TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 771, 10 December 1886, Page 6

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]: John Needham’s Double

A STORY FOUNDED ON FACT.’

JOSEPH HATTON. Authorof ‘ Clytle,' *GRuelLondon, ’ ‘Three Recruits, 1 &c. CHAPTER IV. Completes the; Storst of- John Needham’s Rise, anj> also- Describes;. HisFall." > , Although from a monetary point of view a Lord of the Treasury is no great advancement, the prospect which it opens up- to » capable man and an aspiring min& includes the Premiership itself. Ob the-way to that seat of authority what a powerful and profitable halting place is the Secretaryship to the Treasury ?' And'only think what wealth an unscrupulous Chancellor of the Exchequer might command in one short yemr of office! To a man of John Needham’s s audacity the situation would have beei& full of the most tremendbus possibilities. In military warfare if a" man» turn traitoir he is shot. The field of politics allows &> much broader margin for the action of individual independence. Jbhn Needham wasshamefully untrue to the party that elected' him to be its chief, and' the result was his" advancement to the honorablfe and high post of a Lord of the Treasury. Bach he beenr successful in some other transgressions against morality his political" treason would, in all probability, have led him to» the very highest place ia the Queen’s* Government.

It may be left to the philosophic to consider whether a pure and righteous--patriot at the head of English affairs-might s not bring about disasters as serious as those? which would be expected to- follow th©operations of an unscrupulous knave. Nevertheless the imagination reels at the thought' that John Needham might have successfullyfilled the great offices of State that lead np> to the Premiership. A man of conspicuous ability, he- could 1 fairly have looked forward to this post off honor and of power. The situation is full off temptations to a moralist. The authorwho worked out the possibilities off Creation in the hands of Satan would find plenty of material for speculation in the; possibilities of an English policy, foreign or~ otherwise, with John Needham at Downing* street.

It may be that after his first depredations' which would have given him command of untold wealth-, John Needham might have paused and given his country a chance. John Needham above want, beyond the reach of financial difficulty, might have developed a higher phase of character than it is the historian’s duty to exhibit with the existing materials ; for, as far as ths facts are concerned, John Needham at the time of

Ilia introduction to office under the Ad-, ministration of Lord Aberdeen was a swindler and a thief ; and the circumstances in which he was placed at a later date might have led even a less desperate man to -the committal of the mo3t serious crime icnown to the law. ! , ‘ ... If the new Lord of the Treasury ever had made his way to the Premiership he could have been as rich as the wealthiest of the Rothschilds, and he would ; for in his •appointment ho already contemplated the •next step on the road to it. The Secretaryship of the Treasury would naturally come ■easily and Boon to a man of his ability. The patronage and emoluments of this office -would have been turned to quick and profitable account ; and think of the vast wealth 4hat a Chancellor of the Exchequer, operating directly or indirectly in the city, •could realise ‘ with a simple stroke of the men !’ . ... Fortunately\for the country, some of Mr commercial and financial undertakings began to be seriously troublesome to him just when his political fortunes were most smiling. Indeed he was so pressed for funds, almost immediately 7 after his appointment, that he commenced to traffic financially with his official knowledge before he had properly guarded his outposts from the active enemies which his political treachery had created. Financial reputation is a sensitive plant. It will shrivel even at a rumor ; while the mere suggestion of doubt upon the financial honesty of a member of the Government would blight the most flourishing career. You may say that a Minister is politically •dishonest ; you may even, charge him with sacrificing the-best interests of humanity for the sake of office ; you may go so far as to .-say that he is in league with the enemies cf his country in the furtherance of a wicked and murderous foreign policy, and you shall mot hurt him ; but say he has committed a •shady commercial transaction, show that he has used his power to speculate in the funds, convict him of some money transaction that Is not consistent with his honor as a Minister of the Crown* and you hurl him from office, and blast his name for ever . Fate did not give Mr Needham time to •grow into a first-class Ministerial Fraud ; it snipped him in the veriest bud. A whisper from the Stock Exchange killed his Treasury Lordship almost in a day. ‘An intimation, to quote the careful words of the journalistic chronicler, * from the right honorable gentleman, who is responsible for the Treasury business, backed by the approval of the noble Earl who led the Cabinet, that Her Majesty would be graciously pleased to dispense with his further services, resulted in his resignation. , , Then began his downfall. He had looked up at the other heights in the. range of his ambition with the confidence of the Alpine climber, who only sees in them new triumphs. But he had reached the top of bis mountain when the spring sunshine elided its apex on that May Day of our previous chapter. Henceforth the path was downward, and. far more perilous than the l3 fc 'it true that Needham has retired ?’ asked one city man of another.

‘ Yes.’ * What has gone wrong 1 . « Uis many other engagements, the absorb- . Ing nature of bis private occupations,’ said the other with a cynical smile. And down went the shares in every company with which he wa3 prominently associated. ... * Why has he resigned ?’ asked a politician at the club. / _ ■ ‘ Because : they have found him out,’ answered his enemy, * as we did in Ireland. Does a man of his character, with the ball at his feet, throw up the game of his own free will? He is a swindler, sir, politically and financially.’ * Stronglanguage,’remarked the questioner, %t and especially so when applied to a millionaire*; we call pettifoggers by those names, mot chairmen of great banks and corporations,’ said the other. ‘ Wait,' exclaimed the enemy, who felt he ’-had Needham by the throat; ‘ wait and watch ; you will see his millionaireship in •queer street before many days are over.’ Multiply these talkers by ten, and calculate the volume of the whispers, and rumors, rand explanations they would create in four -a,nd twenty hours. If they had been false ?4heiy would have seriously affected Mr Needham’s credit. Being true they crushed him. The city- firm with which he had done business began to examine the securities he had vpiaced in their hands ; the banks required •payment of overdrafts ; and his margins in -respect of current operations in stocks were closed. He was asked to retire from the chairmanship of the English and ■County Banking Corporation, and he did so, •fighting dreadfully to keep back the dreadful exposure which for over a period of five •years he had had reason to dread and fear. "Tempted to meet reverses in speculation by forgery, he had gone on staying off. the in-,-evitable in the same way, hoping for some •great stroke, of fortune to pull him through. >lt came, when it was too late. Bat for the ■necessity of using his official influence while dfc was yet green, he might have lived to concert the Secretaryship. to the Treasury into >a means of emancipation; but the Ministerial (bribe of office had not come in time for the •use he meant to make of it; and with the -.first blush of his honors thick upon him came •disaster, financial downfall and exposure. Me fought,-however, to the last, fought on with- a desperate coolness, fought, forged. Hied, and held up his head. The drafts of the Needham Irish Bank had been dishonored at •a leading London bank. He went to fhe writers for the Press and requested them not to refer to the report that he was m •difficulties. He assured them that his •embarrassments were of a temporary •character. The sinking man did not merely -catch at straws. He seemed to be swimming vigorously. His audacity secured him some little aid; but trifling assistance was no •good to him. The bank which had refused ♦0 pay the Needham Joint Stock drafts , without remittances put him into the mo3t •serious straits. He appealed to a great financial firm (Byles, Grant and Byles) who had often advanced large sums on his securities. His proposals to them on this last .occasion were so very unreasonable that they began to suspect the genuineness of cer- ' tain deeds under the saal of the Irish Encumbered Estates Commission, upon the

security of which they had already made considerable advances. ‘ Needham,’. said the historian, ‘ detected the doubt which he had unwittingly raised, and he was not mistaken in his expectations that Byles, Grant and Byles would take instant steps to satisfy themselves. He saw at once that the game was up —for the signatures to the documents were forged, the official seal of the court having been transferred from a genuine deed—and he at once mad© up his mind to anticipate the denouement. He went home and commenced the most careful and complete arrangements for committing suicide.’

CHAPTER V. Describes John Needham’s Last Drive from the City ; and Contains a- Copy of One of , the Letters he wrote for Delivery after His Death.

This was on Friday, this going home to prepare for his last hours, on Friday in the last week of ‘ the month of roses.’ He knew that Byles, Grant and Byles would have to send a confidential messenger to Dublin for the evidence of his guilt, _ and that by Monday they would be in a position to order his arrest. He foresaw the long train of other frauds which their discovery would bring to light, and he knew there was no chance of compromise. At first he thought of flight, but flight demanded energy, and he was tired, beaten, out of hope, out of spirits. Flight would mean pursuit, and pursuit capture ; but, above all, it meant action, energy, physical grip, and he had lost all this with his last move, played unsuccessfully in the private counting house of Byles, Grant and Byles. The expression of surprise in the face of Byles senior, and the peculiar and doubting remark of Grant had dropped his hopes down to zero. The axe was at the tree. He knew it must fall. In short, he had had enough ;he was played out; and in this frame of mind he went home, revolving a plan of suicide. . It was a hot summer day. June was just merging into July. The London season was waning, though to all appearance it was in its heyday. St. Paul’s was booming the hour of four as his single-horse brougham, which he used for city work, pushed its way through the vehicular traffic of Lndgate Hill and Fleet-street towards the West End. The jaded banker and member of Parliament noted, in a dreamy way, the languid manner of the pedestrians, so unusual in London ; but 80 degrees in the shade was a serious tax upon street energy. At Charing Cross he saw two Parliamentary colleagues walking leisurely to the house, and in Regent-street a Cabinet Minister returned hia nod and inwardly thanked his official stars that Mr Needham was now quite out of the political running, for the Government could not afford to make serious mistakes of any kind. At Piccadilly Circus Mr Needham pulled the check-string at a druggist’s, and entering the store asked for speedy means of death, as Romeo had asked of the Apothecary at Mantua. But there was nothing picturesque in the banker’s approach to the London drug seller; nor did he confide to the modern tradesman the need he had for the mortal drugs. It was a very prosaic request that Mr Needham preferred— * a large bottle of essential oil of almonds.’ He said his groom wanted it for the horses, he presumed. The chemist suggested that arsenic was the only drug he knew of that was given to horses, and then only in very small quantities. ‘ I think my groom says it is for a dressing,’ Baid Needham, ‘but I shall see to that myself; my stud-groom is a very clever fellow, and is advised by an experienced vet.’ ‘lt is a deadly poison,’ said the druggist. * Not more so than arsenic,’ answered Needham. ‘ Th«y are both severe enough,’ said the druggist, ‘ but how large a bottle do you wish for?’ ‘About half a pint,’ said the customer. The shopkeeper conferred with some other person for a few minutes. The 1 customer seeing, as he thought, some hesitation in regard to serving so large a quantity, said, ‘ Make it up and send it to my house, —Mr Needham, Portland Place.’ The name and address had their due weight. : * Send it this evening. I am going to Leighton Buzzard in the morning, and want to take it with me.’

The druggist was ‘ a bit of a sporting man,’ had ridden to hounds now and.then, and had heard of the Needham stud. He was, on this account, all the more impressed with .his new customer, and said the drug should be sent at once. ‘Mark it poison,’ said Mr Needham. ‘Of course,/sir, ’ said the druggist; ‘thank you, sir.’ And Mr Needham drove, home. Portland Place was more or less en ffste. with afternoon receptions, as it would be later with dinner parties, and later still with gayer throngs at evening ‘ routs and dances,’ for the season was a particularly gay one, and Portland Place was headquarters of one of the most showy and interesting of Oriental Embassies,

-'* A messenger," sir,’ said the butler, shortly after Mr Needham had entered his study, ‘with a parcel he must deliver only to you.’ ■ " ' ■’ 1 " • / ‘A parcel?’. , - , • * It is from the chemists.’

* Oh, yes ; show 1 him in,’ said Mr Needham. ‘ Dick wants some oil of almonds for the horses. I called to order it, and it is a strong poison, and there is so much of it, they don’t like to deliver it in a general kind of way. Show the young man in.’ ‘ I was only to deliver it to Mr Needham,’ said the messenger. ‘ Quite right,’ said the banker. ‘ I suppose there is enough to poison the whole sfcrest?’

‘ Yes, sir,’ said the messenger. * I brought it myself that there might be no mistake.’

‘Thank you very much,’said Mr Needham, taking the bottle, and then turning to the butler he remarked : ‘ We will lock it up, eh, John ?’ ‘ Yes, sir.’ ‘ In my desk ?*

* Yes, sir.' Mr Needham handed the bottle and the keys to the butler, who placed it in the desk, locked the desk, and returned the keys to their owner.

‘ That is well, ? said Needham, as the door closed on butler and messenger, ‘ I begin to tfeel better already. 1

He unlocked his desk, took out the bottle, removed the stopper, and smelled the deadly liquor. ‘ Enough to poison half the town,’ he said. ‘Well, the stir it will make will be just as great as if it had done it.’ Then he replaced the bottle in the desk, opened the window, sat down in an easy ; phair, and neither spoke nor moved for a long time.' ‘ " ■ „- Presently he rose, closed the window, and paced the room, then sat down at his desk and did a very unusual thing—began talking to himself in a loud whisper. ‘No, John,' not to-night—to morrow—let me say to-morrow. You must put things straight for your brother, and write some letters—you must see Nolan, too.’ . Nolan was a confidential friend and solicitor. * Are you going mad, John ? No, coming to your senses, eh ? You have been mad for five years, mad and miserable. Now you are to have rest and peace. Ah, John, if poor men only knew the bliss of an honest life, they would never desire to be rich. If I had my time- to come over again 1 Why couldn’t I have had a dream years ago, like that old man inthe story, and have awakened in time to turn back, to reform, to follow the other road?’ -He arose and looked at himself in a mirror, sat down again, began to write, then, leaned back in his chair to whisper again to himself in a loud whisper. ‘ To-morrow night, John, when they are all abed—midnight. You can walk to Hampstead or take a cab. Somebody will find you the next morning when the bells are ringing for church. Why not here, in your own house? No, on Hampstead—l walked there on one day last week to think—it was very peaceful, and the air was sweet walked to think and think, and I saw the end—the end as it will be to-morrow night, and Sunday morning. Now, pull yourself together. John, and be a man.’ He paced the room again, then sat down, and wrote letters for an hour, sealing each letter with black wax. When he had finished he did not place them in the box for post, but locked them in an iron safe that was built into the wall of the room. , This was one of the letters which he locked away with the rest:— • ‘My dear brother, —To what a slough of infamy have my steps directed me, and now there is no going on or retreating. lam a criminal of the worst class, the cause of the ruin of thousands, many of them widows and orphans, all of them persons who have trusted to my honor. ‘At this moment (and indeed for a long time have I felt it) I am deeply sensible of the misery and wretchedness I have caused and shall cause. I could bear any punishment, but not the wretchedness of being a witness of all the trouble that is about to fall on my dupes. It is best that I should not live ; for though I might escape to some foreign country I should die of remorse, go mad perhaps ; I certainly should not live, my crimes being ended and discovered. ‘I am alone guilty. I have had no confederate. I have cheated and swindled on my own account. Nolan and thoseconnected with me have no knowledge of my deceptions, my false deeds, my forgeries, all committed in the hope that I might retrieve my losses.

‘Ah, my dear brother, it was a sad day for all of us when I came to London. ‘ You, and my first political friends will now know why I threw them over and took office ; it was a last desperate chance to retrieve, and if I dared have waited and been patient it would have succeeded. If I could have lived my embarassments down until I had become Secretary of the Treasury my frauds would never have been known; I should have put all straight. Now it will be with difficulty that I can leave sufficient information behind me to let you all know, the extent of my defalcations and robberies. *1 authorise you to take possession of. all my papers, and you will find written memoranda that will help the solicitors to some kind of understanding of them. When I have written this letter, I shall go round to the Club and take my dinner in peace for the first time for years. I remember the pride with which I first walked into the Reform Club, the false pride ; I have dined there every day these last two years when in town, and having no private engagements at home or elsewhere, and to-night I go to take leave of it and my friends—some of them already look askance at me. Afterwards I shall come back to my room to make my last notes for your guidance. lam writing to Notan to meet me here to-morrow at twelve for a last conference with him ; then I shall go to chapel and to confession, and if the penitent thief on the cross could be forgiven, surely I can, surely, surely !.... ‘ Oh, that I had never left Ireland ! Oh, that I had resisted the . first temptation to speculate 1 Oh, being in financial difficulties that I had not the courage to stop and confess 1 Oh, the folly, the misery of the first fraud! Oh, the difficulty there is to go back ! Once launched in crime the devil has the power to hurry you on and on, as he has hurried me. v .

•If I had had more solid firmness, less talent,'less ambition, I might have been an honest, happy and prosperous man, admired and beloved of you. I might have lived to bless my father and mother in their old age, instead of bringing down their grey hairs to the grave, and blasting for ever the wretched name of . ' ••

i John - Needham. * To my brother, Henry Needham, of The Firs, County Mayo.’ When the writer of this ‘ last dying speech and confession ’ returned from his ‘ laßt dinner at the club ’ ho was in a different frame of mind to that in which he had designed the means and manner of his own death, fixing it to take place on the following night. ‘Hope,’ he said to himßelf, as he smoked a cigar in his writing-room prior to going to bed. ‘ What a horrible idea to associate with hope! And yet it leaped into my mind the moment I spoke to him, leaped into my mind ready armed, as it were, not beautiful like Venus starting up from the froth of the sea, but like a fiend springing out from the flames of hell.’

He strode about the room thoughtfully, and then walked quickly to and fro, now smoking furiously, now laying down his cigar.

* Have I drunk more than usual V he asked himself, answering in the same breath * no ; and yet my cheeks are burning with excitement, my hands are hot; ; not with fear, for I had settled all calmly enough, God- knows, when the image of my .wretched self crossed my path. What does it mean ? Am I .dreaming *> .Did I see him;, talk to him ; ask him to come here? Yes ;• and he will come.’

Then he sat down at his desk, sorted -papers, wrote several letters,, stamped one, put the rest away-, walked about again* rang the bell, and told the servant he might go to' bed. - -. , ] ‘ Don’t fasten the door* I am going out again.’ 1 I ‘ Very well, sir.’ He went out carrying this letter with him, walked to the nearest post office and s put it into the box, walked along Oxford; Street, walked quickly, walked for minutes; without any other purpose but to walk—and think. .

If there were such a fiend as the intriguing gentleman in the opera ‘Faust’ moving along with him and inspiring his thoughts, one could imagine such a Mephistopfcelea pausing now and then to rub his invisiblehands.''-"’'";''' ‘ •

It was a bright summer night,, with a lofty, far-away sky, in which a few stars shone brightly. Needham walked as far as the Park, sat in a seat for some time, re- , turned along Oxford Street, and back to Portland-place, opened his- door with his latch-key,; went into his room again, and flinging himself into his chair, remained in an attitude of intense thought. ‘ Many a man comes to London,’ he said presently, and is heard of no more. He is on his way to a foreign land j itj is thought he has gone thither, but he remains in London; sometimes he is dead, and sometimes he lives. People are missing daily j They are advertised in the papers ; they dofi’t wish to return ;■ they are dead or wish to be thought so. A man leaves home to go to America, Australia ; he is in earnest, but doesn’t arrive ; or, if he do, it is months before he can be heard fr>m ; months must elapse if no letters come before he can be followed up; What is one life, more or lessj his or mine, or anybody’s ? Life is a battle;: it has its wounded, its killed, and its missing.’ . ‘ •

He paused and lighted another cigar; the one in his hand was only half consumed. He sipped a little brandy and water. * Why did he tell me so much about himself ? Why did everything he said seem to drive a nail into my first thought as if to fix it into ray mind—a nail in his coffin ? I asked myself awhile ago before his existence was made known to me if I were mad, and the conclusion I arrived at was that I had begun to come to my senses. I had been mad, I thought—made to do what I had done, mad to forge, and lie, and cheat, and now that I had resolved to end it all I was sane. And now ? Is it the demon that has possession of me, or a guardian angel ?■ I once read a German legend ot a man who "was two, one invisible except'to himself, and that they were never separated. Is it I alone who have seen this other self ? No, other men at the club talked to him. Why did I keep away from him until I found an opportunity to be near him, he in the light of the lamp, I in the shadow, so that they should not see the likeness ? It is a mystery. I was already in the valley and shadow of death. Is he one of the mysteries of the valley ? We have our doubles in the spirit world, they say—a familiar like ourselves, who, if seen, would be our very image. Is this my spirit materialised, my familiar come to my rescue ?’ The clock of an adjacent church struck two. He paused on this last thought to listen.

‘ Two,’he said, and looked at his watch. ‘ I’ll sleep on it—if I can, if I can." He heard the same clock strike three, and four, and five, and fell asleep at last to dream that he had taken poison ; that it had paralysed all his physical powers ; that he was laid out and conscious of the pre-. parations for his burial; saw his brother and his father and mother stand by him ; heard them say it was better thus after all, better than transportation for life; heard the voices of a great crowd outside the room bellowing for his corpse, for the scoundrel who had ruined them, for the fiend who had jobbed the widow and the orphan ; and their cries awoke him. He started up in affright, leajied from the bed, stood panting in the middle of the room, went to the window and looked out. A party of ladies and gentlemen were leaving the opposite house in masquerading costume. There had been a fancy ball, and the last of the merry guests were being handed into their carriages. CHAPTER VI. How the Doubles Meet, as Related in a Letter Written by John Newbury to His Sister. j ‘ The New Hummums Hotel, London. Saturday Afternoon.

* My Dear Sister, — * V ‘The day of sailing of the Ocean .Queen from Liverpool has been altered from to-day until Monday, owing to some.slight accident that occurred to her when she was leaving the dock. I am rather glad of this, as it ■ enables me to remain in London a few hours longer, and to take some letters to a Judge in New York, and to a high State official, which are to be given to me by Mr John Needham, M.P.. who was recently one of the Lords of the Treasury, a very amiable gentleman, and the image of myself. ‘ Is not that strange ? You have often said there is nobody in the world like me, and there is—my height (nearly), my hair, eyes, figure, complexion, stammer (never knew I bad a stammer until I heard him speak), and a bachelor, Dick must look out, for I ehall assuredly have my double at Brambling House when I come home, and as you are so fond of your foolish old brother, you will be sure to fall in love with Needham.. You have said that I have lately had an expression in my eyes, a tired look, and that I was paler than usual. And the Honorable John Needham, M.. P.., &c., is like me even in this—very odd, is it not V ‘ I met him in this way. Charles Northfield, our North Derbyshire member, invited me to dine at the Reform. I went to keep the engagement a little early, and. as I was waiting in. the lobby I had a curious sur-

[| prise., I thought there was a glass at th* ; end of the corridor* and that the person , approaching was myself—my reflection, yon know, but- it was another man. Meeting • halbway we both paused and looked at each other, the person with a strange stare of • surprise, I with, I snppose, an amused smile. ; When we had passed each other, he turnedand came after me. . . . .' I: _ '• ' ‘ I beg your pardon,’ he said with a slight" hesitation in his speech (natural like mine); ‘‘have we-met before ?’

* No,’ I said, smiling, and' in a voice that sounded like an echo of his own. ‘ No, or we should never have forgotten it ; for when first T saw you at the end 1 of the corridor I- thought you were u*y reflection in> % glass.’ ‘Really,’ he said', * and" how very strange. You seemed to. me so much like myself that; fearing the way in which- I stared at yon might seem an impertinence, I paused to apologise. *" / ■ - ‘lt is not necessary, I assure you,’ I said.

Then with a smile- he said 1 , ‘ Don : t yon think under the circumstances we ought to know each other ?’

•Yes,”

‘ With'your permission,’ I said, and handed him- my card. ‘ And our initials are the same,’ he- replied rummaging-' in- his pocket-book: for ; a card.

' Very odd, they are,’ I replied, as I road,. ' Mr John Needham, M.P;’ ‘ Do you- dine here ?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and here is my-host. ‘ Oh, Mr Charles Northfiel'd,’ he said, a» C. N. came up. ‘ Then we shall meet; again V * I hope so,’ I said l , and North field added, ‘ by all means.’ * In the smoke room V asked Needham. • * Yes,-’ said Northfield. * An hour from now?' * With pleasure.,’ ‘ Then ao revoir.’ said Needham. ‘ A very able man,’ said' Northfield, * rather embarassed, it is thought, but only temporarily, and he may yet live to- bePremier.’

* We met in the smoke-room later; and l Mr Needham prom-ished me some valuable introductions, two of which he has already sent me early this morning ;• and I am to dine with him to-night at Portland Place, A mild sort of adventure, is it not ? but very interesting to me, and I feel as if I had made a new and.' valued friend. Am much; better this morning y shall leave for Liverpool first train Sunday morning, have a quiet few hours in the train to read Dicken’a new book, and then write , you a last few lines before I sail for New York. London is very lively just now t and what is more important in your estimation is the fact that I feel much better. My love to Aunt Dorothy, to Dick (when you see him)', and a good loving kiss for you, from your devoted brother, Joe. ’ Misß Norbury received this letter on Sunday morning, as the bells of the village church were chiming- in the valley. The tragic events that were enacted while the welcome missive had been travellingdown to Wyedale must remain for narration in a succeeding chapter. (To be continued.)