A DAUGHTER OF MYSTERY

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1737, 14 June 1905, Page 6

A DAUGHTER OF MYSTERY

{Ann Rights Reserved.]

by R. NORMAN SIBVER.

CHAPTER I.

A BANK-NOTE AND A WARNING. “Miss Holland, a letter for you.” The girl addressed came to the smart little pay-desk of the Aveiaue Tear-rooms and took the envelope passed out between the big bowls of roses that stood, on its white counter. She lingered to exchange a sentence with the cashier, and then returned to her three dainty tables at the upper end of the long apartment. It was a trifle early for Bond street tea-time; Angela Holland, seeing that her few customers wanted, for nothing, stepped into a convenient comer and opened her letter. It was written in a thick, square hand, and its contents were sufficiently startling. This is what it said: — “If Miss Holland wishes to avoid grave unhappiness and quite possibly serious personal danger, she will at onoe abandoi.i her position at the Avenue Tea-rooms, and endeavour to conceal her whereabouts from all who at present know of it. The enclosed is to assure Miss Holland of the writer’s sincerity and good faith, and to afford her the means of making such an unexpected move in comfort.” Angela Holland fingered the crisp note to which this last sentence referred. It was for twenty pounds. Neither note nor letter, however, produced in her anything hut bewilderment; she looked at them blankly for an instant — she wondered if she were dreaming. At the moment Angela made a pretty picture. There were stained-glass windows behind her, through which the afternoon sunshilae fell in a subdued glow. Too inexperienced for a woman, scarcely childish enough for a girl, she was at the most bewitching period of her sex. Her cheeks were flushed, with sudden excitement; her browln eyes had a dancing spark in them, tier figure was as supple and strong as a young poplar. She wore the black frock and lace apron with pink ribbons that constituted the uniform of the Avenue attendants. As she brooded over the strange warning she had so strangely received, a girl came beside her —a girl shorter and sturdier than herself, plump and cheerful, with a mass of curling chestnut hair. . “Book out!” she cried in a shrill whisper; “here’s the Dragon.” Angela thanked her with a look, slapping the letter and its enclosure into her apron pocket. The “Dragon” was tall and vinegary, with sweeping silk skirts and a glance like a gimlet; the girls at the Avenue feared their mangeress as they feared nothing else on earth.

Satisfied with, her tour of inspection, the “Dragon” went back to her comfortable chair in an alcove hear the door, and picked up her eternal tatting. “Dottie, dear,” said Angela, “what •would you do if you were me?” “What about?” asked Dot tie, otherwise Dorothy Batho, Angela’s “chum” and worshipper. “This,” was the answer, and the bank-note, together with the extraordinary communication which had conveyed it, was put into Miss Dorthy’s hands. She read the latter hastily. “Great Scott!” she said; “liow romantic! Now if it had come to me I should have said it was a lark, except for the money, which, would have bothered me a bit. But you’re such, a mystery, Nan dear! it might easily be true, ‘Serious personal danger,’ ‘grave unhappiness,’ ugh! how creepy it makes one feel; I’m glad I know all about my father and mother, to say nothing of ever so many uncles and au/ats and cousins.”

“Then if it’s true,” replied Angela sorrowfully, “I ought to go away and hide myself, as it says.” Dot tie sniffed.

“If you do,” she said, “I shall tell Harm i he’ll have to marry me at olace. The place will be as dull as ditch-water without you.” “Haani?” repeated Angela. “Mr Skinner,” explained Miss Batho, rather pettishly; “I call him Hanni because I hate both his real name®. Skinner’s as bad as Hannibal, and Hannibal’s as bad as Skinner. Hurrah! I’ve an idea; let me a.sk Hanni about your letter.” “What good will that do ?” demanded Angela. “I do think, Angela, you’re trying to vex me,” retorted her chum.; “he’s a solicitor’s clerk, and solicitors’ clerks do all the clever things while other people get all the oredit. What good, indeed !—Hanoi’s won heaps of cases by finding out things that no one else could,”

“Don’t ho angry, dear,” begged Angela; “please do ask Mr Skinner; I’m sure he’s as clever as can he.”

A sharp double stroke upon one of the many hells interrupted the consultation, and Dottie fled to her own quarter of the room.

Miss Bath o’s latest patrons were a party of three. Two were known to Dottie—the girls at the Avenue had a

marvellous knack of finding out all about their “regular customers.” She recognised, therefore, in the handsome, well-preserved, aristocratic dame, who now sat at one of her tables, the Countess of Skye, peeress in her own right. The lean, fierce, military-looking man with her was her step-brother, Captain Blake, a Society “bad egg”—even the girls at the Avenue had heard of his unenviable reputation and shrugged their shoulders over him. The other of the trio was big and burly, with a ruddy brown face, a kind, keen eye, and a grizzled moustache. Him Dottie did not know, yet she vaguely liked him; ho ordered for the party, and did it with such a pleasant smile, and in such a frank strong voice. Angela was also occupied; she had •waited upon another customer wellknown at the Avenue, Mr Vivian Harper, half city man, half man about, town. In tbe pauses between drinking his tea and nibbling a macaroon he was endeavouring to chaff his attendant. Angela dare not seem too unsociable; an adroit sneer, from an offended male flirt, shot off while exchanging a few casual words with the “Dragon,” had lost more than one Avenue waitress her position. “What a pretty locket you wear on your watchchain!” he observed, putting out his hand to touch It as ft hung at her belt, a quaint- gold charm in the shape of a hook; “has it got your picture in it ?”

“Why should I wear my own picture in a locket?” objected Angela. “Of course,” said Vivian Harper lightly, “a locket is for somebody else’s picture.” He pressed tb.e spring of the ornament and it flew open, revealing a tiny coloured photo of a handsome man in early middle life. “You might have picked somebody a trifle younger, don’t you think, Miss Holland?” he remarked.

Air gel a blushed. “It is a portrait of my father,” she said coldly. “Bathers are all very well in their place,” laughed the other, looking up at her mockingly, “but their place is in the family album. Now if you will put me a picture of yourself in this little locket I will give you a better one for it, with your name set in diamonds. By the way, may I not know your Christum name ?”

His glance fell on the engraving of the locket.

“Hero we are,” he said, deciphering it slowly—“ Angela, a name worthy of its owlaer. Now do let me have this and give you a more valuable one for it,”

“I am quite satisfied with my own, thank you,” stammered Angela. “Indeed,” returned Vivian Harper, with a quick, ugly passion, “I suppose it is a gift from someone you take a good deal of itaterest in—that Onne fellow, for instance.” Angela tingled with indignation; she was no coward.

“And if it was, Mr Harper,” she said hotly, “what business would it be—* —” She checked her; elf ; the Avenue girls could ill afford the luxury of anger. Vivian Harper finished her sentence. “What business would it he of mine ?” he concluded, his face distorted with an effort at self-control; “'none whatever. Excuse me, I see some friends of mine over yonder; you can bring me my bill at your convenience,” With which ungallant reminder ot her position, he strode across to the table where the Countess of Skye and Captain Julius Blake sat with their burly companion. Harper knew the Captain well, and had been—-very foimally—introduced to his titled stepsister ; the pretext of speaking to them had helped him out of an awkward corner. ~ He bowed, murmured a few polite sentences, was made acquainted with the owner of the grizzled moustche—the Honourable Hector Sanderson, of

I 'Cape Colony—and slid into a seat- at j the table. “So you are enjoyiny a holiday in the ; Old Country, Mr Sanderson,” he said to j that gentleman, playing with a gleamI ing teaspoon and wondering if -he ob- ; viously prosperous Colonial could bo made useful—'Vivian Harper was .1 man • with many irons in the fire. ! “Not exactly a holiday, Mr —Mr Harper; beg pardon, I’m sure,” said Hector Sanderson, apologising for his temporary failure to remember the name of his hew acquaintance; “you see, I’m here more as a kind of private detective than a pleasure-seeker.” “It sounds very interesting,” was the response. “It would ho interesting if I could once pick up tbe girl’s 'spoor,’ ” said the Colonial. “The what?” queried Harper. “Oh,-- quite so”—explained Mr Sanderson —“the track, the trail, ‘foot-prints ! in the sands of time,’ you know.” j “Then it’s a girl you’re looking for ?” | interpreted the listener. | “Exactly,” said the bluff Colonial, j “daughter of my friend Jimmy Holland, of Capetown and Kimberley—-the late James Holland, I should say; poor Jim pegged out six months ago. Bless you, he’d been paying thousands a year to professional ‘tecs’ to have her found, but it was all no manner of use. Just i so that lie might die easy I. promised t-o come over and have a final look round. But before I could get here, the Countess and Captain Blake did all they could to find a clue of some sort, which was particularly noble i.a her ladyship, since Jimmy Holland’s fortune goes to her solid if the girl isn’t found in a couple of years.” “I congratulate you, Countess,” put in Vivian Harper, with a peculiar momentary smile; “ at least on the off chance.”

The Countess trifled with the heavy bracelet on her gloved wrist. “I trust that your congratulations will not be needed, Mr Harper,” she told him calmly. “Hear that!” said the Colonial admiringly ; “and if the girl is found, then the will asks her ladyship, ‘for the sake of an old friendship,’ to see that the lass gets a fair start in life.” “I compliment the late Mr Holland upon his choice of a guardian,” commented Harper, with another of his curious flashing smiles, and a glance at Captain Blake, which glance the Captain pretended not to perceive. “You knew Mr Holland then?” added Harper to the Countess. The Captain answered for her. “Slightly,” he said; “Holland was our father’s favourite physician, a young country doctor practising near Dueie Court ; he was a good tennis player and a fine rider to hounds. He had quite a sentimental fancy for my sister, which accounts for this bequest,” “filo that,” continued Mr -Sanderson genially, “the giver’s heart goes with his money, whether the Countess or Angela gets it.” “Angela!” gasped Vivian Harper. “The girl’s name,” explained Mr Sandersola; “Angela Holland is the lady I’m in seaoh of. ’ . . “Oh!” said Harper, recovering hnnomf . “j I thought perhaps there was n third claimant. And how old ought tills Miss Holland to be?” “About nineteen,” the Colonial informed him; “and she’ll have about a quarter of a million when she comes of age, if only we can drop on her somehow.” “A(ad what if she were married?” asked Harper. “Then her husband will be a lucky dog,” opined Mr Sanderson. Vivian Harper began to thread the teaspoon in and out betweeb. his fingers; he was thinking deeply. If. he had only known that at that very moment Dottie Batho —who had literally flown to the other side of the room —was whispering excitedly ut Angela Holland’s pink ear. “Qh, Nan darling, don’t faint, but there’s some neonle talking about you

one of my table®, and. they say if yp* u fcad your rights you’d be as rich as the QBaink of England.”

GHAPTte 11.

r& GENTLEMAN PICKS A POOKEIT. Angela Holland gazed incredulously at her friend. Dottle was trembung with excitement and suspense, theie could b<e no doubt that she was in deadly earliest. Angela., however, was not so easily carried awa-y; Dottie read scepticism in her face. “Don’t be a fool, Nan,” she cried, still in a breathless whisper, “are there two Angela Hollands in the world, with fathers that were caLed James and went out to South Africa ? {Besides, a gentlemain. has come over to look for you, and he says you ought t r be about "nineteen; why, you were nineteen only the. other day, when Mr Orme gave you that little watch atod chain. Go and tell them who you are, you silly girl.” Angela hesitated; it all seemed so impossible. In any case hers was one of those retiring characters to whom self-assertion may become positive pain. “There, they’re wanting their ohecKs,” said Dottie disgustedly; “well, 1 shall just tell them myself.” “If. you do,” threatened her friend, “I shall never speak to you again, Dottie; you had no rigjlit to listen, idone thing.”

“Rubbish!” said Miss Batho, and hurried back to her tables. But she felt as if she really ought not to transgress Angela’s command, and while sue was persuading herself that it was her bounclen duty to speak either to Captain Blake or Mr Sanderson, the party •had drifted down the room towards the door and passed into the street. Dottie could have cried with vexation.

At that moment Fortune relented; Hector Sanderson came back into the long, and, by now, crowded apartment. He marched rapidly to that quarter of it where Dottie stood by 'her tables. “Excuse me,” he observed p.easaniiy, “but I think I left my gloves. Yes, here they- are.” He caught them up from the chanon which he had sat, and turned to go. Dottie plunged into speech, scarcely caring what she said, if only she could, get her mouth open.

“Please ” she began and stopped., The big Colonial looked at her Kindly. iMiss Dorothy was a cuine.y little person. Encouraged by the look, site added a few more words. “About Angela, sir,” she pursued; “I couldn’t help hearing you.” Mr Sanderson’s large, loose figure stiffened suddenly. “By Jove!” he cried; “you know something ?” “Yes, sir,” said Dottie, shaking nervously; “we’ve an Angela Holland he,©, and she’s my dearest friend, so i know a lot about her. She’s nineteen, and her father was a Mr James Holland, and he went away to Africa when she was only a mite.” Mr Sanderson bent a pair of glittering grey eyes upon her; there were crow’s feet under them and grizzled brows above, they p.eroad to her very soul- The investgation seemed to satisfy him. “Can I see this —this friend of yours ?” he demanded. “That’s her on the other side of the room,” said Dottie; “if you don’t mind going to her; she told me not to tell you, so I expect she won’t be too pleased with me for doing it.” The Colonial walked across to the spot indicated by Miss Batho. He was scrutinising minutely the girl who waited there, half conscious of Iris approach. She impressed him favourably. Hector Sanderson had knocked about the world long enough to distinguish from mere looks that quiet grace which is an index to the mind and heart. “If this is a plant,” he muttered to himself, “it’s a mighty good one.” Reaching his destination he bowed- “ Miss Angela Holland, I believe,” he began. “Yes,” said Angeia, trembling-—she ■was thinking of the anonymous letter and of its gi corny prophecy. I‘hat extraordinary occurrence might well have some relation to this.

“Your trie ad over yonder,” proceeded the Colonial, “tells mo that your father w'as a James iioiland, and that he ivent out to Africa when you were a kiddy. May I ask if that is so?” “Yes,” said Angela, reflecting that Miss Batho had certainly loss no time.

“Also you are about nineteen,” continued her questioner. “I was nineteen on the first of June last,” answered Angela. The Colonial started, the date tallied with one in his. possession. Then he laid a trap. - “Your mother is still living, X presume?” he said.

“I cannot tell,” was the reply; “I never remember seeing her, nor do I know anything of her, not even her name.”

“Have you anything belonging to her or to your father?” pursued Mr Zanders on.

“Nothing of hers,” responded Angela wistf ull3 T ; “but I have some letters written many years ago by my father to the people who brought me up.” “Good,” admitted tine Colonial; *‘and these people, are they in London?” “No,” said the girl sorrowfully;

“they have been dead a long while now.”

Mr Sanderson knitted his grizzled brows.

“What were they called?” he asked abruptly. “Mr and Mrs Silverster,” said Angola; “he was John Silverster, she was Ellen.”

The Colonial considered the information he had received. Angela went to wait on certain new-comers. When she returned it was to open the little locket which hung on her watch-chain. She showed to Mr Sanderson the small portrait contained in it.

“This was my father,” she told him. The Colonial jumped a foot into the air.

“Jehoshophat!” he said; “that settles it—you are the real, genuine Angela Holland, and no imitation.” He shook hands with her then began to turn the locket over and over. “This is brand new,” he remarked; “and the photo is twenty years old; how’s that ?”

“I had an old-fashioned gold one,” stammered Angeia; “but it dropped off one day and got trodden on, so a—friend gave me this for—any birthday and to put the picture in. It’s the only likeness 1 have.” Hector .Sanderson smiled.

“Very well,” he decided; “now if you 11 settle it With your boss, we’ll go round and see my lawyers; I’m free for a few hours, though to-night I tune with the Countess of Skye, a lady you'd have to sweeten a bit, Angela, oecauso you do her out of a solid quarter or a million, but real grit ail the same. She was in here just now with ner .brother —step-brother rather —I mad just said au nevoar to them when I found 1 had left my gloves, came in -gam and met your friend, who sent I— >3 across to you. lam Hector Sanderson, of Cape Colony—an old chum of your father’s.” Angeia was not listening to this involved. explanation, she was gazing anxiously at a stalwart figure which had just entered the Avenue Tea-rooms and was striding towards on® of her tables, the ngme was that of a man in the p.a.me of youth, with a clearly cut faoe, eyes of warm hazel, and a pair of proud, yet good-tempered lips. He met Angola's grance and nodded to her, an aifeetiouate, lover-like gesture. She turned suddenly to (Mr Sanderson. “Heave don’t take me away now," she begged; “it will only make a fuss and set everyone talking. Besides, I want to say good-bye to- some of the girls.” •“As you wish,” decided the Colonial; “it’s like your father’s daughter not to want a set-out, and not to give old friends the go-bye. I’ll come in again to-morrow and carry you off, eh?” “Thank you,” said Angela abstractedly ; she could see that certain hazel eyes were throwing jealous glances in Mr tornderson's direction.

“That’s all right then,” concluded the Colonial; “only let me give you this, which isn’t a matter for the lawyers, but a P and O affair between you and me.”

He pulled out of an inside pocket a stout envolpe of the long variety, and extracted from it another and dingier one.

“I was just taking it down to my bank for safety against a possible hotel lire, he informed her, “when I met her ladyship and the Captain and dropped in for some tea. So, as I have it with me, here you are.” Angela to ox the packet, the second strange and unexpected communication sue had handled that day. It wa.s inscribed :

“For my darling daughter Angela. January 15th, 189—. To be destroyed unopened m five years from above date, should she unhappily not have been discovered.”

“Tear that off,” instructed Mr Sanderson; “1 saw it put up and there’s something else you must take note of.” 'The girl did as she was told. Within was a second heavily-sealed packet marked with a curious request : “‘Open thus when you are quite alone, and can take time to consider its coattents.”

“There,” said the Colonial, “'any share in it is done with, and remember, it’s all private and confidential between you and me. Don’t mention it to the lawyers. Ta-ta till to-morrow, and take care of yourself; you’re worth now two hundred and fifty thousand golden sovereigns. Try and get used to the thought.” Among those who watched Mr Sanderson’s triumphant exit from the Avenue Tea-rooms was no less a person

than Mr Vivian Harper, who, for some reason best known to himself, had returned, and now sat at one of Angela’s tables, nearer to her than was the owner of the hazel eyes aforementioned. Mr Harper, being more favourably situated both as to position and knowledge, had seen and understood Mr Sanderson’s talk with Angela, and had guessed at the value of the ©packet which had been delivered to her, and which after penetrating to its sealed contents, she had slipped into the deep pocket of her lace apron. Mr Harper was above all things a rapid thinker; with him, also, to think was usually to act. As Angela having parted from. Mr Sanderson, moved towards the handsome figure which had been so seriously distracting 'her attention. Vivian Harper arrested her with a quick, courteous sentence. “Miss Holland,” he said, “I owe you an apology for my impertinent inquiry as to the giver o>f that little charm which you wear on your watch-chain. I have returned for the purpose of making one. I trust you will not reject it —I was not master of myself; perhaps you can guess why.”

Vivian Harper was a clever amateur actor, and Angela was very ignorant of the world. She relented, as she was expected te. “Please don’t trouble about it, Mr Harper,” she answered; “I wasn’t very angry after all. I must go now, someone is waiting to be served.” “Good afternoon Miss Holland,” said Vivian Harper calmly. Ia those few brief seconds, with the dexterity of a professional thief, he had picked Angela’s pocket of the precious sealed envelope which Hector Sanderson had. brought to her from her father’s deathbed. As he possessed himself of it, his fingers brushed against another document—the mysterious epistle which, an hour or two before, had warned Angela Holland against some impending danger. Not knowing its nature or importance, he left this latter where it was.

Vivian Harper watched the uncon.- ! scious victim of his daring theft as she i went away, tie was not even annoyed j to see that she had crossed hurriedly to the side of Francis Or me, the clever j young barrister to whose generosity he had attributed Angela’s possession of the gold watch-chain and charm. Seeing that she was lost to all consciousness of his own particular existence, Vivian Harper rose and sauntered out, leaving Angela poorer than she knew. The girl herseLf was standing by Francis Qnne’s chair, he bad been able, t with the usual ingefauity of the lover, *

to touch one little hand as it hung against her plain black frock. “Tired?” he asked under his breath; it would have astonished some of Fran- __ cis Orme’s legal acquaintances to nave heard the tender intonation of this simple inquiry. Angela shook her head smilingly, half-reproving, half-encouraging him; the smile of a true woman, whose heart, though won, is not yet pledged. “How I wish you would let me take you away from here,” whispered Francis Orrae passionately; “it makes me feel like a jealous boy to see you talking to to other men. For the hundred and fiftieth time, dearest, will you marry me?” Angeia laughed; she culd not help appreciating her power to make Francis Onne lose his shrewd head. “You promised not to ask me agaiki for a whole month,” she said. “I know,” answered the young barrister penitently; “but if I wait ten years I shan’t be any more certain or myself than lam now. As it is, the suspense is ruining my career, and French confectionary is ruining my digestion.” Angela looked at the handsome face turned up to hers and quivered with happiness to think of her great secret. | Too proud to accept lightly a proposal which might mean so many social disadvantages for the young barrister, she had for months been holding her lover at arm’s-length; now she felt that she could not only calculate on not handicapping but actually upon helping him. Fralacis Orrne whispered to her eagerly—the tea-rooms were emptying of their afternoon crowd. The sunshine still warmed the place with its natty tables, artistic draperies, and wealth of ■flowers.

“Here where you have so often said ho’ ” he pleaded, “say ‘yes.’ Look at me even, and I shall know that you mean ‘yes’ at last: Angela, dearest, think how patient I have been, doia’t say ‘no’ again and frighten me into thinking I shall lose you after all.” Angela Holland paused a single moment —that last delightful instant of womanly power, and then her brown eyes met those of Francis Onne, who experienced a wild desire to spring up, and, in defiance of the Avenue Tea-rooms and all proprieties, to take lief in his arms. For a while neither spoke, then they began to murmur those sw T eet nothings with which )ao third person can have any business- A little later, and for the sake of those proprieties which. Orrne had so narrowly escaped shocking, Angela brought him a cup of tea and some oakes. Then, and not till then, did she tell him her news.

ghe began with the anonymous letter and the mysterious bank-note, and went on to the startling infon/'\tion which she had received, in the place, from the eavesdropping Dot tie, and of wthioh Mr Hector Sanderson had given her such convincing details. In her excitement she forgot to mention the sealed packet which that gentleman had hamied to her, nor did sn® notice its absence when tailing the anonymous letter from the pocket which had contained both. , Francis Orme read the unsigned sheet with careful deliberation. Something about it seemed familiar; he re-read it, vaguely puzzled. At last he had recourse to his card-ease and drew out a strip of pasteboard bearing a couple of firm, squarely-written lines. I 0 U Twenty Pounds Julius if lake.

He compared the two, the handwritings were marvellously alike, each heavy, square, peculiar. If there were •not in existence two men who ooujld Write exactly like each other, Captain Julius .Blake had sent that anonymous warning to Angela Holland, the girl who, cisoovereu by meet o r Sanderson, was to do Ins step-sister out of a soiid guar ter of a million. And it seemed to e extremely probable that the twenty pounds which would have enabled her to follow his advice was identical with the amount which had been borrowed from Francos Orme. Orme’s meditations were interrupted by an exclamation from Angela. “The packet!” she said, horror-strick-en ; “the packet Mr Sanderson gave me from my father—l have lost it.” She had, indeed, just discovered the absence of that important parcel, which by now was snug.y reposing in the inside breast-pocket of Mr Vivian Harper.

CHAPTER 111. MR HARPER EXPLAINS HIMSELF. The Countess of Skye sat in the tLraw-ing-room of her town house —a solid, gloomy mansion in St. James’ Square. The Skyes had always been either too conservative or too poor to change their quarters with fashiova. The gieat stone-irouted residence was stored with valuable pictures, piate, and antiques — all heir-looms, and therefore powerless to alleviate the splendid poverty of the Skye tenant for life. At the Countess' eJbow was a priceless inlaid table, which, if it could have been 60id, would have filled her purse for at least a fortnight. On this table lay a card and on the card was the >name of Mr Vivian Harper. As the Countess glanced at it languidly the genueman himself was announced. His hostess rose and trailed the skirt of a soft mauve silk tea-gown towards him, murmuring some conventional words of welcome.

“j. ventured to .hope,” began Mr Vivian xxarper, “having xegaiu to the importance of my mission, that you would pardon this intrusion on the part of a comparative stranger.” “Do not mention it," was the indolent answer; “may l give you some teat” v ivian Harper accepted t'lie oner, whoa Jormaiity should have warned him to refuse ft, rang the bell when requested to, and then plunged into business—Jus city habits had aono much to spoil ins manners. “l>uring our on at in Bond street yesterday," he said, “the name of a Miss Angela Holland was mentioned, and some little of her history related. Ax the tune the name seemed familar to me, but being a cautious man 1 said nothing and planned a lew inquiries. The result of those inquiries has confirmed my first impression, 1 had heard the name before —it is that of a young lady at present employed m the Avenue Tearooms, the very place in which we uvaconsciousiy discussed her.” The Countess suine-d superciliously. “Tea, miles,” she instructed the servant who had just entered. Then she turned to Mr mar per. “it is most kina of you to have taken so mucn trouble,” she toid him; “but fortunately mr -Sanderson has already made mo same discovery. Yv © hope, of course, that the girl is really hire missing rvngtaa, but until every proof has been obtained we can accept nothing as definite.” “Quite a natural position to take up,” replied Vivian -harper, not at ah disconcerted; “©specially as the arrival of the real Miss Holland tvould mean a heavy financial loss—well, let us say disappointment—to yourself, r and, indirectly, to my friend Captain Blake.”

The Countess looked at him in surprise—his ton© was almost brutal, certainly not that which a visitor siiouid adopt towards his hostess. “1 have come—by a curious chance,” added mr mar per, allowing her no opportunity to speak, “into possession of certain remarkable documents which might render it unwise for you to bo too exacting as to proof of Miss Holland’s identity. One moment, Countess ! —your indignation is perfectly excusable ; let me justify myself.” Ho took from his pocket a. small manuscript, written closely on g axed foreign note-paper, end began to read, picking sentences hone and there : “ ‘The shadow which fails across you, my darling and only child, and that which has shut out all happiness from

me. ane but as summer clouds to that which blighted the life of your unhappy mother. And yet all throe shadows are one.’ ” Vivian Harper glanced at the listener ever the top or the thin sheets. She had grown veu-y pale, and her teeth were catching at her lip. Vivian Harper continued: “ Tity your mother, my darling, she has suffered greatly, horribly. I have pitied her for eighteen years, and today, when I think of her, the tears start to my eyes as sudden and scalding as when I first knew of the strange tragedy -which had fallen upon her. As you read on, say to yourself again and again, “She is my another and she has suffered,” or you will end iby hating her, your mother, and me, your father.’ ”

The Countess of Skye was catching at her throat, ome hand motioned to him, beseeching silence, the aristocrat had become the woman. But Vivian Harper had not finished ; he had yet one crushing sentence to deliver, he read it with quiet determination.

“ ‘I married your mother secretly and the secret has been kept for twenty years. She was then Lady Margaret Stirling, she is now, in her own right, Countess of Skye, and by my will, which she dare not disobey, your guardian.’ ” A low murmur punctuated this statement ; Margaret, Countess of Skye, had fainted.

Vivian Harper lifted her into a comfortable position, and waited for her to recover. "When the terrified Countess opened her eyes it was to fix them on Mr Harper. “How,” she gasped, “how do you know all this?”

“Very simply,” answered her torturer; “I have been reading from a long letter written by James Holland to his daughter. If it had not come into my hands it would ere now have acquainted her with the fact that she is your unacknowledged daughter. But that' is the least dangerous item of this budget of news.. There are others; one in particular which you may he able to guess; it explains why James Holland, husband of the Countess of Skye, and father of a child, now, by your patent of remainder, Lady Angela Holland 1 — why he chose to exile himself from his native land, leaving his daughter to be reared by strangers. No trifling secret, Couiatess, could have produced all this.”

The Countess of Skye fell on her knees.

“For Heaven’s sake,” she -whispered, lacing her fingers m an agony of terror, “have mercy, have mercy!” Vivian Harper helped her to her feet, a pleased smile hovering about his mouth.

“Let us make a treaty of peace,” he said; “pray do not agitate yourself, Countess; I am one of the most reasonable men.”

Kkaking m every limb, the Countess permitted Mi* Harper to place her u-poia a convenient couch.

“What do you want?” she stammered, “money?”

Vivian Harper shrugged his shoulder*.

“My dear Countess,” he said smoothly, “one would really think you wished to charge me with attempting to blackmail you. On the contrary, I am a most disinterested person. Knowing this Miss Holland, and believing her to be the missing heiress for whom our friend Mr Sanderson is seeking, I simply urge upon you not to place in the way of her olaim any of those legal obstacles which it is so difficult for any but the -wealthy to surmount. A® I take a personal and, I may confess, oven tender, interest in Mrss Holland, I venture to hope that you will not deny me the opportunity of pressing my ■suit, and that if you should be at all able to influence your ward it will not be against me.” “I will do my best,” promised the Countess miserably ; “is that- all P” “All for the present,” was the reply; “you see that I am, as I told you, reasonable to a fault. Meanwhile, both your secrets, that of Angela’s birth and —the other, are safe with me. If I may give you one word of advice, my dear Countess, it is this, do not allow yourself to contemplate for an instant the idea of shaking me off. It would merely lead to a trial of strength in which I should he sure to conquer. The only result would be that I should prove in the future much less considerate of your feelings than you find me at present.” The Countess would have spoken, but was prevented by the unexpected entrance of Captain Blake.

“Hallo, Harper,” he said crossly, “about the last place I expected to find you.”

“Nonsense, Julius,” returned his step-sister quickly; “Mr Harper and I are old friends, he has been good enough to call about a—a trifling misunderstanding.” The Countess refilled (her visitor’s cup and passed it to him. As she did so she whispered. “Not a word before him—as you value your life and mine !” CHAPTER IV. CHECK AND COUNTERCHECK. Angela had elected to stay not one but several more days at the tearooms. Mr Sanderson’s lawyers were not so easy to convince of her identity as their client had been, and they again had to communicate with the London agents of the late James Holland’s solicitors. However, Mr Sanderson was sole executor of his friend’s will, and the legal gentlemen soon discovered the importance of that fact and hurried on with their investigation of Angela’s claim. The buny old Colonial was charmed with Miss Angela herself, and spent many hours a week in Bond street. As he always cailed in the morning and Francis Orme came in the afternoon, these two, each playing so great a part in her young life, cud not happen to meet.

Francis Or mo was an an embarrassing position; he had won the love of Angela Jn.od.und, believing her to possess no other wealth than her own pretty face and figure and womanly cfiaracter. Angela nad for long rerused to give her hanu where her .iieafrt had already given itself. In the eye of Society she was no lit wile for Francis 'Urine and she knew it. .tie was one of those fortunate people-, who-, Without being noli, enjoy an assured income, whether they work for it or not; without being either an Adonis or a danay, he possessed an unusual share of masculine good looks, and did his taxior inhnite credit. Also iie was cousin or second cousin to half a cbozen tides, and had a rheumatic and childless baronet for an uncle. His wife might some day be Haciy Orme.

Tor ali these reasons Angela liad said “no,” and said it so often and unavailingiy that site had. ready begun to consider the wisdom of saying “yes-.” Then on that sunny afternoon Mr Hector fcianderson nud wanted into her life, and toid her she was wortn a quarter of - a million goiden sovereigns. Rejoicing in this wonderful secret, she had allowed Francis Urme to propose, a® he said, aor the hundred and fiftieth time, and had accepted him. Ten minutes amer, sue nil armed him deugutediy tnat no was engaged not- only to AUgeia noiiand, but to a fortune of two Hundred and fifty thousand pounds. ne promptly oneied to reiease her from tlie engagement so hastily entered into, but Angela put her iiands to her ears and ran away to serve a customer. At that moment, she was the happiest girl in the world. As soon as O'rme had. learned the whole of the facts he made a decision: — to leave matters as they were until Angela had gained admission to her new spnere, and then formally to approach tlie Countess of Skye and ask for Ins engagement with her ward to be recognised. Sometimes, during her last days at the Avenue, Aageia thought him cold; women cannot always read the heart of the man they love.

Dottie Batho had not been able to hold her tongue, and the Avenue Tearooms rang with gossip. As Angela stayed on, her companions’ belief in her windfall turned to doubt and finally to mocKery. Angela heeded one as little as the other; yet at odd moments even she grew anxious. Her anxiety reached its climax with a visit paid by Captain Blake, who came in early one afternoon, and sat down at a table in her part of the tea-rooms.

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mass Angela Holland?” he said, courteously enough, "when site went to wait upon, him. Angela answered in' the affirmative; she had recognised him at once. tie asked for a cup of tea, and tvhen she had brought it, plunged into conversation.

“I am Captain Julius Blake,” he told her ; “the Countess of Skye is my stepsister —you will have heard her name, no doubt. Quite so.” This last was m acknowledgement of Angela’s assent. “I’m afraid my friend Mr Sanderson —awfully good fellow, Mies Holland,”

went on the Captain, “will have been exciting hopes in your mind which may possibly, I only say possibly, be doomed to disappointment. It’s one thing to claim a fortune, as you may know, Miss Holland, it’s another to prove your right to it.” Angela trembled; she felt that her golden dream •was slipping away from her. Captain Blake gu.ped a mouthful of tea and took up the thread of his remarks.

“These are scores of Hollands in the directories,” he said, “aad Angela is not an uncommon name —deuced pretty one, though, eh? and by Jove, you suit it, dont you know. But it would be ao easy thing for you to convince thq law that you are the Angela Holland who has been left a quarter of a million, and we —my step-sister and I—must be very careful what w r e do. You see, the real Angela migfit pop up and come down on us for damages.” The Captain had been drinking something stronger than tea that morning; he was quite unpleasantly jovial. “I don’t understand,” rejoined Angela, shrinking from him; “Mr Sanderson' ”

Captain Blake interrupted her. “Air Sanderson, my dear Miss Holland, is not the oniy person who has an interest in this littie affair. My step-sis ier and i stand to io.=e heavily if the right Angela should make her appearance. Supposing we were to fling the case uuo Chancery.” Tiie "word Chancery aeli on Angela’s ears like a cannon-shot. She had always heard of Ciianoery as a place disputed millions were swallowed up yeany, and where poverty-stricken suitors sniveled about draughty passages. The other saw that he had produced the effect he Wished to. “But of course,” he proceeded, “If your proofs are all in order, it may not be necessary for us to take such a step. Have you, for example, a portrait of your father?” rtngeia opened the little locket on her watoll-cnam. —tiie face inside had been cut out of a small came-cfe-visite and just fitted the tiny frame. “May 1 see it cmseiy ?” desired the Captain; the wearer took the charm off and put it inco his ffand. Ho examined the'ornament critically. “Con t let me keep you from your business, lVJnss Hoiiand,” he told her politely; “I must not get you into trouble.”

Angela went away, doubtfully; she distrusted the genianty of tlie captain, yet couid not nave explained her distrust.

Scarcely had she turned her back upon ium wiiea Julius make whipped out one of tire glass covers of tlie locK.ec, withdrew uie portrait and thrust it mto ius vest pocket. Then, with equal rapidity, he closed the goiaen trdl© and iaiy to toy with it. Angelas return found lnm stm playing with the charm; he passed it to her, with, a casual word of thanxs. Unfortunately tor him, he had mot quite secured the spring and the two goiaen leaves of the immature album fell apart; Angela saw that, it was empty, m a second her distrust of the Bantam became certainly; there was a siieepisli look in ins dissipated face; he had. not expected the theft to be discovered so soon. Yet he pulied himseif together. “now dare you i” ciied Angela, ‘’give me back that picture at once.'^ “1 don't understand,” said the Captarn calmly.

‘‘For shame,” was the indignant answer; "give it to me, please." Captain Biafie tried to appear injured. “1 have nothing further of yours, Miss Holland.” he asserted; “as a matter of fact I was myself surprised at tlie absence of the portrait which you told me the locket contained.” “Yvliy didui t you say so when you gave me the iocltet bacK ? queiied Angela hotly. . xhe Captain made a grimace. One does not tell a lady that she has been fibbing,” he responded. Angela Holland gazed at him affrightediy —she began to realise the importance of the missing treasure. Tears of dismay flooded into her eyes. Julius Blake leaned towards her persuasively. “Be a sensible girl,” he urged: “abandon this preposterous claim of yours, and you can rest content that we will treat you most generously. Better have ten thousand certain than fight for a quarter of a million and lose it.”

“Indeed!” said a quiet voice; “it seems to me that theso are just the sort of proceedings which reqr '’-a " wit* ness.”

' “Frank 1” cried Angela under her breath. , ~ „ Tiie new-oomer was truly none otner than the young barrister: he sat down at the same table as (Japuun Blake, &nd regarded that gentleman smiling“Curse your impudence 1” said the gallant officer, “and what have you to do with it?” „ , , “As Miss Holland’s betrothed husband ” retorted Francis Or me, with great good-temper, “it is my duty to protect her Imaacial interests.” “So that is how the land lies,” said Julius Blake. rising; ‘youle a smart anan, Orme, but tlio xor tune-hunter sometimes comes a cropper. You’re orer the first fence —look out for the five-ban eel gate of Chancery.” And be turned away. “Don’t let him go,” begged Angela, in desperation; “he's taken tne picture of my father —out- of the locket you gave me, lie asked to see it—the picture, I mean.”

“You mean-spirited blackguard!” said Francis urine, with a suu-cuen wmte, cold auger which became him excellently, “to rob a woman! Dive back tnat portrait instantly.” “I never had it,” laughed Blake; “it is her word against mine—do you want a scandal?”

“That is at your option,” rejoined the barrister : “it will be worse tor you than Miss Holland. Book here, you clumsy c oil splra to r. ” \He took out lus card-case and produced the anonymous letter received by Angola some days before.

“Tins is your writing, Blake,” he said: “you tried to get Miss Holland out cf the way, lest Sanderson's inquiries should happen to reacn her. Have a scandal if you choose —there are dozens who wou.-cl swear to this peculiar fist oi yours, and the man who wound, write this letter wound attempt to suppress evidence. Hand back that photo.” Slcwiv, reluctantly, with lowering eyes and a scowl on his sinister countenance, the Captain did as he was bidden. The barrister put the portrait into his card-case with the letter, and stepped aside to let the defeated trickster puss. An he went he hissed a threat at the two lovers.

“You'll regret this, Orme,” he muttered ; “and you too, you hussy.” By which ungentiemaaiy expression he referred to the astounded Angela.

(To be Continued.)