LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. By the Author of " Lady Lisle," "Aurora Floyd," &c.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 379, 9 March 1863, Page 6

LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. By the Author of " Lady Lisle," "Aurora Floyd," &c.

(From the Sixpenny Magazine.) CHAPTER XXVII. (Continued. ) Robert awoke with the memory of this dream in his mind, and a sensation of physical relief, as if some heavy weight, which had oppressed him all the night, had been lifted from his breast. He fell asleep again, and did not awake until the broad winter sunlight shone upon the window-blind, and the shrill voice of the chambermaid at his door announced that it was half-past eight o'clock. At a quarter before ten he had left the Victoria Hotel, and was making his way along the lonely platform in front of a row of shadowless houses that faced the sea. This row of hard, uncompromising, squarebuilt habitations stretched away to the little harbour, in which two or three merchant vessels and a couple of colliers were anchored. Beyond the harbour there loomed grey and cold upon the wintry horizon, a dismal barrack, parted from the Wildernsea houses by a narrow creek, spanned by an iron drawbridge. The scarlet coat of the sentinel who walked backwards and forwards between two cannons, placed at remote angles before the barrack wall, was the only scrap of colour that relieved the neutral tinted picture of the grey stone houses and the leaden sea. On one side of the harbour a long stone pier stretched out far away into the cruel loneliness of the sea, as if built for the especial accommodation of some modern Timon, too misanthropical to be satisfied even by the solititude of Wildernsea, and anxious to get still further away from his fellow-creatures. It was on that pier that George Talboys had first met his wife, under the blazing glory of a midsummer sky, and to the music of a braying band. It was there that he young cornet had first yielded to that sweet delusion, that fatal infatuation which had exercised so dark an influence upon his afterlife. Robert looked savagely at the solitary watering-place—the shabby sea-port. "It is such a place as this," he thought, " that works a strong man's ruin. He comes here, heart whole and happy, with no better experience of woman than is to be learnt at a flower-show or in a ball-room ; with no more familiar knowledge of the creature than he has of the far away satellites of the remoter planets; with a vague notion that she is a whirling teetotum in pink or blue gauze, or a graceful automaton for the display of milliners' manufacture. He comes to some place of this kind, and the universe is suddenly narrowed into about half a dozen acres; the mighty scheme of creation is crushed into a bandbox. The far away creatures whom he had seen floating about him, beautiful and indistinct, are brought under his very nose; and before he has time to recover his bewilderment, hey, presto, the witchcraft has begun; the magic circle is drawn around him, the spells are at work, the whole formula of sorcery is in full play, and the victim is as powerless to escape as the marble-legged prince in the Eastern story." Ruminating in this wise, Robert Audley reached the house to which he had been directed as the residence of Mrs Barkamb. He was admitted immediately by a prim, elderly servant, who ushered him into a sitting-room as prim and elderly-looking as herself. Mrs Barkamb, a comfortable matron of about sixty years of age, was sitting in an arm-chair before a, bright handful of fire in the shining grate. An elderly terrier, whose black-and-tan coat was thickly sprinkled with grey, reposed in Mrs Barkamb's lap. Every object in the quiet sitting-room had an elderly aspect; an aspect of simple comfort and precision; which is the evidence of outward repose. "I should like to live here," Robert thought, "and watch the grey sea slowly rolling over the grey sand under the still grey sky. I should like to live here, and tell the beads upon my rosary, and repent and rest." He seated himself in the arm-chair opposite Mrs Barkamb at that lady' invitation, and placed his hat upon the ground.. The elderly terrier descended from his mistress's lap to bark at and otherwise take objection to this hat. " You were wishing, I suppose, sir, to take one—be quiet, Dash—one of the cottages," suggested Mrs Barkamb, whose mind ran in one narrow groove, and whose life during the last twenty years had been an unvarying round of house-letting. Robert Audley explained the purpose of his visit. " I come to ask one simple question," he said, in conclusion. "I wish to discover the exact date of Mrs Talboy's departure from Wildernsea. The proprietor of the Victoria Hotel informed me that you were the most likely person to afford me that information." Mrs Barkam deliberated for some moments. "I can give you the date of Captain Maldon's departure," she said, " for he left No 17 considerably in my debt, and I have the whole business in black and white ; but with regard to Mrs Talboys——" Mrs Barkamb paused for a few moments before resuming, " You are aware that Mrs Talboys left rather abruptly ? " she asked. " I was not aware of that fact." "Indeed! Yes, she left abruptly, poor little woman ! she tried to support herself after her husband's desertion by giving music lessons; she was a very brilliant pianist, and succeeded pretty well, I believe. But I suppose her father took her money from her, and spent it in publichouses. However that might be, they had a very serious misunderstanding one night; and the next morning Mrs Talboys left Wildernsea, leaving her little; boy, who was out at nurse in the neighbourhood.'' "But you cannot tell me the date of her leaving?" "I am afraid not," answered Mrs Barkamb; " and yet, stay. Captain Maldon wrote to me upon the day his daughter left. He was in very great distress, poor old gentleman, and he always came to me in his troubles. If I could find that letter, it might be dated, you know—mightn't it, now ?" Mr Audley said that it was only probable the letter was dated. Mrs Barkamb retired to a table in the window on which stood an old-fashioned mahogany window, lined with green baize, and suffering from a plethora of documents, which oozed out of it in -every direction. Letters, receipts; bills, inventories, and tax-papers, were mingled in hopeless confusion; and amongst these Mrs Barkamb set to work to search for Captain Maldon's letter. Mr Audley waited very patiently, watching the grey clouds smiling across the grey sky, the grey vessels gliding past upon the grey sea. After about ten minutes' search, and a great deal of rustling, crackling, folding and unfolding of the papers, Mrs Barkamb uttered an exclamation of triumph. "l've got the letter," she said; "and there's a note inside it from; Mrs Talboys." Robert fAiidley's pale face flushed a vivid crimson as he stretched out his hand to receive the papers.

"The person, who stole Helen Maldon's love-letters from George's trunk in my chambers might have spared themselves the trouble,," he thought. The letter from the old lieutenant was not long, but almost every other word was underscored. "My generous friend" the writer began— Mr Maldon had tried the lady's generosity pretty severely during his residence in her house, rarely paying his rent until threatened with the intruding presence of the broker's man — "I am in the depths of despair. My daughter has left me ! You may imagine my feelings! We had a few words last night upon the subject of money matters, which subject has always been a disagreeable one between us, and on rising this morning I found that I was deserted! The enclosed from Helen was waiting for me on the parlour table. '" Yours in distraction and despair, "Henry Maldon. "North Cottages, August 16th, 1854." The note from Mrs Talboys was still more brief. It began abruptly thus : — "I am weary of my life here, and wish, if I can, to find a new one. I go out into the world, dissevered from every link which binds me to the hateful past, to seek another home and another fortune. Forgive me if I have been fretful, capricious, changeable. You should forgive me, for you know why I have been so. You know the secret which is the key to my life. " Helen Talboys." These lines were written in a hand that Robert Audley knew only too well. He sat for a long time pondering silently over the letter written by Helen Talboys. What was the meaning of those two last sentences —"You should forgive me, for you know why I have been so. You know the secret which is the key to my life ?" He wearied his brain in endeavouring to find a clue to the signification of those two . sentences. He could remember nothing, nor could he imagine anything that would throw a light upon their meaning. The date of Helen's departure, according to Mr Maldon's letter, was the 16th of August, 1854. Miss Tonks had declared that Lucy Graham entered the school at Crescent Villas upon the 17th or 18th of August in the same year. Between the departure of Helen Talboys from the Yorkshire watering-place and the arrival of Lucy Graham at the Brompton school, not more than eight-and-forty hours could have elapsed! This made a very small link in the chain of circumstantial evidence, perhaps; but it was a link, nevertheless, and it fitted neatly into its place. " Did Mr Maldon hear from his daughter after she bad left Wildernsea ?" Robert asked. " Well, I believe he did hear from her," Mrs Barkamb answered, "but I didn't see much of the old gentleman after that August. I was obliged to sell him up in November, poor fellow, for he owed me fifteen months rent; and it was only by selling his poor little bits of furniture that I could get him out of my place. We parted very good friends, in spite of my sending in the brokers; and the old gentleman went to London with the child, who was scarcely a twelvemonth old." Mrs Barkamb had nothing more to tell, and Robert had no further questions to ask. He requested permission to retain the two letters written by the lieutenant and his daughter, and left the house with them in his pocket-book. He walked straight back to the hotel, where he called for a time-table. An express for London left Wildernsea at a quarter-past one. Robert sent his portmanteau to the station, paid his bill, and walked up and down the stone terrace fronting the sea, waiting for the starting of the train, ''I have traced the histories of Lucy Graham and Helen Talboys to a vanishing point," he thought; "my next business is to discover the history of the woman who lies buried in Ventnor churchyard."