FICTION.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXVIII, Issue 3505, 6 August 1898, Page 2 (Supplement)

FICTION.

IE RANGA'S PEAK. A ROMANCE OF GREATER BRITAIN. [By Atha. Westbuby.] (Copyright by the Author.) V —— (Continued.) CHAPTER VII. BILLING AND COOING. Swiftly indeed passed the days at Pinefalls. Spite of the Maori with his necromancy, and the sport on the hills, the turtle doves find ample time to “ bill and coo.’ 1 Do you.sing, Mr Vane ? ’ asked Grace, turning from the piano, one evening. 1 Forgive me, but I am sure you can I ’ . He shook his head. 1 It is wrong to contradict a lady,' said he, smiling, 1 so I will say it is so long since I have, that it would be folly to commence again.’ ‘No! no, we must disagree on that point,’ she exclaimed gaily. ‘lfit is long since, then the songs you know must be old one’s, and they .are ever the best. There is a book of Auntie’s somewhere, in which there are several gentleman’s songs. I will find it.’ ‘ I pray you will not take the trouble.’ ‘ She will not think it so, replied Major Weldon, looking up over his magazine. Music is her passion. To have others hero who can sing is a downright treat.’ ‘ Of which,’ said Grace merrily, bringing the book to the table, ‘ Mr Vane is far too generous to deprive mo. Here is one —Papa’s favourite, and I am sure you know it. Auntie always says everyone ddiSs.’

She had opened the volume, and now pointed to the title, ‘ When other lips.' Vane's countenance, as he read it, became troubled; he stepped quickly like one experiencing a sudden pain. ‘ Yes,’ he said, ‘I know it, Miss Weldon, but I could not sing it. It—it produces no pleasurable memory, for he whom I heard sing it last is dead.' His voice dropped low—Grace’s face changed ; her gentle eyes, full of sympathy, were raised to his as she murmured, inaudibly to all but him. 1 Oh, forgive me. lam so sorry I have made you suffer 1 ’ Temple gazod down into the face so ex pressive.of regretful contrition, a quiver ran through his frame, strong man as he was; for a moment fra felt weak as a child. Ho . was angry with himself for clouding her gentle features oven for a second, and eager to atone, exclaimed : ‘ But you may have another here more fortunate. It you would really like, I will see.’ She looked rather than spoke her gratitude, and! the two side by side, their heads together, bending over the music, began to turn the leaves. Fenton, leaning by the window, saw the picture they made—the tall, broadshouldered, rod brown bearded man, —the slight, bright graceful girl—and glanced towards Major Weldon. At that very instant the latter, lifting his eyes, rested them upon the pair. Fenton seemed to draw his breath hard in suspense. Did the idea occur to his host which had occurred to him ? If so, it produced a different effect. - -Major Weldon smiled, certainly not with dissatisfaction, and resumed his reading. ‘They"all like him. He wins upon everyone—child and man—what wonder?—and yet—oh,’ with petulant distress, ‘ that wretched secret I why cannot I forget it ? Why did I ever know it ? Why is the onus - of it put upon my shoulders ? Still,’ he added, ‘is Vane the dishonourable man. to obtain a young girl’s love without confession ? If ho be, then surely the reasons which now hold my lips mute would be removed.’ He had sauntered on ’to the verandah, and now-.paused, : . The song had been found; in a rich, clear baritone, Vane was singing*. The- Admiral.’ As Temple endod. there came up from | the .direction of the' shrubbery throe sharp; quick cries, .like those of some night bird. ' ■ . 1 What bird is. that, -Miss Weldon ?’ ho asked, as she and her partner joined him. ‘I did riot hear it,’ sheanswored, ‘being too busy in asking Mr Vane how he over had the courage to 4 convict himself of falsehood; by, saying' ho could not sing—but hark"!’ she' added, raising her hand, * there it is again.’ ! Three times the cry rose quick and sharp. ‘I do not know at all,’ she replied, ‘ I do not think I have hoard it before.• Perhaps it is Bome,pight.bird who keepsmore to the wooded gorges of the hills. Will it come again ?’ ‘ Let us go a little nearer,’ said Fenton. They stepped down into the garden and moved noiselessly along the path, not to startle the bird—if.bird it.was. * If . .there were bushrangers near,’ said race; "we might think it them. I hear they : sometimes use birds’ ones as signals.’ ‘And-arb there - not?’-Vane asked. 1 No,’ shaking her head. ‘While the goldfields yonder’ (extending her hand) ‘ are so prplifiCj tbejy find too much work to 3oV

‘ They do not trouble you then ?’ said Fenton. 1 Only in occasionally bringing very rough-looking characters past the station on their way to them ; and as they take care to time their arrival about sundown, as a matter of course they bog a supper and a night’s shelter.’ 1 Which is given them ?’ ‘ Of course,’ answered Grace, simply; ‘ how could it be refused, when to do so would compel their sleeping out in the bush.’ They had reached the shrubbery by this time, and advanced a few yards along one of the paths. While doing so there was a slight rustle among the bushes, then silence. ‘lt was a bird 1’ exclaimed Grace. ‘ Did you not hear it ? We have startled it away.'

As they returned to the house they looked up to one of the first floor windows, whore burned a faint light. It was partly open, for the night was hot and heavy with the storm which had not yet broken. Behind the muslin curtains lay poor Nity, unconscious of all about her. That day, however, she had been better, and they had hopes that the doctor would on the morrow speak favourably. Vane turned and looked at his partner, who at that moment also turned to enter the sittingroom, for the two had stopped awhile on the verandah to speak of Nita, lotting Grace Weldon precede them into the parlour. The light from the lamp shone on the ycung fellow’s face, and a suspicion of the truth flashed upon his friend. For a second a brighter expression came over his own features, then gave place to one hard and scernful, as if the thought which had caused the former had been ruthlessly, sternly crushed out.

‘ Madman 1 Idiot 1’ he muttered, between his teeth, foliowing’Fenton, As they entered Madame Elsie appeared, coming from her duty as nurse. ‘ How is she now, auntie ?’ inquired Grace, anxiously. ‘ I dm sure, on the whole, better,’ replied Madame Elsie. ‘ She was sleeping, it almost seemed quite calmly, until a few minutes ago, when she became restless, and started up in her bed wild and scared. It was with some difficulty I could soothe her to lie down ; all the while, below her breath she kept whispering with troubled brow, ‘ But I must I You do not know—l must.’

‘ Poor child, when delirium possesses us, WS are helpless,’ said Major Weldon.

‘ It was I who sang last,’ put in Temple Vane ; ‘ perhaps I disturbed her.’ Grace looked round with a bright smile. In her opinion such a thing was im possible. Madame Elsie, however, became reflective. ‘ I cannot tell; yet I should scarcely think so. It reached her room but faintly; still, now I remember, she did say something like ‘ You hear,’ and inclined her head, listening. I We will not sing again until later on,’ said Grace, decisively. ‘ Now it is you who are generous.’ whispered Vane, with a smile, ‘ for it will bo a great deprivation.’ ‘ Yes,’ she smiled, in response, ‘ since I have discovered you can sing.’ ‘ Good gracious 1 What is that ?’ A sudden yell rent the air, followed by quick, heavy footsteps advancing along the verandah. All started to their feet, but before they could do more, there dived in amongst them the gaunt form of Toki, the Maori. 1 You confounded ape, what is the matter?’ cries the Major, at the same time grasping the culprit, and shaking him soundly. ' Speak, sir 1’ 1 Ugh!’ cried the Maori, ‘ Bushrangers.’ ‘ Bushrangers 1’ echoed several voices. • Yes, bushrangers,’ repeated Toki. ‘ They are coming here ; I saw them by the stockyard—a dozen or more Ki Kauri. They are all armed, and will surely kill us—every man of us. I have spoken.’ ‘ A party of diggers, most likely,’ said the Major, looking at his daughter. ‘ With your permission I will go and ascertain, sir,’ cries Vane, taking up his hat.

‘ Nay thank you, I will go myself, but you may accompany me, if you will,’ answers the Major.

‘ Why not all go ?' says Grace Weldon. ‘Very well. I don’t believe a word of what this idiot has said. No bushranger dare show his face at Pinefalls. Come along.’

The whole, party went out along the verandah, and descending to the broad gravel walk beneath, betook themselves to the other side of the garden. Here they were startled to find a body of men drawn up two deep, and in uniform. -

‘ls this Pinefalls Station ? cried a voice from the other aide of the force ? ‘Yes, this is Pinefalls,’ replied the

Major. 1 Thank you. Would it bo asking too much to beg Major Welden to step this way, I have a message for him,' said the speaker.

• I am the very personage, sir,’ cries the master of Pinefalls, in a friendly tone. ‘ Whom have I the honour of addressing ?’

‘Lieutenant West, Pitt's Hangers, at your service,' responds the voice. ‘ I have a letter for you, sir, from our commander, Colonel Pitt.’ Glad to hear it. Step this way. How many men have you with you, Mr West ?’

‘A dozen rank and file, sir,’ answers the other, as he joins the Major, who, leaving the rest of his companions to follow at their leisure, leads the way to the house. In a very short time the rank and file are dismissed, the find quarters among the servants, while the young officer is brought into the well-lit drawing-room, and presented in due form to the family and visitors.

Lieutenant Harry West is a tall, dark, handsome man, the very beau ideal of a soldier. He has an easy flow of small talk, can sing and play, tell most wonderful anecdotes anent himself. For the most part he is as vain of his good looks as a Sunday school miss—has an idea that every lady who looks upon him must consequently fall in love with him; otherwise this youthful son of Mars is a capital fellow in his way. He is good with the gloves, can wrestle, play singlestick, a very dab at farce, and a crack shot.

Pitt’s Bangers arc a splendid body of men—half-soldier, half-police—the force numbering about eight hundred men, and having their headquarters at Havelock. They were raised by Colonel Jack Pitt, a leading colonist (formerly of the 7th Hussars), during the late Maori War, and have been retained by the Government for service in the interior of the country. Many a poor settler has had cause to bless Pitt’s Bangers. They are the men who have put down. Maori filibustering, and executed summary vengeance on the numerous bands of rebels who yet prowled about in the outlying districts, murdering the pakchas and destroying their property.

‘ My old comrade-in-arms, Colonel Pitt, has done me the honour to billet his men at Pinefalls for a few days,’ says the major, after perusing the letter handed to him by the young officer. ‘ Of course, I am entirely ignorant of your mission in this part of the country,’ turning to his guest; ‘ but you and your men are heartily welcome, sir, and I only hope the few days may be so many weeks, none the less.’

‘I am almost in total obscurity with respect to our mission,’ responds West, turning from Grace Weldon, to whom he has been talking. ‘I received orders to march to Pinefalls, and there await further instructions, but what the said instructions are I have not the faintest idea. By-the-way, is there not a goldfield iu the vicinity ?’ ‘ Yes; the Titore Valley is but three days' journey from hero,' responds the major. * That explains it,’ says West. ‘Wo are booked for tho gold escort.’

I The conversation becomes general. The visitor discovers an old acquaintance in Major Weldon s daughter They have met before, once in Auckland, and again at a ball in the city of Wellington. The lieutenant has that kind of cosmopolitan temperament which soon makes him a cher ami with all present. Even Temple Vane, whose first impression of the man is dislike, thaws a Uttla out of his usual reserve and becomes friendly. Supper is announced. An old-fashioned meal which knits the guests in closer brotherhood to their host.

Music after supper. Nothing on earth so favourable to digestion as good music. There was a full moon in the sky, which transforms black night into charming twilight. The ladies have left the gentlemen to talk over their wine; but at the sound of the piano they (the gentlemen) leave the table en masse and gather on the verandah round the open folding doors leading into the music-room. Mrs Weldon is singing. Hark 1 ’Let me fee) your hand in mine, Grateful, tender, soft and warm ; Let me see those blue eyes shine, Let me clasp thy girlish form j And the cares that fill my breast— Lonely, saddened and distressed— Will like sleepy birds at even Sink to rest. Lor. me feel your hand in mine Nestling like a frightened dove Like a beidson divine Fluttering downward from above. By thy touch X surely know If you love me well, and so I shall nee your cheek > irtm blushes Brightly glow.’ Applause from the party in the verandah, and a show of protest from the ladies, who, poor things, laboured under the impression that they were quite alone. They arc not to be appeased, however, until Mr West has taken Mrs Weldon’s place at the instrument. ‘My songs are anything but sentimental,’ says ho, apologetically, and at the same time thrumming a lively air.

*Oh, I should like to go Where the golden apples grow— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie. Where in sunshine reaching out, Kaslern cities miles about Are with mosque and minaret Among glodous gardens set. Ob, I shi.uld like to ride Through the Simoon fiery tide : Where the »pes and crc »a-nutf», And the negro hunter’s huts Where the knotty crocodile Lies und bib ks in the Nile ; Where in jungle near and far Man*devouring tigers are.

Applause and laughier together) with many regrets that the gallant singer not have his wish (as sot forth in his song) gratified. When the noise has subsided, the soldier asks Miss Weldon to sing. Grace looks shyly towards the spot Where Fenton Howe and bis friend are seated, and moves quietly to the piano. ‘ I'm afraid I shall boro yon with my sentiment, Mr West.' ‘ Not at all,’ he says, laughing. Grace selects her song, and sings it well, in her rich mezzo-soprano.

1 When the fl .were are all dying. And the south wind sweet and low, Round their graves a dirge is sighing, Will it not he sweet to know That while autumn clouds are looming, And the summer charms depart, - There are brighter flow" rs blooming In the garden ■ f the heart?’ When the hreslh of evening lingers. And the sun’s ray< sofr'y steal Through the vine, with rosy lingers, Will it not be joy to feel That while we, in wakeful dreaming, Mark the golden moments roll, There’s a brighter morning beaming Through the twilight of the soul ?’ Not a breath of noisy applause followed the girl’s song. The charm was too strong upon her listeners for that. Amid the silence Madame Elsie came forward to the rescue of her niece. With a soft touch upon the instrument, she sang a reverie by one of New Zealand’s famous song-writers: 1 Star by star has slowly faded overhead. The flashing light-marked harsnf gold and red A moment linger. The fair young day Wakes o’er the tinted range,. Far away Echoes the laughter of the jay. A weird, but lovely hour. The glowing morn Grows swifter than my thought. The dawn For dreams and castle-building in the air. With fair and rr.s"a;o shadows everywhere— A scene to shutout care. The churchyard yonder, with its silent dead— Dn.it unto dust —holds all I worshipped, Mr thinks X hear a small voice cry—- “ We shall have fairer mertinv. you and I, In Christ’s glad immortality.” The sombre trees, which round me drowse and moan, Repeat in whispers, “ Thou art not alone.” The kindred spirit says, ‘‘There is no death, Save to the doubter, I.'ive and faith Stand here and anewereth.” ' ‘ We are going to drift into the melancholy stage, I do believe,’ whispers Howe to Vane, and the next moment he is at the piano, thrumming out a very lively prelude to a song he calls “ Brown Eyes."

1 Just the old, old story Of light and shade t Love, like the violet tender, Like it may he to vary, M y be to fade. .Tint the old ten-’er story. Just a glimpse of morning glory, In an earthly p-radi“o ; With shadowy reflections In a pair of sweet brown eyes. Brown eyes a man might well Be proud to win ! Open to hold his image— Shut under silken lashes— Only to shut him in. Oh, glad eyes look together. For life’s dark stormy weather Grows to a fairer thing When young eyes look upon it Turough a tiny wedding ring. They stood above the world— In a world apart. And she drooped her happy eyes, And stilled the throbbing pulses Of her happy heart.’ And the moonlight fell above her, Her secret to discover; And the moonbeams kissed her hair, As though no human lover Had laid kisses there. •‘Look up, brown eyes,” he said, “And answer mine : Lift np thee silken fringes That hide a happy light, Almost divine.” The jealous moonlight drifted To lire finger half uplifted. Where shone the opal ring— Where the colours danced and shifted On the pretty changeful thing.’

‘ Bravo ! young fellow,’ cries the major, applauding with both hands, and thereby singeing his beard with the fire from the cigar he is smoking. ‘ I had no idea you were musical.’

Fenton laughs. ‘ I fancy we are not wise judges of each other,’ he says. Now, I have an idea that our worthy and respected host could beat my humble effort, if he would kindly try.’ Applause, and loud calls for the major. 1 God bless my soul 1’ ejaculates the master of Pinefalls, growing suddenly apopleotical. What d’ye mean, sir? Why it is over twenty years since I last tried mv hand at a song, and that was the night before Ihkermann, when a few of “ our’s " were dining with General Cathcart. Colonel Tom Sutton gave mo his confidential opinion on my vocal effort; ho said that my voice reminded him of a saw grating on a nail.’

‘ There is one song you used to sing, pa,’ says Grace. ‘You know, I have accompanied you many a time, when you and I have been shut up together in that great wintry house at Hawthorn.’ ‘Eh ? Yes, certainly,’ reflects the major. ‘But, my dear, the ditty is only fit for children, or —or an officer’s messroom.’

The guests will not take a refusal, and the host is led captive to the piano, where Grace takes her seat and begins a lively but pretty prelude. ‘Gentlemen, the song has what my friend Tom Sutton would term a rattling chorus,' again says the major, clearing his throat for action. •Capital! So much the better 1’ cry the others. ‘ Trust he I j ‘i, though now reb lliag— Do not fear! Turn him not from this, our dwelling, Kr,Mi. r, (100 ! 15, -r will. I.ho a :h.tl“ mi-ger lo Ilir. ,iu ! l.uvo will ni.iko hir* peer heart stronger— Take him in i

Chorus : T.m-.htf i ■ 1 ' H- '*e Vj n i Jcar I H« tuny bet -er *iow, t»n-l Father, dear I * •Scarcely twenty vear» have hrigh l er«ed And grown sere Since, a babe, our heart, he lightened, Father, dear ! How we love I our little brother I Ah I thought we. Not in all the world another Such at he 1 1 Chortiß, boys. 1 And it is a ringing, harmonious refrain, and so simple that the poorest musician may join in its full compass. 1 On one stifling hot December— Oh, l ow drear • Mcjiher left ns all—remember. Father, d-ar ! 4ml before the entered, smiling, Into j >y, . , M L>ve/* she said, with voice beguiling, Love my boy.” Chobus : Trust the lad a little longer— Do nut fear I He may and stronger, Father, dear 1 (To he continued.)

THE RAINBOW FEATHER.

[Br Feeoos Hume.] All Riqhle Reserved, CHAPTER XII. A STABTLINO PIECE OP EVIDENCE. • Miss Clyde!’ aaid Paul, staring at his informant; ’but what was she doing in the Winding Lane at so late an hour ? ■ Watchin’ Miss Lester, of course, sir !’ ‘ Why ? For what reason ?’ Brent laughed in a course manner, and there was a leer on his face as he replied to this question. * Don’t y’ know, sir, Miss Clyde’s sweet on Mr Lovel, and she ’sted Mias Lester like pisin ?’ ‘ Are you sure ?’

‘ Sure ?’ returned Brent with contempt—- ‘ why, ain’t I bin ploughman on Clyde’s Farm for years ? an’ ain’t I ’eard arl the talk o’ the maids ? 'Tis well known theer as Miss Clyde 'ud give 'er ears to be Missus Lovel!’

* And you think she killed Miss Lester out of jealousy ?’

‘l’m sure she did, sir. Wot wos she doin’ in th’ lane oreepin’ arter them ? Why wasn’t she 'oine at the farm? Oh, no. sir; she did it, for I knows the kin’ o’ temper she ’as! Mad bulls is nothin''to it!’

‘Then Dr Lester is innocent/said Paul, half to himself.

‘ Never thowt he were guilty/returned Brent dryly. ' Then why d-n’t you come forward at the inquest and confess nil this; so as to save an innocent man from arrest r

Brent reared himself to a giant height, and dashed down his pipe on the table. ‘Why didn’t I?’ ho thundered. "Cause I wished t’ bo honourable for that there money. If I’d said I seed Miss Clyde, Td have to say why she was theer, wouldn’t I ? And cud I’ve said she were watohin’ Mr Level and the girl when the five pounds were given mo to hold my tongue ? It was either tell arl or shut up,’ concluded Brent, dropping back into his seat, ‘ so I shut up/ Paul nodded. ‘lt was the only thing you omild do/ he said musingly j ‘ but I must see Missjjdydo and get the truth out of her/

‘ An’ y’ mua’ see Mr Lovel/ said Brent heavily. ‘ I ain’t goin’ to let t’ doctor be strung oop. Let Mr Lovel get away to Amerioy, an’ then I’ll tell arl I’ve told you about Miss Clyde and Mr Lovel, an’ th’ the perlica will Jet t’ doctor out o’ gaol.’ ‘No doubt/ said Mexton rising. ‘ And in the meantime, Brent, you had bettor hold your tongue until I give you leave to speak/

‘I shan’t speak till Mr Lovel ses ’es I can, said Brent doggedly. ‘ I’ll see Mr Lovel about that, Brent. In the meantime, as I said before, hold your tongue. If Inspector Drek knew what you have dona you would get into trouble/

• Shau’t, sir, if y’ don’t tell him !’

‘ I don’t intend to tell him/ rejoined Paul coldly. ‘l’ll thrash out this matter for myself. ‘lf Miss Clyde killed that poor girl, she must suffer for her crime.’ ‘ I ’ope they’ll string ’er oop!’ said Brent, vindictively. ‘ I ’ate ’er; she turned me off wi’ oot a character/

Paul shrugged bis shoulders at this last speech, which betrayed the motive for Brent's accusation, and went away from the inn. It was now growing late, and he had to return to his duties in Marborough. There was no time to ride out two miles and see Miss Clyde; nor if there had been would Paul have sought an interview so soon after the conversation with Brent. He wished for a quiet time to consider all that had been told to him j to marshal his facts, and to draw deductions therefrom. The truth is, Moxtcn was becoming bewildered by the sadden shifting of the blame from one person to another. At first, on the face of the circumstantial evidence supplied by Eliza, it seemed that Dr Lester was guilty; and even after the sifting of such evidence by coroner and jury, it had been found strong enough to imprison him pending a more extended trial. Then, by the belief of Herne regarding the bribery—which was afterwards admitted by Brent—and by the declaration of Iris, it appeared that Level had committed the crime. Now came the ploughman, who positively asserted that Miss Clyde had killed Milly. Which one of the three witnesses was to be believed ? Which of the three accused was to he deemed guilty ? Paul could not say. Ho quite admitted that Miss Clyde, in a moment of jealousy at seeing Level with her rival, might have given way to the strong temper which she was known to possess. But it was incredible that she had gone to Winding Lane with a pistol to designedly murder tho girl. The question was, where had she obtained the weapon wherewith to commit the crime 7 No doubt she had seen Lovel follow Milly into the lane, and had come after him. That was deer enough; but it did not account for Miss Clyde’s possession of the pistol, without which she could not have shot the girl. On the whole, Paul doubted the story of Brent, which was doubtless dictated by a feeling of hatred against the woman who bad dismissed him from her employmeut. By the time he reached Marborough the journalist had come to the conclusion that Miss Clyde would be able to refute the accusation: and he determined to give her the chance of doing so at a personal interview. Paul believed that she would prove her own innocence, and also might offer from her own knowledge some solution of the mystery.

On arriving at his home Paul found that Iris had preceded him, and was seated in the tiny drawing-room with Mrs Mexton. The widow—Paul’s father had long since departed this life—was a placid, motherly-looking woman, whose mission in life seemed to be the task of comforting the afficted. In this mission she was now engaged with Iris, and from the more composed looks of the girl it would seem that she had succeeded.

‘ Well,’ said Iris, when he made his appearance,' ‘ did you find Brent ?’ • Yes— and what is more I made him speak out.’ «Did he give you any useful information?’

‘He did ; so useful that I hope to prove the innocence of Hr Lester, and secure the arrest of the real murderer.’ ‘Lucas Lovel?’ • No. According to Brent that gentleman is innocent.’ •I told you so. Iris/ interjected Mrs Mexton, mildly. ‘I am sure Mr Lovel is too much of a gentleman to commit bo terrible a crime.’ ‘ I don’t think good birth or good breeding have much to do with the prevention of crime,' replied Iris disdainfully s there is criminality amongst the upper classes as in the lower, only they sin in a more refined maimer. But this is beside the question. What I wish to know is i If Mr Lovel is not guilty—which I beg leave to doubt—who is ?’ ‘What would you say to Miss Clyde ?’

• I should laugh.’ ‘And I,’ said Mrs Mexfcon energetically, would be utterly disinclined to believe that a Chcistain gentlewoman would fail to such a d“pth of degradation.* ‘Christsin gentlewomen, like all oH-mrs of their sex, are amenable Co jealousy/ declared Paul, grimly.

■ ‘Jealousy!’ repeated Iris—‘and Miss 0 1 V■ i - iv H- j - < 1 ...OS ?’ 1 S ■ B-eut says. She loves Lucas Lovel, j and nated your sister.' ‘Does Brent say she committed the crime from that motive ?' ‘Yes; he saw her following the pair in the lane on that night.’ • Then Lovel did meet Milly ?’ ‘He did.' ‘ And Mr Lovel bribed him to hold his tongue ?’ ‘ Precisely,’ assented Paul—' and with a a five-pound-note.' ‘ Then I tell you what/ said Iris, coolly, ‘Mr Lovel also paid Brent to accuse Miss Clyde!’ ‘H’m! It’s not improbable/said M< xton, palling his moustache. ‘I am more inclined to believe in the guilt of jLovel than in that of Misa Clyde.' But I’ll see her to-morrow, and ask her for an explanation.’

She won’t give it. ‘ln that case I’ll tell Drek, and he’ll force her to speak.’ ‘ Oh, dear! oh, dear! ’ sighed Mrs Mexton. ‘lt is truly terrible to think of the way in which we have been brought into contact with crime ? And poor Dr Lester in gaol! ’ ‘He won’t be in gaol long/ said Paul, with a satisfied nod.

‘You are going to prove his innocence ? ’ cried Iris anxiously; ‘ I am, but I don’t intend to leave him in prison until I do so. To-morrow I'll get bail for him, and he will be a free man—at ali events till bis trial.”

‘ It is very good of you, Paul,’ said Iris gratefully; and Mrs Mexton endorsed the statement with a nod of her head. She was a simple and pious old woman, but not quite the company for two young and ardent people. Her views of the murder were singularly ci ude; and the point she dwelt on most was that Lester's loss and arrest were a judgment on him for his long indulgence in the drinking vice. But knowing him, as she had done, the most part of his life, she did not believe he was guilty, und stated this opinion to Iris, who was much comforted thereby. ‘ I do not love Dr Lester/ she confessed, ‘and I never approved of my mother's second marriage. All the same, I should be terribly sorry to see him hanged.’ ‘ Particularly for a crime of which he is guiltless/ said Paul. ‘By the way, Iris, you will have to return to Barnstead tomorrow for the funeral.’

‘ We are both going over/ said Mrs Mexton, patting the head of Iris. ‘ Poor Milly 1 ’ And then they fell to talking about Milly and her many good qualities, also about her beauty and charms. No mention was made of her faults, seeing that she was dead, and that it is not well to speak evil of those who have gone. Mrs Mexton exalted Milly into’ a martyr, and Iris endorsed the canonisation with tears. In the midst of this glorification Paul slipped out and went to the office of the “ Tory Times” for a long night’s work. He arrived back in the small hours of the morning, when Iris had retired, and left for Barnstead after eight o’clock, before she was up. Therefore he did not see her again till the afternoon, when ho met her in Barnstead Cemetery at the funeral of her unfortunate half-sister.

As usual, Paul rode over to Barnstead. Independent of his journalistic earnings he had a small income, and it did not cost much to keep a horse in the country. Hiding was a great passion .with the young man ; and he always declared that he thought better when in the saddle than in the study. On this perfect summer morning, however, he was less occupied with fiction than with real life. The murder case absorbed his every thought, and he recognised that the mystery of Milly’s case could hardly have been surpassed in the detective novel of the day. He was determined to discover who had killed the girl j and passed rapidly through Barnstead toward’s Clyde’s Farm in order to see the lady, and ascertain what amount of truth there was in Brent’s story. Tho residence of Miss Clyde was a long, low house, with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, eminently picturesque, but not at all practical. There was a homely flower-garden before it, filled with marigolds, sweet-williams, southernwood, and such like old English flowers 5 these being the peculiar care of Mrs Brass, who blended gossip with horticulture. When Paul rode up to tho gate, she " was pottering about with a trowel in her hand, and came to the gate to meet him ; but ’keen-eyed Paul Mexton noted that she did not seem overpleased at his visit. - ‘ This is a surprise, Mr Mexton! ’ said she, as he alighted from his herse, and tied the reins to the gate-post. ‘lt is rarely that you honour us with a visit —especially at so early an hour.’

• I must apologise for the hour,’ said Paul, entering the bouse, conducted by the ex-governess, ‘ but I have to see Miss Clyde on important business.’ ; < About what ? ’ asked Mrs Brass sharply. ‘ Pardon me, dear madam,’ replied Paul, thwarting this curiosity with groat blandness, ‘ but I shall explain that to Miss Clyde herself’’ Mrs Brass muttered something which Paul could not hear, and her usually florid face was pale as she preceded him into the dining-room, where Miss Clyde sat at breakfast. That lady looked cold and composed and masculine as usual; but she could not suppress a start at the sight of Paul.

«So you want to see me on business, Mr Mexton ? ’ she said, whon he bad explained himself. ‘ Very good. Gome into my study, and we will not be disturbed.’ ‘ Can I come also, Selina ? ’ said Mrs Brass, who was extremely curious.

‘Not just now,’ answered Miss Clyde; • later on I shall send for you.’ • So Mrs Brass wont back to her flowers with an unsatisfied curiosity, while Paul and Miss Clyde repaired to the room which the latter dignified with the name of her study. In truth, it was more of a bachelor’s den than the apartment of a spinster lady j and its furnishing was an excellent proof of the simplicity of. its owner’s character. Miss Clyde sat down before desk, which fronted the window, and pointing out a seat to Paul, waited to hear what he had to say. Knowing her direct and outspoken way of going about things, Paul went directly to the point. ‘ I have come to see you about this murder. Miss Clyde,’ he said, looking at her significaxtly. ‘ I expected as much, 1 she said quietly. ‘ But what can I tell -you about it ?’ •As much as yon saw in the Winding on that night,* said Mexton boldly,

‘ Who saw me in the lane ?’ ‘ Brent; ho saw you following Milly and Mr Lovel. Were you ?‘ ‘ Yes; I followed them for a purpose.’ ‘ To kill Milly,’ said Paul, wondering at her coolness. '

Miss Clyde sjjpck her head, and opening a drawer, prod deed therefrom a pistol. ‘ I followed them to obtain that revolver/ she said, and handed the weapon to Haul.. (To be continued on Wednesday )

M. Zola, the famous novelist, is said to be of so sympathetic and impressionable a nature that' he often sheds tears when true stories of a touching character are related in his hearing. The Earl of Kintore, with his charm and simplicity of manner and his kindliness of heart, may bo taken as an example of the ideal aristocrat. That this praise is not extravagant is proved by the golden opinions he won whoa Governor of South Australia soma years ago. While Lord Kintore knows how to win the affections of the people, he has made himself equally regarded by the Queen, with whom he is a favourite. Lord Kintore is a man of fortyfive, and his appearance reminds one strongly of his brother, the Hon lon KeithPalcoaer, the cycling wonder of the seventies.

Mme. Dreyfus, wife of ex-Captain Dreyfus, now receives only copies of the letters her husband sends her, the originals being retained by the French Government. His keepers learned that be had received information in advance of the recant demonstrations in his favour in Faria. Moreover, they noticed that he made twenty or thirty rough drafts of every letter which he wrote to his wife, these drafts differing strangely in spelling and penmanship. Some of them contained absurd mistakes in syntax and spelling, despite the fact * Hit Captain Dreyfus is well educated. Trie Government suspected that these letters were written in some preconcerted cipher.