FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1152, 30 March 1894, Page 7

FICTION.

HER FATHER'S IDOL,

By MRS BASELEY (" Migxon "),

(copyright.) CHAPTER VI. (Continued.) The inquest came on that very afternoon. The coroner and his men held it in the hall where the coffin and its contents were taken. Milly was the chief witness. She spoke quietly aud unmovedly, scarcely raising her eyes. She testified that she was the first with the victim after the accident, to the best of her belief. " Why did she believe so?"

"Because she was so close that scarcely a second elapsed between the report of the gun and her being with Treveryan. He spoke in dying," she said.

" To what effect?" "He declared that - that Horace Bertie had shot him.''

" Did he say 'deliberately' shot him?" Milly shook her head. Her tongue, her throat seemed dry. " I'ou are aware that you are on oath ? Do you swear that he did not say deliberately ?" "I am positive he did not." Sir Henry, Boy, and a few other important witnesses followed, Soames amongst them. He vowed he had neither heard nor seen anything in the least unusual till told by one of them—he quite forgot which in his flurry-that poor Mr Treveryan was killed, that Mr Bertie had shot him.

" Surely you heard the report of a gun ? ' " There were so many guns a-firing about in all directions that he had no means of telling which of them had proved fatal."

Milly was recalled. " Had Treveryan and Bertie any ill-feeling between them? Milly hesitated. She trembled visibly. " None that lam aware of, unless it was jealousy," she said, unwillingly. "Mr Bertie admired my sister, and she had just become engaged to the deceased." Strong evidence against Mr Bertie, they all felt. "Where is your sister? Let her come," said the foreman of the jury. "Wehoped to spare," remarked Sir Henry. " She is very much upset by the sad event, naturally, and, not having been in the woods, is it necessary for her to appear ?" The jury seemed to think it was.

Very excited, eyes and cheeks carmine, was Maisie. It was easy to see that she longed to speak. Words burst from her volubly. Her accusation against Mark Boyd was vehement and unrestrained. So much so as to partly rob them of their sting. " Mark Boyd," said the coroner, turning to the police, " how is it he is not here ?" "Mr Charles Gunton has undertaken to explain that, sir." " There was no necessity," said Charlie, lightly, not entering into his friend's despicable behaviour in being absent. "He and I were together when the shot was aimed which killed Treveryan. I can answer for his innocence as for my own." "And, Mr Coroner, you must not heed my daughter's wild adjurations against Boyd," whispered Sir Henry, whose word went for much. " She is at present almost with grief. She evidently dislikes Boyd, and it renders her unjust." The talk went on a little longer, and then they all poured out of the hall, quite a small crowd of them, talking and chatting as if they had merely been discussing a trivial matter. George Treveryan was free to be buried, and the verdict was against Horace Bertie for "wilfulmurder." " Wilful murder against Mr Bertie !" cried Maisie, wildly. ".Why, oh, why, are they so unjust ? 'They might know—they must feel—that Horace Bertie was wholly incapable of committing murder. I never cared for him, but I must be jur,t. His nature was opposed to such a crime. Mark Boyd shot George, I say, and if we had had a proper trial his appearance would have been insisted on.""

"Then why did Bertie disappear?" enquired Sir Henry. " That fact has told so lamentably against him that the jury never even retired'to deliberate on their verdict. The coroner was for cleaving the rcom, but the foreman intimated there was no need, they were agreed. My opinion is that Bertie's gun must have done the mischief, but inadvertently. Now all the work will be to find him."

" Yes, papa," acquiesced Maisie, feverishly, 'Mr Bertie must be found. There is only Milly's word against him, and—and—1 can't understand her. It seems to me as if—if she had some motive in accusing him, yet as if she were sorry for it. She won't listen to there being the least likelihood of it being Mark Boyd ; says she is positive that he is innocent; yet if it is a proof of guilt in Horace Bertie di3appcaring why should it not be the same in Mark Boyd's case—aye, a thousand times more. Did he not threaten to kill George ?" and she burst into tears. "If I were dying I could swear he did. Its not fair. I "

" My poor stricken Maisie, try and be brave," said Sir Henry, tenderly. "I will—l am, papa. But don't you see I want rny darling's murderer to be avenged." The next day a lady called. Her card said " The Hon. Mrs Bertie." The house was in a flutter. Horace's mother was a tall stately lady, with white hair, and a face strongly resembling Horace's. She was courteous, but stricken with grief—bowed down with it, a 3 was quite natural. She marvelled that any should deem her son guilty. It the shot which did the mischief had in reality proceeded from him his gun must have gone off by accident, She listened to every detail, and * remained at Coxmoor some hours. She and Maisie cried together, and became great friends, because from Maisie she derived comfort. Milly declined to see her, simply sending a message that she could tell no further than anyone else coitkl. Mrs Bertie stayed for luncheon, but could not be prevailed on io take any more than a biscuit and glass of wine. In the middle of the meal she arose, apologising for the act. •• Sir Henry, you will join with me in doing your utmost to trace my poor son," she pleaded, in parting. " This raisguided step of

his may cost him dear. He could not have taken a worse one to prove him guilty."

" I will ; I will. Mrs Bertie. He was a great favourite of mine."

"But let him stay quietly where he is till the affair blows over," remarked Charlie uneasily.

Boy's eyes pierced him with a look which Charlie would not meet.

" Mrs Bertie, if it is any comfort to you to know that one person thoroughly believes in your son*s innocence, you may take it from me. Perhaps some day we may shake hands over the matter." '• If I live," she sobbed, heart-brokenly. Milly. like a black ghost in the. mourning which they had assumed for George Treveryan, was crossing the hall in the afternoon, when she saw a manservant coming clown the staircase with a portmanteau. Following it was Charlie, his carriage and air as haughty as ever was Maisie's at her proudest. "Yes, I'm off,-' said he, in answer to her looks. " I cannot stand any more of this. You and Boy between you are too muck to endure. You've guessed my secret, I suppose, and you can't bear to have me in your sight. I ought to have confessed, 1 suppose —it is shabby of mc—but life is dear to every man, and "

" Oh, Charlie, Charlie, it is so dreadful," burst out Milly, in a violent lit of weeping. " The lie I have told, and your—your guilt !" " I don't see why you should take it so badly," said Charlie, drawing on his gloves carefully. "A lie that saves a man from hanging is a most pardonable one in my eyes. No doubt I'm partial, but wait and hope, Mill, and I'll do as much for you some day." He held out his arms for a parting kiss. She shrank back visibly, horror in her eyes. " Cannnot you forgive me enough to bestow a farewell salute on your brother ?" he said. " You do, indeed, resent my badness. Goodbye, Mill, and —and thank you—for what you have done. Say ta-ta to the others." Milly proceeded on her way. On reaching the study she sank down on the sofa, and buried her face in the cushions, convulsed with grief. " What is the matter, Milly ?" asked Boy. She had not seen him.

" Charlie is going away. He—he—does no t—feel his dreadful position one bit and —and oh, Boy, it is all so hopeless look which ever way you will. We can never be happy—never hold up our heads again ! The sword of Damocles has darkened our doors, and may descend at auy moment. And then, poor injured Bertie, aud his desolate widowed mother !"

"You just feel what I Avas feeling," said Boy, with infinite tenderness. "It does all look dark, Milly, and we are verily guilty, you and I together. Yet how can we denounce our brother—it is not to be expected. And I am glad Charlie has gone. I could have felt more sympathy with him if his remorse had been deeper. Ho did not display—whatever he may have felt—as great soirow or shame for his crime as we did. Ah, dear Milly, I need not remind you where to take all your sorrow."

"But not this one, surely, Boy. When we do right we may seek help from there. Now —now we cannot expect succour from any."

Roy bowed Ins head. He cmld make no rejoinder. And that night, as they were sitting down to dinner, a telegram from Mark Boyd arrived. "Thousand apologies. Just returned. Wire immediately if wanted." A message was returned saying the inquest was ended, and his presence was therefore not necessary. The next day George Treveryan was buried in the Guntons' vault. He was almost without relations, and the few he had lived abroad. The blinds at Coxmoor were drawn and the world went on as before, save that the search for Horace Bertie was being prosecuted with great energy. His mother's place, Briarwood, was under police surveillance. It had been searched twice unsuccessfully, yet the general opinion was that he was hidden there. What so likely as that he should escape to his own home? Briarwood was only about twenty-five miles from Coxmoor. So a watch was being kept, but it was Milly's incessant prayer that he should not be found. What might happen to them if he were?

CHAPTER VII. Ln the small window of a house off Berners street sat Nelly Henstock, her sweet face puckered up with anxiety and perplexity. Three days since Mark had sent her the:e from Pad'dington in a cab, giving her a note which, he said, would admit her into select apartments. Wearied out with vainly looking for her aunt, disappointed about the nonarrival of her luggage, hungry, exhausted and worn, she had only too gladly availed herself of his protection. Her father would make payment all right. On the morrow she should either return to him or go on to her aunt's, whichever his telegram or letter dictated. She felt her head too much in a whirl to care which, and so she retired to bed alone in a large city, and slept long and soundly, despite the strangeness of her new position. Three whole long dispiriting days had unwound themselves slowly from off the Reel of Time since, yet still she remained there, her uneasiness and perplexity, despite all Mark's assurances, growing deeper and deeper. She had seen very little of him. He, too, was engaged prosecuting his search for Aunt Dulcie's house. So far unsuccessfully. His failure would not .have grieved her gentle spirit so greatly, save that no answer in any form had arrived to her numerous messages and letters to her father. If he were dead he could have betrayed no more ominous silence. Why did he not communicate with her, even if angrily? It was a new experience to her to imagine her kind good father as put out—annoved. Still she could bear his reproaches—she deserved them, she had mismanaged all his careful directions. If he would only reproach her. To be sharply scolded would be a pleasant change from the monotony of suspense, and the heavier and more crushing weight of perplexity thai embarrassed her.

Sh.e was looking out anxiously for Mark, lie had promised to be with her early that morning; it was after two, and he had not yet appeared. Very little had he been with her altogether during those few days ; just enough to make her feel her dependence on

him. She was longing for his arrival. Flo had assures.! her that something would turn up before they were twelve hours older, or he would make it. Nearer twenty hours had lied, and her affairs were still at stagnation point. If he would only come ! She twined her fingers in and out restlessly. She rose and aimlessly paced the confines of her somewhat rawdrily furnished yet clean room. "If I had only money I would get off home," she commented. "Ah! there's the prick ! I don't like to mention my poverty to Mark; and daddie - daddie. Oh, daddie, whv dou't you fetch your poor, useless, helpless Nelly ?" An outburst of tears relieved the load at her breast. A little tap at the door Nelly jumped forward eagerly. Had ho come? The thought rose instantaneously, but was strangled in its very birth. Mrs Hudson, the landlady, in a rusty black silk, without pausing for a reply, followed her abrupt tap. and with scant ceremony placed her portly person into the nearest chair. " I've just come up to see what footing lam on about the payment of these rooms," she said, staring with a familiarity at Nelly's shrinking figure, that bespoke but little. respect. " They are two guineas a week alone. But your board and tires costs quite as much more. What I wants to know is this, who is going to pay for them? You, or Mr Boyd ?-

A wave of indignation swept over Nelly' tinging cheek, neck and brow with carmine. The tones, more than the words, were full of an insult that she had never before been called upon to endure. A few moments ago she had almost resolved to screw up courage to borrow enough money from Mrs Hudson to carry her home. She would rather beg in the streets than bring herself to such humiliation now. Her heart was full.

" You will be paid, Mrs Hudson," she managed to say proudly, "of that rest assured. If that is all you came to ask, I can dispense with your prssence." A brave rebuke from such an inexperienced girl of the world—unexpected as it w r as dignified. Mrs Hudson rose, a perceptible change in her manner.

" No offence, miss, I assure ycu : but I am only a widow woman, and lodgers is often impostors. Mr Boyd, he was careless about it when I mentioned it to him, laughed it off, and said you would pay if you could. So, thinks I to myself, if it is uncertain whether he would settle, I had better ascertain how the matter stood between you." Once more the blood flew into Nelly's face. Young as she was she caught an implication in her landlady's words that touched her to the quick. " Oh, Mr Boyd, of course, will not pay," sho said, indignantly, "he is only a friend of mine. His father lives in our village, and we met accidentally on the journey. I missed my aunt, and but for him should not have known what to have done. I left myself to his guidance, and he sent me here. "Why do you look at me so incredulously?" Mrs Hudson's stare relaxed. Going up to the young lady, she placed her hand kindly on her shoulder.

" Take a word of warning. I am much older than you, and not to be deceived. You may mean well enough; but don't trust no one, much less a young and attractive young gentleman. Appearances are against you. If anyone had been to my house to-day and asked what relation you were to Mr Boyd, do vou know what I should have said?''

""How dare you ?" cried Nelly, tremblingly, " you shall not say such base things to me."

"But be just. How can 1 tell otherwise. He visits you. He kisses you. Have I not. seen you fly into his arms with warm words of welcome when he comes ? ' It was all true. Nelly's head sank. She had not analysed her feelings for Mark lately, but she was "aware that she always greeted him with rapture. " I am always so anxious to hear if he has heard anything of Aunt Dulce. Oh dear," breaking down, " I wish father would write or come. I know he will do ; but oh, for

patience." " Your father ! Are you really expecting him? That s strange. Why not write to him—or, better still, wire?'' '• I have done. I've spent my last farth-

ing. I " " Oh, come I don't like the looks of this," broke in Mrs Hudson, sharply. "If your father wanted you does it stand to reason that he'd leave a chit like you in a vulture's nest an hour longer than he could help ? He " " What's this ? What's the- matter ? " said Mark, sharply, in the background. "lam glad j.m have come," tried Nelly. But she stood her ground, and did not fly to meet him. When he would have drawn her to him she kept back, yet in her heart there was warmth and relief that she had protection against Mrs Hudson. "Ob, it's you, sir. I've just been telling your young lady that Imusthave a guarantee that my payment is all right. She tells me some rigmarole about her father. Fathers are very convenient or inconvenient personages, as the case may be. In matters of this sort I find them oftener trumped up humbugs." To Nell's surprise Mark laughed long and merrily. Her indignation with the woman was excessive.

" You just leave the young lady alone," he remarked, as soon as he recovered. " Should I have sent her here if there was any doubt about funds. You're an old fool, Hudson, blundering, as usual, over your work." Mrs Hudson retired, muttering to herself.

" My darling !" exclaimed Mark, approachher with every appearance of love in his manner, "you won't refuse to kiss me now that old hag has gone?" A momentary debate, and Nelly shook her head.

"My px>r, stricken, desolate girl, don't turn from me, your only friend left," said Mark, sorrowfully. Nelly turned sick with undefined doubt and dread. Ehe put up her trembling hands : "No news," she murmured, "no news. Great what shall I do?" " Don't give way libra that while I am by to shield you. Do you know, Nelly, that since I have .been engaged on your behalf I have learned that I lore you betid than all else in the world."

He bent towards her a strange and fascinating look of tenderness in his eyes. To her in her loneliness it was exquisito bliss to hear him say such words.-' But not yet—not yet was she to be won. " I love you too. Mark," she answered, simply. " 1 have done so, as I think you know, for some time past, though I was not sure of it that—that dreadful day I—l—came here." Before sho ceased speaking Mark had her in his arms, holding her to his breast. For one moment thi y stood thus, heart beating wildly against heart. Nelly gentlv, but firmly, tried to loose herself. "You did not hear mo. out, Mark," she said ; " I must add that though my heart is yours I will do nothing without daddie's consent."

"Why do yon persist in calling Dr nonstock by such a foolish name? You might bo a baby, Nelly." The sudden transition from love to anger amazed her. He was ashamed of his temper ; annoyed with himself that he had shown himself in his true colours.

"Forgive me, pet," he said, taking some impassioned kisses from her face, " your want of trust angered me. Why should you persist in relying on your father's love when lie has so unpardonably done everything to forfeit all claims on him. Our family never did cave for him, as perhaps you know. He as good once as accused my father of thieving his practice from him ; but I would not permit considerations of that nature to influence me in any transactions connected with you. I said to myself if he is a disagreeable man he has always been a fond parent." " The fondest, dearest, best " "So I telegraphed—l wrote—l " " You did, Mark."

"Of course I did, darling. You do not feel your desolation, your unfriended position here more than I feel for you. But for me you might not have come to town. I blame myself for venturing to keep you within my radius, yet love will do things in its selfishness that it often regrets afterwards. Besides applying to Dr Henstock repeatedly I wired to the post office at Lirkhani enquiring if they forwarded messages. I even telegraphed to my father. I have done everything, I assure you." " How good, how kind," she said, gratefully.

"Not at all; when I failed in finding your aunt I felt so powerless that it was a relief to do something. As for the officials at the Lost Luggage Office they know mo by sight.'' " You risked all this for my sake. But how about your safety, Mark ? The disguise you came in the other night." Ho coloured hastily. " Oh, that was all a joke done to amuse

you." "I am glad that you are not in any clanger through others malevolence!" sho said, " I felt uncomfortable for you. Now, Mark, what is best to be done? You sit down in the armchair, and I will take a seat at a distance where I can study your face. Why, you look gloomy at once." " I should think I do. Fancy working yourself to death over the interests of a girl who is so cold-hearted as to banish herself from my side. Here is a stool near, take that or I shall make myself as deaf as—as an adder." A pretty little laugh broke from her. She was forgetting her loneliness in his society. " I tell you what I think, Mark," she said, laying her band coaxingly on the arm of his chair, "I am sure it would be best; I will take the evening express home." " What!" he shouted, " have you so little spirit as that? Are you devoid of all amour jpropre ?" "lam. Neither, in as far as dad—my father—is concerned, have I any resentment," whispered Nelly, timidly. "He loves me so tenderly, he " " Seems to do," sneered her companion. " Shows it famously." "But he does, I am convinced," declared she, strenuously. " Every act of his life till this—and I am ce:tain there is some mistake somewhere now—has always proved the same. I am his sun, his idol, his deeply cherished child."

" Defend me from being left to his tender mercies, then, as you now are. How swiftly he comes to your aid." " I tell you, Mark," she replied, with a pretty air of exasperation that suited her well, " that there is some mistake. Dad—father—would never forsake me like this. Never ! never ! That is the reason I propose to go to him." " And risk his anger?"

" Daddie's anger!" she exclaimed, with a reassuring smile. "I am not the least afraid of it." "Go by all means, then," with a wellfeigned air of indifference. " I mistook the case. Ton my word there are characters and characters. Had my governor behaved to me as yours has to you and all of us, I would see him far off before I stretched out a finger even to go to him." "But, Mark," she said coaxingly, "if you had been brought up with a father whose only pleasure was in living to give you happiness, as mine did " t; Did ! You do well to put it in the past tense."

" Aye, who docs, and will again if I can only get at him." ""Excuse me, Nelly, your words imply distrust of my assistance," cried Mark, intemperately. " You talk of a mistake somewhere. Let me know where ? Your letters and messages went safely, I presume. Then do yju doubt mine ?" " I don't fathom how and where the mistake is," she answered, " all is dark. I may grope into surmises, but they don't help me. Mind, I blame no one ; you least of all; but I ain certain of this—my father does not understand the predicament I am in, or he would have been with me long since. My only wonder is that he was not up in town after me the night I arrived." Mark deliberated —a strange look on his face.

" I would have spared you if I could, Nelly, but I fear your father has wilfully deserted you. Nay, don't scream; that would not mend matters, and there is a faint chance that he may come round."

•' I am certain he would if—l—l could go to hini." ** So you shall, after to-morrow, if you persist. I will advance ydil money. But wait one more day. That he has received our shoals of communication there is no doubt. What did my father say when I telegraphed to him to go tolvanhoe? Simply, 'Go yourself, there is no working that old dunderheaded monkey.-' " Did you mention me—in—it?" "Not I; purposely—hut—what's this •h, you, Mrs Hudson ? Would you kindly knock at the door in future, instead of rushing in wildly, and frightening this young lady."

"If you please may I ask what is your name?" said Mrs Hudson, ignoring Mark's reproof. '.« Tell me," hurriedly.

" You are taking a great liberty," declared Mark, interposing himself between, " her name is of no importance to you." " But it may be to herself." " Oh, is there something for me ?" asked Nelly, excitedly, " I am called." "Ellen Ford," interrupted Mark, before she could finish.

Nelly looked up in amazement. Why should her right name be kept back ? " I only wanted to know if it was Stubbs," said Mrs Hudson. " There is a lady in a carriage enquiring for a Miss Stubbs, and I said I'd enquire if that were you." " No," answered poor Nelly, disappointedly, " I know none of that name. Oh, Mark, I think I will run down and see if it is Aunt Dulce,*' she exclaimed, as Mrs Hudson left the room.

Mark seized her by the wrist. "Don't act like a simpleton, for them to laugh at you. The carriage has merely stopped at the wrong number. You can look out of the window and see. You'd have enough to do if you stayed here long in running down to answer all strangers who called." He led her to the window, himself in the background, and she saw his solution was a correct one. An elderly lady, with curls, from next door, answered evidently to the name of Stubbs, and was driven away. " I wish that carriage had come for me," observed Nelly, wistfully. " So do I," he replied, untruthfully. " But, Nelly, love, if you propose running down home to-morrow, and leaving me, had you not better write and say so." "I will; and then, Mark, as you don't like me going out I will get you to post it. I very nearly went this morning, only I—l had no money." "But, Nelly, you must not venture out alone, your pretty face would attract too much notice. If—if you should at any time very much wish for a breath of air you must wrap up in a thick veil, and " " Oh, I shan't desire to go between now and to-morrow," she broke in impulsively. "And, Mark, there—is one request I—l—must—make, should you mind lending me some money—a—a sovereign would do," " Nelly 1" he exclaimed, revelling in the exceeding diffidence with which she proffered her petition, " how can I excuse my thoughtlessness ? Of course, you shall have money. I carelessly forgot your dilemma, You'll require a lot; I must draw a cheque." Nelly glanced at him eagerly. He made no attempt to produce a farthing. "Could you—would you let me —have a—a little now ?"

His face foil. He put his hands in his pockets, merely as a pretence. " Was anything ever so provoking ?" he cried, in well-affected annoyance. " I have not brought more than enough for my return fare, Stay, Mrs Hudson shall " "No, no; don't ask her," exclaimed Nelly. "I would rather not. It does not matter if you bring me some to-morrow." «' May I come in ?" entreated a soft, silvery ■voice at the door. Nelly thought from the sound that it was a child making the request. She glanced at Mark. " Who the deuce is it?" he exclaimed, in a sotto voce.

" Please may I come in ? It is only Dagmar Votoski."

Perhaps the person so named deemed she had given the passport to entrance. Without further ado she stood on the threshold. She was small, but exquisitely formed. Her eyes, dark and almond shaped, were the loveliest Nelly bad ever seen. But there were wrinkles on her brow ; and though her hair fell in long ringlets on to her shoulder she had not a youthful appearance. She seemed an old young person. Her dress was airy and fanciful in the extreme.

" Pray who are you ?" demanded Mark, sternly. She made a deep curtsey. " Sure Mr Boyd does me the honour to remember. lam little Miss Votoski, who once painted his portrait in oils. I lodge now in Mrs Hudson's attic, but seeing you come day by day I felt I must introduce myself again. Fi done ! for the bad memory, Mr Boyd." Her accent was strikingly quaint. Nelly was much pleased with her visitor. "Oh, Mark, welcome her," she said, at which speech Dagmar Votoski raised her lovely eyes and studied Nelly's fair sweet face. '♦Ah, you, Madame Votoski!" exclaimed Mark. "Really I had forgotten. One sees so many faces. You are very welcome, I assure you, even if my reception of you was brusque—rude. You rendered me good service once ; it is in your power to do so fc.^ain." " How so. Monsieur?" with another curtsey and a vivid glance into his face, which, Nelly catching, pondered over, so full of significance had it been.

" Mademoiselle is so clever," observed Mark partly to Nelly, but in reality addressing the Bussian, " that I marvel she needs explanation. All that I ask her is to be a friend to this young girl. She is alone, and " " I am that already. I will guard her to tfie death."

" Thanks," said Nelly, uneasily, " it is very good of you, and I should have been glacl to have availed myself of your kindness, but I laave to-morrow." " Leave to-morrow !" screeched the Russian in quite another tone of voice ; it was sharp graiing, metallic, "I thought—l hoped—" " Miss Ford hopes to leave to-morrow," explained Mark, oilily, " but she is not certain that she will manage it."

" Oh, Mark, I shall." "It must be your work to detain her," laughed Mark Boyd. " Keep her for me, Dagmar Votoski, and my happiness shall enrich you." Nelly could not understand his humour. He scarcely sounded as if jesting, for despite his laughter his tone had in it a serious earnestness.

" Oh, Mark, don't mislead Miss Votsky," pleaded Nelly, stumbling over the name, "you know you are doing your best to help me to get away. Bather tell this lady to aid me her utmost to return to my father!"

" Ah, yes, that is what you must really do," said Mark. " Mademoiselle Yotoski understands my jests, Nelly.'* A rapid glance of intelligence passed between them. Nelly, if guileless, was swift to perceive it. but her very simplicity of character prevented her construing it aright. Not yet was she to distrust him. "By Jove!" exclaimed Mark, suddenly, " has it get to nearly five o'clock ? I must run off."

" Stay, Mark, stay, stay!" cried'Nelly, rushing after him. "We have said so little yet. There's my letter. When shall you be here again ? I have a hundred questions to ask." "All of which will do to-morrow; don't delay me. I will be with you, my love, early after ten in the morning. Dagmar Votoski will post your letter for you. Au revoir."

Nelly went back to her strange visitor, a smile on her face specially raised for her benefit. No answering smile greeted her, Miss Votoski was frowning and stamping her feet. " Bete, bete !" hissed from between her lips, and when Nelly, in dismay, asked what she had done she received no reply. All the answer Mademoiselle gave was to rush out of the apartment. Nelly was relieved to be rid of her.

Dagmar Votoski amiable and Dagmar Votoski in a fury were two totally distinct persons both in character and appearance. One was a lovely woman, if faded, and the other was apparently a fiend. Nelly sat down to her letter, and had forgotten the matter, when she heard a sob close to her. She turned suddenly, and saw the singular Bussian again. " Forgive me, mon ange !" she petitioned. "So sweet; so fair. Ah, ma belle, you know not what it is to have the black bad heart within. Pardonnoz mo.i"

Nelly, with a ready gesture, rose and kissed Dagmar, and told her to think no more about it. " Get on with your epistle, Miss Ford, and I will hurry and post it. If you get it done in ten minutes I shall save the delay." Which, in other words, meant Dagmar Votoski would then catch the post before it departed. (To be continued.)