Fiction.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1151, 23 March 1894, Page 9

Fiction.

HER FATHERS IDOL.

By MRS BASELEY (" Mioxox "), (copyright.) SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS : Chapters I and 11.-—Nolly Hensiock, the daughter of Dr Henstock, is proposed for by Major Metcalfe, a man considerably her senior, but the proposal only causes her merriment. She is invited to spend a holiday at the house of Aunt Dulee, in a neighbouring town, but Hugh Bruce, a friend, a poor crippled lad. asks her, but in vain, to stay, feeling, as he says, that some ill will befall her. She laughs at his fears and leaves him. Chapters 11. (continued) and. 111. -Dr Henstock takes Nelly to the station to see her off, giving her instructions to telegraph her arrival. She fails to do so, however, and a telegram arrives saying she has not come, although three trains have been met. The Doctor is distracted at the news. Meanwhile Dr Boyd, the rival physician, and his family are also upset by the receipt of a telegram from their son", Mark, between whom and Nelly there is a feeling stronger than friendship, stating that he cannot come home, as there has been an " awful catastrophe at Gun ton's ; all implicated must hide.'" The family are bewildered at the news, and fear the worst.

Chapter IV. —Mark Boyd, in lovo with Maisie Gunton, and jealous of his rival, George Treveryan. had an interview with her, and threatens to shoot him. The same day Treveryan is shot and fatally wounded by some unknown hand. George, with his dying breath, says Horace Bertie, another would-be lover, had shot him, but he strongly affirms his innocence. In the meantime, Mark Boyd also declares his innocence, though he considers circumstances against him. Maisie. on the other hand, declares her conviction that Mark Boyd is his murderer, and says so at the inquest, from which, however, Boyd lias decamped on the plea of urgent business.

CHAPTER V. To return to Nelly Henstock. Her feelings were of mingled joy and sadness as she pursued her journey. The train, an express, tore on its way, and as houses and fields flew by she began to realise that each moment as it passed separated her farther and farther from the fond parent whose only companion she was. For the first time an unpleasant sensation of doubting whether she had done right in altogether leaving him crossed her bosom; if she could not have persuaded him to have accompanied her —and she had not tried to induce him at all, taking it too much for granted that he was wedded to his recluse life—ought she not to have continued by his side as heretofore, wholly satisfied to share his life and seclusion ? So strong were her sentiments that had it been in her power to have ordered the engine driver to turn back she would have done so. She resolved to get out at the first station. But the train moved on and on, bringing her impatient spirit various alternations of mind; and when at last it did stop she considered she had come too far to wisely return.

" Change here, change here for ." Wliat were the names of the places the porters made such a deafening conglomeration of ?

She could make nothing of them. There was no one in her carriage to ask. Her father had strongly impressed on her not to forget to get out somewhere ; where was it? In her confusion and timidity she could not recall, and she did not like to ask.

There were several persons each putting different questions to one porter. Nelly screwed up her courage to add to his perplexities, and ask as she approached him " if she were right for Iffington." The man in all probability had never heard the name of the place. " Yes, yes, you are right," he said. The result of his reply was to send all his questioners scuttering off wildly in various directions. Nelly happened to be the last of them. She felt the man's hand on her shoulder. " Is the place you inquire for Albeyton •way ?" he asked. Nelly did not know. Yet it sounded very like.the name of the place her father had told her to change at.. " Albeyton," she deliberated. " Does that take you to London ?" "In coorse it do, Miss. All for Albeyton changes here. I'm afraid the train there's started. It joost waits for the 'spress and then makes off. The next un'll be over three hours."

Nelly, dispirited at the prospect before her, sat down. She saw her own train off —carrying with it her luggage, to which she never once gave a thought; and then slowly took out a few sandwiches which thoughtful Mrs Baines had provided her with, and nibbled at them. Once more the suggestion of returning home crossed her mind, but she cast it swiftly away. She felt she had made too utter a mull of the multitudinous directions given her to show her face at Slackaby again at the present. Not that her tender father would leproaeh her by a single word, but she was ambitious to show hira how cleverly his simple, trusting, countrified little Nell could manage when left to her own devices. She would proceed on her journey—have a peep at Aunt Dulce, even if she returned in a day or two. Her father would welcome her even more gladly if he missed her a little longer. "Surely, my pretty lassie, you ain't agoing to stay at these yere stashun three hull hours, to have all the gents agazing at yer lovely face ?" It was her porter friend, freed from his bewilderment and confusion, who was playfully addressing her. She felt there was some cause for his observation, though she resented his freedom. The men were looking at her in a bold and easy style

that was rendering her very uncomfortable.

" But where can 1 go ?" she asked, with a proud little air, that would have been amusing had she been less unprotected. " Is there anv hotel or cottage near where I " " Take my advice, Missie, and and see Trent-bury ruins. They're the show place of the neighbourhood. Thousands come yearly just alone to see 'em. It's not above a two-mile walk—less by a good piece " lowering his voice—" if you follow the rails. But don't let 'em catch you starting just here. Go ahead a bit, and then get orff the field on to 'em, straight on'ards."

Nelly braced herself up, thanked him and started ; anything was better than becoming a curiosity to the loungers. She did not care a scrap for ruins of any sort, but she would enjoy a walk. As, however, Trentbury was within reasonable distance - was an object in view—and would be a mark for the flight of time, she made for it. Straight onwards as the porter had dictated. She rather wished she had not packed her watch. It was a valuable article, but the greatest part of its worth to her was that it had once belonged to her pretty young mother. Fully an hour passed as far as she could guess, and she had reached no ruins. Ruins or not she turned and retraced her steps on to the line of rails. A feeling of loneliness was growing on her : she had not met a soul since commencing her ramble, and one's own companionship has to be highly cultivated to prove wholly attractive. It was a lovely day, sunny and with just sufficient touch of frost in it to be enjoyable. It was not enjoyable, however, to Nelly. There was discomfort at her heart. Not the aching void of acute, and it might be said, uncalled for, desolation that there was in poor Maisie's abruptly ended hopes, but a sort of dull sensation that was quite new to highly cherished Nell.

She walked along soberly j her steps took a brisk trot as she proceeded. Rounding a turn, her eyes took in a sight that made every pulse in her body beat more rapidly; facing her, though not looking any way in her direction, stood the figure of a man. What was he doing? Her first idea was that he was a platelayer examining the lines —a superior sort of overlooker more probably, judging in the distance, by his respectable appearance. No; he was not that. Good heavens ! could he be contemplating suicide? With arms folded, his eyes were raised to the skies overhead. He seemed to be deliberating, awaiting a sudden doom. An approaching train at his back swiftly curved along the lines. Certain destruction must be his unless he moved of his own accord. \ shrill whistle, deafening even to Nelly, rent the air. Still he moved not, and though she panted for breath —for greater speed—she saw she could not reach him before he was cut in twain. So near and yet so far. She shouted, she threw up her arms. She did everything she could to attract his attention. Almost despairingly she collected her strength for one loud last effort. Rather to her surprise the man's head dropped ; he looked fiercely towards her. In that moment he, from very astonishment, swerved aside, lost his balance and fell, one word, " Nell}'," on his lips. At the same instant the tram dashed by, but luckily not on to him—he had fallen clear of the rails, yet scarcely bj' a hair's breadth, on to the ground beyond. Blinded by excitement, the smoke and rush of the train, and by her sturdy offorts, Nelly's impression was that the man for whose preservation she had made such superhuman efforts to save was cut to pieces. Almost, however, before she was aware of what she felt she saw him slowly rising to his feet. " I—l—am glad," she exclaimed, bursting into tears in the revulsion of her feelings.

" Nelly !" he exclaimed, fiercely, angrily, as he faced her ; " how dared you. Where have you turned up from to rescue me when I had sworn to perish ?" She but caught one word of his reproaches. A burst of recognition deadened his language to her. He there! Mark, her best beloved on earth. Yet, how came it ? There was a mystery in the situation that partly choked the ineffable bliss that must otherwise have been hers at the unexpected meeting.

" Oh, Mark ! You !" she cried, " What does it all mean ? I —I—really feared is, was a maniac contemplating suicide, and—and I have tired myself in trying to save you. But for me " " But for you I should have been annihilated by this," he said, gloomily. " Ah, Nelly, are you so little versed in the world's experience as to innocently suppose that it is only the mad who prefer annihilation ?"

Her prcttjr face was blushing, and trying to hide the happiness caused by the meeting. The knowledge that Mark was gloomy was not a new one to her ; and to suppose that he would wilfully kill himself, despite what her eyes had seen, did not enter her head. He was absorbed and could not have known his danger. He would realise it soon, and thank her for the peril she —she who loved him dearly, yet so secretly—had saved him from. Now he would speak out his mind and tell her of his affection, as Clara Boyd so long had assured her it was his intention to disclose. Mark, on his part, directly his quick fit of unpardonable anger at the intervention which had saved him was over, realised the wisdom of completely blinding her as to his past action. " Nelly, my own px-etty little sweetheart," he said, audaciously kissing her ; " say you are glad to meet me again. Let your lips repeat the tale your expressive face tells. Ah, me ! this joy of having you by my side once more compensates for much of my unendurable misery." "You have been unhappy," she said, raising her blue eyes timidly. " You are on your way home, Tell me! Explain everything. I will return too."

She led the way stationwards. all eager ness to miss no more trains. Mark tucked her arm through his, and together they walked on.

" I will explain my movements after T have heard how you came here, Nelly." He had not the slightest intention of enlightening her. She was guileless, and believed him as a girl does believe in her first love. Soon he learned her chapter of accidents, and a new impetus to live was breathed into him. It was lucky ho had not died just on the eve of happiness. A rare luck had thrown Nelly into his power. It should not be his fault if he did not succeed in winning her on terms that were an insult to any trusting girl, lie had long had a sneaking fondness for her. but his father's ambition and his own love for riches had sadly militated against gratifying any matrimonial considerations on her behalf." He could escape with her —keep her with him as long as he chose, and then —ball, lie did not look beyond. In fact, till within the last quarter of an hour his affairs had looked so desperate that he had never contemplated another hour's existence. A new exciting impetus was given. If he had to die to-morrow, as well enjoy first the goods the gods had thrown at him. '• See, Mark, this is the field ; we go down here."

Skilfully unperceived by her, he led her into exactly an opposite direction to that she had come. He kept her thoughts fully occupied; praised her for her presence of mind in saving him ; was pleased in his revived spirits to term it a miraculous preservation ; ferretted out every hope and thought in her breast till scarcely one sentiment remained undiscovered—least of all her love for him.

" What a long way round you are going," she observed. Not suspiciously or observantly, but rather in mild astonishment that any way with him could seem longor by comparison than without him. " Ha ! love seeks to prolong the road," ho retorted.

" Why, Mark," she exclaimed, " the station appears quite different. We must have got into another part of it. My porter even is nowhere about." In her trusting innocence it never entered her brain either that there was a second station in the place, or that Mark could deceive her. Her simplicity amused him. He did not admire it, but it was convenient to trade upon. " The idea of you imagining that you could recollect whether a strange station was the same or a different one," he observed.

"But I can positively declare that the part I was in differed in every respect from this. The bookstall was smaller, the' footbridge was quite at the end, and " "It must have been turned topsyturvey during your absence, then," ho broke in, impatiently. " I will run into the town on an errand. I don't think our train will arrive during my absence ; if it should don't avail yourself of it. Here's a first-class waiting room." " I'm sure there was only one room for everybody this morning," she observed, in a doubtful tone of deliberation, half as if annoyed with herself at the change. " Oh, don't be angry, Mark, and of course I shall wait. Did I not tell you that my purse was packed with my other belongings. Daddie thought it safer for me only to keep a few coppers for porters or extra refreshments if I required it." It was not till Mark had been gone fully half an hour that the recollection of her lost luggage occurred to her. She startled the other occupants of the room by starting \ip suddenly and saying: " Oli, my boxes. I must go and see after them."

Her inquiries resulted in no good, and she could not see the porter of the morning. She was sure if she could find him that he would help her.

" The chances are ten to one, Miss, that you let them go on in the express to Lundun," declared the man, who was most patient. " They'll be there when you reaches."

" I am not proceeding to London," she replied. " Then telegraf for 'em, Miss. Come with me."

Uncertain how much telegraphing would cost, she hesitated. But Mark might return just as their train was on the move ; every second would then be of consequence. So she followed. " Where is the train for Slackaby ?" she asked. The man paused, ran his fingers through his greasy liaip. " Blest if I know," he replied, " I r" "Where the dickens are you trotting off to now ?" put in Mark's voice over Nelly's shoulder.

She explained, ending—- " To save time, I was going to telegraph." " They will be safe in London when you reach there." A chill fell over her at his words. She thought he wished to get. rid of her. " I am not going to Kmg's Cross now," she said, timidly. " Of course you are not," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. " Then let me telegraph for your luggage ?" " Thanks, Mark." In the exuberance of her joy she added, " Only fancy, this man does not know which is the train for Slackaby." Mark laughed bluntly. " He'd be a precious sight cleverer than most of his class if he did. You forget, Nelly, that Slackaby is not the terminus." She turned <*.way rati er hurt at Mark's tone. She recognised her mistake. She ought to have asked for Lirkham, But he need not have answered her in that way. For the first time something rose in her heart to his disadvantage. Her father never used a voice of disparagement to her no matter what she asked. Oh, for home and daddie ! The resentment Mark had raised was wholly gone on his return. Her face was wreathed with happy smiles. " Has our train arrived ?" she aaked, pleasantly. "See, this is nay ticket t°,

King's Cross. It is valueless now, and il;iddic gave nearly a sovereign for it."

She threw it down. Mark picked it up, muttering something about going to see

about their tickets

Nelly did not catch his meaning, but guessed by his manner that he was put out. Once more was her love chilled, and it gladdened her inexpressibly to think that she should soon be home again with her father.

In the train at last ! A carriage all to themselves. That part of it, strango to relate, did not affect her. as only that very morning it might have done. Was it that thus early her affection in its superiority and strength was asserting itself for her father.

Mark began t_» comprehend that the matter which he was taking in hand might not turn out so easy of accomplishment as he anticipated, unless he paid greater attention to his companion's feelings. It was not sufficient to warily deceive, but he must devote himself heart and soul to wooing her love. Not a difficult task in itself, for he ardently admired her; yet difficult whilst also plotting and planning, with mind fully occupied, not only for the deception of stowing her securely away, but also arranging for his own safety. He had received an urgent note from Charlie Gunton •nly that morning to return to Coxmoor by an early train for the inquest. It was the signal for his flight. He was too cowardly to venture voluntarily to the scene of the previous day's catastrophe. If they wanted him they must find him. But to blind them as long as possible he affected not to have received any communication, and telegraphed that, not having heard, he was going on a short visit of

importance to a dying friend, and that a telegram sent to the " old address " would find him.

Not many hours after he was where Nelly found him deliberately endeavouring to commit suicide. An hour again and life had wholly recovered its interest. But, oh ! for a head to cleverly plot and deceive all. He was caressing Nelly's hand and looking lovingly into her eyes whilst that earnest wish passed through his brain. " We are nearly there," cried Nelly, exuberantly. " Won't daddie be surprised to have me back, but pleased too."

The train was slackening. She jumped up gaily as they steamed alongside of the platform. A gentleman stood on the footboard ready to enter the carriage. " Lirkham ?" she observed, interrogatively, seeing Mark made no attempt to follow.

" This is Maltby," said the stranger, courteously. " How ve-ry singular!" she exclaimed, her brow wrinkling in perplexity. " I got out the first time it stopped this morning. This is an express." " Certainly," answered the new-comer; " but even expresses vary in their halting places."

Mark frowned. He resented the intrusion, as he mentally termed it, of the stranger. How was he to stem Nelly's chagrin when she discovered that she was on her way to London if that fellow was present. Luckily or unluckily for him, the gentleman folded up his "newspaper at the next stopping place, gave an admiring look at Nelly, and was gone. She was following, certain that they must have reached Lirkham. Mark pulled her back, put his arm round her neck, and deliberately kissed her.

" Sweet Nelly, I have to ask your forgiveness," he said ,- " but it is all the fault of my great love ; you know you said you would rather keep with me, so I have kept you, my precious girl. I had to return to London, so I have decoyed you with me. I can visit you at your aunt's." " Oh, Mark !" cried the girl, half-laugh-ing, half-crying, in her vexation and disappointment. " You should not havo done so. Unless my luggage is at the station when we reach King's Cross, or Aunt Dulce is waiting, I shall not know where to go." "Of course she will be waiting," declared Mark, untruthfully. He knew that it was an utter impossibility, and that when the train reached its destination it would be at Paddington, and not King's Cross. He had purposely arranged it so.

" I sincerely hope she will/' sighed Nelly. " I never knew such a long day as it has been, and it is not ended yet. It seems stupid that I should not remember Aunt Dulce's exact address, but I never gave it a thought. She was to meet me, and it is on my luggage. It is Cedar Grove or Crescent, Hlington or Iffington." ." Don't bother your pretty head about that, Nelly, it will be all right. I will see tfyat you get safely there. Besides, at the worst now we can telegraph to your father."

" Of course," sighed Nelly, only half satis.fied. Mark did not intend to let either telegram or letter reach Dv Henstock from his daughter. He had his plans too well laid for that.

Poor Nelly ■ without either money, friends or luggage, alone in London. It was a mournful prospect for .her. No notion of the fate that was in store crossed her guileless mind, as released from Mark's kiss, she pressed her nose rather dolefully against the window. Daylight was waning fast. How cosy it would be at home, with her father, and he, how lonely he would be without her. A few scalding tears fell from the pretty forget-me-not blue eyes, but she tried to keep others back. It might hurt Mark to see her grieve. " Here we are, Nell; now for Aunt Dulce," said Mark Boyd, grimly. CHAPTER VI. Roy Gunton was coming out of the chamber of death. Not to see George Treveryan had ho gone, but to try and induce hia sister Maiaie to leave it. • A futile task. She would be with him to the end, she had haughtily replied, and knowing that " the end " would soon be, Roy left ber,

A housemaid, duster in hand, loitered on the landing. " Don't go in there, Jane," observed Roy, authoritatively. " Nothing is to be touched till the coroner comes."

•' I know it, sir. Soames is in the reception room, and wishes to see you. He asked, sir, if Mr Bertie had been found."

Without vouchsafing a reply. Hoy walked on. Jane was very inquisitive; sho waited till Key's footsteps sounded on tho tesselated tiling in the hall, and then deliberately went into the chamber where all that remained of poor George Treveryan lay.

Haughty Maisie was kissing the claycold face —calling piteously on him to " come back." Anything rather than haughty looked she then in her acute sorrow.

" I will avenge your cruel death," she moaned. "He shall be found ; he "

Jane gave a little cough of warning. Maisie turned as if stung. Before she had time to utter a reproof, Jane said—- " One of the police was in just now, Miss." " Well," cried Maisie, sharply ; " any news ; have they got him ?" " Not as I've heard, Miss. They're so mighty close." " Then leave the room, and do not come in again without knocking." "She don't know, at any rate," commented Jane. " I wish that Boyd would come back whether they find Mr Bertie or not. He had a pleasant word for everybody." Koy meanwhilo had found Soames, the gamekeeper, deferentially standing waiting for him. With a thoughtfulness that did him credit ho pulled forward a chair. " Thank yot kindly, Mr Koy," said

Soames, touching his forelock respectfully, as he took possession, sitting on the extreme edge. " I made bold to ask for you, sir," he continued, seeing that Boy did not speak. " I —l could not come to Sir Henry." " No," said Roy, fidgeting. " I've had no rest sin that affair, sir. Tho hull of the two last nights I've tossed and turned, but never a wink has coined ni jh me."

"It is a—a sad affair," said Tioy, his eyes resting anywhere rather than on Soames. " Sad —it ain't the word for it. It's dreadful, sir, dreadful, and tho load on me is heavier than I can bear. What puzzles me is that Mr Bertie should a decamped. He ain't bin fund yet, have he, sir ? Have aught been heerd on 'im ?" " Nothing. The police seem powerless. They've scoured the country; trains have been searched; handbills out in every direction ; a reward offered."

" It's passin' strange, sir. And why " lowering his voice—" he should a gone fair puzzles me, unless he saw—saw t' one as weer guilty." " You don't believe Mr Bertie was guilty, then, Soames?"

Roy's haggard face lifted itself weariedly to the gamekeeper's, as if with a faint hope of receiving an answer contrary to what ho dared expect. "Believe Mr Bertie guilty. Why, sir, don't I tell ee that he was not. It 'ud be well for this poor house if no one in it wur more guilty than he. Bless your life, now don't groan and tak on so badly, Mr Roy ; you've an easy conscience, and must let those as 'ev done it bear the consequence, though how Sir Henry and Miss Maisie "

" Stop!" exclaimed Roy, raising his hands piteously, as if to ward off a heavy blow. " Stop, not another word. I know all about it. Don't crush me further."

"You know, you know," said Soames. " Oh, sir, this is a relief; if I'd only knowed afore, how much easier it would hev bin. All my bother hev bin how could I tell you. There, sir, and you knowed all the time. If I may mek bold, who was it as telled ee?"

" Miss Milly," replied Roy, in a tone so low that it was marvellous Soames heard him.

" Mi-ss Mil-ly—well I never. They did say as how Miss Milly accused t'other. Poor Mr Bertie."

" She told me otherwise. Ah, Soames, how are we to bear it ?"

Soames gazed back, full into his young master's face.

" It's the inquers, sir, that's what I dreads."

Roy sat silent; rose and poked the fire. " They twisses yer inside out at them inquers," said Soames," with a face as long as a fiddle. " You go and tell 'em jest what you vowed as yer would not tell.' I I know, Mr Roy, Vrx\ bound to Jet out everythink. And that's what I comeel about ; could not I get free of" attending ?" •

In his excitement he rose and shuffie4 his gaitered legs together. U I aru afraid, Sjoames, if yoij have had notice to be present there is no gettipg off. Perhaps you—you have been talking too freely, else why should you have been, called on.

" Sir, do you suppose that I as a faithful servant of Coxmoor for many years past, should say one word as would disturb the peace of its family. No, indeed; sooner would I have u\y tongue cut out- No-r body knows that I saw anythink. Fvo sworn, too, to poor Mr Bertie's guilt.'' " Then get out of the matter by simply saying as much. J " Th*» door opened ; Charlie entered.

"• Roy, itfs njqst annoying," he exclaimed, vexedly. " Mark is not at his address, and the landlady has telegraphed back to say so. Careless of him, is it not ? Mr Boyd, you know," turning to Soames to explain, " If he'd been guilty he could not have be, haved more shabbily than this. Perhaps he won't be required," " Perhaps not," replied Roy, stiffly, as ho turned aside. He regarded his brother's vexation as merely assumed. He was in no mood for offering comfort. Rather was he in need of it. Moreover, since the catastrophe a dark cloud had risen up between him and Charlie. More on Ms side, per*

haps, though Charlie in his airy way resented it. » ~ . ',. " Oh, I forgot," lie observed, satirically ; « you don't think Mr Boyd's presense necessary. In your opinion the guilty party is within reach so long as Charlie G-unton, Esq., is there. Tha-anks, awfully." The bantering in his tone was unpleasant. Soames might or might not be influenced by it, or his next sentence might proceed from a totally distinct motive. "Mr Charles" he said, pleadingly, "do you take an old faithful servant's advice. *Get away from here before the inquers comes off, if you can. There's none but friends left then, and no one can fix you if you go." Charlie stared haughtily. "Thanks, awfully, old bones. Get off yourself. lam indebted to you, Roy, for this compliment, 1 suppose. If lam ready for the hangman's noose it ill becomes those of mv own to toll me so. N'importe with an air of jocularity—" I'll promise you, Soames, an invitation to the hanging." Ho went out banging the door after him. "That is how he cares," groaned Roy. « Oh' what ill fate is on the house ? and the burden of it falls on Miss Milly and—me. But you know my secret and will guard it, Soames. Charlie must be saved at all costs. You'll help, won't you ?" Soames gazed at his young master in some surprise. He opened his lips as if to say something, checked himself, and then said— ' , „ ~ '.' Don't you worry, Mr Roy. Mr Charlie ain't so indifferent as he seems. It's jest tho heaviness of his 'ear-t that makes him speak a bit provoking like, Aye, I'll guard what I seed to the death if I'm axed any questions. Happen like they won't say much to me ; if they do I'll swear I wur too fur urff to see ote." "« To think I should be craven enough to permit him to say that to mo," groaned Roy, after Soames had taken his departure. « Oh, Charlie, Charlie, what will be the end of it ? lam sure you could only have fired the shot that ended so disastrously by accident quite. Why, why don't you confess it ? I think I will make one more attempt to persuade you, for at the worst they could only bring it in manslaughter, and it would free poor Bertie from the charge Milly wilfully laid at his door." . Charlie, however, refused point blank to see Roy. Roy construed his conduct to fear. Charlie dared not meet him openly. Sir Henry, usually the most cheery and menial of men, wondered what caused the miarrel between his two sons. The whole house was in a state of disorder and discontent. Of course poor Treveryan's untimely end was a sad event, but was it to set the whole family by the ears. There had been no peace at Coxmoor since the catastrophe occurred. What with one thing and another, things seemed at sixes and sevens. Milly kept to her room. Maisie was like a lunatic in her unbounded thirst for revenge on Mark Boyd, whom no one save herself had a word against. Now Roy and Charlie were squabbling. Sir Henry genuinely wished tho inquest over. (To be continued.)

At the conclusion of the meeting last week at St. Patrick's College regarding a monument to the late Father Carolan, Dr Watters stated that he thought the time had now arrived when it was fitting to establish an Old Boys' Association in connection with St. Patrick's College. After some discussion, it was unanimously decided that the committee appointed to take steps to establish the memorial should also be a committee for" the formation of the association. Last month the receipts of the Wellington Corporation amounted to .£7728 ss, the principal amounts being as follows : Rates, £4907 lis 6d; rents, -£IO4B 19s 5d ; interest, .£517 4s; licenses and fees, .£213 ; water, .£499 6s lOd; repayment of expenditure, .£2lB 17s 4d; contractors' deposits, .£llO. The expenditure amounted to .£3378 16s 4d, the principal items being:— Salaries, £303 lis 8d ; street lighting, £324 19s; street cleaning, repairs, refuse, &c, .£1092 3s Id; waterworks account, £sll 9s lOd'; drainage''loan account; £717 Os 6d; Fh;e, Brigade, drainage, resorves and miscellaneous, £368 6s Id.