Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 978, 28 November 1890, Page 8

Tales and Sketches.

By G. A. HENTY. Author of * The Curse of Carne’a Hold,’ ‘Gabriel Allen, M.P.,’ &c., &c.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] A Hidden Foe. . —.—+

A STORY OF LOVE AND MYSTERY.

[All Rights Reserved.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Chapter I.—ln the month of November, 1862, Mrs Clitheroe, a lady of fashion, at Bath, hears for the first time from her brother, Mr Algernon Corbyn, of Corbyn Court, of the latter’s secret marriage eighteen years before to the daughter of a postmaster. One child had been the issue of the marriage, but the mother had died twelve months after the nuptials. The daughter had been brought up and educated secretly at St. Malo. The news causes Mrs Clitheroe ohagrin and annoyance, chiefly on account of the consequent disinheritance of her own Bon, who had been looking forward to sueceeding to the estates of Corbyn. After Mr Corbyn has informed bis sister, he decides to place the papers of his marriage and the birth of his daughter in the hands of the family solicitor, Mr Ferris, and then pay a visit to his daughter at St. Malo. He drives with Brandon, his servant, to the station, but the horse stumbles over some stones, and both are thrown out into the road. CHAPTER 11. A crowd quickly gathered round tlie fallen men and horse, and a policeman who was standing at the corner of the York Hotel ran up the hill to the spot, lifted the coachman into a sitting position, just as a gentleman who had seen the accident came out from one of the houses in Oxford-row with a jug of water. The policeman saw that he could he of no assistance here, and pushed through the crowd gathered round the other fallen man. They had turned him over, and one of them kneeling by his side was supporting his head.

‘ Why, it is Mr Corbyn !’ the policeman exclaimed.

* I am afraid it is all over with him,’ the man who was supporting Mr Corbvn’s head said, looking up. *He came with his head right against those steps.’ ‘He is breathing,’ the policeman said, leaning down over him. At this moment a gentleman pushed through the crowd, saying, ‘ Make way, please, lam a doctor.’ A moment’s examination sufficed to enable him to form an opinion. ‘ A terrible fracture of the skull. There is not the slightest hope of his surviving it.’ ‘lt is Mr Corbyn, sir,’ the policeman remarked in awed tones, for that such an accident should befall Mr Corbyn of Corbyn Court, one of the magistrates of the county, seemed terrible indeed to him.

‘Yes, I know him,’ the doctor replied. ‘ Let me think. His sister, Mrs Clitheroe, lives in Royal Crescent.’ ‘ Yes, sir, I know the house,’ the policeman said. ‘He had better be carried there. Send down to the Police Station for four men and a stretcher. Now, how about the other?’ and he went to examine the coachman. He was still lying insensible. * I think he is only stunned,’ the doctor said, after examining him. ‘Of course, there may be concussion of the brain, but that I cannot tell at present. He had better be carried down to the Hospital at once.’ By this time two more policemen had come up ; these with some difficulty cleared the road of the crowd, cut the traces and got the horse on to his legs, removed the shattered dog-cart out of the way of the traffic, and placed the two portmanteaus, which had also flown out into the road, beside it. In a few minutes the men arrived with two stretchers. The doctor had already proceeded to the Crescent to break the news to Mrs Clitheroe.

The shock was a greg± one. Algernon was her only brother, and although she had always inwardly lamented that he did not come up to her ideal of what a Corbyn should be, she had yet never had any serious difference with him from his boyhood until that which had occurred on the previous day. All Mrs Clitheroe’s affections were centred in her son. It was for his sake that she had been so deeply angered the day before when she heard that another stood between him and Corbyn Court. Nevertheless, the sudden news of the death of her brother came as a terrible shock to her, and was heightened by the fact that they parted in anger, for by the time that Algernon was carried

to the house in Royal Crescent the faint flicker of life which had remained had djed out, and it was a corpse that was carried into the room upstairs. Ten minutes later Philip arrived breathless, the nexva having reached him at the club. T

‘ This is an awful shock, mother,’ he ■aid, as he entered the room in which she was sitting, ‘ it must be terrible for you. I could scarce believe it when Dr. Yesey came into the club and told me. lam awfully sorry for uncle ;it seems he was on his way to the station, for he had his portmanteaus with him; they have brought them here and put them in the Hall. I suppose he was a little late, and was driving fast to catch the - train. It is a beastly hill, and on a sharp day like this as slippery as glass.’

‘ I had not heard that he was on his way up to town,’ Mrs Clitheroe said, rousing herself suddenly.

‘ He must have been, mother, and I suppose he was going for some little time as he had two portmanteaus with him. I know when he runs up for a day or two he only takes one, for I have gone up with him half a dozen times. ’ Up to this point Mrs Clitheroe had scarcely thought coherently, her mind had seemed numbed with the suddenness of the shock. Algernon was dead, had been killed close to her door, they had taken him upstairs. This she had repeated over and over again to herself in a dull mechanical sort of way, but Philip’s words turned her thoughts into a fresh channel. Algernon had said he meant to act at once, but that with him seldom meant much, and she had reckoned upon a fortnight or three weeks’ delay before he set out to fetch this daughter of his. But for once he had evidently roused himself to carry out his intention, when he had been stricken down, and was on his way to France to produce the girl who was to rob Philip of his inheritance. Her brain was actively at work now. What would be the effect of this accident ? Did this girl know that she was the heiress of Corbyn Court ? Did anyone know save Algernon ? If not —and at this point Philip put his hand on her shoulder. ‘The shock has been too much for you, mother; you had best lie down for a little time. Have you see him.’ She shook her head. ‘ Dr. Vesey was within,’ she said, speaking for the first time, ‘he went out when they brought him in, and came back, and said that it was all over. He made me go into the dining-room, as he said it was better that I should not see him at present. ’ ‘ Much better I should say, mother. It can do no good, and it will be a terrible sight for you. Later on you can see him, perhaps, but not at present. I shall not go up myself now.’ ‘ What are you going to do ?’ she asked.

‘ I do not know,’ he replied; ‘ I think,’ he went on after a pause, ‘ I had better go to the Coroner’s and ask him if it will be necessary to have an inquest. Nothing can be done until we know that; if he says no I -will see about the other arrangements. I suppose it is my business to look after them. If he says yes, there will be nothing else to be done till that is over. I will take a close carriage and drive over to the Court; likely enough they will have heard nothing there as yet about it.’

‘ No, Philip,’ his mother said sharply, ‘ not yet. I would not go up to the Court, people might say afterwards that you were in a hurry to take possession.’ ‘ No one would say that,’ he said, throwing back his head haughtily, and then with a change of tone, ‘ you are upset, mother, and not yourself, or ‘i do not think you would have said that. I do not believe that anyone who knows me would credit me with so mean a thought. Till you spoke, the thought of the difference this would make to me never once entered my mind.’ ‘ No doubt you are right, Philip ; still I think it is better not to go there to-day, but see about the other arrangements. I will lie down for a bit.’ But Mrs Clitheroe did not lie down. She paced restlessly up and down her room, her brain too busy for her even to sit down for a moment. At last she moved swiftly to the door, opened it, and stood listening. No one was moving in .that part of the house. As soon as she assured herself of this, she opened the door of the next room and went in. The body lay on the stretcher on which it had been carried up, the ends being placed on two chairs. The doctor had hastily thrown his handkerchief over the face before it was brought into the house, and it still lay there. Mrs Clitheroe was at no time a

i nervous woman, and with scarcely a, pause at the door she walked up to the side of the body. She had nerved herself to the task. The overcoat and the coat beneath it were both unbuttoned; for Dr. Yesey had opened them when he first knelt beside the fallen man to see if his heart was still beating. Mrs Clitheroe thrust her hand into tho breast pocket of the undercoat and drew forth several letters. She glanced at the writing outside. One of the envelopes was larger than the rest, and a slight exclamation broke from her as she glanced at it. She replaced the rest, and with this in her hand returned to her room, locking her door behind her. She lighted the gas, for the short day was waning, and but little light made its way through the closely drawn blinds. Then she sat down and opened the envelope. It contained three papers only; the copies of the certificate of marriage between Algernon Corbyn and Constance Purcell, and copies of the French official documents certifying to the birth and baptism of Constance Corbyn, daughter of Algernon and Constance Corbyn ; and to the death and burial of Constance Corbyn, wife of Algernon Corbyn, and daughter of William and .Jane Purcell. Mrs Clitheroe sat for some time with these papers before her. Should she destroy them ? Was there anything to be gained by doing so ? Perhaps nothing in the end, but it would retard matters. Did Philip know of the existence of these papers he would doubtless want to relinquish everything at once, and give up the matter without a struggle. She diet not wish that it should be otherwise; he was a Clitheroe rather than a Corbyn, and would not take it to heart that this grandchild of a village schoolmaster should reign at Corbyn Court. Her destroying these papers would. probably make no difference ; no doubt Algernon had left a will and it would all come to the same thing. These documents were but copies of registers, and could be easily replaced; still, if they were found at once—for thei*e would no doubt be an examination into all* papers and documents—there would be an end to the matter, while, if they were not forthcoming, theie would at least be breathing time until the will was opened at any rate. She concluded at last, that they might as well be burned. She opened a desk which stood on the table, took out a small memorandum book, and noted down in it the name of the church where the marriage was performed, and those of the minister and of the witnesses to the ceremony. She did this under a vague idea that the information might be possibly useful. Then she rose, twisted up the three papers and the envelope, and held them one by one in the fii’e that was burning in the grate.

‘ I do not suppose it will he of any use,’ she said to herself; ‘ but if there should be a chance I will defend Philip’s rights to the end.’ There was an inquest and a funeral, and Algernon Corbyn was laid in the old family vault, and Philip Clitheroe took possession of the Court as its unquestioned heir. No will had been found. The family solicitors upon being communicated with were unaware that such a will had been prepared. It had certainly not been drawn out by them. Philip Clitheroe was really sorry for the death of his uncle, although he had never entertained any strong affection for him. There was a lack of cordiality upon the part of the elder man that had kept his nephew aloof from him. ‘Uncle always shakes hands as if he did not like it,’ Philip had once as a boy complained to his mother. ‘I would much rather that he did not shake hands at all.’

‘ It is only his way,’ his mother had said. * Your uncle was never a demonstrative man. The Corbyns have always had a quiet manner. You do not take after them, Philip.’ ‘Well, mother, if you do not mind my saying so, lam glad Ido not. I wonder whether uncle when he was a boy always spoke as if he was measuring his words, and whether he ran or shouted like other boys. I should like to see uncle running and shouting.’ Mrs Clitheroe did not even smilean approval, for a joke relating to a Corbyn of Corbyn Court was in her eye almost an act of irreverence. *

‘ I do not like such remarks, Philip,’ she said sharply. . ‘ They are extremely bad form, to say the least of it. Members of a fa mily should never make such remarks about each other. If we do not respect ourselves how can we expect others to respect us.’

‘Very well, mother,’ Philip replied good temperedly. ‘For my part I

would rather be liked than respected ever so much.’

‘.And I would be very much rather be respected than liked,’ Mrs Clitheroe replied, in a tone which effectually put an end to the discussion. But although Philip felt really sorry for the sudden death of his uncle, he was not insensible to the change it had made in his position. The Clitheroe estate was a small one, and his own fondness-for hunting, and carelessness about money generally, and his mother’s insistance that it was absolutely necessary they should come into Bath for the winter season, ~ had taxed his resources severely. He himself had indeed move than once proposed to put down two of his hunters, but his mother had decidedly objected. * If you sell any of your horses it would cause talk, Philip. It is true we are living beyond our income, but you will come in for a fine property some day, and we must keep up our position in the county. We must save in other matters.’ But the saving had not been effected, and Philip had been often bothered about money affairs. Although he was the nominal owner, pf Clitheroe, his mother was as completely the mistress as she had been during his father’s life, and he never thought of disputing her wishes. Still it was pleasant to him now to know that there was an end to all this. He was master of Corbyn Court, and there was an end of pecuniary worries. He could marry when he liked now ; his mother would, of course, live with him until he did so, and then there would be Clitheroe for her. She had been more shaken by his uncle’s death than he should have expected; and it seemed to him, although there was no possible reason for such a thing, that she was anxious and nervous. He thought so specially when, on the day after the funeral, young Mr Ferris came down to make a thorough search with him for his uncle’s papers, to make certain that there was no will existing. ‘ My mother is worrying herself about that will,’ he said to himself, as he drove over to the Court with young Ferris. * I do not know why she should, for, in the first place, the property is entailed and must come to me, and, in the second, there is no one else for uncle to have left the rest of his property to. He was not likely to take it into his head to endow a charity.’

‘ I do not think there is much chance of our finding anything,’ James Ferris said as they entered the house. ‘Mr Corbyn was not at all the sort of man to have made a will-secretly and stowed it away; besides, there could be no possible reason for his doing so. I daresay he meant to come to us one day and get us to draw it out tor him. Men generally like to leave a few legacies to old servants and so on, but you see he had every reason to expect to live another thirty or forty years, and it naturally appeared to him that there was no hurry about it. It is singular how men put off making their wills. There are no places that you know of, except the safe in his library, where he kept papers i’

‘ Not that 1 know of. I looked in the safe three days ago, but I could see nothing but a lot of leases and agreements, and several files of paid bills,, and a bundle or two of letters. ’

‘The leases and agreements were principally copies,’ James Ferris said, ‘ we have got the originals in his safe in our cellars, with the deeds of the property and other important papers, but he liked having .copies of the leases to refer to when tenants wanted things done. We persuaded him to let us have the originals, for these old country mansions are very unsafe places. Once they catch fire down they go. Well> here we are.’

The door of the safe was opened, and the bundles of leases untied to make sure that there was no will among them.

‘ls it worth while keeping all the receipts V Philip asked, as he took up the next bundle.

‘ Certainly. After a death is the time when they are most useful. People are apt to send in their accounts again on the off chance that the receipts have not been kept, and of course the executors have no means otherwise of knowing whether they have been paid or not.’

‘ We may as well destroy the letters, at any rate,’ Philip said. ‘lt is not necessary to read them, I suppose V ‘ No, you see they are tied up and docketted. Here are “ letters connected with the letting of the home farm,’’ “ correspondence concerning question of w .ter rates.” It is no use keeping the ,e things, they are all

settled and done with long ago wi.i is that V he asked, as Philip gave a sudden exclamation. ‘ Ah! “ Letters from my daughter.” Humph ! That is more important, indeed,’ and the young men looked each other in the face.

‘ You do not think that uncle w™ married, Ferris V

‘ Most improbable thing i n the world, I should say. Mr Corbyn, from what I knew of him, was the most unlikely man to have made a marriage beneath him. Besides, if he had done so during his father’s lifetime, there was no reason why he should not have a c . knowledged it when he came into the property Oh, no; I should say that the chances of his being married are next to nothing.’

‘ But what is to be done with these letters ?’ Philip asked.

‘ I can’t give an opinion offhand, the matter is altogether too serious. It must be for my father to decide. As I said, I do not think that there is one chance in a hundred of Mr Corbyn having married/ I regard sucha Ihing as improbable in the extreme. Still-, » and he paused.

‘Yes, it would he awkward,’Philip said, grimly. ‘ You see that as there is no’ will the unentailed as well as the entailed property would go to her, as you know the entail goes with us in the female line. Well, of course, Ferris as the family lawyer you must do your duty in the matter. Fiat justicia, you know,’ he added, with an attempt to laugh.

Really, I do not think there is any fear of its turning out in that way, Clitheroe. I think it likely that your uncle, whose father was a proud and stern man, committed some sort of escapade, as thousands of men have done before him, and you see a child has been the result.’

• You had better glance through the letters, Ferris. I think I would rather not read them. I will light my pipe while yon are looking through them,’ and he turned his chair round to the fire.

For a quarter of an hour no word was spoken. Philip Clitheroe sat puffing his pipe and gazing into the fire. It would indeed he awkward, as he had said, if his uncle had been married. His mother would take it to heart a good deal more than he should. He himself had never regarded his heirship of Corbyn Court as anything but a very remote contingency. His uncle had been but sixteen years older than himself, and might have lived until ninety if it had not been for this accident. He had seriously thought several times of going abroad for a few yeai - s, and leaving Clitheroe in his mother’s hands. As long as he was at home she would never retrench; she throght too much of keeping up his position in the county. That was all well enough if he were heir to Corbyn, but as only owner of Clitheroe it would be absurd. He was thinking this over when the lawyer spoke, ‘ I gather from these letters, Clitheroe, that this girl has been brought up by some people named Duport at St. Malo. She only writes twice a year, and in the first letter, which is dated ten years back, she says she is seven, so she is seventeen now. She signs herself Constance Corbyn; but, of course, that goes for nothing. He would naturally have passed her mother off as his wife. There is no allusion to a mother through all the letters, so it is probable that she is either dead or that she took up with someone else, leaving the child to be taken care of by him. I see that in one letter each year she speaks as having not seen him long before ; so I suppose he went over once a year to see her. Certainly the letters prove nothing one way or the other; but I suppose that we shall have to investigate the matter.’ ‘ Certainly,’ Philip agreed, ‘ of course. If there was a marriage, there is an end to the matter. If not, I will get you to arrange that the allowance, whatever it is, that my uncle paid, shall he continued, and yon can make any arrangement you think right for a sum of money to be paid to her when she comes of age or marries. Such an arrangement as you think it probable my uncle would have made had he left a will.’

The lawyer nodded. ‘ I understand,’ he said. * I daresay I shall have to go over. When I see in what way she has been brought up, I shall be able to form a more definite idea as to what is to be done in the matter. A s to the first alternative, I hope • and believe that there is little chance of its accuracy.' ‘ I imagine that you must have seen

1 p the unexpected occur pretty often in vour profession, Ferris. However, Whatever comes of it I don’t think I shall break my heart over it. Of course it is rather a blow at first—you - woU ldn’t believe me if I said it wasn’t but I am not sure that I am cut out for a squire of high degree, and shall enjoy lil ß quite as much if I have to make my own way a bit. Xam really thinking more of my mother than of myself: it would be a great blow to her for me to lose the Court just when as it seemed I had so unexpectedly come into

r. it. ‘Yes, Mrs Clitheroe would feel it,' James Ferris agreed, for he had dined with the Clitheroes several times when they had been up in London, and had not been favourably impressed by Mrs Clitheroe’s manner, ‘A clever woman, father,’ he had said, ‘ but as hard as nails and as proud as lucifer, though what she has to be so proud about I don’t know. I wonder her son is such a pleasant fellow, brought up by a woman like that; but it is evident she is extremely fond of him, her voice quite softens when she speaks to him. I daresay she has her good points.’ ‘ I expect so, Jim; most of them have, but I agrree with you, Mrs Clitheroe is hard. You know she put her affairs into our hands at her husband’s death, because we have always been Mr Corbyn’s lawyers, and she never forgets that she is a Corbyn. She is a capital hand at business, but I came to the conclusion that I would rather he her lawyer than her debtor. ‘Do you mean to tell her, Clitheroe,’ James Ferris asked after he had revolved these matters in his mind. ‘ I think I had better not,’ Philip replied, after a pause. *Of course if you find out that there was a marriage she will know all about it soon enough; if not, I do not see why she should know anything about \j.b.’ ‘ I don’t see why she should, things of this sort are just as well kept quiet. i No, I agree with you it will he better to say nothing about it unless we should discover that there really was a marriage. At any rate we must make a thorough search for a will. As matters stood before it seemed of little consequence whether one existed or not but the matter is completely altered now.’

For the next two or three hours the young men searched in every drawer, cabinet, or other place where papers were likely to be stowed away, but no documents ot any kind were found. ‘lt is quite possible, Clitheroe,’ the' young lawyer said, when the search was concluded, ‘ that we may hear of a will yet. So long as we make sure that a will would be made in your favour, there was no reason whatever why your uncle should go to anyone else, but the case is altogether altered now. He would not like us to have known about this business, and would probably have gone elsewhere to ' get his will made. Mind, I think it very much more likely that he has >never given it a moment’s consideration, but if he did so, that is tlie course he would be likely to pursue. ‘Well, I shall not bother, any more about it, Ferris. I consider the matter is now in your hands as the solicitor to the family: That takes all the responsibility off my shoulders, but please impress upon your father that my anxiety will be to do what is right. If the girl is entitled to the estates, well and good; if not, I wish the arrangements to be made on a liberal scale. You said that you must go back this afternoon. Can’t I persuade you to stop until the morning V ‘No, thank you, I really want to get up to town, for we are very busy at present, and have got a very heavy case just coming on. In the next place I want to hear what my father thinks about this affair, and lastly I don’t think we should spend a very enjoyable evening. We have both got this thing in our minds and could talk about nothing else, although no amount of talk can throw any further light upon it. So I will carry out my original intentions.’ * Philip looked at his watch. ‘ We Have ample time to have the horses put in and drive comfortably down to the station. After what has happened you will not catch me driving down that hill again fast.’ After seeing James Ferris off by the train, Philip handed the reins to the groom, told him to take the horses back to the stables, and then qtroiled slowly hack to Royal Terrace, thinking the matter over in every light. His mother was in the drawing-room when no went up. It was getting dusk, and she was sitting with her back to the

window, and a magazine .in her hand, which as she sat, served to screen her face from the fire.

‘You have been a long time Philip. I think yon might have come straight back from the station, I heard that the carriage came back half an hour ago. ‘ I beg your pardon, mother. I made so sure after my own search through the papers, that no will would be found, it did not strike me that you would be anxious about it. We have have looked everywhere so far as we know, and no will has come to hand, and Ferris did not expect to find one any more than I did.’

‘ 1 did not think there would be one myself, for Algernon was not of a nature to trouble himself about matters that could conveniently be put off, and he had of course no reason to anticipate that any necessity would arrive for many years for his making a will.’ ‘No, that is our idea, mother.’ _ Philip was standing so high that the light both from the window and the fire fell on his face, and his mother saw at once that something unusual had happened.

‘ He has found some papers or letters relating to her,’ she said to herself. ‘ No proofs certainly that would show them that she is heiress to the Court, for in that case he would tell me at once; there couJd be no reason for concealing it, besides it is not his way. If he had found out that he had lost the Court, he would be as likely as not to mention it to the first half dozen acquaintances'he met in the street.’ It was irritating that it should be so, and yet Mrs Clitheroe loved her son no less that his disposition differed so widely from her own and that he took after liis dead father rather than her. ‘He has found some clue,’ she repeated to herself, ‘ but he does not mean to tell me. He has learned that Algernon had a daughter, but not that she is legitimate. If he thought she were, he would tell me at once. He and that young Ferris have come to the conclusion that she is illegitimate, and therefore the thing is to be kept a secret from me. I must think over whether I had better broach the subject and let him know that I amaware of her existence, then I should learn what steps they were taking, but on the other hand there are many reasons why it would be better that he should think me ignorant about it.’

This was what she thought, she only said:— ‘ I suppose you will be moving into the Court soon, Philip. There seems no reason why you should not do so.’

‘Yes, I suppose I might as well mother, or rather we might as well, Corbyn is so much nearer than Clitheroe, that it will be a great deal more convenient for the town, of course it will be a question for you to decide whether we shall keep on this house.’ Then Mrs Clitheroe knew that the two young men had considered it morally certain that this girl whose existence they had learnt was not born in wedlock.

‘ There will be plenty of time to think of that Philip,’ she replied, ‘of course we shall shut up Clitheroe. Corbyn is only three quaaters of an hour’s drive, but that counts for a good deal in winter. At any rate we have got this house on our hands for another year and a half and shall be able to see how things work before that, but there is no doubt that it is right and proper that you should take possession of the Court at once.’

‘I suppose it is the right thing to do,’ he agreed rather reluctantly. ‘ I should say though it is better to let a week or so pass first, I do not want to seem to be in a hurry to step into uncle’s shoes.’

‘ Very, well, Philip, there is of course no hurry about it,’ but Mrs Clitheroe at once guessed that Philip wished to delay until he had made quite certain as to the status of this unknown cousin. ‘ Ferris is going to make enquiries,’ she said to herself. ‘I would give a good deal to find out what the girl herself knows.’

This indeed was the point upon which Mrs Clitheroe’s thoughts had been fixed f.tom the moment when she burned the copy of the marriage certificate. Another copy might be found among her brother’s papers though this was hardly likely, or there might he some memorandum which would afford a clue. Fortunately there could be no letters which would give this information, for the mother had not returned to England, and had never been separated from Algernon from the time of their marriage, therefore no letters between them could be in existence. Still Algernon might have given copies of the certificates to the girl in order

that the people she lived with might have proofs of the marriage. Possibly, too, he might have made a will and le f t it with them. Everything depended on what he had done • if he had taken these precautions Corbyn Court was of course lost to Philip, if lie had not she might preserve it for him.

Both Mrs Clitheroe and her son talked more than usual that evening, for both were anxious to conceal the fact that they were preoccupied, and it was a relief to' them when the hour for going to bed arrived.

‘lt is no use bothering about it,’ Philip said angrily to himself when he was alone, * l am a fool to worry. Ferris seems to have no doubt that it is all right, and if it isn’t I should not fret myself about it, so why should I bother now. I will not let myself think any more of it until 1 hear from him the result of his enquiries. , I think I will run up to town for three or four days; I suppose it would not he the right thing for me to go into the club for another week or so, and I should mope to death if I had to stay here doing nothing till then.’ Philip adhered to his resolution not to allow his thoughts to dwell any more upon the discovery made that afternoon, and accordingly he was sound asleep in half an hour. His mother sat for hours before the fire in her bedroom, and when she at last got into bed there was no sleep for her until daylight began to break. Then her mind was thoroughly made up. ‘ I will do it,’ she said firmly. ‘ Philip shall not be defrauded of his rights, and no peasant’s grand-daughter shall reign in the old House of the Corbyns, if I can prevent it.’ The next morning at breakfast Philip, with some doubt as to how his mother would receive the proposition, said that he had been thinking of running up to London for a few days. ‘ I can’t very well go down to the club or meet people just at present, mother, everyone would think it their duty to talk about uncle’s death, and I would rather get out of it for the present if,’ he - added, ‘you will not find it very dull by yourself here.’ He was pleased at receiving a cordial assent to his proposal from Mrs Clitheroe.

‘I think it is a very good idea, Philip, it will make a change for you, and on your return you can go stright back to the Court, and I will join you there. We will stop there for a week or two, just to take possession, and then return here till the spring. By the time we come back you will be able to resume your former habits and to hunt again if you like. There is no occasion for a nephew to shut himself up for a long time after the death of an uncle. I shall not find it lonely here. I shall get on very well until you return.’

‘ Then I may as well go up to-day by the express V ‘ I think that is the best thing you can do, Philip.’ Accordingly Philip went up to London by the twelve o’clock train. (To be continued.)