STRANGER THAN FICTION.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18457, 21 July 1923, Page 5 (Supplement)

STRANGER THAN FICTION.

BY r-.ARLTON" DAVP-. -■/*>« *i " v "• =■:.. ■*10....„ l '••.." lU ''*'•■* .Jtirn Ni, s-; '' " Zitm; ••in > -ow. ."-1 .''Jrido of ...-. ~af, •' " VtHnv ■•••' While, " etc (Copyright.) CHAPTER VIII. ANNA IllllirsCA. " I Fro. Arc you staying long in East- - 1 am leaving tonight." " Why'" He looked at her without unsweriiip. " I bog your pardon ; 1 had ST- right to put that question." " .Aa to that,*' he said, " I j-eo no reason why I "should not be frank with you. Had I known yon were hero i should not .have come at all. ' She pmilcd. " At any rai.e I cannot -complain of your frankness. But how om's my presence affect you? We do not own East weald, you know, 1 .should he much digressed if I thought your holiday were curtailed on my account. Von will think over going, Mr. Balfree, p.iid if our presence here is an inconvenience, pleaso forget it. We arc leaving at the end of the week." ITo made no promise, but ho stood with cap in hand as she turned away. The dog looked round to pee if he was com-i-iff ; , then stood still and plainly harked an invitation. As she cracked her whip Dale swung round and walked in the eppnuite direction. Aa the dog, in obedience to that crack j»f the whip, returned to the .side- of his mistress, she looked at him and met his shining brown eyes. " Well. Jim," she whispered, " what do you think, of it ail? " Perhaps, if Jim could have spoken, ho might have- asked her the same question. Dava Mainvillo did not return at once to the cottage on tho cliff, where the millionaire Oil King usually spent some portion of August or early September free $nm business or other worries. It was a low rambling building called by courtesy The Cot, though, easily capable of accommodating hall a dozen guests. Ho also had a good shoot way back, near Beccles, so that an invitation to Eastweald was greatly desired by those who could handle a gun. Mainville himself was not particularly fond o/ shooting rabbits and temo birds. Whenever he thought of such things his memory carried him back to days in far, wild lands, and game it was dangerous to miss. Also there had been a certain war in the Balkan Mountains which made shooting a real thing. Partridges and pheasants seemed tamo by comparison. ' -va, the dog Jim trotting ahead, of her, made her way up into tho little town. Tradesmen standing by their doors, or at their open windows, saluted her as she passed; a group of fisher-folk took their pipes cut of their mouths and stood at attention; the female residents stole surreptitious glances at her, and of course thought things. Many people g&vg her ** gc-rs -" in homelv dialect, and for «"' .: ■■ .■ y .:.) had r •*/'•> " Wlflr \ Lid '-" ■•'. :•-. r mo! •:■;,'." ■' •, -•■ :;ng in it," ■■•; ;!::.wi:"ri 'x.Jrf how rich he is," ' : .'.'"" r>h- tine oh market/* They did ..i ~ perhaps, quite know T':.a,t this meant, hut at sounded prodigious, enormous., and aw.-ike cwo inspiring tbc-.i<.-,L*. Tho-- i.-;&ji iv:'._»';i'i.j !>x.«:;- j'krv "■":•&£ ■:.■:''.

any consequence in tl.* town, attached fco which was a. substitute for a circulat.- ; library > where for tho charge of twop • ,ocr day yon might borrow such book. .;',;* might hatr.-«i to bo in. Mf. WT '.r>ion, not usually renew nod "or urbanity, advanced looking and feeling r.Ar mely >iri.>a:i9. " :'. am in a quandary', Mr. Wilkinson. .'•■ij '.'ox of books hasn't come from town, and I want something to read. What can you recommend? " Mr. Wilkinson at once reeled off a dozen popular authors, assuring her that there was p. great, demand for So-in-so. But his visitor did not appear to be impressed. " Have you anything by Dale Balfree?" fthe asked, fooling extremely guilty as she put the question, though lier manner of putting It convinced her heaver that this same Dale Balfree was an eminent author, and th.it not to know him proclaimed a reprehensible ignorance of current literature. As a matter of fact the worthy bookseller and stationer could not recollect ever having heard the nanio before, but this he waa much too politic to admit. " I'm not quite sure, Miss," he replied; " probably it's out. But perhaps," pointlug to some shelves, " there may be something there you would like." " Thank you," she said. The (shelves wore crammed with a dilapidated s«t of well-thumbed, volumes, all more or less out of date, job lots bought chioply by tho hundredweight. She flung a glance over the well-known titles, and was turning away when she caught the name. The book'was stowed away out of reach on the topmost shelf. She had to call Mr. Wilkinson to get it lor her. " In the Deeps,"' ho said, reading the title and brushing away tho dust. "I wonder how it got up there? " He seemed to recollect now that it was one of a box of "remainders." Then she began to smile, realising that she had no money to pa -M the deposit Mr. Wilkinson also smiled. iheso millionaires were funny people. It was the best joke that had ever happened to him. For years after he told the story with gusto; with gusto he would tell it to tho day of his death. The book in her hand", and repeating over and over to herself. Dava retraced her way to The Cot. "In the Deeps." The t-.tlo seemed to her a . singular one. almost a 3 , though there were a, touch of sardonio fate in it. If she realised the' situation accurately this author was very much in the deeps. A3 she walked along she opened tho book, glancing from page to page, looking tor the arresting word, hoping islmost to find the key to tho author's character. Indeed so preoccupied was she that she failed to notice a man and a woman on! the other side of the narrow street who I watched her with particular interest. The man was a heavy-shouldered, thick-set M- ! low with a heavy face; the woman was i both young and handsome, but rcejv.cd I rattier too wily-dressed for a place Hire I East weald. " j Meanwhile Dava reached home, ordered i tea, and sat down to have a quiet read I bffore the others should return from their j shooting. Though she probably would j not have confessed it, even had she j thought of it, she was none the less very j keen to know tho nature of this man, i and anxious to discover it in the written page. .Surely a man who did this sent of thing, who could write books and all that, did not do that sort of tiling? So she put the question to herself. Would this book supply the answer ? But she had not been seated long he- J fore a maid entered and announced a visitor. The interruption annoyed her. j She was beginning to get interested. At , first Dava declared she was not at home; . then, just a little curious, site asked \\h<. j it was. The maid did not rube catch j tho name, but <t sounded foreign. The id •* said it was most important that she : ft■ ■ -• i:!,i s'x Miss Mainvillo for a minute. Mi*'. Mainvillo hesitated, then consented. . 'Hie maid ushered in the very handsome j young woman who had stood in the nar- ; row street with the man with the tinted : spectacles. Dava bowed, tiien motionecf , her visitor to a choir. That visitor was j watching hie with bold, bright eyes. j ',' You wished to sen mo?'' " Yes." said the visitor. \ "1 understand the- business is import- • ant ':" ' • ' " V' ,- j. I think it ought to be consid- j *'■<*<] import ant." The woman spoke with : 'a strong foreign accent. " I am Anna . *';:'£•■ i r ",Vc3." I The visitor spoke as though the an- I nm.ucement of her identity as a most ; important matter, whereas it conveyed . nothing to her listener, who thought, by me Vol: of Anna Borisca. that she might j possibly he a foreign dancer. '"'the name conveys nothing to you?" "1 am sorry." One other name had con- I veyed nothing,, which might yet convey ! so much. i *' I am Roumanian." " Yes." At any rate she wasn't a j Russian dancer- though she might be, yet. j " Roumania does not convey anything | either/" i

hi «1 1> ? 0!, 7°- v much > beyond r4ic iart. that appeals for help came frequently from that part of the- world. Oh, ves. <;' '; ur "'?-. one other thine—oil 'v~- . ; "' , '•• iivillo drew, v had •'' i ■ ;.. ' .' : --' fits wealth from \.j<..maniu. &v, •'•' A t'int l.e had worked there as .-. :."",; man. that thf foundation of fat. i."V' C had been laid in that ronntrv. ' '; You have never been there, Miss " Never." " riiat is -rather surprising." She had a curious and rather fascinating fashion ot sinning her Vs. Perhaps it was, if one came to think "' it - All the same, she grew a little curious as she noted the speaker's tone, the rather enigmatic smile "that played round her handsome mouth. Why did you wish to see me?" she asked. " I have made the long journey from Koumauia especially to see you."' ''It' I can be 01 any service " " Thank you. Perhaps you can. But do not mistake me: it is not money." Not money '. .Dava could scarcely believe her ears. There were still one or two surprises loft in the world. She looked (lie astonishment she could not express in words. '" It is justice, Miss Mainville," Anna Borisca said. This sounded even more serious. Charit,- the had dispensed in a hundred ways; but justice! '.Phis was something new, interesting, thrilling. " Ave you sure it is not my father you wish to see ? He spent many years in your country in his young days. i, personally, am "ignorant of " the conditions there. 'l am not blaming von." "Blaming!" "Yet I think you may be inclined to help roe when you know the truth." Dava was now 'on her guard, her braini throbbing quickly, fantastically. Almost instinctively her glance strayed to Bailee's boo!*, which, when rising to greet her visitor, she had laid on the table. Then she honored Anna Borisca with a, keen scrutiny. "In what way can I be of service to you?" "By telling your father that I have at last come to England." "Certainly. But what will he -understand from that " "Ho will know why tho daughter of Maria Borisca has come to this country." "I will tell him," said Dava. "Is that all vou wish me to do?" Her visitor rose and came nearer ,_ and the eyes of the girls met in a most minute interrogation. Instinctively Dava felt a sense of mystery crop over her. Though usually not void, of courage she felt < the need of protection. Anna Borisca smiled. There was self-possession, mastery, in that smile, and Dava knew it. "The name of Borisca—does it mean nothing to yon?" >f "I never heard it before. "That is strange." "Why?" . . ..,„ "Your father has never mentioned it? "Never. Really, I think there is rothing further to be gained W * co-".' * •' of this interview ' . . ~ "Yet vou havs .-:,. *•/■"•"""'-, ~ :-y '- ';»"**> "W : ;"v( 3 pie- i Leli n-.e = ' "it "*» '-0 i-'>'''-< - v ' iathor and my sijVT- «iv 'English father who deserted 'Roumanian wife nearly thirty years ajro, mv sister who has taken my place. "And you think I or my father can help you to this end?"' j "I am sure that you can. (< "Then 5* 'bat is passible — ; "It is' ' ;-• I■ 'isible. This man, ay j f*i+-2v* wl •■-'•■ ': i-.!.'-'e wvue so far to find. ;

Wis F*wp-„"sa amazingly sine* thos<* vie • days i... Ps-.r-nia. Ho !» now very ndi, ; many iimt* a millionaire, I under stead. : Hie world upwTca well of him to his face ; | what it says behind hia back—perhaps that does not interest him. When one has many millions to one's credit one may snap the finger* at convention— to * point." "KealJy— * *> aTa began-, . . „ "Ah, yes, I talk much—perhaps too much _: n l S up to a. point. But people should not forget; it is wrong to f and sometimes dangerous. VI hen this man of whom I speak married my mother he wae poor; hut hews clew and ambitious, and he quickly realized that my mother's land might bo worth much if carefully developed." . "I quite understand. But what is all this to do with me'.'" • "Yes we shall come to that. Tina man made money out of my mothers property, but needing more money to develop it he came to England, to London, where there seems to be bo much, money for industrial enterprise. Bat he never returned to my mother, and ( it was rumoured that he. married again." „ "While your mother was still alive "Yes." , „ "13nt he could not do that. "What may not one do when one is rich''" "Not here—in England '. * "Is your England so Insensible to wealth ■' And moreover, did the English Government, during the Great War, question where the necessary oil came from: "Oil!" Dava was now all alive, eager, tense. Anna Borisca saw the apprehension in her eves and smiled. There war. a self-con-fidence about that smile which was rather disconcerting. . . Oil was found in larn;o quantities on mv mother's property. My English father -sviia a shrewd man, but it is not the first time men have been shrewd at the expense of trusting women." "But vour name—Borisca—that is not English." "Ah. no. T refuse to hear the name of the man who could so heartlessly desert hie wife and child. In my country, a knife between the shoulders driven by the hand of one of mv mother's people, would have avenged the insult. But in England ft is different: one punishes in other ways. It is not quite the same thing, but perhaps it hurts more. Yon have your ' public opinion.' It is a very terrible thing is it not, this English public opinion ? Worse than a blade between the shoulders—when one stands high?' What was this woman keeping back, what commanding card had she which was not vet exposed? Instinctively Dava -messed that this lone; preamble was but an opening up of the way to the denouement, Of a sudden Anna Borisca became rather a terrifying apparition. " T am sorry for you." Dava began. " t nerd your sympathy, very much indeed Perhaps no one lias been more ~(-iMv wronged than I—unless it is you." " "Me!" " . , . '• Ah. von have not vet comprehended that the "man of whom" I .-peak is your father." '■ Mv father!" " Your father—and mine. T am your sister. Perhaps it i-. unfortunate for both, but it cannot be d -ied." _ t> '■ I refuse to believe a word of it. " That is as you please, but 1 think you will before the end comes. When you tell vour father that the daughter of Maria Bon«ra has been to see yon—that she has spoken watch his face. Yon will ( need j no further confirmation of my story. "I do not bel'sve i\" she cried passionately .Vrain that slow, pelf-confident smile passed over Anna Borisca* '.ace. " But von wonder? I am sorry: I would h.<o to have spared you this, but one is not to be spared everything, always. And j von have kept me' out of my inheritance 'for a long time." " Why have you only come now to make , this demand?" " Because only now have I learnt the truth. Mv mother would not speak—she was too loyal to the man who had won tier heart. ' But my uncle, he has not forgotten the great wrong. If your lather , -mv father", had but come to our country j .-.rain. . . . But no, it was easier, and more profitable to supply petrol to the German submarines in the- Irieh Sea—" " That is false!" Everything is false that I say. Ah. well we' shall see. This English public opinion, verv terrible, is it not ?—but also terriblv just." As her glance tell cthe book Dava had been leaning -he smiled " Ah. I see that yon rend the work- of our friend Balfree. They tell me he is clever; but for myself—" She shrugged her shoulders. " Still, he is a very honest man. and sometimes the pen reaches far." , She smiled, and Dava had no doubt as j to what, was implied by that smile. Bal- | frf .p! Was he then . . . She was j conscious of a growing confusion, of a j lessening of her grip on the situation. |,

"I cannot .believe.'' she. said to herself. There wore two tilings she could not believe, though her visitor only thought of cue.

• : No rloif-l you <.vi..' il'.ul ' l h-'U'cl. .1311 * think of w.j, -<'. at I have suffered, wh<u '(. have lost. Is if just that 1 should be robbed of my position in the world? For von everything; forme n"thi.*ij£, not even a name."

But Dnva was thinking, and not altogether of the wrongs of Anna Rorisia. Not more, than an hour ago a man had looked at her with frank open eyes, and told her what she had instinctively felt to be the truth. Yet even apparently frank eye:-; had been known to lie, and llitc was no denying Balfree's connection with a very discreditable, affair. You know the author of this book?"

" Oh, yes. He is not very fortunate, IV. poor Balfree. He doe? not find the public so interested i" his work as they should be, considering his varied talents. Consequently—" " ( brisequenlly :" " Ah, well, we must all iivc." Then you arc a party to this plot?" "Plot? I do not comprehend." " Then what do yon mean by your slighting reference to Mr. Balfree?" " I know him to be unfortunate —that his books do not sell. Can one help but pity an author whose books do not sell?" ''That was all you meant?" "What else could one mean?" " Very well, I will tell my father that you have called."

"Do not forget my father also. And should lie wish to see me I remain for two clays more at the Grand Hotel. Then I return to London. I see you doubt. It. is not strange. The story is not good for you. Yet I would ask you to put, yourself in my place, to think of what I have suffered,* what I have endured."

" If what you say is true yoa have suffered a great and a cruel wrong." " But you cannot believe it, eh ? You cannot, conceive that, any man should bo bo wicked ? Oh but the world, what do you know of it ? Only one side have you seen, the sweet side with its sunshine. Yet even you must know that thero are others who never see the sun, who have never tasted of its sweetness, who can only dream of that which to you has always been a reality. Tell my father that I shall remain for two days more in this terrible place, and that I am anxious to see him."

CHAPTER IX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. After Anna Borisca had gone Dava Main/villa remained for a long time in thought, trying hard to find some solution to the problem with which she had been bo dramatically confronted'. To her it seemed incredible that any woman, even the most desperate and abandonee., could advance so preposterous a vim unless then) were some sort ■>? !•;;:■. in it. Not that she for fc moment ;;,'«ii:ed it in ■'•; -iti-'iity—that would have been co-:..-:.fißd to all sense and filial affection — but how could even the most foolish or depraved hope for the success of such a venture with nothing but assertion to back it up? With peculiar sig. : ." ance she now realised how little »ho Uy-y knew of b-. father's inner life. Of .;■■; •. younger Km -■■■ his, when he was upwards, • v -'.ng the giant world, '.hi: knew next no' r..,t?ing. Met,- said hsx'A things of h»'.v.. -''A th'r'.j-s-. ".ii't a whisper

i .-.a* had heard 'of ac»;on,'< that did not rei dound to his credit. iiut was not .this 1 equally so of all men -who had mounted above their fellows? Jealousy, envy, scandal, were these not to be found dogging the footstep* of every successful man? He laughed at them and had taught her to laugh at them. Success was the one unpardonable crime. Fortunately, and by comparison, there were few of this clacs of criminal. A world of successful men would be unthinkable. But that which was stranger and still more terrifying was the story of the Eoumanian marriage. This, for her own sake if no other, she could not and would not believe. This was a baseness upon which even a multi-millionaire dare not venture. If this were true, then Anna Borisca was his legitimate daughter, while she had no right to the name of which she had been so proud. What a story was here for the enemies of David Maiuville to mouth! She tried to fling aside the absurdity of it all; she knew it was an absurdity. Yet behind the thought was a sneaking terror, a nameless fear. Had this something to do with the letter which Dale Balfree had brought to Broadhurst? Dale Balfree! Was he then one of thesepeople? This foreign woman had spoken of him with an assurance and a familiarity which suggested intimacy. Was her father right after all, and the man whom she had wished to believe honest nothing better than a plausible scoundrel? Here was something othor than balls, and visitings, and dinners to think of. Jim the terrier could not help her though she frequently appealed to him. He sat at her feet looking up at her with clear brown eyes, and seemed quits content with the world. But she remembered that he had made friends with Balfree, and that counted for righteousness in her eyes. When the shooting party returned to tea they found her strangely preoccupied, or bo thought Lord Warbridge. who had hopes of one day merging that poodfellowship of hers into somefning more intimate. He was a good looking man, slightly grey, and about forty- five years of age. Ho had a seat down in Westshire, over which he one day hoped to see her reign as mistress. Rumour had already connected their names, and he had never been known to deny its possible truth. Apart from her wealth he liked her extremely. They were the best of friends, good comrades, jolly companions. It was this very comradeship which added a subtler difficulty to that more serious matter. If Warbridge could only have instilled in her that deeper feeling of respect which was so essential to a loftier appreciation, all would haw been well; but it was hero ho failed her lamentably. He was what is known as a good sportsman and amiablo companion, a man of general all-round excellence in the lighter amerities of life: but with all his chances h>s had madenothing else of himself. To be praised as a good shot, a keen follower to hounds ; —these were among the brightest of his ambitions, the greatest of which was to own a Derby winner; failing that he dreamt of the Grand National. Three other guests completed the party, a Mr. Xe'.vson and his wife, and a Captain < llemieton, who had something to do with | Mcinville's multifarious interests, and who, probably, had certain hopes of Mainville'a daughter, and consequently no particular love for the self-possessed Warbridge. I Dava watched her father with curious I jrttentness as they sat over the tea-cups. i Mainvilie was in an amiable mood and looking the picture- of health. The day | in the open had done him good. He ; spoke with gusto of the sport, which surprised her somewhat, for as a rule he accepted such matters with philosophic indifference. One did these things and that was about all there was to it. But as she looked at him. that terrifying thought, behind her mind, he said suddenly. " How like your mother you look to-night." "Do I?" "Anything happened?" he asked. " What should happen—here in Eastweald? " " You ou-ht to have come with us." said Lord Warbridge, " we had a ripping day. Never knew the birds more plentiful." She smiled. Warbridge tried to lock intense. He thought that semi-pathetic mood of hers V.-33 adorable. _ But her father had also noticed the singularity of that smile, particularly a certain wilfulness which he could not fathom. " Sure you're felling fit? " he asked. " Quite, thank you. Mrs. Newson then suggested that they should ride over to Lowestoft in the morning. "Along the beach," she said: " it will be great fun." They all agreed it would be, or might he. "Da'va was wishing she had her father to herself, and was wondering how she could bring it about. But no opportunity came un'uil after dinner. \\ ar-

bridge and (lis other three sat down to bridge. Mainvilic had gone into his study to look over some correspondence, and to him J)a ■/, stoic on the first coercion thj«f proven:,-'.! -tself. He looked up .V'i„' ,'jis paper:'. \-:x'.. the fiv-m lv'.s mouth, and smiled her a welcome. Timidly she approached him.

" Arc you very busy;' '' "When was 1 ever too busy to welcome you, Davy? •' He passed his arm round her waist and drew her in against his chair. Usually she would have slipped her arm over his shoulder and nestled to him: but to-night she remained passive, as unresponsible as a statue. Noticing this his face took a quizzing, half-humorous expression. " Come, tell me, all about it, my dear. There's only the two of us now, Daw, and I'm beginning to feci old." " fve had a shock," sho admitted. "Oh !'' He glanced up at her, but she "•as looking awav from him. He saw that her mouth was quivering. " What sort of a shock?" ho asked. Site hesitated for a momeent, wondering how she could break the news. Then she said in a low voice, " The daughter of Maria Borisca has been here." She felt his body stiffen as he sat up. 'You saw her?" "Yes."' "Well?" The word came impatiently. ".She told me a. storya dreadful story, Daddy, is it true?" , ."What did she tell you?" His voice was hard, cold detached" In a moment j she seemed to realise that this man was the unsympathic orgre of the popular legends: the man who had trampled j clown all opposition on his road to success; the stern world-conqueror: the man who had never spared an enemy. "She said that she was your daughter —that you had married her mother before you met mine."

"And you believed her'" "No! " How could I?"

He leant forward, struck a match, and re-lit his cigar. * "It's a lie, Davy; von can take my word for that." He was deadly cold, perfectly self-composed, although his mouth had hardened until she almost feared to look at it. " What else did sho tell you? Come, let mo have it all." " That you married her mother, stole her property, and then basely deserted her." " Anything else ?" he snapped. "That you supplied German submarines with petrol during the war." " They are growing dangerous," he muttered. " But it is all untrue 1" " Every word of it." " Then I am not—l am not—" She began to sob. " Good God. no!" he flashed '■■■■''.■■ '" ' never married Maria 8.->" : - -. ;■ . ,-. ■~{ story, David .-•:,,, T ;■ .■..•■,.;•..'; : . ~.. v-v»:;s<i : >■■'"■ <"\ ''■j : '"~* .. -'• ■■;■ Srx;~pK.,*£ : «s .long ; -'.' .. •>'•"■'■••■> i vc«:ir,v.l j-auj mother. I ! '■■"•." '-■■■■■_ ;i '-" ,7 iicne. I was a young I foiio'.v. Look here, my girl, you can .take it from mo that whatever happened you're all right. This is a put-up job to frighten me into paying. But I'll down 'em yet. Not a shilling shall they touch of mine. This is Kenniston and Grabian, I know 'em —rogues whom I had to discharge." He was firious, I nt his fur; did T:ot warm her. Insensibly -he Earned to realise that if, lackeO the (rue fir*, of sincerity, that v. more in the nature of ?n angry pro-.-.;, th-m an unequivocal de?s_■;?,!. Her ow, face stiffened; she g;revv singularly like him at that moment. " Who is this woman who came to ret —Anna Borisca ?" "How should I know! Some creat they picked up in the gutter to further their own ends." *' She told me that sho would be staying for two days at the Grand Hotel, and that if you wished to see her you would find her there." " I'll send tho police to see her," ho snapped. " But if she is your daughter 1" " I tell you, Dava, it's all a put up job. They think they'll frighten me; that I'll cower and pay up to avoid a scandal. But. they're dealing with the wrong man. Evidently they do not know mo yet." ! " You are sure that she is not your daughterT" i "Of course, I am. What do you suppose ?" " How can you bo sure?" His eyes suddenly challenged hers; he bit deeply into his cigar moving it rapidly from side to side of his mouth. Whenever his secretary, Gorton, saw that action ■ho knew it was time to retire discreetly. How could he bo sure ? How could any man be sure what a woman would say— or what she would do ?" "Anyway," he said, " if she is Maria Borisca's daughter, I did not marry her mother, so you have nothing to fear." But could she know this for certain.? Here was a chapter of her father's past life suddenly laid bare, one of which she had no inkling, of which she had not even dreamed. How was she to know that even now it was all revealed ? Sho knew something of her world, of skeletons hid in dark closets; that most books of life have pages which their owners would give much to bs able to expunge. Many strange, almost incredible stories had been told of men who, like her father, had risen to affluence from nothing. Their beginningswho could go into the bogin in of such men and find all creditable ? The lyings, the cheatings, falsities, meannesses on which so many fortunes had been built, not the least of which was the favour of women. How many men had risen a affluence, fame, glory, through women! It was tho steady, clear, strong eyes of David Mainvillo " that looked at him from his daughter's face. " Maria Borisca had no property V'

" What are you trying to get at ? I see. No. A it'sw stony acres ou the side of a hill, where she lived. You don't think there's anything in that story ? Good God, if :my own child doubts me, who is likely to believe?" " But I don't doubt you, daddy, and I don't want to. That's why I want everything to be straight and clear." " Look here," he said suddenly, " you remember that felloe who brought the letter to Broadhurst V '• He is here." " Hera! What do you mean ?" " Bore in East .Yeald. 1 have spoken to him." " You have spoken to him? ' " Yes to-day I met him by accident ou the beach." "By accident? You didn't know he was in Eastweald?" " Yes. I saw him yesterday on the links." " Did you speak to him then?"

" No. I pretended rot to know him." Reflectively he chewed his cigar. " I'm beginning to undorst&ad," he said- " The vultures "are. gathering, but they'll find the carcase very much alive. Can't yon see it now —he here, and that woman who calls herself the daughter of Maria Borises? He's one of them, the scoundrel."

To her it looked very much like it. Yetdeep in her somewhere" was the belief that it could, not be. Surely no man coule speak as he had spoken, look as he had looked and yet be utterly a rogue? Besides, what "of her own comprehension, her own intelligence? Surely she was not so devoid of perception as to be imposed upon so easily ? Therefore she told her father Balfree's story as he had told it to her. Mainville treated it all with contempt.

" Don't you believe a word 0:: it, Davy; the fellow's an out and out scoundrel. An honest man would have starved before taking on such a job."

'• It's not easy to starve," she s3id. j " Then why didn't he go and find work, I No. it won't do. He's one of the gang; i thev"re probably all here plotting, con- ] spiring. But we'll down 'em. my girl. I we'll smash 'em as I've smashed my other j enemies.'' He seemed very sure of himself. As he stood there with his hands pressed | deep into his pockets, his square jaw j stuck out, his eyes emitting angry flashes, : he looked what he was. a strong man, dangerous to thwart. But in his daughter there was also much of him, though tin- j suDp-'Jcte-.j by both of them, and this particular quality still cried for enlighten- 1 ment. " Is this the first time you have- been j threatened with this .story of Maria Bor- j ises-

(To b« continued en Siturdfc? sutj