A BITTER HARVEST.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12956, 28 August 1905, Page 3

A BITTER HARVEST.

By CAROLINE HASTINGS, Anther of the " Cross of Circumstances," " For the Sake of One Woman," " Eva's Dilemma," etc-., etc. [AFTER XXX Vn.-(Continued.) J had an odd adventure soon after my arrival in London. Mr. 'fucker begged the honour of my company at his house to dinner; and though I was not much in the mood for visiting I had no valid reason for refusing his invitation, especially as lie way always most kind and courteous in ins manner to mc. I did not know any of the people he had asked to meet me, but I found his wife and daughters very pleasant, unaffected ladies, and his home at Cltiswick as pretty a place. as could well be found near London. The guests had heard nothing about me, nor had any idea, they were going to meet; me—and I was very glad of it, for the newspapers had been very busy with my name since the story of my inheritance had got about, and all sorts of fantastic stories, with not a word of truth in any of. them, had been going the round. I was in a pretty little inner drawingroom, with my hostess and her eldest daughter, when suddenly I heard a voice J. knew. Someone was advancing with Mr. Tucker, and my name was on her lips. "Is this wonderful tale true, Mr. Tucker?" "What tale, madam©?" "About that girl, Florence Van Arsdale. Have you really found .her?" Mrs. Tucker would have rushed out and managed to stop the conversation, but I laid my hand on her arm—l did so want to hear what would come next. "I have," replied our host. "It seems a pity, doesn't it, that all that money should go to a girl of that sort?" || I beg your pardon— sort?" "Oh, you know what I mean," was the reply. "It was a shameful story, I believe. She ran away from home with a common soldier, or something of that kind. She was seen with the man at Paddington very early in the morning, and he was known to be only -a common soldier. Poor Claire Delsarte had a lucky escape." "I am not so sure of that," said the quiet voice of Mr. Tucker. "He has not done so well for himself; and now that Miss Van Arsdale is found there will be an account to settle with her. You are quite misinformed regarding Iter, ma dame—she is not such a person as you seem to think; she is a lady in every respect, and worthy the good fortune that has come to her. 1 shall have the pleasure of introducing her to you shortly." " Is she here?"

"She, is." And Mr. Tucker appeared in the doorway, with my old mistress, Mrs. FitzOsmoiid, on his arm and a decided twinkle of enjoyment in his eyes. He had heard something of my adventure under that lady's roof from both Mr. Bolt and myself, and perhaps was not very sorry to see her discomfited. "Mrs. FitzOsmoad—M'iss Florence Van Arsdale." .1 am sure he enjoyed making the most of my name, and the lady's face was a studyas he pronounced it; she turned absolutely livid. "Miss Patterson she exclaimed. "Is it really you?" "No, madame; it is Florence Van Arsdale." I could not help smiling as I spoke, she was so entirely discomfited; and the awkward way iu which she. tried to explain away what she had said only made matters worse. She had a headache, and went away early, and was as loud in my praises after that memorable meeting as she had been in my disparagement till that time. "There was no truth in the- soldier story; she had always said so; but people do talk so, and Miss Van Arsdale was a most amiable young lady, with perfect manners, etc., etc.;" all of which came to my ears again, as she doubtless intended it should.

• A letter came to mc from Wolfs Craig', only two days-after that dinner party, which made my pulses thrill and my heart leap, ami sent me straight to Mr. Bolt for counsel and help.

It was only a part of one of Lady Beryl's letters, full of all home news.

She never failed to give mc the minutest details of what went on in the house, and J was glad she did so, not only because everything about the place had* interest for me now but because of the improvement it worked in her style and handwriting. This was the piece of news. "Mamma has found out who it is you remind her of," she wrote. " Your face has always brought someone else's to her mind, and she could never think who it was; it was a picture that poor Shaffco had. I think it is the astounding revelation that you arc Miss Van Arsdale—though I shall never be able to call you by any new name, I aim sure—that lias given mamma the clue. A long time ago, when Sha.fto was quite a hoy, ho helped to save a lady from being drowned. He used to say there was no fear of any such thing; but she thought so, and her husband, too. I don't know anything about it, except that she was in the water, and, boy as he was, he managed to hold her till help came. They did not know who he was, and ho never told them. The lady was very beautiful and young, and when they asked him what they should do .for him he said that the remembrance of the lady's face would be enough for him, and the gentleman laughed and said ho was a regular little knight, and gave him her picture. It was set round with pearls, tiny little things, and mamma says it was your image, and the lady's name was Van Arsdale, She remembers that, though she never saw or heard of them again; they must have been travellers when it happened, for they were quite strangers in this part of the country."

Vague remembrances of having beard something about my mother's rescue from drowning by a lad came over me as I read the letter; all that I bad ever heard of her had been very bald and misty, but I had been told this story by someone, only the boy was represented as being a peasant. Doubtless tho heir of the Flemyngs might easily have been mistaken for one in that remote part of the world. Was this tho likeness that Mrs. Beaver had seen, and were the lost Shafto Flemyng and Paul Jones one and the same person'.' It was an odd notion to come into my head ; I had looked upon the scene of his death, and heard the story; besides, had not Lady Beryl seen it all with her own eyes, and did not everybody know it? There was some strange blunder in it all. I whs wonderfully like my mother. I had always heard so, but I might be like someone else as well, someone whose portrait that soldier had about him, if indeed the whole tale were not some fancy of the major's wife. I took the letter to Mr. Bolt and told him everything I knew about, Paul Jones, and asked him what I should do. His reply was brief enough. "Nothing." "Nothing! but do you not.see what this would mean if it were true?" I asked.

" It would mean something doubtless, but you can do nothing; the man is dead, you say?" "Paul Jones, yes." " Then lie cannot give any evidence in the matter; there is nothing to connect him with poor iSluifto Flemyng, except this picture, which lie may have bought or stolen, or—" "Not that!" I said, eagerly, "not stolen, Mr. Bolt!" " Oh, you think not?" he said—with such a, curious look at me that I felt myself blushing to the very roots of my hair—" he was lucky in having such a champion ; let the matter rest, my dear, you will hear i more about it by and by, I daresay." "But think what a'load I could lift off their hearts," I said. " If it were possible that such a thing could be true— tilings have happened as i escapes from death like that, and much virtue in an if," said Mr. Bolt, in what I tßought a most provoking fashion—" I say do nothing, gay nothing at present; if the doubt exists that Archibald Flemyng is a murderer, and there is any good reason lor it, it will all come to light some day;; for i tie present say nothing to anyone about it, j not even to the old laxly who loved this dead j soldier so well. I. fancy he must have been j her son, though she would nob say so to you \ or I, nerh&DS."

CHAPTER XXXVIII. RETMBTJTION COMBS TO ALL, Mrs. MacAJlister's son! Yes, I had thought that more than once. What else could Paid Jones be that site should mourn him so dearly and have loved him so well in his lifetime? The secret lay at Wolf's Craig doubtless, and the reason for the likeness was there also. She had been always in that lawless household, for she had told me so; and doubtless as a girl when she was pretty—she must have been very prettyin her youth— Bab! what nonsense J was allowing myself to think. How I was slandering my good friend in such thoughts as these ; she had never been anyone's light o' love, I could take an oath of that. The mystery was not there. He was no doubt the child of someone she knew— one she had helped to shield and assist was the mother of the nameless man. And while I was still with Mrs. MacAllister in her snug little home there came from India a soldier with a parcel—the man who had written to her and told of the death of her darling. We heard the story ail over again, and wept together as we looked over the few trifles that belonged to the.dead man, which his comrade had brought back for Mrs. MacAllister. This comrade of Paul Jones who brought the news was rough of manner and ignorant, but full of feeling; and it was with tears standing in his eyes he told us how it ail happened, and how Paul Jones had died doing his duty. At the first sight of mc he started, and declared that his chum had always worn my picture round his neck. Ho had seen it more than once, though he had been always very careful lo hide it as much as possible. Airs. Leaver had made no mistake then —her story was not- a romance, and I was more puzzled than ever, and chafed at the restriction that Mr. Bolt had put upon me. It seemed to me that so much might be traced by the fact of this picture's existence. And much as I disliked Archibald Flemyng, I should have been glad, for his mother's sake, to have done anything to have cleared the stain of murder from his name. " You are like the rest of your sex," Mr. Bolt said, when 1 told him of the advent of the man from India, and what he said, " impatient to the backbone. Granting that this man's story is true, and that the soldier Paul Jones really wa.s in possession of the picture that Lady Beryl Flemyng speaks of, what does it prove?" It appeared to mc to prove a great deal, and 1 said so ; but Mr. Bolt only smiled provokingly. "It proves simply nothing," he said. " Shafto Flemyng may have parted with the locket long since. The frightfully impecunious state of things at Wolf's Craig would have been a. sufficient excuse for a. boy who wanted everything selling a trinket like thai.'; or it may have been stolen— not by Paul Jones himself, perhaps," he added, hastily, seeing me prepared with a hot repudiation of his words; "but by someone from whom he obtained it. I begin to think, my dear, that it is as veil that this same soldier is dead, or else—-"

He stopped and laughed at my crimson face. ' " Xo offence, my dear,'' he said; " I am an old man, and privileged, you know, You don't understand my motives for asking you to wait a little before you speak of this matter. You. will know them all before long. By the way, when did this; man you speak of leave India'.'" "Almost immediately after the accident that killed his friendhe has been at Malta since then and some other place, I forget where. He seems a good-hearted fellow enough, and evidently loved his. friend very dearly.'' "And lie saw him die'.'" "He helped to bury him," 1 replied, my heart sinking- at the remembrance at leas!, all there was left of him. He was not taken out of the ruins of the place for some time." " Ah ! and fire does no! spare much that it lays its fiery hands on. It was a brave death, as bravo a one as facing fearful odds on. the battlefield. And he had saved life before lie lost his own, had he not?" " Oh, yes," I replied, wondering a little why Mr. Bolt should be thus inquisitive about a person of whom he knew nothing; Im l he hftd-a habit- of asking .minute questions about things, and was apt to say that knowledge look up no room and was often useful when it was least expected. (To bo continued daily.)