Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 996, 3 April 1891, Page 8

Tales and Sketches.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

A Hidden Foe.

A STORY OF LOVE AND MYSTERY.

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

[All' Rights Reserved. 1

CHAPTER XX.

By the time Philip returned, the dinner was on the table, and Constance and Madame Duport were downstairs. Philip went up to the latter and hissed her affectionately.

■ *I am glad,’ she said, £ I am sure you will make her happy, Mr Clitheroe/ ‘Philip, if you please, madam. I am going to be a sort of son-in-law to you, and I am riot going to be called Mr Clitheroe any longer.’ ‘Where are the letters, Philip?’ Constance said, holding out her hand, * I am sure there must be some for me. * There are three,’ Philip said, calmly, * and one is a bulky one; but as we are all famishing I am sure they will keep ■very well until we have finished. *He is beginning to tyrannise already, Annette,’ Constance said, as she seated herself at table. ‘ This is what comes of a girl being won too easily. The meal was not a long one, and when the cloth was removed and the waiter had left the rOom, Philip took out from his pocket a bulky packet and handed it to Constance. ‘That is not the one I meant,’ she said, as she glanced at the address, ‘ that is from Mr Harbut, and is all about business. As that is all settled now, it will keep very well. I want the other two first.’ ‘ I want you to read this first, dear. I have a particular reason for it.’ Constance took the letter dutifully, and opened it. It contained two enclosures, the one a sealed letter, the other a folded sheet. Constance first read Robert Harbut’s letter, and then, without' speaking, turned to the open enclosure and read it. A tear fell on to the paper. ‘ Oh, Philip,’ she said, ‘it is horrible to think how I spoke to you that night, and to know that while I was accusing you of every bad sort of thing, you had generously given up .everything to me. Oh, Annette, this paper is a deed which Philip signed before he left England, saying that being absolutely convinced that I was the lawful heiress of Corbyn Court, he had relinquished his claim to that property and made it over absolutely to me. Why did you not tell me so at once, Philip ? not that I should have taken it j I never wanted the estates. I thought it was very hard that you should be deprived of them, and I told Mr Harbut that in any case I should wish you to have Corbyn Court and most of the estates, for that I should not be happier for having them. Not so happy, indeed, for I should be alone amongst strangers, and I only wanted enough to enable Annette and her husband to live without workin<r and to have enough to live comfortably all my life. Why did you not tell me, sir P’ ‘ Perhaps it was because I was too hurt or too pained to defend myself at the time, Constance, and since then it would have seemed as if I wanted to win vour love by making you my debtor. Besides, dear, you know that we did not speak till the night we were wrecked, and after that we had other things to think of, and at one time it did not seem likely-that the disposition of the property would , make any difference to either of us. Then when we had once reached. Batavia, and I knew that I must tell you sooner or later what it was that, as it seemed to me, would prevent me from ever again asking you to become my wife; I was still more anxious that you should not know of the deed I had signed until we had settled that point between us. You could hardly look at the matter fairly had you known of it. It seemed to me that it never could be, and yet had you known of this deed, it would have made it impossible for you to look at the question fairly. I wanted you to take me, if you did take me, from love and nob from gratitude. So even had you thought of the letters when we arrived yesterday, I should have asked you not to send for them for the present/ ‘ You must have had a pretty idea of me/ Constance said, half laughing, half - crying, * to think that I was going to i.v; . * ■ :

throw away my happiness —to say nothing of yours—because somebody else had done wrong. However, lam glad you did not tell me, dear. lam glad that I did not know about this deed until we quite understood each other. Now, am I to open this other enclosure next ? Mr Harbut only says that Mr Ferris had given it to him with the request that he would forward it to me at once/

‘I think you had better open it, Constance. I believe that it is from my mother, and it is written in consequence of one that I wrote to her the day I left England.’ ‘ Constance opened it with nervous hands. It van as follows: —‘Miss Corbyn,—My son Philip lias written me a strongly worded letter, and has, he tells me, been weak enough to sign a deed making over the Corbyn estates to you on tbe ground that he has ascertained beyond doubt that you are the lawful heiress. What can have induced him to come to that decision I know not, nor is it material ; after the step he has taken nothing appears to me material. One can fight a game against circumstances, but one cannot fight against human foolishness. My son requests in words which convey a distinct threat, but which I own I do not understand, that I will gi v © y° u every assistance in my power to establish your legal position. As he has already placed you in possession of the estates, I see no reason to abstain from doing so. ‘There are some, perhaps, who would think that I have acted wrongly, but I am in no way ashamed of myself. My brother Algernon, by his miserable weakness in shrinking, from avowing tbe marriage, gave Philip the right to consider himself as his heir. I have .regarded him so, and so has everyone else, and I consider that to place another in bis position was a distinct and cruel wrong to him, a wrong which there was nothing whatever to justify. Upon the day before his death, your father related to me the story of his marriage, told me of your existence, and said that he was about to proceed to France to bring you home and install you at the Court as his heiress. I was naturally and rightfully indignant, and left no doubt on the mind of my brother Algernon of my opinion of his conduct. * The next day his body was brought into my house. Among the letters in his pocket was a copy of the registry of his marriage. That copy I burnt. . At the time I did so I had no distinct idea of depriving you of your rights. I imagined that among my brothers papers there would be documents found relating to his marriage, and that he would at any rate have taken the natural precaution of furnishing you, or the persons you lived with, with a copy of your mother’s certificate. But Algernon was always a weak man, and did things in a half-hearted way, and bad never taken even ordinary precautions to place you in a position to prove your claim should anything happen to him. Perhaps, for a time he had not made up his mind whether he should ever produce you or not. ‘ At any rate, I soon found that no proofs of such a marriage had been found among his papers. That some document or other probably alluding to your existence had been found, I was convinced by the manner of my son. Knowing full well that he would be likely to take a Quixotic view of the affair, I then determined to defend his rights to the utmost, and to prevent the daughter of a village schoolmaster taking °her place as mistress of the old home of the Corbyns, and to insure my son's retaining possession of it. That in doing so I was not acting according to what ordinary people think right, troubled me very little. I was defending my son’s rights, and the honour of the family. ‘ To him this property meant everything ; to you it could mean little or nothing. I knew that Philip, once aware of the existence of even an illegitimate daughter of his uncle, would be ready at once to offer her an allowance. That would have enabled you to live as you had been brought up, comfortably at St. Malo, and to marry in accordance with that bringing up, while your position as mistress of Corbyn Court after such a bringing up, would be at once uncomfortable and ridiculous. Therefore, I considered myself justified I still consider myself justified—-in doing my best to prevent your attaining that false position. I at once set detectives to work, and soon found that the family lawyer bad been over to St. Malo, and had seen you, and shortly afterwards that you had come to London. Then, I saw, in the first place, that you had no proofs whatever

of your birth, for if so, foimal notices would have been given to my son immediately after the lawyer went over, and, in. the second place, that you were dangerous There was but one thing to be done, and I did it without hesitation. .

‘ I believed that you could not possibly know the church at which your father was married ; had you done so, Mr Ferris would at once have gone there and obtained a copy of the certificate. 1 determined, therefore, to lose not a single day in destroying the proof. It was a crime, you will say, an offence against the law. No doubt, but that did not deter me for a moment. Philip’s fortune was at stake, and improbable as it seemed to me that you could ever find out where this marriage was performed, it was better to make the matter safe. I went down to Folkestone, and found that the leaf of the register had already been abstracted. There were, so far as I knew, only two persons who could know of its existence. My brother, Algernon, and the man who had signed as a witness, one Morson, who I remember Algernon once speaking of as having.been a college servant, and who had two or three times travelled with him on the Continent.

‘ I was sure that it was not my brother Algernon who had abstracted tha register. He had his faults, but he was not a man to take energetic action of any kind. I therefore made up my mind that it was Morson, ascertained after three months’ delay his address in Australia, and wrote to him offering him a payment of five hundred a year so long as he refused to answer all questions respecting the marriage of my brother. That letter was only sent off a fortnight ago. I should have paid the money from my own income, as Clitheroe is mine until my death, subject to a certain yearly payment to my son. A week since I learned that you were on the point of starting for Australia, two days after that received the letter from my son saying that he had made over all his rights in your favour, and I have now learned from our lawyer that he has gone out in the same ship in which you travel. But Mr Ferris tells me that he was ignorant of your being on board, and that he took passage in that ship at his suggestion. « After what has happened there is nothing more to be said or done. In accordance with my son’s request, made in a manner which, as I have said, I do not understand, I send you Morson’s address which cannot, I have reason to believe, be known to you, and which you might search for a long time in vain. He is living at Ash Farm, near Brisbane. Whether he will give you any information I cannot say, but from what I have learnt of this man I should imagine he will not do so unless he is well paid for it. It is possible that my son. and you may have recognised each other on the voyage. I hear from my lawyer that it is his intention also to search for Morson. If you arrive there together the man may see that with the two claimants before him bis secret is no longer worth money. < Jf xny son ancl you have not recognised each other, and the man refuses to give you information or to sell you the certificate, your best course will be to find my son, who took passage under the plebian name of Samuel Brown — although why he should have chosen such a name is more than I can sav and get him to accompany you to Morson’s. I do not know that I have anything more to say. I have carried out my son’s wishes, and have given you all the information in my power. You think me no doubt a very bad woman. 1 am in no way ashamed of what I have done, and only regret that I have failed owing to the inconceivable weakness of my son/ Augusta Clitheroe. Constance read it through twice, and then sat for a moment or two twisting it mechanically round her fingers. ‘Well, Constance,’ Philip said at last, ‘ what is it 1 What does she say ? You are keeping me on tenter hooks; can’t I read the letter ?’ _ . ‘That is just what I am thinking, Philip ; I don’t know whether you had better see it or not. It is a funny letter, you see,’ and a smile crossed her face, * and I like it much better than if it had been written in a different wav. She just tells the whole story, dear, and says that she did it for your sake, and that she is not a bit ashamed of having done it, and that she thinks you very weak, but that as you have given the whole thing up it is of no use her fighting any longer. And then she sends Morson’s address, which she supposes

is what you meant when you enjoined her to do what she could to aid me to prove the marriage. I don’t know, Philip, that it would be the least good for you to read it through ; still you can see it, of course, if you want to, although I dare say it will annoy you, although it has not annoyed me at all.’ *Oh I had better read it,’ Philip said, ‘ and have done with it. I shall only be wondering and bothering myself over it. I promise you to put it all out of my mind as far as I can. So I had better read it now, and have done with it.’

Constance handed him the letter. He read it, and gave it back with a rueful laugh. ‘I don’t believe any woman before ever wrote such a letter to another whom she had done her best to wrong.’ ‘lt is staightforward and honest,’ Constance said, * and a thousand times better, Philip, than if it had been hypocritical and double-faced. Your mother lias done us both an immense service, and we ought to feel grateful to her. ‘ How on earth do you make that out V ‘ Well, if it had not been for her, you would never have come out in the Mandalay. You would never have come out at all. I should have succeeded at last, though with a good deal more difficulty, and at a much higher price in getting the certificate from Morson. Then I should have appeared as the heiress, and you would have at once recognised my rights. I know quite well you would have refused any proposal for the division of the estate, you would'never have come to care for me, and if you had, you would never have said so. Altogether, Philip, your mother’s interference has turned out most happily for both of us.’ ‘Well, I suppose it has,’ Philip admitted. ‘But .’ ‘ We won’t have any buts, Philip. I am perfectly happy to-night, and I do not want to have a single unpleasant thought to anyone. I have not a shadow of malice against your mother, and I like her all the better for that letter/

As Annette had gone quietly out of tbe room directly she saw the conversation was turning upon Philip’s mother, Philip was unable to answer Constance in a manner satisfactory to both parties. When she returned, half an hour later, Philip said, ‘ I want your support, Madame Duport. I have been trying to persuade Constance that tbe best plan in every way will be for us to be married at once. It will get rid of all sorts of difficulties, and then you see if we are wrecked again on our way back I shall be the better able to take charge of her. ‘I am sure, Annette,’ Constance urged, ‘ that it will be far the nicest way for me to go back with you to St. Malo, and for him to come over there to fetch me. Besides, we do not want to be staying here, and it will be impossible to be married in such a hurry as that.’ But Constance did not, as she expected, find an ally in Annette. * I think, my dear, it will be very much better for you to be married at once. I have been thiuking so as I was sitting upstairs. I see no reason whatever against it. You can get anything you want here just as well—indeed a great deal better —than you could at St. Malo. You do not want a great trousseau, you can get all that afterwards. If you did not get married I should say it would certainly be best that Mr Clitheroe,’ —‘Philip/ the young man put in— ‘ that Philip should go back to England in the same ship with you. People would talk on board, and it would be soon seen bow matters stood between you, and it would be pleasanter in all ways that you should go man and wife. I should say the same thing if you were my own daughter.’ _ . ‘ But the steamer will sail, Philip says, in ten days’ time, Annette,’ Constance urged. ‘ Yery well, my dear, that will give us plenty of time to make all arrangements, oceans of time/ And so Constance had no further excuse for resistance and was indeed, at heart grateful to Annette for having sided against her, and when tbe steamer sailed ten days afterwards the names of Mr and Mrs Clitheroe and Madame Duport were among the list of first-class passengers. Hilda Leicester was spending the morning with Mrs Peyton in South Audley-street. • I do wonder why we have not heard from Constance again,’ the old lady said.

‘ I don’t think there could be possibly time, aunt. You know when she wrote from Melbourne she said she was just starting for Brisbane, and that if she succeeded there she would come back by the next steamer. Her letter from Batavia, giving us a full account of that horrible time in the boat, said that she was none the worse for it, so there is nothing to worry about at all.’ ‘I should not be surprised a bit,’ Miss Peyton said positively, ‘if the next letter tells us that the silly girl is going to marry this man with the horrid, name—this Mr Sam. Brown. There is no doubt, I suppose, that it was owing to him that the boat and those who were left alive in her got to Batavia, and you saw how she spoke of his bravery and the care he had taken of her and Madame Duport. And in her last letter she mentioned, in a casual sort of way, that this Mr Brown had come on to Melbourne with them, and that his destination was also Brisbane. It was the cusual way that was suspicious, Hilda. The moment I read that sentence I said “ this unfortunate girl has fallen in love with this man. That is what comes of trapesing about the world. I had made up my mind all along that the only possible satisfactory ending to all this business would be that she should marry her cousin, which would have made matters comfortable all round, and now she takes up with a man with such a name as Sam Brown, and one knows at once what sort of man anyone with a name .as that must be.’

‘ I am sure, aunt,’ Hilda said indignantly, ‘ that Constance would not fall in love with any one but a gentleman.’

‘ Not under ordinary circumstances, Hilda, I am quite reaiy to admit that, but you see these are not ordinary circumstances. A girl is thrown for three weeks with a man in a boat, he is kind and attentive, he defends her and shoots down people; he is a hero in her eyes. She says to herself what if he does drop his h’s and if his grammar is a little shakey; what are such trifles as these in comparison to a true heart. Why the man’s very defects tells in his favour with a girl like Constance,’ and Miss Peyton rubbed her nose violently. The door opened and the servant entered with an orange-coloured envelope. ‘ I hate telegrams, my dear,’ Miss Peyton said, taking it, ‘ln nine cases out of ten they bring you. no pleasant news in fact in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Either somebody is ill, or at the last moment cannot come to dinner, and there is a vacant chair that it is too late to fill up, or the friends whom you are starting that afternoon to stay with have got measles in the family, or the dressmaker has fallen downstairs and cannot send home the gown you had depended upon. Telegrams are a mistake altogether, my dear.’

‘ Well, aunt, you may as well see whether this is an exception.’ Miss Peyton opened the envelope. ‘ Just what 1 expected, my dear, the very thing I expected. Constance has married this Sam Brown.' Hilda uttered an exclamation of dismay, for she, too, had shared to some extent in her aunt’s opinions. * What does she say, aunt ?’ ‘ Brindisi. My husband and myself and Annette are coming straight back. Proofs of motber’s marriage obtained ; everything satisfactory. Shall come direct to town, leave luggage at hotel, and drive straight to sep you. Will telegraph from Dover.’ * There, my dear, she has done for herself for good and all,’ and Miss Peyton handed the telegram to Hilda. Miss Leicester looked at it, clapped her hands suddenly, and gave a cry of delight. ‘ What in the world is the matter with you, child V ‘ You did not read the upper part, aunt. Don’t you see it is to Miss Peyton from Constance Clitheroe.. She has married her cousin after all. You know, aunt, Robert told me he was going out in the same ship with her/ * That must be a mistake, my dear, altogether,’ Miss Peyton said. ‘ She has never said a word about her cousin in any of her letters, and if he had been on board of course she would have mentioned it. No; Constance has evidently had her head so full of these business affairs that she has, without thinking what she was doing, written Clitheroe instead of Brown, and small blame to her. Besides, you know the list of passengers in that unfortunate steamer was published with the accounts of the wreck, and there was no such name as

Clitheroe amongst them. Do not buoy yourself with any false hope. Constance Corbyn has become Mrs Sam Brown, and a most lamentable affair it is. Well, my dear, soon as I get the telegram saying they are at Dover, I will'send off to you and Robert to come and meet them here, for I am sure I shall never be able to welcome her and this Mr Sam Brown with decent warmth. lam disappointed in Constance, altogether disappointed. ‘ Well, aunt, we must hope that Mr Brown is a verry good fellow in spite of his name. 1 have great faith in Constance and cannot believe she would have married anyone that wasn t nice.

*He was a second-class passenger, Hilda. I looked particularly in the list when Constance wrote about him. 1 ‘Well, aunt, she was a second-class passenger, too, and I am sure she is nice, so there is no reason why he should not be.’

Pour days later Miss Peyton received the expected telegram. As it was this time sent from * Constance ’ to Miss Peyton, she had no means of proving the correctness of the conviction she had expressed that the girl had signed the wrong name by mistake, and she and her niece awaited the arrival of the party in South Audley Street with anxiety and impatience. Robert Harbut had some difficulty in repressing a smile as he listened to ~MigH Peyton’s lamentations over the folly of her As soon as he had received a letter from Hilda, giving the contents of the telegram, and Miss Peyton’s conviction and her own that Constance had married the Mr Brown who had been a companion in the boat that reached Batavia after so much suffering, then he seized his hat and rushed down to see James Ferris.

The latter, as soon as he heard the news, gave a shout of exultation. * Hurrah, Bob, it has all come right, and the very idea of sending Philip in the same ship as she was going by has set everything straight. I felt sure that things were going all right when I read the account of the wreck and saw that he was in the same boat widi the girl, and that they had gone through all sorts of hardships together, and that he had put down a mutiny and had been wounded. I felt sure then how it would be, and so it has turned out. Well, this is a happy ending to the affair. You see she says she has obtained tbe proofs of her mother’s marriage, so that in fact she gives him Corbyn Court instead of him giving it to her. Upon my word that plan of mine of sending them out together to Australia was the happiest idea that ever occurred to me.’

‘ I shall not say a word about it in Audley Street,’ Robert Harbut said, when their first excitement had calmed down. ‘ Hilda and the old lady are evidently in a great stew about it. It will be the best fun in the world seeing Miss Peyton try and make up her mind to be civil to Sam Brown, I won’t tell Hilda, because I am quite sure she could not keep the secret from her aunt.’ And so Robert Harbut derived intense amusement from the conversation of the two ladies as they awaited the arrival of the two ladie3 as they awaited the arrival of the party from Australia.

‘There is the cab,’ Miss Peyton said at last, as a vehicle was beard to drive .up to the i door. -‘.Now, Hilda, we must really try <Gtir best not to let the poor girl see how -disappointed we are in her, and I do hope I shall be able to endure her husband whatever he may be like.’ The door opened and Constance entered first, and running up to Miss Peyton threw her arms round her neck. ‘ Welcome back, Constance. Welcome back, my dear, I heartily congratulate you.’ Constance then turned to Hilda, who had, while the embrace was taking place glanced at the gentleman who had followed Constance into the room and had instantly assured herself that she and her aunt had formed an altogether erroneous impression of Mr Sam Brown, and that he was not only a gentleman but a very good looking one.

As soon as she had greeted Hilda and shaken hands warmly with Robert Harbut, Constance turned to Miss Peyton. * Miss Peyton, this is my husband, Philip Clitberoe. ’ But Miss Peyton had already recognised the young man she had seen at Bath, and was standing in stupefied astonishment. ‘ But, Constance,’ she stammered, ‘ I thought,* and she paused. ‘ You thought what, Miss Peyton V

Constance asked, in surprise at her manner.

‘ Miss Peyton thought that you had married Mr Sam Brown,’ Robert Harbut said, gravely, heedless of an indignant * Robert !’ from Hilda.

‘So I did marry Sam Brown,’ Constance said with a merry laugh. ‘We both sailed under false names, Miss Peyton. I was Miss Renan, you know, and Philip was Mr Sam Brown. I knew him from the first, but be had no idea that I was Constance Corbyn, or knew that Constance Corbyn was a fellow passenger of his, until after he had asked me to marry him.’ Miss Peyton now recovered herself and held out both her hands to Philip. ‘ I am glad, Mr Clitheroe, more glad than I can say. This was what seemed to me the best thing that could happen from the moment when Constance first told me her story, but when she wrote to me about what this fellow passenger of hers had done for her, and it was not difficult for me to discover what she thought of him, I was afraid my hopes that way had failed altogether.’ ‘But Miss Peyton, I thought my telegram would have told you. 1 sent it from Constance Clitheroe.’

‘ Yes, my dear, but I thought your wits had gone woolgathering, and that you had been thinking so much of the unpleasantness of having to turn your cousin out of his estate that you had put in his name by accident instead of your new one. In the meantime, Hilda had turned indignantly upon Robert Harbut. * Do you mean to say, Robert, that you have known all along that Philip Clitheroe and Mr Brown were the same person, and that yon kept me in the dark about it V ‘ Not all the time, Hilda. Ferris had never mentioned to me the name Clitheroe had booked under, and though I guessed how it was directly you read me the telegram, it was not until I went to see him that I found that Sam Brown and Philip Clitheroe were one and the same man ; it was too funny listening to your joint lamentations to enlighten yon until the time came.

‘I am extremely angry with you, sir. You might have told me if you did not think fit to tell my aunt.’ ‘ You know very well you could not have kept the secret, Hilda.’ ‘ I could, sir. I can hold my tongue just as well as you can.’ ‘ Perhaps you can, Hilda, but your eyes would have told it for you. Miss Peyton would have learnt it five minutes after you had been in the room with her.

By this time, Miss Peyton was warmly shaking hands with Annette, while Constance introduced Philip to Hilda and Robert Harbut.

‘I owe you both so much,’ Philip said. ‘Constance has told me how great your kindness has been to her. Indeed, I don’t know wliat she would have done if it had not been for you both.’

After a general conversation for some time, Constance drew Robert Harbut aside.

‘Mr Harbut I want to add to my obligations to you by asking you to get this sent down to the Bath papers. Philip knows nothing about it, and I have written it myself. You know how ill-natured peop l e are, and although we know how false it is, there are people who might say that Philip married me to keep Corbyn Court. So I have written this. I wish you would look through it and alter anything that you think badly worded, and put- it into the best shape, and send it down as from yourself.’ ‘ I shall be glad to do so, Mrs Clitheroe. I think your idea is a very good one, and I will see that it is carried out.’

Bath was two days 1? ter astonished by a paragraph which appeared in the various local papers. f A Romantic Marriage. Truth Stranger Than Fiction. —A marriage was solemnised on the 21st of June at Sydney, New South Wales, which will come as a surprise to Bath and its neighbourhood. Upon that day Mr Philip Clitheroe was united in marriage to Miss Constance Corbyn, only daughter and heiress of the late Mr Algernon Corbyn, of Corbyn Court. To our readers it will be a matter of news that Mr Corbyn was married, but the event took place 'nineteen years ao-o, during his father’s lifetime. His wife dying in childbirth at St. Malo, in France, Mr Corbyn thought it better for various reasons not to make the marriage public until his daughter was of an age to take her place as his heiress at Corbyn Court. She was

most carefully brought up and educated abroad, and Mr Corbyn was actually on his way to fetch her home when the sad accident occurred which terminated his life. Some evidence as to the marriage being found by Ml* Clitheroe among the late Mr Corbyn’s papers, he devoted himself to the search ’ for legal proofs of the marriage that would place his cousin in her proper position as mistress of Corbyn Court. Finding that one of the witnesses to the ceremony was alive in Australia, Mr Clitheroe determined himself to go out there to obtain the requisite proofs, leaving before he started a deed with his lawyer assigning his life interest in the Corbyn estates to his cousin, and stating that he was morally certain that a marriage had been duly solemnised between her mother and his uncle. ‘ Unknown to him, Miss Corbyn was herself going out to Australia with the same object, under the charge of the lady by whom she had been brought up. This circumstance was, however, known to Mr Clitheroe’s lawyer, who conceived the happy idea that it would bring about by far the most pleasant termination of the business were the two young people to come together, and it was upon his advice that Mr Clitherroe took a passage on board the same ship with her. Both parties being desirous that the matter should be kept private until their investigations were concluded, took their passages under assumed names. The desired result was attained. Mr Clitheroe fell in love with Miss Corbyn without having the slightest idea that he was her cousin, and the terrible wreck of the Aden, which will be fresh upon the memory of our readers, brought the affair to a climax. The Mr Brown who so distinguished himself in the conflict with the mutineers in the open boat was Mr Clitheroe, and among the ladies who owed their lives to his bravery was his cousin.

‘ The eclaircissement duly took place, and Mr Clitheroe and Miss Corbyn found that their marriage settled the question of the ownership of Corbyn Court without further trouble. Their search for the witness of the marriage proved successful, and it was found to have taken place at the Parish Church, Folkestone, being duly recorded in the register of that church. Our readers will agree with us that a stranger and more romantic marriage seldom came about, and Mr and Mrs Clitberoe are alike to be congratulated upon an event which, it must be admitted, was of all others the most suitable and satisfactory. We understand that Mr Clitheroe and his wife will shortly come down to take possession of Corbyn Court.’ The same post that took down this notice for the newspapers carried a letter from Philip Clitheroe to his mother. It was the joint production of himself and Constance, this being necessitated by the fact that he had written and torn up a dozen letters and given the task up as hopeless when she came to his assistance. It was short and to the point:—• ‘ My dear mother, ‘ Your letter to Constance came duly to hand. We both say let bygones be bygones, and let us start as if the last six months had been wiped out. We b'oth know that what you did was done from your love of me, and Constance is quite of opinion that this would justify almost anything. When we meet, therefore, let there be no allusion to the past, certainly no allusion will ever be made to it by either of us. Happily I shall still be joint owner of Corbyn Court, though not in the manner you had thought, and everything has turned out for the very best, and indeed Constance asserts that it could never have come about had it not been that we were both driven by circumstances to go out to Australia. We intend to come down this day week to Corbyn Court, and both sincerely hope that we shall find you thereto welcome us. We shall be accompanied by Miss Peyton, Miss Leicester, and Mr Harbut, who have very greatly befriended Constance, and their presence will help to smooth away any little stiffness that might otherwise attend our meeting.’ There was, however, no stiffness beyond that natural to her, in the manner in which Mrs Clitheroe received her son and his wife on their arrival at Corbyn Court. She had during the previous week received the warm congratulations of her numerous acquaintances, and had led them to believe, without absolutely saying so, that she had from the first been aware of her brother’s marriage, and that everything had turned out precisely as she had anticipated,

‘ My greatest regret in the affair is that I think it probable that my son will take the name of Corbyn. It is, of course, an older one in the county than our own, but it will nevertheless be a matter of regret to me that the heir to my husband’s estates should not bear his name, but perhaps that difficulty may be got over hereafter.’ Not withstanding the manner of their reception, Miss Peyton expressed to her neice her renewed conviction that Mrs Clitheroe, senior, was a detestable woman ; and when two days later she announced her intention of leaving for Clitheroe, where she had business that rendered her presence necessary, there was a perceptible feeling of relief among the party at Corbyn Court. It may here be said that although the Dowager, Mrs Clitheroe, always publicly expressed herself in terms of strong*? affection for her daughter-in-law, and ol complete satisfaction at the turn events had taken, she spent but a small portion of her time at Corbyn Court, where it must be owned that her society was but little missed, even by her son. Madame Duport returned to St. Malo. She obstinately refused to accept the income which Philip and Constance pressed upon her. ‘ We were earning enough to keep us comfortably. As you know, my dear, Victor would feel lost without his teaching, and now that you have gone, I shall want to have lodgers to look after to give me something to do. Victor and I will, as you say, come over once a year, when it is holiday times in the schools and out of the season for visitors, and stay with you tor a month, and you know how pleased we shall be if you can run over sometimes and pay us a little visit at St. Malo, but as for taking money from my child, it is not to be thought of.' But when five years later Annette lost her husband, she disposed of her house at St. Malo and came over to live at Corbyn Court where she was installed as supreme head of the nursery, declining altogether to yield to the earnest entreaty of Constance and Philip that she should take the position of their friend and guest. ‘ No, my dear,’ she said, ‘ I shall be much more comfortable in my proper place. When you are quite alone I will often take my breakfast with you,

but I do not like your late dinners, with your men behind the chairs. When we are in the nursery you will be my Constance again, but it would be unpleasant for me to be mixing with your grand friends.’ It Avas some little time before Robert Harbut succeeded in convincing solicitors that he was not so young as he looked, but having at length a chance given him, he did so well that he rose in his profession rapidly, and is now a leading member of the Midland Cii’cuit. His marriage with Hilda Leicester came off very shortly after the return to England of Constance and Philip. Mr and Mrs Harbut and Miss Peyton, who is now a very old lady, are still the dearest and closest friends of the Clitheroes, for Philip did not change his name, but it is understood that his eldest boy will upon coming of age add the name of Corbyn to his owh. [The End.]' : ,*