, called'.Shepherd's Spring.' Dick gave an exclamation of delight. Just for the moment he had forgotten that lie was talking business in a great newspaper office. The beauties of the rolling landscape were Wore his eyes now ; he could see the fertile valley and the great sheets of purple heather, with the sombre pines and the no-man's-land beyond.

" I. know the country blindfold," he said. " 1 could take you right through those bogs and soft spots at midnight. .1 could hide there and baffle my pursuers for a mouth. I 'could—-"

Dick paused, for Spencer's eyi ■■ ''■'■■' blazing. His face was working will: an excitement that was almost painful. "Ay, to be sure," he said, hoarsely. He was pacing up and down the office now. " One would like to be there, of course. One could double and twist and turn and none lie any the wiser. Boy, can I really honestly trust you?" "I try to be like my father," Dick said, simply. "And he was a. good man. -Mind you, I didn't .say that 1 knew him. 1 daresay that you could manage it. There are plenty of trains and a good road from the junction. 1 could get Fisher to see that you were not kept late."

All this with more or less incoherent words and excited gestures. Heaven alone knew what strong emotions were passing through the man's mind. Presently he grew more calm and dropped into his seat with the air of one physically exhausted. " I see what you are longing for," he said. " You want to get away from the miserable street where you tire and into the country. I will arrange with Mr. Fisher that you can leave the office pretty early. You shall take your sister away for the summer at any rate, and J will place Shepherd's Spring at your disposal. As a matter of fact, it belongs to me. I bought it for the sake of quietness after a long illness." Dick said something, he hardly knew what. Ho seemed .suddenly to have blundered into a. country of fairy surprises. And yet at the same time he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was playing a part in a dramathat he was a subordinate piece on a chessboard where a tremendous game was going on. "The place is small, but well furnished," Spencer said. He was quite cool and mat-ter-of-fact now. " You will find everything you want there, and should easily manage with one servant. No, you must not thank me, because some day yon may be able to repay me." Ho glanced at his watch, an indication that the interview was finished and that the man of money had greater interests in hand. "I. will," Dick said, passionately. "Anything J. can do for you, sir, I will. . You have been a good friend to me; you have taken a great weight front my heart, and I. will serve you as man. was never served before. 1 can be discreet and silent, 1. can—"

He paused, a little ashamed of himself. Spencer smiled. " You can't buy friends," lie said. , " Yes, I think 1 can trust you. I will arrange for your duties with my editor, Mi. Fisher. If you go round to .Mr. Marl left's, 66, Lincoln's inn, to-morrow, and say you came from me, he will give you the key of Shepherd's Spring. And now I must ask you to say good night."

Spencer touched the bell, his face grew keen and alert; he was the rigorous man of business once more before Dick had time to leave the office.

CHAPTER XI. WHITE HEATHER. "I shall wake up presently and find it is all a dream," .Molly said, with her face turn- I ed to the blue sky. " Dick, to think that a, week should make all this difference to our fortunes! Already Pant-street has become a vague memory." Dick was lying on his back on a, patch of purple heather and listening to the hum of the bees, The air was crisp and pure. Down below lay the valley with its golden patches of cornland; in a belt of trees Sfaumere nestled. High up were the great woods and the stretches of heather, and behind again a desolate land of ravine and rock and bog and larch, where no man ventured after dark unless he was born to the soil. But Dick had hud the benefit of twenty years' personal acquaintance with the place, and it was no idle boast of his that lie could find his way over the moor blindfold. Down in a little hollow in the centre of a, shady garden lay Shepherd's Spring. Dick had the key in his pocket, but they had not entered yet. But all their belongings lay outside the gate, and a freshly engaged maid-servant mounted guard over them. It was quite impossible to think about the house yet., for Dick and Molly had a thousand sweet old associations to renew, They stayed there on the path, pointing this and that spot, out to one another till Molly's eyes grew dim, and she had to use her handkerchief. Then Dick produced a lunch basket, and a hearty meal was partaken of in spit© of the wasps. There was a zest about, that, luncheon that neither of them ever forgot. " J. want io (lance and shout and sing," .Molly cried. " And I. shall have you here from now till Monday morning. And there is a sprig of white heather!" Sho darted on it, and placed it in her hat. The creamy-white corralled bloom was all that was needed to make her happiness complete. Dick was more sober. Perhaps he was a, little frightened at his sudden good fortune. "Let us go into the house,"' he said. "I'm just a trifle fay, as the Scotch say. I don't know, Molly, but we arc on the verge of tremendous events, and J am chosen for one of the puppets in the drama. Let us see the cottage." The garden was trim and tidy, for it had been seen to regularly. Inside, the rooms were small, and Spencer's estimate that, they were well furnished was a. modest statement, for the place way luxuriously appointed. There were fine carpets and pictures and statues, old china and Empire furniture, oak and Chippendale, and Adam and the like. Dick gasped as be looked at the drawing-room. "Have you seen a. ghost?" Molly asked. "Well, something like it," Dick admitted. "This room has given me quite a. turn. It is smaller, but it is furnished exactly like the drawing-room in Cambria Square where I first met my dear little blind girl!" ".Something resembling, you mean?" "Absolutely the same, 'the same small tables and the vases and glasses for flowers. When you have filled them all with blossoms, the likeness will he marvellous. Molly, what does all this mean?"

No lucid explanation came to the bewildered Molly. The two seemed to have blundered into the heart of a mystery like a dark, unfamiliar landscape that from time to time was illuminated by a Hash of lightning. Every day seemed to bring some fresh surprise. "It maddens me," Dick cried. "Just think of the extraordinary patchwork of adventures that I have had lately, and how inexplicable they are, yet how they fit together. If that mail has deliberately led us into trouble—" "But it does not seem possible," .Molly urged. "Mr, Spencer has a great reputation. He has been very kind to you, and you say he has it noble face." "So he has," Dick admitted, "but—" "But me no buls, sir. It was by the purest accident that yon became of service to Mr. Spencer. And see how kind he has been to you." " And yet i am certain that he had some deep design when he offered me this place. If you had only seen how his eyes lighted up and how he talked to himself! I tell you it was a sudden inspiration." " And a, very good one for us," Molly laughed. " Oh, I admit the mystery, which, my dear boy, is no business of ours. Mr. Spencer chooses to keep his daughter to himself, an/ you are warned to keep clear and think no more about the matter." "I shall never forget that pathetic, beautiful face and those blue eyes," Dick said. "And I am glad to think she has been here." . " My dear Dick, what do you mean?" "Sherlock Holmes." Dick smiled. "She told me that she needed no eyes so far as her own room was concerned. This roof 1

would not la- a replica of the one in Cambria Square unless blind Mary had been here. Here is the foundation, of a novel, if I could only ge' to the bottom it." " Meanwhile I have something more practical to do," raid Molly. "Give a hand, Dick, so that we can have r. walk after tea with a clear conscience."

11 whs a glorious ramble after tea through that lovely familiar country, down through the leafy silence of the Warren, where every step held some precious association, and back again by way of the Stanmere Woods and through the breast-high bracken home. Then they rested for a moment, silent for the time being. The silence was broken presently by a sharp voice, followed by one pitched in a, rusty key like the creaking of a door. Down the drive under the beeches towards iSkuimei'o two men were walking, apparently discussing some point of the deepest interest. They passed Dick and his sister quite unconscious of their presence. " Herr Greigstein," tolly exclaimed, " Oreigstein in Harris tweeds, looking like a large landed proprietor. It is quite apparent, that he is not down here for the pleasure of our society. Who is the little man with, the face of dried parchment. He looks like Mr. Tulsinghorn— the traditional receptacle for family secrets." Dick uodded approvingly. " You have got it,' 1 lie said. '' That is Mr. Martlet!,'of Lincoln's Inn, the old lawyer from whom 1 got the keys of our cottage. The drama, progresses, Molly I wonder what part 1 am cut lor —the tool or the hero'.'" CHAPTER XII. MR. MAIITLETT. A little way down the road (ireigsteiu stopped and said something to his rustylooking companion, then lie turned aside from the main road and disappeared into the woods. The small man with lie parch-ment-face and the inscrutable expression .sauntered on thoughtfully till he reached the lodge gates of Stanmere. With his hands behind hint he strolled along very much with the air of one who possesses the place. The butler who answered the ring fell into an attitude of deference before the little mau in the rusty black, for this was Mr. James Martlet!, the family lawyer, and a, power in the laud. Nobody knew anything about Mr. Martlet),, who he w<%<» or whence he came, but most people knew that he was an exceedingly rich lawyer, who for the last thirty years had lived dingily in Lincoln Inn. A close, secretive, furtive man, who, said very little, but that little to the point. Many a' family secret reposed in that unemotional breast, many a. great house on the verge of ruin had found safety in Martlett' capable hands. But he would always have, his own way, and nothing would deviate him from his course. His clear grey eyes seemed to read everything. There was a, sense of power about the mail. The Stanmere butler was a great personage, but even he deemed it best to be deferential to Mr. James Martlctt. "I've conic, 'down to dine and sleep, (Joss," he said, calmly. "See that my things are put out in my bedroom, and let her ladyship know that I have arrived. 1 don't suppose that I shall be in to tea. ' (joss intimated that all these things should be done. lie hoped that Mr. Martlet!, had had a pleasant journey from town. Dinner was at eight as usual. Her ladyship was at present in her room. Martlc-tt strolled away with his hands still behind him. He. inspected the lawns and the gravelled walks carefully; even the Scotch head gardener was polite to him. Then lie went on, as if aimlessly, across the park and up the slopes of purple heather until he came at length- to Shepherds Spring. With the same air of possession, upon him he walked into the house, in the hall Molly was arranging some flowers, and Dick was watching her approvingly. " So you young people have found your way here," Martlett said in a voice that sounded like the creaking of a rusty hinge. " How are you both? Dick Stevenson, I am very much displeased with you. When your father died I wound up his affairs for him. Contrary I to my usual custom, J made no charge S for .so doing. Why didn't you come and i see, me in London?"

"Because ho was too proud," Molly laughed.' "Like most people, Dick is a little afraid of you, On the contrary, I am not in the least afraid, though it happens I have never semi yon before. There! What do you think of that, sir?" She stooped and laid her fresh cool lips to the lawyer's wrinkled faoe. Mart lei L came as near to a .smile as he permitted himself. " Dick called for the keys," be said, actually called for the keys of this house, and never asked to see me. He never told my friend Spencer that we were old acquaintances. Now, there's pride for you! And yet you would never have had the offer of Shepeherd's Spring if it had not been for me." "That's very good of you," Dick said, gratefully. "But wo didn't want anybody to know" "That you were not the great genius that you took' yourself to be, therefore you preferred to starve in London. 1 bad my eye on you. And if there is one thing 1 admire more than another it is grit and determination. But you are all right ; you should get on now.' Dick had not the slightest doubt about it. The little nun with his hands behind his back eyed him critically. He was pulling the strings of all the puppets in the drama. He chose his figures deliberately, and the specimen before him pleased the old lawyer exceedingly. "It is a charming little house, and I trust you will lie happy here," he, said. "Only you must, be careful not to lose yourself in those bogs over yonder. They tell me there are some horrible places in the woods beyond the Warren." "And I know every inch of it," Dick cried. "Give me a supply of provisions and I could defy a regiment of detectives for a month there. 1 don't suppose anybody knows, the lower moorland paths besides myself, now."

Mr. Marllelt was deeply interested. There was something subtle about Dick's suggestion. He insisted upon having it ill) explained to him outside. "It appeals to me," he said. His eyes gleamed with an unusual lire. "Now, suppose you had to hide somebody here, somebody in peril of the law. The police are hot on his track. You mean to say yoti could baffle them'.'" Dick responded eagerly. He proceeded to draw a map like the web of a spider on the garden path. He knew a. hut ata. certain part where nobody had been lor years, a hut low down in a ferny hollow. There was no known pathway to it; its existence was forgotten. "I know every blade of grass by the way," Dick said. "1 learnt the moorland by heart from the last of the old shepherds. Sheep are not kepi here now, because people are afraid of losing them. When 1 was young and longed to be a pirate the old hut beyond the moss bog used to be my ship, you see." But. Martlett was no longer listening. The. lire had died out of his eyes, his mind seemed to be fixed on other problems. He came to himself with an uneasy kind of laugh a.s lie met Dick's injured gaze. "I am more interested than you imagine," he said. "My dear hoy, you fancy that you are hereby the accident, of a happy circumstance. Nothing of the kind. There are great interests at .stake, and I am the general directing (hem. But I am old, and my nerves are not what they were, and I may want strength and courage and audacity to rely upon. Our conversation, may seem trivial to you now, but, the time may come when you will recall it vividly. Are you sure you can do what you say''"

Mullet voice s>iik to a hoarse whisper. His hand had fallen on Dick's arm and crooked upon it with a nervous grip.

"I spok; no more than the truth, sir," Dick said, quietly. "flood boy, good boy! Permit- me to take a pinch of snuff. Nothing is so soothing to the nerves. If you serve those who would be your friends there is a. lino fortune before 'you. And don't be too curious as to our friend Greigstein." (To lie continued on Wednesday next.)