THE LUCKIEST MAN IN THE WORLD.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 10179, 13 October 1894, Page 3

THE LUCKIEST MAN IN THE WORLD.

By MARY ALBERT,

Anthorof "Delia's Story," "AHidden Terror," "Brooke Finchley's Daughter," "The Shelling of the Pease," &c, &c.

(Copyright.)

CHAPTER VIII. (Continued).— A DEAD

SECRET. Geoffry found his suffering host, seated with his back to the light, in an attitude of profound, dejeotion, his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground, bis brow knit with troubled thoughts. He gave a heavy sigh as he welcomed the young man. _ "Sit down, sit down," began his lordship "Ah, Geoffry, lam how shall I tell you, my dear boy ? But you cannot fail to see, without any remarMrom me, that I am in bitter sorrow." " I do see, my dear lord*; ana yon have all my sympathy," returned Geoffry, with that warmth of sincerity which shows a kindred feeling with a friend's grief, and thus lightens the load of pain. Lord Milworth recognised the heartfelt genuineness of his protege's sympathy, and a tonch of relief was visible on his face as he raised his eyes to meet those of the young clergyman. " Geoffry, my boy," continued he, " this trouble is nofc of the body, but of the mind. My spirit is in grief. Nor is it on account of the loss of a few baubles, costly though tbey are, and associated with tho family treasures. No, no; no loss .of anything material could crush me to the earth with the grief which I now experience. Nor can I unbosom myself, even to those nearest to me; and, in my distress and cruel perplexity, I thought of asking your help. Geoffry, I must count on yen; in no other human being can I confide. Give me your solemn word of honour that you will be for ever silent on the matter on Which I am about to speak to you." "My lord," returned the young clergyman, much moved, "I will give you any pledge that you require. Rely on me—count on me implicitly—now, and always." " Your promise—that is enough," rejoined the old man, equally moved. "Even in dying, keep my secret to yourself," pursued Lord Milworth, and Geoffry pledged his word anew that he would do so. : "I am satisfied; not one of your family was ever guilty of a dishonourable act. It seems bora with yon i and yours to regard falsity as a crime—to inherit truth as a possession. Oh, Geoffry lit has not been so with both my sons, and you have an awful ptory to hear from my lips to-day." " You have heard what happened here a Bight or two ago ?" (Geoffry nodded.) Well, late that night I was suddenly wakened from sleep by the clang of the alarm bell. I stumbled on to my feet, and threw on my dressing gown. Harte was at the end of the corridor, and my man, Turner, was ruahin? past my door. * «' '-Is it fire 1" I asked, quickly. tt' No, my lord; thieves 1" he answered, snd hurried on. " I went back to my room, intending to dress in haste when, an instant after, two men entered my room, and turned the key tl ter them, confronting me. " I made for the bell, my hand was on the knob, when one of them spoke, and his voice paralysed my hand, and I fell into a chair. "Don't ring, father; I am yonr son, Richard Cameron, now professional, b_rglar by occupation. Save the family name at any cost * conceal us in that wardrobe till pursuit is over. , . "An importunate knock, and-hurrying footsteps sounded in the corrislor. "Geoffry, I was like one in a hideous nightmare, and I rose, noiselessly, opened the wardrobe, let them enter, put the key in my pocket, and then threw open my door. My God! the horror of the hour which , followed is upon me yet 1" For a moment the narrator paused, and passed his shaking hand over his brow; while Geoffry murmured a few words of Sympathy. ■ "Hear the rest, my dear boy; hear the test," continued Flip's grandfather. " I don't | know how I lived through ifc all. At length fche search through the house was /over, and I was left alone with my son, the burglar, and with his confederate. ""You have robbed me V I asked, faintly. He nodded. •"Of the family jewels, he whispered. •Now, let us make a bargain, father. Get me and my comrade safely out of the house, and I will swear that this shall be my last burglary. Moreover, tbat I will leave England at once. My daughter is pretty well provided for, and, this time, you will be quit of me forever.' ~.,.... *' My God, Geoffry I think whafc it was for me to listen to such words, to make such a bargain with my own son 1 I stared at him wildly, unable at first to reply. "' Denounce me) father, and you know . "what must follow,' he went on. 'Penal servitude for me—life-long disgrace fer you and your idolised grandson, Lionel. In fact, you have no choice but to do as I propose. Place us in safety; it is the last thing I will ever ask of you. My bygone career wonld not read well in the daily papers if I were placed in the dock.' "' You will have to remain here yet many bours,': I answered, nerving myself to go > through the rest of the interview. •*' That matters nothing,' said he. ' Manage to gefc ns a crust of bread and some wine.' ' "Such was my son's callous, answer. Geoffry, that night has aged me 10 years. If only that stranger had not been by to listen and to note every word I spoke, perchance the interview with my lost son would have resulted otherwise. Bafc I could not Bpeak before that other man. I could not. " What a fearful day was yesterday 1 I Spent it, Geoffry, with my son and his comrade in evil on the other side of that door. I seated here, on guard—they safely under lack and key in my dressing room. " When evening fell, and all the coast was clear, I escorted my disgraceful visitors, "-' dressed in garments of my own, through my smoking room, across the lawn, and out at the gate which leads to the high road. "A police officer started into sight as we Boproached. ~-.-_,.' 7 ""'All right, officer, I said, with assumed nonchalance. . "«Oh is it you, my lord?' returned the man, falling back to his hiding place behind gome bushes. . "And I—l shook hands with both miscreants, as if tbey were personal friends, and they walked off scot free, with several thousand pounds' worth of jewels of mine in their possession, in exchange for which they had planted a thousand daggers in my heart!" Overwhelmed with amazement, pity, and fche shock of surprise which he had experienced, Geoffry could at first find no words in which to assure his father's friend how much he felt for him; but his whole aspect spoke for him, and Lord Milworth bent forward and took his hand. "Oh, if I had had a son like yon!" he said- . . , a," " My dear Lord," rejoined the young man, in a broken voice; "what happened afterwards?" . , ! " Ah, Geoffry, that is connected with my desire to see you. Some people wonld say that nothing had happened—nothing, except that I have sat bere, brooding over tbe past, and dreading tbe future. But this is what bas occurred, my dear boy : a sort of revolution within my own soul. My misguided son married ; he says he has a daughter—my e-randchild, therefore—amidst what surroundings she must be growing up ! I would rive the world to discover, to rescue her 1 Geoffry, find her for me; find her, and I will biess you all the rest of my life." "If it is possible to be done, I will do it, my lord," said Geoffry- " I knew it, I felt I might rely on you.' said the old man, with deep emotion, and, much affected, he covered his eyes with his hand, while Geoffry reflected. • How should he accomplish the thing which ha had so readily pledged himself to do? It ■was not easy, for to address himself to any private detective would be to betray Lord Milworth's secrot. No; he must rely upon advertisements, and on what time would un- " How will you set about this matter ?" asked the nobleman at length removing his hand from bis eyes. "My lord, I am sura you will wish to conceal this painful family affair from the world. So we must rely on advertisements. Shall I __sert something like the following 2

••«i£ r, o , who lately avowed himself a burglar to his own father, will relinquish bis daughter to the latter's care, she shall be carefully brought up as his ward, and provided for.'" , "Yes; we will try it, Geoffry," was the reply. " Put it in the Times, and in four other leading papers, and perchance it will bear fruit, Ob, why did I not think of this whilst my lost son was hiding undor my roof but yesterday ?" " You were so bewildered, my iord," said Geoffry. " That was it, that was it, my dear boy ; and every time a footstep approached my door, every time my man or my daughter-in-law came in, or even little Lionel, I was in a panic of fear—though I took care to keep the key of the dressing room in my own pocket. But, suppose I had fainted; that the servants had come in, and a doctor been sent for, that the latter had ordered me to be put to bed, the key might have fallen from the pocket, the dressing room door havo been opened, and the culprits discovered! Geoffry, I shudder even now to think of what might have happened. And then, too, I was so weighted with the knowledge that my wretched son had with him a guilty companion^ who would note every word exchanged between ns. I wonder how I lived throughout that miserable day!" "And I, too, my lord," said Geoffry, sympathisingly. "But we will do all that can be done now, and perhaps it was better that MrWilford's companion should not ba aware of your intentions. * If your granddaughter is ever given up to yon, she should not be exposed to any chance of annoyance from her father's companions." "True, Geoffry, true. You give good counsel, my dear boy. Perhaps it was a merciful thing that I did not then make my wish known. And now, as I fully approve of the advertisement, to what address shall the replies be directed? There is another question." -..■•. Certainly this was a difficulty. Geoffry pondered long before he could solve it" satisfactorily ; but, finally, it was agreed that replies shonld go to a stationer's shop in town, the proprietor to forward any letters addressed to Q. X. direct to ( Halestone Vicarage. " You have lightened my load of some of its weight, already," said Lord Milworth, at . tbe end of their conference. " And, now, | here is a sum of money to be expended on the advertising part of the business." And he would have put a cheque for twenty pounds into Geoffry's hands, but the young man put it from him. "We can settle that account later,",returned he, with a smile. "I shall run up to town at once, and get the paragraph inserted, giving directions at Strpng's Library, to receive and forward to me any letters which may come in reply." An hour afterwards Geoffry was on his way to London, and a couple of days later Lord Milworth's guarded appeal to his son appeared in tha Times, the Daily News, the Telegraph, the Chronicle, and the Pall Mall Gazette. On his return journey Geoffry had stopped at Milworth Towers, and had found the owner in better spirits and able to leave hi 3 room. "If my unhappy son has got clear off, Geoffry," remarked Lord.'. Milworth, as they parted, "he may never see my appeal, for he may be abroad. "In that case we will advertise in Galignani," returned the young man. "Yes, yes, my dear boy. And, Geoffry," added his lordship, retaining the clergyman's hand, at parting, "bring your bride-elect here the very first day that you can persuade her to come. Tell her that I Want to make her acquaintance—thafc it will give me real pleasure." Geoffry uttered his heartfelt thanks, and then took bis departure. With what a thrill at heart he turned his face homeward! He would find Rosalind—his Rosaland, now, waiting to welcome him—her' sweet face, her beautiful smile, would beam on him at the end of his journey. His mother and sisters would have learned to love her by this time. Who could fail to do so ? Oh, how .happy would that evening be, as they gathered ronnd "the table at Ivy Nest, and afterwards he and Rosalind would stroll together in the garden I Could Paradise itself contain greater joys? He sent a sigh, a sympathetic*sigh, after the family troubles of his kind patron, devoutly thanking heaven that no lurking disgrace in bis own family would ever confront him.' But was he not "the luckiest man in the world " 1

CHAPTER IX.-" HAPPY THE WOOING

THAT'S NOT LONG A.DOING!'

Sure enough, as the train bore Geoffry into1 Hale Stone station, the'first sight which met his longing eyes was Flip, looking like a blush rose, and behind and beside her were ranged his mother and sisters and Flip's father, bis tall form towering above everybody else's, and wearing a erace. not often met with out of Court circles. : Preoccupied as he was with thoughts of Flip, the young man involuntarily was carried back to the previous morning, when the portraits of Lord Milworth's sons i had looked down at him from the canvas as he had descended the staircase at the Towers. How like was Mr Olworth. to the younger of the two, the reprobate. . He soon forgot everything and everybody, however^ save Flip, and after exchanging affectionate greetings with his relatives, and with. his fiancee's father, the engaged pair set off for Ivy Nest through the woods. The rest pf the day, especially the evening hours, were all be bad pictured, ahd Rosalind was so shy and sweet, and betrayed her affection for him in so many artless ways, that her happy lover; could only assure himself. oyer and over again with rapture that he. was indeed what be had always styled himself, " the luckiest man in the world." The party lingered long in the little garden over the tea-table, which was set'out under the plane, tree—a spot sacred in Geoffry's eyes—and when the golden evening had closed in and the great white moon rose' over the belt of woodland behind the house, then the young man again drew his Rosalind out upon the lawn. It was very warm and pleasant, but the elders of the party would not intrude themselves upon the engaged pair, but conversed in low tones about their " happy prospects," and Mr Olworth's forthcoming journey abroad. " He had some property to dispose of," he explained; "not much, he was a poor man, but the business required his presence, and if it seemed better for his daughter's interests he should stay abroad, and manage, personally, hi - Canadian farm, instead of returning to live in. England. Rosalind, would be better without him now. She wculd learn to lean on her husband for everything; all the., happier for a young wife." Geoffry's relatives, and Geoffry himself when he was told the same story—which was simple moonshine, —accepted ifc unhesitatingly ; but Flip heard it with something liko terror,.for she knew that there was no "Canadian farm" belonging to her father, and that bis story was bat part of the web of deceit which he had woven to hoodwink the guileless family about to raceive her as one of themselves.'. In this way Mr Olworth accounted for the absence of family ties in England: " Some of my connections are in India, in which country I lived a long time in, my young days," added he, with a frank smile. Geoffry fell straight into the trap. Indeed, be had never harboured a suspicion of his Rosalind's father. Anyone So nearly akin to such an angel could not be mistrusted by him. Higher and higher rose the moon, flooding the landscape with silver, and making the common things of every day assume a fairylike aspect. "My darling," whispered the entranced Geoffry, as they slowly paced the lawn together, her hand in his fond clasp, his arm around her, "my darling, you heard me say that I went to see Lord Milworth?—my father's friend who gave me the living here ? He has sent you a message, begging you to go over to the Towers, as he wishes to make your acquaintance. When shall I take you, dearest? Lady Wilford is eager, also, to welcome you." As he bent his fond gaze on her face he almost fancied he noticed her colour change in the moonlight. " Oh, need we go—just yet ?" she asked, in a tone which denoted something very like distress. "Of course, dearest, we shall choose the time you like. But, indeed, you would be charmed with the place, and with its owners, and quite delighted with little Lionel Wilford, the next heir, who is a child about five years old." "The child I saw," thought Flip, shrinking yet more from the idea of a visit to the house which her father had plundered. " To-night I cannot settle anything, Geoffry, it must be another time. My father leaves me so soon," she faltered, and the young man decided within himself that

his dear Bosie, as he ventured now to call her, grudged the hours which would be spent apart from her only parent, now that they were so soon to part, and loved her all the more warmly for her tenderness of heart. "Let us sit"here for a few moments," entreated he, as they came to a garden bench. "I—l havo something else to ask of you, my Rosie. What would you say to me—if I ventured to ask another thing? Ob, darling, when will you fix our wedding day ? When shall I call you my own—iv very deed ?" " Do you mean—that you want me so soon to—to " faltered Flip, trembling with agitation, and then she broke down altogether. " I want to entreat you, darling, to name tbe day when the bells shall ring for our bridal," returned Geoffry, afraid of his own temerity. Flip looked in a frightened way at the moon, and then down at the flowers sleeping at her, feet, after which she burst into tears and sobbed out: '* Oh, Geoffry, it is all so hasty. Are you sure you will never regret it ? Are you certain that some day you will not wish you had chosen somebody else ? I am _so young—not 17 till next month—so foolish, so ignorant I" ' . Geoffry interrupted her by showering caresses on her hair, on her cheeks, on her 'forehead. "Beloved, lam certain of my love, my worship, my adoration of you. In my eyes you are wiser, better, truer than anyone else on the earth. Don't you know, ob, don't you see, my darling, that.in winning you I account myself ' the luckiest man in the world 1'" Flip was still tremulous; but she was soothed and warmed by his affection, the depth of which she could not yet gauge. Gradually she raised her Head and smiled instead of weeping. Then Geoffry took heart of grace and waxed bolder. " Why should it alarm you, my own Rosie, to name a near day for our wedding instead of one a little further off? Haven't ypu consented to marry me ? Of course, in our case there is a reason for hastening the day because of your father's journey abroad. If you would forgive me I would say, might it be —that happiest day of my life —fixed for your seventeenth birthday 1" Again she trembled, and. a sinele tear glittered on her cheek, but .again Geoffry's words gave her bopo and courage, though she did not weep of tremble from any distrust of him. Oh, no, he was to her a haven of rest and joy. If she wept it was from the grievous remembrance of what lay in the background of her life, and that, too, was why she trembled. When, however, half an hour later, Geoffry led his fiancee into the house, he whispered to his mother, on bidding her good-night: ■■■■.." Mother, Rosie has consented to fix our wedding day for her seventeenth birthday." If Rosalind 01 worth expected any leisure time after this great matter was settled she was grievously disappointed. There were her wedding garments to order, -journeys to town to make, visitors to see. In fact, the whole county called on her when it became known that she was to become the wife of the gifted young vicar of Halestone. "What a distinguished looking man her father is," observed many a one; "so entirely well bred.' Hasn't he been a good deal in India 2" "Yes, in his younger days, it seems. And. now he has to look after some Canadian property," would be the reply. There was no attempt on the part of anyone to test the accuracy, of his statements, they were accepted without question; and no shadow of the past threw its ominous gloom over the present, except, when the young bride-elect, alone in her chamber, would tremble anew at the deception which she was aiding in accomplishing. ■ On one particular evening (the laßt evening in May, when summer had fully dawned) Flip could not rest, and softly opened her door, listening for any ( noise below in order to determine whether her father had yet retired. As he had told her after her successful attemptto surprise his secret, their relations were now quite changed.: She never, in" these days, called:him "Daddy," or ever sat oil the rug at his feet, as in the old time, indulging in. careless chat. Ah,'not knowledge which'she had craved for, and had gained so craftily, had been the source of immeasurable woe. But for the haven she had found in Geoffry's loye what gloom and despair would be her portion. To-night, however, with June opening, and bringing with ifc the near prospect of her wedding day, she felt that she must speak or die. -.•,.,. Her quick ear so6n told her that her father was still in his study, writing probably, for he had been occupied much lately with hispeu; and, without pausing, lest she should lose courage—she had become somewhat afraid of him now—Flip glided downstairs, and knocking at the study door, softly entered. " What not in bed yet 1" said he, coldly, looking up from his book. "No, father, because I cannot sleep. I am so tortured with doubt and pain, and I have no one "in the world to speak to in my difficulty." I ought not to marry Geoffry." " "Indeed I "resumed he, sarcastically, "bufc is not this somewhat late in the day for making that" discovery? And I, as you know, am off to America. What do you propose to do with yourself if you do not marry him? And what cause shall you assign for breaking off your engagement with him 1" . j " I have not thought of that. I have thought chiefly of the wrong I shall do him if Ijlot oar engagement go on. And, father, I am already asked to Milworth Towers. Lord Milworth has asked to be introduced to me 1" " Well 1 "he repeated, striving to preserve •his jiir of utter indifference, *.' I see no possible objection to your compliance with such a wish. When do you go ?" "Fatherl" ejaculated she, with passionate vehemence; " do you think I could enter the house of my own grandfather, knowing as I do what has occurred there so recently? The remembrance would kill me. Have a littlo pity on me. lam your only daughter, and too young to make a way for myself oat of this miserable perplexity. Think of me. Take me with you to America. Then, at least, I shall not taint GeoSry's fair name by a marriage with snoh as I am." " Now, you will listen to me, if you I please," rejoined he, with concentrated fury in his low tones, and intense anger sparkling in his eyes. " Will you inform me, if you please.'whether this mad proposal of yours comes from dislike of Geoffry Larchmore, or from some quixotic idea of not sharing in the proceeds ot—my gains!" "I cannot, even confess to Geoffry the truth, father, and therefore I cannot marry him," said Flip, in poignant distress. | "Will you allow me to finish what I had to say 1" said Mr Olworth. You appeal to me, and yet you will not listen to me. I presume that you are fastidious enough not j to feel easy, at eating the bread of—what shall we call it? Theft?" | " It is horrible 1" she murmured. " Well, then, if you accompany me to America we must subsist on, these ill-gotten gains, but marry Geoffry and you you at once partake of honest food. Ha, ha 1 Allow me to give ypu a word sketch of what you would make him suffer by your refusal of him. Yon would spoil his whole life ; surely you can see as much as that. He idolises you. To refuse to carry »ut your promise to him would be equivalent to murdering him by slow degrees. Nor could you soften the blow by the explanation of your motive; and he would mourn over the mystery for the rest of his life. It would shorten his days and darken every succeeding hour. I may be a villain, but I have tried to do well by you, Flip, and now that you have applied to me for help in your perplexity, I think you should abide by my advice. Would it be no Wrong against Geoffry suddenly to rob him of his happiness ? If your own hands were stained with theft you might hesitate about this marriage, but you have never stolen a pin from anyone. You are as well born, indeed of higher birth than he ,* you have no family connections to trouble your domestic happiness, and you have also some duties left towards me, for, after all, I am yonr father. My unhesitating decision is that you must abide by your word. Take my counsel and preserve silence. My secret is : not yours to avow; and as you cannot throw aside your obligations of duty to me you j must marry Geoffry Larchmore, and I am very much mistaken if you ever regret it in any wise. I have now said all that is to.be said on the subject, so wish me good night, for I am going to bed." She shivered ever so slightly with nervous dread aB she answered in a low voice, " Good night, father," and she left him as suddenly as she had appeared. A sort of desperation took possession of her. Henceforth she resolved to crush her doubts, and to let things stand as they were arranged. Her father was right; she had duties to perform to him still, and one duty i

binding on her was to help to keep inviolate I the secret wrested from him. What pretext, I save the actual truth, had she for refusing to marry Geoffcy ? None 1 She must set her doubts at, rest. Her own hands at lsast j were unstained. She would stifle all hesitation; she would make Geoffry and'herself happy 1 And her heart told her sha would be truly happy in marrying him, even thongh she would have to part from her father, (To be continued).

Years. Index-number of Index . number 45 principal x nfsilvp - Commodities. ot bUver' 1S74 102 ... 95'8 1875 98 ... !':)•:* 187(5 95 ... 867 1877 94 ... SOWS 87 ... 85'4 1S79 83 ... 84*2 18S0 88 ... S5-9 .1881 85 ... 85 0 1882 84 ... 84-9 18S3 ... ... 82 ... 831 18S4' 76 ... S33 1885 ... .,. 72 ... 79 9 1886 ... ... 09 ... 74*6 18S7 (iS ... 73-3 1888 70 ... 70'4 1S89 72 ... 70'2 1890 72 ... 78'4 1891 72 ... 74'1 1892 68 ... 65'4 It will be observed that in one case the index