Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 994, 20 March 1891, Page 8

Tales and Sketches.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] By Mutual Consent BY F. MARSDEN SUTCLIFFE. Author of ‘The Bella of St. Barnabas,’ * The Romance of an Insurance Office, Re. vealed by Fire,’ &0., &o. [Alb Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER XYI. 1 . . What we have we prize not to the Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, , Why, then we rack the value, then we nnd The virtue that possession would not show ns Whiles it was ours. Sir Reginald Denison wended liis way from Kensington after liis abortive attempt to induce Winifred to set aside the compact made at York, in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. Tlie magnetic influence of her dazzling beauty had created within him a tumult of passionate longings which her refusal to entertain his proposal for a reconciliation only .served to increase, and which rendered the consciousness of defeat unsupportable. His self-love and his pride were wounded. It maddened him to meet with an obstacle that interfered with his wishes, and he was full of bitterness that he had humbled himself in vain, and that cajolery and threatening had alike proved powerless to move Winifred from her determination. Naturally, the fever in his mind was not allayed by the knowledge that Claude Maclean was his wife’s lover, and that returned his affection. He cursed his folly for venturing to intrude on them at a moment so unpropitious for the success of his plans. He believed that he might have fared better if he had withdrawn without making his presence known. In acting as he did he believed that the game was in his own hands, and that his sudden appearance would cover the lovers with confusion, and

place Winifred entirely at his mercy. ‘ Fool, fool,’ he muttered to himself as he strode along. * What else could I expect after coming upon her suddenly in that way? I ought to.have retired and left her in ignorance of my discovery.’ But Sir Reginald was unwilling to own himself vanquished. He had one hope left—the hope that led him to beat a retreat lest his plan too should be overthrown by continuing the contest. He thought that the Countess of Polehampton might succeed where he had failed. ‘ Women understand women best,’ he argued, 4 and Selina is a woman in a thousand.' He resolved to place himself in his sister’s hands without delay, and to act by her advice. He knew that she would be annoyed to discover that her scheme for marrying him to the Lady Isabel had come to grief, and that it would cost him something to make known his marriage. But he was confident that the Countess would

see that the only way to prevent the - baronetcy becoming extinct was to bring about the reconciliation that he desired, and though he feared her wrath when she came to know the deception he had practised upon her, he was prepared to encounter even a worse hardship rather than forfeit his claim to the wife whom he had once despised, hut whose beauty now enthralled him. Sir Reginald felt that the details of the story he had to tell were too shameful to be told to the Countess of Polehampton, and ho contrived in unburthening himself of his secret to soften the facts, and made them look less ugly than they would have appeared if they had been presented in their naked reality. Even then the results were less satisfactory than he hoped for. The Countess, on finding that her favourite scheme of bringing about an alliance between the Brutons and Denisons were scattered to the winds by the revelation that her brother had already a wife living, was more angry than Sir Reginald had expected. She felt that she had been shamefully deceived, and could not be made to - understand that Sir Reginald was not practising some grim joke upon hei\ ‘ I do not understand your story,’she said, freezingly, when at last the earnestness of Sir Reginald’s manner overcame her incredulity. ‘You say that you have a wife living and that she refuses to live with you, but you

do not explain why she refuses. Or, at least, you give such a lame account of the matter that I cannot help feeling that you are deceiving me. ’ ‘I swear to you that what I have told you is the truth,’ Sir Reginald exclaimed. 'We had grown tired of each other, and we thought a temporary separation was the best thing/ But the Countess shook her head and flashed an earnest, penetrating glance on her brother, beneath which he quailed, and his eyes fell. ‘ I do not believe you,’ she said, with uncompromising sternness. 4 How can you expect it after the trick you have played upon me ? You have led me all along to believe that you were un. married whilst, forsooth, you had a wife hidden away somewhere ! It is shameful! What will Theresa Goffin say when the truth comes to be known ? As for the Brutons I shall be afraid to look them in the face. I must know everything or I shall refuse to meddle. * I have told you all that there is to tell,’ said Sir Reginald, gloomily. ‘ I do not think so,’ the Countess replied.- ‘ You say that the lady whom I know as Miss West is Lady Denison. I know her only a very little ; she is quite a recent acquaintance j but I do not think she is a young lady who would require much coaxing to return to. her wifely duty, unless there are reasons of which I am not informed. You must please yourself,’ she continued, * whether you give me ail your confidence or not, but, unless I am trusted entirely, I will not stir in the matter, and you must settle your differences the best way you can.’ Sir Reginald saw in the resolute face of his sister that it would be vain to appeal against this decree. It was horrible, he felt, to be compelled to reveal all his villainy ; but his determination to regain possession of his wife bore him through the miserable shame of his confession.

It was a painful ordeal that he was compelled to pass through. His own voluntary statements would have left a good deal in the dark where he fain would have left it, but the Countess, whan once she abtained a key to the differences that had driven husband and wife asunder, contrived by adroit questioning to drag all the shameful truth to light. Never had an unhappy victim stretched on a rack experienced more acute suffering than Sir Reginald endured during this process and, when it was over, he felt like a criminal standing at the bar of inexorable justice to receive sentence of doom. Yet the Countess herself suffered more keenly than her worthless brother. Sim felt herself degraded by Sir Reginald’s infamous behaviour to his young and innocent wife, and her heart was wrung with pain as she thought of the acute and prolonged suffering that Winifred must have endured before she was driven to the desperate step of cutting herself loose from her husband. _ 1 1 must have time to think over it,’ she said, after a pause. 4 Your story surpasses belief.’ * But you have promised that you would do all you could to bring about a reconciliation,’ cried Sir Reginald, with dismay. ‘ That is true. But I did not suppose that I should hear, even from your lips, a story so shocking,’ she replied, scornfully. ‘ I will give you my opinion frankly, Reginald. If you were a widower to-morrow I would not move a hand to assist you to marry any woman. Nay, more, I would do all in my power to dissuade any woman, whom you thought of marrying from linking her fate with yours. You are too unworthy. The fact that you are already married and that it is only a reconciliation that is required makes some difference. Even thus I am not prepared to say that Lady Denison is not entirely right in her refusal to return to you or to bear your name ; and with my convictions I am not sure that your cause will not suffer by my advocacy.’ Lady Polehampton was generally regarded iu the circle in which she moved as a brilliant woman of the world, a bora schemer, full of worldly policy and intrigue, and without heart. But she was essentially a just woman, to whom a mean act was utterly foreign, and she felt that to bear any part in persuading a woman to place her happiness in the keeping of her brother, Reginald, was a responsibility little short of appalling,, In her heart she was convinced that no hard measure had been dealt out to him by Winifred’s refusal to return to him, and that the least punishment that he deserved was to be left to pine and long in vain for the wife whom he had been so willing to discard; nor could she refrain from

respecting the motives that had pi'ompted Winifred to escape from the contamination to which she was exposed as the wife of Reginald Denison.

Lady Polehampton eventually decided to call upon her newly-discovered sister-in-law, telling her brother, however, as she sallied forth on her mission, that she would not undertake to say a word in his behalf until she had heard Winifred’s sbory from her own lips. When Lady Polehampton’s carriage drove to the shabby little house in Kensington, the Countess found the window blinds drawn and the house wearing a melancholy appearance of desertion. Her footman rang the door bell again and again, but nothing, was heal'd within the silent house save the untuneful clanging of the bell. It was clear to the Countess that Winifred had fled from her husband. Lady Polehampton’s face, which had worn a serious p re-occupied look since Sir Reginald imparted his story to her assumed a graver expression on discovering Winifred’s flight. It spoke to her in silent but pathetic eloquence of the dread of a pure minded woman lest she should again be enslaved in the terrible degradation from which she had broken away. The Countess mentally applauded Winifred’s act, though she regretted the lost opportunity of making her acquaintance in a new aspect. She was sharper and more peremptory in her tone when Sir Reginald called to learn how she had sped on her errand. ‘ Your wife has fled,’ she said, 4 and my assistance is of no avail.’ ‘ She has eloped with Claude Maclean,’ said Sir Reginald, in his disappointment and. wrath. ‘ Don’t be a fool/ retorted the Countess, angrily. ‘ Claude Maclean is a man of the most irreproachable integrity. Eloping with other men s wives is nob in his line. I will pawn my honour for liis.’ ‘ How was he to know that she was vny wife ?’ returned Sir Reginald, savagely, forgetting in his anger that he had addressed Winifred as Lady Denison in Claude’s presence. ‘He only knew her like the rest of the world as Miss West.’ ‘Then why should he elope with her?’ replied the Countess with remorseless logic. Sir Reginald looked non-plussed at this shaft, but he clung to his opinion stubbornly, having, as lie imagined, reasons for his suspicions with which he did not see fit to acquaint his sister. Winifred’s flight aroused his jealousy to madness. He resolved that he would discover the place of her retreat, if he had to go to the ends of the earth in search of it. When he knew where she lay hidden he would.. renew liis appeal to his sister to bring about a reconciliation. On leaving the Countess of Pole-, hampton’s residence in St. James Square, Reginald struck out for one of the streets leading to the Strand, where he found what he was looking for—the office of a private enquiry agent. But he refrained from giving the detective his entire confidence. He contented himself by instructing him to place a strict watch on the movements of the Honourable Claude Maclean, and to report to him. On his theory his plans were well laid. His mind darkened with jealous suspions had leaped to the conclusion that Claude Maclean knew the secret of Winifred’s hiding-place. If he only knew where Maclean was to be found, he thought that he would soon be able to track Winifred’s place of concealment. He did not know that Claude Maclean was as ignorant as himself of the place of Winifred’s retreat, or that his own footsteps were being dogged. Nevertheless, he was .carefully ‘ shadowed ’ during the anxious days that followed whilst Winifred’s fate hung in suspense, for Claude was determined to protect the woman whom he loved from the coercion of her husband, and to ensure for her perfect freedom of choice in determining her own destiny. So to accomplish this aim Sir Reginald was ‘ shadowed wherever lie went.

CHAPTER XVII. < Alas ! life’s path may be un smooth ! Her way may lie through rough distress. Then who her pangs and pains will soothe. Her sorrows share and make them less - ‘ She must have been a mere child when that villain Denison tricked her into a marriage with him. Think of her position—a friendless girl, left alone in a foreign city, without a soul to look to except the hound who basely used his advantage as her appointed guardian, to impose on her innocence and cajole

lier into sharing his ruined name and! reputation.’ The speaker was Claude Maclean, who was expatiating to Lady Falconridge with honest warmth on the wrongs . of the deeply injured wife of Sir Reginald Denison. The scene was the breakfast-room of Claude’s residence on Campden Hill. It was a terrible blow to Claude Maclean when he made the unlookedfor discovery of Winifred’s marriage. But his sorrow over his vanished dream of happiness was swallowed up by his anxiety occasioned by Winifred’s flight, and the uncertainty that hung over her fate. His anxiety became aggravated when several days elapsed without bringing any tidings to allay his fears. Hence Lady Falconridge, reading between the lines when Claude wrote to her for any information communicated by Winifred whilst at Glen Orloch that might tend to throw light on her probable place of retreat, hastened to Kensington to comfort her son in the great trouble that had befallen him. ‘lt is a very piteous story,’ said Lady Falconridge, ‘and I feel very keenly for Winifred, but it is most unfortunate for you.’ «Don’t troxible yourself about me, mother,’ cried Claude impulsively, 1 1 can only think of her. Help me to find her, and then shield her from the persecution of a scoundrel. I ask no more than that.’ ‘ But I must think of you,’ said Lady Falconridge with a warm glance of affection. ‘lt will quite spoil you life, for yours is not a shallow nature. You are not one to forget quickly.’ ‘ No, mother, I shall never forget,’ said Claude with mournful emphasis. ‘ You will tell me that I ought to try and forget her, remembering the barrier that stands in the way of my happiness. But that is impossible. Love is independent of volitions. I cannot by any act of my will cease from loving. My affection for Winifred will outlast my life. It is different from my love for you, but it is like it in this. No other can take its place.’ And Claude stooped and kissed his mother. «I do not esteem you less because you cannot quickly change,’ said Lady Falcom'idge after a pause, ‘ but I must think of what is most for your good.’ ‘ That is soon settled,’ cried Claude. ‘ When I know that Winifred i 3 safely

sheltered I shall learn how to bear my disappointment. I shall find a solace in my work and in the knowledge that she is safe, but whilst this anxiety continues I am too distracted to think of anything beside her.’ ‘lf I could only believe that, said Lady Falconridge doubtfully. ‘ I mean that if I felt assured that you would be satisfied to know that Winifred was with me I would willingly go to her, when you have discovei'ed wheie she is hidden, and ask her to make her home with me at GlenOrloch.’ ‘ That is all I want. When once she is placed out of his reach and is able to order her lif3 in her own way I shall be satisfied.’ ‘ But you could not come to GlenOrloch if she were there,’ said Lady Falconridge. ‘ Why not ? What is to hinder me coming V exclaimed Claude, . hotly. ‘ You have taught me to despise, the conventionalisms of an artificial society, and I mean to do so. We can be friends, I suppose?’ ‘ The position would be one of danger to both,’ said Lady Falconringe.^ ‘There is nothing to fear,’ cried Claude. ‘ I have had my hour of temptation, but it is past. Winifred shall not suffer in reputation on my account.’ ‘ But you cannot speak for her, continued Lady Falconridge. ‘You tell me she knows of your love and returns it. How can she endure being thrown in your company without pain V ‘ If seeing me gives her pain, I will not come to Glen-orloch,’ returned Claude, promptly. For a moment there was a struggle in the mind of Lady Falconridge, and how intense was the struggle was shown by the nervous working of her pale, thin lips. Her affection for her son was the supreme joy of her life, and his visits to Glen-Orloch had hitherto constituted the main source of her , happiness. How she welcomed his ! visits ! They were the one pure ray of bliss that fell on her in the lonely secluded life that had been her lot since her widowhood. How could she give up this happiness ? She felt that to submit to be debarred from the society of her son was a heavy sacufice to make, and she visibly shrank from the ordeal. . When she looked at his handsome

face, so pale and resolute that the exquisite chiselling of every feature was thrown into stronger relief by the strong emotion that mastered him, her heart misgave her. She thought, too, of the overthrow of his happiness, and how the wreck of his hopes was made more hitter to him by the knowledge that the woman whom he loved with a futile passion might be in sorrow, with no one at hand to help her to bear her load, and her lips faltered, unable to refuse the boon for which he asked. Her mother’s love conquered her reluctance. She was ready to sacrifice her one gleam of happiness to bring peace to his heart, and she was rewarded by seeing the tension of his features relax when she gave him the promise he asked for. Meanwhile Lady Falconridge was unable to render Claude the assistance he hoped for, to enable him to solve the mystery of Winifred’s retreat. She recalled, one by one, the various incidents of Winifred's life, as she had heard them at Glen-Orloch, without affording anything in the nature of a clue to her present whereabouts. ‘ Then you know nothing more than that her father died in Paris, and she subsequently came to England, and went into training as a hospital nurse?’ queried Claude, anxiously. f That is all answered,’ answered Lady Falconridge. 4 She was always very reticent, you remember, about her life after her father’s death. Now, of course, her silence is explained. She must have been married when she came to England.’ ‘ True ; and that affords no clue what ever,’ said Claude. ‘lt is impossible she can have friends in England to whom she would go to.’ Claude relapsed into silence, and sat with knitted brows pondering the problem, when a servant entered theroom bearing a card on a salver. Claude took the card eagerly, and read, Mr Yan De Weyer, Private Enquiry Agent.

‘ Show Mr Yan De Weyer this way,’ he said to the servant, and then turning to Lady Falconridge he explained, ‘ he is a detective who has been watching Denison.’ Mr Yan De Weyer’s appearance raised no suspicion of his calling in. life j an advantage possessed by few of his fraternity. He was well and cleanly built. His bearing was smart and soldier-like, a circumstance explained by the fact that he had served in the conscription, and at his age—he was not more than five-and-thirty—he might still look forward to military service in the cause of Fatherland. He was a Teuton every inch of him, as indicated by his tall, well-set frame, and his phlegmatic countenance. Imperturbability was stained on every linament of his face, though his quick restless eye denoted great shrewdness and intelligence. ‘ I hope you bring good news, ’ said Claude, after exchanging greetings with the detective. _ ‘ That is for Messieur to decide,’ said Mr Yan De Weyer, without moving a muscle of his face. ‘ Sir Reginald Denison has left London by the Paris mail from Charing Cross this morning' ’ Claude Maclean and Lady Falcon* ridge exchanged a quick glance of intelligence. ‘ Has he obtained tidings of the lady ?’ asked Claude eagerly. ‘ That is impossible to say at present?’ returned the detective. ‘ What do you mean by ‘‘at present ?” ’ asked Claude. ‘Madame Yan De Weyer has accompanied him to Paris and will continu e her surveillance. ’ ‘ls your wife a detective, too V said Lady Falconridge smiling. ‘ Madame Yan De Weyer is what is called in England “ my better half,” ’ replied the detective with a bow of respect. ‘lf Monsieur intends to interfere for the lady’s protection I think he should follow,’ he added, addressing Claude Maclean. ‘ I think so too,’ said Claude. ‘ You can accompany me, I suppose ?’

‘lf Monsieur thinks it necessary. Madame Yan de Weyer has full instructions how to proceed, and may be thoroughly depended upon to do her duty. All that is really required is that she shall be furnished with the time of your arrival in Paris.’ ‘ You may be of use if you can come,’ said Claude. 4 As Monsieur pleases. I am entirely at your service,’ replied the detective with another bow. ‘ May I suggest that if your preparations ean be made quickly you can take the boat this afternoon from Nevr«

haven to Dieppe 1 The journey is tedious, hut we can arrive m Paris at midnight, which will not give Sir Reginald too long a start. _ ‘A very capital suggestion, exclaimed Claude enthusiastically. ‘What do you say, mother? It depends on you. Will that hurry you too much * I have no preparations to make, replied Lady Falconiidge. ‘ I have not unpacked yet.’ , . , ‘Then that is settled, exclaimed Claude. ‘You will meet us at Victoria, Mr Van de Weyer.’ <if Monsieur pleases, said tiie detective, rising to take his leave. And soon after midnight Lady ialconridge and Claude Maclean arrived in Paris.

CHAPTER X VIII.

* Such duty aa the subject owes the prince Even Buch a woman oweth to her husband. The detective engaged by Sir Reginald Denison to keep strict watch upon the movements of Claude Maclean, had but a thankless office. The artist was something of a Bohemian in his tastes, and in olden days was given to visiting strange haunts; sometimes drawn thither by curiosity, and at other times attracted by the desire to discover unconventional subjects for his pencil. When he abandoned figure-painting for landscape this habit was interrupted, to be resumed later after Winifred’s disappearance. In the perturbation of his mind Claude Maclean found if impossible to work, and still moie impossible to sit still. He was at all times fond of pedestrian exercise, and he found it some relief to the anxiety that possessed him, to resume his old wanderings in strange and little frequented kye-paths of grimy London. The detective who dogged Claude’s footsteps made daily reports to his employer, whose intelligence was soiely taxed to discover the meaning of Claude’s pedestrian feats. Sometimes it seemed to him that his rival was possessed of some clue that he was working out in his own fashion, and which rendered it imperative on Sir Reginald to follow up. But there were other times when it was blankly impossible to class his peregrinations under any other category" than aimless wanderings. <rj am thinking that the gentleman is « o fi' his chump,” ’ the detective at last ventured to intimate to Sir Reginald with amusing naivety. ‘He just worked me footsore, and to no purpose at all.’ Sir Reginald was slow to surrender his opinion that Claude knew the secret of Winifred’s hiding-place, or at least, that he had some clue which he was diligently pursuing. But when day followed day, and the detective fairly driven into a comer, confessed himself non-plussed to unriddle the meaning of Claude’s extraordinary movements, Sir Reginald was compelled to admit his error.

The conclusion to which he was driven, that his rival in the affections o£ bis wife was as ignorant as himself of her retreat, exasperated him. Now that his wife had gone from him he found himself growing more and more the slave of his all-absorbing passion for her. He recalled. her in her rare beauty as he had last seen her, only to become more maddened in his desire to recover his lost dominion over her, and when the hope of penetrating her retirement by placing a watch on the going out and coming in of Claude Maclean vanished he found himself driven to bay. As a last resource he decided on a visit to Paris, with the slender expectation that he might light there on some trace that would bring his search to an end. He might have decided on this step earlier if his furious jealousy of Claude Maclean had not blinded his eyes. It had occurred to him more than once that it was possible that Winifred might have found refuge in Paris, where she had lived down to the period of her marriage, as the wearied bird, tired with long battling against the wrath of the olements, returns to its nest. But so long as he harboured the suspicion that Winifred in her flight had obeyed the instructions of Claude Maclean he dismissed the idea as impossible. When, however, he became satisfied that she had not taken Claude into her confidence the idea returned to him, wearing a greater degree of probability; though he confessed to himself that as the motive for Winifred’s disappearance was to be found in her antipathy to himself it was a forlorn hope to expect that she would seek a refuge known beforehand to her husband. But when no better alternative oc-

curred to him Sir Reginald hastily decided on hurrying to Paris to lay the question to rest. He called on Lady Polehampton to communicate his intention, and having obtained from her a promise that she would hasten to follow him in the event of his discovering his wife’s retreat and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation, he set out on his journey. He did not reckon, however, on the watchful attentions of Detective Van De Weyer. Sir Reginald, on his arrival in Paris, took up his quarters at the Hotel Bristol in the Place Vendome. After dinner (always a prime consideration with him) he sallied forth for a stroll through the well-lighted boulevards, gay with the movements of Parisian fife. The next day, he thought, would be soon enough to begin his enquiries. It was not a very formidable undertaking, and would admit of delay. During the few months that had elapsed between her father’s death and her marriage, Winifred had resided, whilst pursuing her art studies, with Mhdame Favert, n hose house was situated in the Rue Vaugirard. There, if anywhere, he would learn of her,, if she was in Paris. A fiacre would convey him the next day in a few minutes to the gardens of the Luxembourg, and a few steps would take him to the hotel of Madame Favert. Besides, he reflected, his mind was not made up whether he would make his inquiries personally or place the matter in the hands of a member of the secret police. Meanwhile the whole evening lay before him, and he began to discuss with himself how he should contrive to while the time away. The gay movement of the boulevards with their hurrying crowds cf pleasure seekers set the blood dancing in his veins, making every nerve tingle with suppressed excitement. He was in Paris, ‘ the city of pleasure,’ the city in which he had experienced so many tilts with fortune, some of them pleasurable and some of them fraught with much discomfort. How often had he trod the gaily-lighted streets without a Napoleon in his pocket when the luck was against him ! He reflected with serene satisfaction that those days were gone by for ever. The richest baronet in England could affoid to fling about his money as he pleased. The gambler’s craze had never deserted him. It possessed for him an infatuation almost amounting to madness, and it laid its spell upon him now irresistibly. His plans for spending the evening were quickly made, though he paused a moment with faltering footsteps, unable to decide in which direction he should bend his steps. In one of the streets leading off the Champs Elysee there was a fashionable gambling-hell, reputed to be managed by a decayed member of the old nobilily. There, he remembered, he would meet men of his own rank, and well-dressed women of outward refinement, though they were women from whom -' his sister, the Countess of Polehampton, would turn away, with a sniff from her patrician nose. He had not been in the select company that frequented this fashionable hell since the days when he wore the Queen’s uniform. It would be pleasant, he thought, to show his face there once more, as a man of rank and fortune. Sir Reginald Denison preferred the company of blacklegs and sharpers and the brutal surroundings of a low class gambling hell. There was more ‘ fun ’ to be had, he considered, in one of the lower gambling haunts than was to be obtained round the v/heel of fortune within the establishment presided over by the decayed noble. He continued his way along the Boulevard des Capucines until he reached the Boulevard Montmartre, turning at last down one of the side streets, where he found the establishment that he was in search of.

Sir Reginald was not lacking in physical daring, and his only answer to glances of cruel rapacity and dark suspicion which the appearance of a man wearing the garb of a gentleman excited amongst the ruffianly crew who were engaged in playing Rouge et Noir was a cool defiant stare. He spoke excellent French, and was soon hailfellow with the depraved band gathered round the table, giving them oath for oath, and laughing boisterously at the indecent jests that went round. Fortune was fickle, and he alternately won and lost. At length the tide of luck turned in his favour, and he began to win hugely. But again the luck turned, and his winnings were swept away, and the last Napoleon in his porte-monnaie followed. He pulled out his watch. It was past two o’clock. His temples throbbed

painfully with the champagne lie had drunk, and the long excitement. His attention was arrested by a pair of bright twinkling eyes that were watching him narrowly. His own eyesight was disturbed, and the face of the man who was watching him appeared distorted to his vision. Into bis muddled brain there stole a dim idea that he had seen the same face in some widely different scene, but the consciousness of recognition fled as soon as it came. It flared up for a moment only, like an expiring lamp, and then wont out. Yet, less than twenty-four hours before, the two men had met face to face on the platform at Charing Cross. The stranger was Van De Weyer, the detective, who had found means to communicate with his wife immediately upon his arrival in Paris, and to relieve her of her watch outside the gambling-hell. The clocks were striking three when Van De Weyer safely deposited Sir Reginald at the door of his hotel. ‘ He is safe for the night,’said the detective, as he walked away with a curious light in his eyes. ' It was long past mid-day before Sir Reginald awoke unrefreslied from his sleep, but by four o’clock he found himself in the gardens of the Luxembourg. He had arrived at the decision to dispense with the aid of the Paris police in conducting his search. He had not proceeded very far before he was attracted by the tall, graceful figure of a lady, who was hurrying briskly along, carrying a portfolio under her arm. Instantly his suspicions were on the alert. They became confirmed when he saw her turn down one of the allees of the gardens that led past the palace into tho Rue de M edieis. H e was satisfied that he was within sight of his quarry. He moderated his pace, contriving to keep at a safe distance lest he should be recognised, and Winifred should take alarm at his presence at the same time keeping her well in view. He followed the graceful figure through the Rue de Medicis into the Rue Vaurigard and an evil light of triumph shone in his furtive eyes as he saw her pass within the hotel of Madame Favert. Sir Reginald turned away on his heels, chuckling to himself as he went. He had not taken more than ten paces when he passed a woman in the garb of a Bonne, whose inquisitive eyes were concealed from inspection behind a pair of dense blue spectacles. The Bonne continued her walk until she reached the door by which Winifred had entered. The door bore a brass plate on which was engraved a name in bold letters—FAVEßT. The Bonne glanced carelessly at the house, and satisfied with her discovery, called a fiacre, in which she was driven away to inform Mr Van de Weyer of the issue of her adventure. Two days later a carriage drove up before Madame Favert’s hotel. Its occupants were Lady Polehampton and her brother Sir Reginald Denison. t Is this the house V asked Lady Polehampton languidly. ‘ Yes, this is the house,’ said Sir Reginald, ‘ and here comes Madame Favert,’ —as the mistress of the establishment appeared in the doorway and advanced to the carriage. < How do you do, Madame Favert 1 You remember me, no doubt, cried Sir Reginald. But Madame Favert appeared not to have heard tho question. Calmly ignoring her interrogator, she fixed her eyes on Lady Polehampton. < (j an i be of service to Madame ? she asked. .. , ‘Yes, I think you can, said the Countess, smiling pleasantly. * I believe you have a lady living here named QStr. 1 * She is not here,now. She left here yesterday.’ « Goue !’ shouted Sir Reginald, with an oath. ‘Where has she gone to? You must answer me,’ he added, imperatively. i It is useless to pretend that you do not recognise me again, Madame Favert. You know I am the ladv’s husband.’ ‘ Yes, I recognise milord, the b renchwoman answered slowly, with a cold glance at Sir Reginald. ‘ Mon Dieu, how I hate you !’ she continued, with more vivacity than she had yet shown. ‘ The poor little angel ? How could you treat her so ? soon as she knew that you were in Paris she packed up her tilings and went away.’ _ < How did she know I was in Pans ? demanded Sir Reginald, sullenly. ‘ Mon Dieu ! who is to tell 1 She did not say.’ ‘ And do you know where she is to be found V asked Lady Polehampton, with winning courtesy. 1 Tell me if

you do. My visit is kindly meant. Miss West is my sister.’ < Parbleu! Ido not know where she is gone to. She is gone away.’ < Bid she go away alone V asked Lady Polehampton. ‘ Please do not keep anything back. It is important that Miss West should be found. I give fuy- word that no harm is meant to her. You will believe me, will you not V t Oh, yes, I believe Madame; but what can T say ? Mademoiselle went away alone. She did not say where she was going to.’ ‘ Has she had any visitors recently ?’ pursued tho Countess. ‘ Yes, two days ago a lady called to see Mademoiselle.’ < She has not been visited by a gentleman, I presume V asked Sir Reginald, suspiciously. ‘ Certainly not,’ exclaimed Madame Favert, indignantly. * One gentleman has been too many for • poor Mademoiselle.' The examination was continued for some time longer, but Madame Favert could not or would not satisfy the in quiries of her questioners on the points they much wished to know, and with a gracious bow from the Countess the carriage was driven away. ‘ I will find her if I have to mortgage every acre of the estate in order to do it,’ exclaimed Sir Reginald, passionately. ‘lt is a vile plot and that woman is in it.’ ‘Try and restrain your violence, said the Countess. ‘ Your wife is not compelled to live with you against her wish.’ . ~ ‘lsn’t she?’ said Sir Reginald, savagely. ‘We will see about that.’ ‘ Really, Reginald, you talk as if a wife were a slave, or an article of portable property,’ exclaimed the Countess warmly. ‘ You convince me more than before that your wife has acted wisely in removing herself out of your reach. I sincerely hope that she may contrive to keep there.’ < You are very sisterly,’ snapped Sir Reginald. C Towards Lady Denison —yes ! said Lady Polehampton, coldly. ‘I mean to be a sister to her if I have the opportunity.’ ‘I am very much obliged to you lor your good intentions, Selina,’ sneered ; Sir Reginald.

But the Countess held her peace and answered a fool according to his folly » (To be continued.)