A Hidden Foe.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 995, 27 March 1891, Page 10

A Hidden Foe.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

-—.—« ■ A STORY OF ROVE AND MYSTERY.

By G. A. HENTY. Author of ‘ The Curse of Carnet Hold,' * Gabriel Allen, M.P.,' &c., &c.

[All Rights Reserved."] CHAPTER XIX. Thomas Morson drew up his liorse as he came up, and leapt off. • Well, sir, what can I do for you/ he said to Philip. ‘lf you want either driving or riding horses for ladies I have a nice lot I can show you.' < "VVe have not come to buy, but to talk to you on some other important business, Mr Morson.’ The keen eyes closed a little, and a sharp glance was shot at the speaker.

‘ Come in/ he said ; ‘it is easier to talk sitting than standing.' He led the way into a room that was half parlour, half kitchen, and opened a door leading into another room behind. * Keep dinner back, Jones, till I call for it.’ Then closing the door, he stood -with his back to the fireplace and looked at his visitors, who had taken seats on the rough wooden chairs. ‘ Now then, sir, lam ready. What is your business V ‘ln the month of November, 1844, you v were present at the marriage of Mr Corbyn with Miss Constance Purcell, at Folkestone Church.’ They saw a swift change come over the man’s face.

‘ Oh, 1 was, was I ?’ he said. ‘I was not aware of it, and who may you be, sir V * I am Philip Clitheroe, nephew of that gentleman, and as I supposed until a few months ago his heir. This is Miss Corbyn, my cousin, daughter of the Mr Corbyn you accompanied on his tour in Europe. It is my wish, as well as hers, that this matter should be cleared up. We know that the marriage took place, but it will be more satisfactory to obtain the testimony of a living witness of the ceremony. Intense surprise, disappointment, and anger were expressed in the man's face. Then another change passed over it. ‘ That won’t do, young fellow ; you are no more Philip Clitheroe than I am; It was clever of you, very, and you took even me in for a moment ; but that cock won’t fight. This may be Miss Corbyn or it may not j anyhow, you are not Philip Clitheroe. I don t know who you are, and don t care. You had better have come to me by yourself, young lady, and I might, maybe, have been able to have come to an arrangement with you. I say maybe. Now you have tried to get round me with this cock and bull story you have lost your chance. I don’t say it wasn’t clever of you, 7 ’cause it was, and I might have been taken in if I hadn’t happened to know a little about Philip Clitheroe. Now that your business is done the sooner you are off the better I shall be pleased. I want to get to my dinner/ ‘I am not surprised at your suspicions/ Philip said, quietly, ‘ though I own I did not forsee them. I can guess why you think that I am not myself. 1 believe you have received a letter making you an offer to secure your silence, and you think that letter came from me.' f ‘You are a clever young fellow, Morson said with a sneer, ‘ and I have no doubt you are much thought of in the London detective force. But old hirds are not to be caught with chaff. ‘ That letter/ Philip went on, without noticing his words, ‘ was no doubt written by someone who thought he was acting in my interest. Don't build on it, Morson. I am Philip Clitheroe, and you will never be paid a halfpenny. The writer of that letter has heard long ago that I have no intention of fighting this case against my cousin, and that your silence is no longer worth buying. Here are some documents that may help to convince you that I am speaking the truth. Here are circular notes issued by the Bank of Australasia in London to the amount of two hundred pounds, payable to the order of Philip Clitheroe. Here is another letter from the same bank saying tbat bills to the amount of a thousand pounds, drawn upon Messrs Ferris and Ferris of New Inn, The Strand, London, and signed by Philip Clitheroe, will be duly honoured, the bank guaranteeing that payment. Unless you suppose that I have stolen

these froni Philip Clitheroe, you cannot doubt that I am he. Besides, these papers show at least that at the time they were written Philip Clitheroe was on the point of starting for Australia.’

The man stood examining the papers Philip had put in his hand, glancing at him from time to time with his keen shifty eyes, and rubbing his chin nervously. ‘ All I can say is/ he said at last, ‘lf you are Philip Clitheroe, and if this is Corbyn’s girl, you are a pretty blackguard. I can see how the game has been worked. First of all you write to me so as to square me. Then you get hold of this girl and soap her over, and make her think you are a fine disinterested party, and when you have got her to agree to marry you, you think you can afford to throw me over. But you won’t. In the first place I don’t believe you are Philip Clitheroe, and if you are you will get nothing out of me. You can give out that your wife is Corbyn’s legitimate daughter, but you cannot pi’ove it, and no one will believe you. There, that will do. I have nothing more to say to you, so you can be off as soon as you like. Jones/ he shouted, ‘ see that that trap is brought round to the door at once.’

Philip Clitheroe had flushed for a moment and then turned white at the accusation Morson had made, and he would have sprang to his feet had not Constance laid her hand on his arm.

‘lt is my turn to speak,’ she said as the man ceased. * You are altogether mistaken, Mr Morson, in respect to my cousin, and no such deceit as that you imputed to him was practical. I was perfectly well aware who he was from the first day I met him. He was equally aware that I was the lawful heiress oi Corbyn Court, and therefore there was no deceit practiced whatever, and the ‘situation was perfectly understood.’ Philip had by this time mastered his emotion of anger and continued quietly. «You are a little hasty, Thomas Morson, but I can make allowances for you. You are naturally disappointed. Unless I am mistaken, you have reckoned for a long time upon making a big thing out of this. You thought that Miss Corbyn was in ignorance of her rights, and would be glad to pay you very handsomely for information that would prove her to be entitled to a fine estate. Unfortunately she has found this out without you, and I can quite allow for your feelings of disappointment. * Well, I don’t want any more jaw/ the man said, savagely. ‘ You will get nothing out of me, so you can walk as soon as you please.’ ‘ One word more, and we will go. This is our offer : We are, of course, willing to make you a payment for the trouble you will have in giving your evidence. We can do without that evidence, but it will be more satisfactory to have it, and we are ready to give you a thousand pounds if you will come to England to testify that you were present at the marriage. Thomas Morson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had no doubt now of Philip’s identity, and felt that the game he had waited for so long and patiently was lost. ‘ Well,’ he said suddenly, ‘ I have only your word on the matter yet. Who may you be, ma’am V and he turned suddenly upon Annette. ‘ I am Madame Duport, of St. Malo, the woman at whose house Mr and Mrs Corbyn lodged. I think I can remember you when you came up with their luggage the first day they came. The coachman let one of the boxes fall as he carried it in from the gate to the house, and I remember you cursed both in French and English.’ The incident came back to Morson’s memory as she mentioned it. ‘ That is right/ he said/ ‘ and are you ready to take oath that this young lady is the child who was born your house, and that she is Constance Corbyn.’ ‘ I am ready to take oath to that/ Annette said.

‘ And that this is Philip Clitheroe V * I can Lake oath to that also/ Annette said, ‘ not of my own knowledge, but because Miss Corbyn told me so. She had met him in England.’ ‘ Is this so, Miss Corbyn V *lt is,’ Constance replied. ‘ I saw him in England, and am ready to take oath that he is Philip Clitheroe.’ * Well, I will let you have my answer this afternoon/ the man said, said, after standing for a minute in thought. ‘ Where are you stopping in Brisbane V

Philip gave him the name of the hotel.

‘ Well, if you drive back, I shall be

over there pretty near as soon as you will. I have a horse that will take me over an hour quicker than yours. I will eat my dinner, and think it over as I drive. I tvont ask you to take anything, for the place is not fit for ladies, besides I want to think this over, it has come upon me too suddenly to take it all in.’

‘He will agree,’ Philip Clitheroe said, as they drove away from Ash Farm. ‘He may hold out for a little more money, Constance, but you can afford to pay him that.’ Constance gave him a quick, reproachful glance.

‘ We will talk about that afterwards/ she said quietly. ‘ Anyhow, whether he is paid one thousand or two it makes little matter so that all this can be cleared up.’ ‘He is a clever scamp/ Philip said, * How quickly he jumped at his conclusions. But of course,’ he added bitterly, ‘ it is what everyone would think/ Constance did not reply. She knew to what Philip was alluding—the accusation that he had seen that the safest plan would be to marry her, the accusation she herself had cast in his teeth. As she sat with he head bent down a tear fell on her hand, Philip saw it.

‘ I beg your pardon, Constance/ he exclaimed, taking her hand, ‘ I am a brute. The fellow did hit me hard, but I was a brute to avenge myself on you. Stop the coachman, I am not fit to ride in the same carriage with you.’ ‘ What are you going to do V asked Constance, laying her hand on his. ‘I am going to get out and walk,’ he said. ‘ No, Constance, you may forgive me but I cannot forgive myself/ ‘Do not be foolish, Philip. I have never thought you foolish and I don’t want to think so now. I know that it was not meant as a reproach to me, but it was simply a cry of pain, a natural cry. It is horrible to be suspected falsely, and I think I begin to understand what you must have suffered.’ The journey back was as silent as it had been on the way out. Philip sat back in his corner with his cap pulled low down over his eyes. He was a brute, he told himself over and over again, and utterly unworthy of the love of such a woman as this. He would tell her what he had to tell and then go away and never see her again. He knew she loved him, but in any case, even putting aside this barrier between them, he would not consent to her throwing away herself upon him. He would fight his own Way as he had intended to do, and make the most of his life, and it would be best for him never to set foot in England again.

Constance was thinking over the idea that had flashed across her when Philip had said that the letter had been written by someone who believed that he was acting in his interest. She thought it strange now that it had never occurred to them before that it was his mother, the haughty woman she had seen at Bath, and to whom Miss Peyton had taken so strong a dislike. It must have been she who had thus fought for her son’s interest, had set spies on her, had stolen the leaf from the register, and had written to bribe Morson to silence. Philip had discovered it, and in liis shame and grief had left England and taken a false name. How he must have suffered.

But how could he suppose that his mother’s fault need stand between her and him, especially after all that had passed 1 Had he not saved her life on board the boat, had he not tenderly cared for her, and now was her happiness and his to be sacrificed because his mother had been unscrupulous in fighting for him 1 No, not if she could help it, not even—and she flushed suddenly —if she had to sue instead of being sued. He had told her once he loved her, and she had scorned him; it was but a just penance that she should have to sue now.

They had taken a basket of provisions with them from the hotel, and the fact that neither of her. companions would touch them did not interfere with Annette’s appetite. Things seemed. to her to be going on very satisfactorily and if these young people chose to be foolish and quarrel she could not help it. She had had quarrels in her time with Victor, but of course they had made it up in due time, and equally of course Constance and Philip would both be sorry for it presently. Young people were always foolish, and she supposed that even Constance, who was generally a thoroughly sensible girl, would be foolish like other people when in love. So Annette placidly eat her cold chicken, and looked forward to meeting Victor again at St. Malo, wondering

how things had gone oh in her absence, and hoped the girl had been satisfactory and had got Victor’s meals punctually, and had not put too much pepper in the made dishes; Victor could not abide pepper. And so at last they arrived at the end of their journey. Philip did not offer to go upstairs with the others, but said he would smoke a pipe outside until Morson arrived. He had not long to wait. In twenty minutes a light trap, drawn by a fast-stepping horse, dashed up to the door.

‘Ah, here you are, Mr Clitheroe,’ Morson said as he alighted. *I am not long after you, you see. I gave you an hour and a half’ start, and I suppose you have not been here very long. I I have done it in an hour and forty minutes.

‘ We have only been in a quarter of an hour/ Philip said, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and led the way into the hotel, and up to the private sitting-room where the ladies were awaiting them.’ Morson’s manner had changed. He had thought the matter over, and made up his mind that the game he had played for was lost. He did not in the slightest degree believe Philip’s assertion that he was nob the author of the letter he received. 4 Or course it came from him/ he said to himself; ‘ who else could have sent it. No doubt he meant it when he wrote it, but when he found the girl had got on the track—though how she did so is more than I can say—he saw at once that it was the safest and best plan to make up to her, and nicely he seems to have humbugged her. But all that is right enough. We have both played to win, and the trumps have fallen into his hands. It is hal’d when one reckoned on ten thousand at least to get only one. However, that is better than nothing, and will come in very handy. I dai-esay I can squeeze another five hundred out of them.’ Having thus made up his mind to deal, Morson was shrewd enough to know that he was more likely to make a good bargain by civility than otherwise, and when he presented himself before the ladies his manner was an admirable mixture of tbat of a respectful'college scout and of a shrewd horsedealer.

‘ Well, Mr Clitheroe and Miss Corbyn, I have thought this business over, and see that it is best for me to meet your wishes as I can. lam soi’ry now that I spoke so roughly when you came to my place, but you will understand that when a man has a secret that he has looked upon for nearly twenty years as being as being as good as a big mint of money, it riles him up more than a bit to find that it has just slipped him. But I think it is worth more than you offered me for it. There is no other man living who can prove what I can; there is no else who can set this matter so straight that no one will be able as much to whisper that Miss Corbyn has no right to her name/ ‘I think you have a righc to value your testimony/ Philip said, ‘ but there are other ways of proving a marriage besides the testimony of one who was preset at it.’ ‘ Not in this ease, Mr Clitheroe } not in this case. You and Miss Corbyn would not have taken this long journey if you could have done without me. Now, it won’t suit me to go to England for six months. As you saw, I have got a biggish business here, and it is growing, but I can do all you want me to do without that.’

Philip shook his head. ‘lt is your personal testimony we want. If you were to make an affidavit here we should have no end of trouble over it. We might have to send out a commission—in fact, it might give us no end of bother.’

‘ I am not going to make an affidavit, Mr Clitheroe. But I tell you what, I will make you a fair offer, and what is more I will leave it to you and Miss Corbyn whether or not you think what I shall do will cover the ground. My offer is this: You shall write out a promise to give me two thousand pounds if I thoroughly satisfy you, and you shall both sign your names to it.’ ‘Two thousand pounds is a very large sum,’ Philip said, gravely. ‘ It is less than half a year’s rental of the estates/ Morson replied. * I tell you, Miss.Corbyii, my information is well worth the money to you.’ Philip looked at Constance, who slightly nodded her head. * Now, look here/ Philip said, * we will sign the promise you speak of, if you on your part will sign another agreeing to go with ns to England and give the evidence you require should we not be satisfied with the manner in

which yon propose to settle the matter here.’

‘ I agree to that/ Morson said, without hesitation. ‘ Now, if you will give me paper and pen I will write out the one agreement; do you write out the other.’

These two papers were written out and signed. ‘ Tliei-e is one more thing before we get to business/ Morson said. 4 1 don’t want any fuss over this affair. I don’t say whether I have acted straightforward all along or whether I have not. I don’t say whether things have come into my hands by the gift of others, or how they have come in. I don’t want any questioning or any bother, so before we come to the last point I will get you to give me your promise, Mr Clitheroe, and yours, Miss Corbyn, that the matter drops here, and that there are no questions asked, and that bygones are treated as byones.’ Philip signed to Constance to come to the window apart. ‘ 1 don’t know what the fellow is driving at, Constance, but I should think we might agree to that. If he can set this matter straight it is nothing to us what knavery he may have been at.’ ‘I quite agree with you, Philip.’ ‘We agree to your conditions/ Philip said, as they returned to the middle of the room. ‘ How do you propose to pay the money, sir ? I know that you’re a gentleman, but there is nothing like having these things settled straightforward beforehand.’

4 1 have no objection to that,’ Philip said. 4 As the paper I showed you states, I am authorised to draw for a thousand pounds on Messrs Ferris. I will give you a bill for that amount at three days’ sight. I will give you another bill for the same amount payable three months after sight. It may go home quicker than we shall, and I shall have to arrange that it shall be met.’

4 That is quite fair, Mr Clitheroe. I have got bill stamps in my pocket. I generally pay for my borses in that way. Now, you will write out those bills and sign them, and hand them to this lady here for her to hold until you say you are satisfied that I have carried out my part of the agreement,’ Philip sat down without hesitation and wrote the two bills, and then handed them to Madame Duport, who was working at her knitting as usual, as if she were an entirely uninterested spectator of the scene. ‘ Is there anything else V Philip asked drily, for he had not the least belief that any proposal the man might make could prove an acceptable alternative to his going in person to England. 4 There is nothing more, Mr Clitheroe. I am quite satisfied with your promise and that of Miss Corbyn, that bygones shall be bygones.’ In spite of his quiet manner Philip saw that Morson’s face had grown pale, and that there was a nervous ring in his voice. The man put his hand in his breast pocket and drew out an envelope, He walked across to Constance, and placed it in her hand. 4 That is my part of the business/ he said.

The envelope was unfastened. Constance drew out the contents—a printed paper folded double. She opened it and gave a cry.

4 Oh, Philip ! the missing leaf of the register 1’ Philip stood as if stupefied, and then sprang upon Morson, seized him with both hands by the collar and shook him violently. 4 You villain/ he exclaimed, 4 then It was you who stole the register.’ ‘ This is not acting according to promise/ Morson said. ‘lt was agreed that bygones were to be bygones.

Constance’s hand on his arm did more than the man’s words to disarm Philip Clitheroe. He loosed his hold. ‘ You are right, Constance, we have so much reason to rejoice that it is folly to be angry. Thank God, dear, your rights are fairly established now. None can question now that you are the lawful heiress of Corbyn/ ‘ Thank God, my mother’s name is cleared/ Constance said. ‘ That is what I have striven for, and that only, Philip. From the first the estates have been nothing to me/ Philip walked across to Annette, took the two bills from her hand and gave them to Morson. ‘ You have performed your part of the bargain/ he said, * here is your money. May it do you as much good as you deserve/ ‘Thank you, sir/ the man said, putting the bills into his pocket-book. * Is there anything that you would like to ask me before I go/

‘I should like to know how it was you came to carry out this detestable scheme. It would be satisfactory to know how it came about.'

* I have no objection to telling you, the man said. ‘There was a man, X don’t say it was me, but there was a man who knew that Mr Corbyn had married Miss Purcell at Folkestone Church. He had heard that Mr and Mrs Corbyn had taken up their residence at St. Malo before that laay s confinement. As he knew that the marriage was not known to Mr Gorbyn’s father, he thought this was natural enough. Then he heard from a man at St. Malo that Mrs Corbyn had died, and that Mr Corbyn had gone away, leaving the infant there. Of course, this did not mean much one way or the other, but the man in question thought it might be worth while to watch.

‘ Well, this man went abroad. Someone paid his expenses, and gave him a hundred or two to help him but he thought it worth while to learn from St. Malo, and from his friends in England, how things were going on. After six years he heard that old Mi - Corbyn was dead. The ■ child was still at St. Malo, and Mr Corbyn went on as usual at Bath. Then it seemed to him that his secret was worth money. So he came all the way back to England. He only stopped there a week, but in that week he got what he wanted. It may be that he got short of money and sold what he got to me; it may be that it came into my hands some other way, that is neither here nor there.

1 Anyhow, when I got hold of this document it seemed to me, just as it seemed to him, that there was big money to be made out of it if I did but wait. If Mr Corbyn, as was like enough, married again and had children, or if he didn’t, whoever might be his heirs, they not knowing the existence of that document, would find themselves disappointed. It was not likely that Miss Corbyn knew much about her father’s affairs, and when he died that document would be worth a big sum of money to her. Anyhow it would be a valuable paper some day, and so it has turned out, though not by a long way so valuable as I had expected it to prove. I think that is all, Mr Clitheroe. lam afraid I must trouble you to walk down to the bank with me with that letter of yours, to show them that it is worth more than the paper that it is written on.’ Philip took his bat. ‘lt may as well be done at once,’ he said. ‘ I shall not come back for an hour, Constance, you will like to be alone with Madame Duport’ Constance had stood still and quiet, holding the certificate of her mother s marriage in her hand, until the two men left the room. Then she turned, threw herself on her knees by her old nurse, and laying her head on her bosom burst into a passion of happy tears.

It was sometime before she was composed enough to speak, and Annette was nearly as much moved as she was. ‘ Oh, Annette, I am so happy; first for my mother’s sake, and then for his. t j? or bis ? Ah! I see what you mean, ma petite. You mean because you can give yourself and your estate together to him.’ f No, I did not mean that,’ Constance said, flushing brightly, ‘ I meant somefilling ©ls©, l>Trb as that is a secret of his I cannot tell you.’ ‘ I hope there are no more secrets,’ Annette said, alarmed. ‘ I am sure we have had enough of them. I never want to hear of another secret all my life.’ ■ , ‘There is nothing to alarm you here, Constance said, as she dried her eves. * This is only something between him and me and not terrible at all. And now when he comes back I wish you to slip out of the room, for I want to have a talk to him by myself’ ‘That is natural enough, dearie,' Annette said, with a smile. * I will be out of the way. I think he has a right to a talk with you, for had it not been for him I don’t think with all your cleverness you would have induced that bad man to give up the paper.’ In an hour Philip returned, Annette had left the room before he came in. «Constance,’ he said, * I could not speak while that fellow was in the room, but I congratulate you with all my heart. I know that the property is as nothing to you in comparison to the pleasure you must feel in having cleared the name of your mother. You will believe me, dear, when I say that I feel no sort of envy at your good fortune, and that from the first moment when I heard of your existence my

only desire has been that right should be done.’

‘We can talk about the property presently, Philip. Now you can tell me, can you not, why I am the last woman in the world you can many.’ * « Yes, I can tell you now, Constance, and that, thank God, with somewhat less pain than I had looked to. I think I can tell you everything.’ ‘I know it is hard for you, Philip ; it is very hard for a son to speak of a mother’s faults even to the woman he loves.’

*So you have guessed, Constance,’ Philip exclaimed with a start. ‘ Only to-day, Philip. When you said that it was done in your interest, the truth flashed across me, and I knew it for certain from the cry which broke from you when that man produced the certificate, and your face as you seized him. It was not mere anger at the theft. You knew that it had been stolen, and would naturally have felt more pleasure at its recovery than anger with the thief. I thought it over as we were driving back from the farm, and wondered that we had not guessed it before. Who should defend her son’s rights but a mother. She considered that you had been wrongly treated and placed in a false position by my father’s silence- —and she had a full right to consider so—and she determined to defend what she considered your rights to the last. She knew that you would not fight for yourself, and she took the burden upon her, and in fighting for you, and for you only, adopted means, perhaps, that she would not have used bad she been fighting for herself. You suspected that it was she who cut out the leaf of the register, and it was the thought of that which drove you from England. I read it in your face just now as plainly as if you had spoken. We nowknow it was not so, but even had it been so we should remember, Philip, that she did it for you. Is this all that stands between us, Philip, is this why you would have shunned me as a pest 1 You thought your mother had injured me, and even sinned against me, and that this must stand like a barrier between you and me.’ ‘ I am glad that you have guessed the secret, Constance,’ Philip said, taking her hand almost reverently and raising it to his lips, ‘ and I thank God that this terrible wrong was not her act. But dear, I owe it to you and myself to tell you all, to tell me why I suspected my mother—a horrible thing for a son to have to do. She did not commit that crime, but it was because she was forestalled. I went down to Folkstone and learned that she had been there, that she had even contrived to be alone for a minute with the registers. I cannot doubt what she went there for. She went there to destroy the evidence of the marriage. Thank God, she was spared the crime—it had already been committed. ‘1 have thought it all over, Constance. She must have known of the marriage. Since I teade that discovery I have though over every circumstance. She went over to see my uncle on the afternoon before his death and they had a long talk together. On my return I noticed how ill she looked, and begged her to put off some triends who were coming to dinner. Your father, when he was killed the next morning, was on his way to France. His servant said at the iryquest that his master had told him he was going for a week to France. > I cannot but think that he told my mother at that meeting of his marriage and that he was going over to fetch you home.’

‘ When he was killed the temptation came suddenly upon her. No one else knew of the marriage. Why should it ever be known 1 She knew from him where it had taken place, she even knew who had accompanied him. How else could she possibly have known that they were married at Folkestone, when you only learned it accidentally from a postmark on your mother’s letter. How else can she have been able to send to find out where Morson was, within a fortnight of my uncle’s death ? How else could she have known of your existence, and have set detectives to watch you almost from the first ?’ * It may be as yon say, Philip ; the temptation was a great one, and she loved you, and she thought that you had been wronged, and in her love she mav have determined even to commit a wrong to right you. But people are not judged by their intentions but by theirdeeds. Your mother has committed no crime, her intentions are known only to you and me and God, and you and I are not her judges. Remember, dear, the words ’ —and she put her hands on his shoulders in her earnest-

ness—‘Her sins are forgiven for she loved much.’

Philip could not reply. He took the girl in his arms and held her there. ‘Do you know, Philip,’ Constance said, a quarter of an hour later, that that story you told me just now has made me very happy V * It has, Constance !’ Philip said in surprise. ‘Ah ! you mean in its consequences.’ ‘ Do, I don’t, sir,’ she said, saucily, and then went on more seriously, ‘ No, Philip, it has always been a grief to me that I have had to think ill of my father. I have tried so hard to believe that he did not mean to wrong me and that he meant to have acknowledged me some day, but I could see nothing to justify the belief, hard as I clung to it. But if your theory is true, he intended all along to acknowledge me, and only waited till he thought I was old enough to take my place at Corbyn Court, and when he was killed he was coming over to fetch me home. You seel can think of him now as having loved me, although he did not care to have me with him as long as I was a child.

I feared so much that it was not so, I have even feared, Philip, that it might have been he who mutilated the register in order that there might. be no proof left of the marriage. I think even Mr Harbut thought this at one time, though he never said so. That burden was lifted from my mind when this man produced the leaf, and now your story has removed the doubt whether he ever meant to acknowledge me. It is strange, dear, we should both have suspected our parents of the same fault and that it should turn out that it was the work of another.

‘ Now, Philip, I must go up and see Annette and tell her that all our troubles are over and that we are going to be happy, and that the division of the Corbyn estates no longer offers any difficulty. lam afraid she won’t be very surprised, for I think she" had quite made up her mind as to what would come of it. You must love her too, Philip, for she has been as a mother to me.’

‘ There is no need to tell me that, Constance ; I know how much I owe hex*. Now I will go round to the post and ask for lettei’s for you. You know you said you expected some here.’ ‘ I had forgotten all about it,’ Constance said almost in consternation, ‘ there will be letters from Hilda and Miss Peyton and Mr Harbut. ‘ Well, we have been here little over twenty-four hours,’ Philip said smiling, ‘lndeed I had not forgotten; but I thought it better that you should not get them until I had told you my secx-et. I wantedyouto.be unbiassed.’ ‘As if anything they could contain would unbias me against you, Philip,’ Constance said indignantly, ‘ and please will you see about dinnex*. It is seven o’clock, and we have had nothing to eat since breakfast. We have been accustomed to starvation, but it is rather hard to starve in the land of plenty.’ ‘ I had forgotten all about dinner, but now you remind me of it I do feel hungry. I will tell them to send up anything they may have at once. I will be back in a quarter of an lioui 1 . ’ (To be concluded.)