MARJORY'S MISTAKE

Otago Daily Times, Issue 10619, 14 March 1896, Page 3

MARJORY'S MISTAKE

Bx ADELINE\SERGEAKT, ')■ Author of "Tho Great W Street Mystery,1 " Jaoobi's Wife," " Sir Anthony's Secret^" " Under False Pretences," <6c, <fee. Copyright.) CHAPTER XXXVIL . In spite of Mrs Hyde's lamentations and remoDstrances, therefore, Hi;len went- up to town and "made arrangements jto enter the hospital almost immediately; but when the decision was finally made there came npon her like a cloud the' consciousness of .one thing which she had yet to do, and that was to tell the new rector and bis family that she waa leaving Eedwood. The/Beilby children were by this time.so much attached to her, and she wa3 bo fond of them, that the thought.of parting from them was a sore trial to her; but it was one which had'to be faced; She walked Orer to.tha Ractory one afternoon when she knew that Mr Beilby was likely to.be.away from home, and sought out Fanny in the pretty, qiaintly furnished drawing room, where, ones.Helen and her mother bad reigned supreme, and where little Fanay now wa3 mistress. Bat Fanny, nearly 15, looked much'more fit for her position as lady of the house, than she had been when she first entered that room a? a «by child in a shabby .frocjc, with all the cares of a narrow income; upon her childish shoulders. Prosperity and country air had done much for her, and she was by way of becoming a very pretty1 girl, a« well as a capable housekeeper. By Helen's own advice' a daily governess had been found to come from Southminster three times a week for lessons, and Fanny made an apt pupil, though she was still ia.the habtt of carrying j all her difficulties, smkll and great, to her chief friend and adrisej, Helen Drummoad. j

It would have given Hel«na great pangto enter that room .and j see it .occupied by strangers; bnt it did i not ( grieva her verymuch to ccc thß Bsdlbys in possession. Fanny was so' reverent of the pact, so anxious not to wound her '.friend', by changes, that Helen had already bein^ obliged to suggest various improvements to her, which the girl would have thought'almost oacriltgious if •s. suggested by anyone' else. Mr Bsilby had bought most of tho.Bectory furniture, when be -took it over, and th« drawing room looked, therefore, much as Helen had always known it, except that her favourite pictures weie gone from the walls, and the old china in which her father delighted no longer adorned the Indian cabinets and oldfashioned inlaid tablee. These precious . treasures were, as Helen knew,'stowed away, in boxes for her owa use whenever she required them; but as she looked round the a old room, shorn of it* former glories, she 'could have half wished that the china and pictures, and all ths other little artißtic treasures which had been her mother's eipecis.l property, were back in their places, and not repouing in carefully, packed boxes in one of the attics at Bedwood Hall, where they would remain stowed away until Helen herself wanted them. j ~ '.'. .

"And I suppose it may be years before I lea them again," Helen •■ bad said to herself, M she superintended the packing away of her old home possessions. . It was foolish, (he knew, to feel grieved over such a trifle, but the' veriest knick-knack had become a sort of relic, and she grudged each one to the silence and darkness in which they mast now repoje. Almost better, she thought, to have left them on the Rectory walls and tables, where they might at least have given pleasure to somebody's eye. ' " You have not bean hare for a long time," said Fanny, greeting bar friend effusively, and makiDg her take the most comfortable easy chair in the room, " I have not seen you for nearly a Week—bat what is it, dear Miss Drummond? You don' 6 look quite well, or you are troubled aboat something. WhatisitJ" .' "It is'nothing to be troubled aboat," said Helen, forcing a smile. "It was only that I was thinking it Would be some time before I Saw this dear old room again." ■' " Why ?" said Jfanßy, quickly. " Are you going away on a visit ?" "I am going, away, but not on a visit exactly. I daresay I shall come down now and then, and I,believe I (hall have a holiday in the summer." "Bat I thought you were going to live at tbe Hil^'alwayS," said Fanny, her eyes growing large and.roundl* :' ■> J'V ' " " *

" No,'dear; I never meant to live always at the Hall. I have not quite enough to do jiow, and' my life seems a little empty and barren. -You are old enough to understand that, lam sore, Fanny dear. I am going away to London to learn to be a nurse in a hospital, but London is not very far off, and of course I shall see you again very soon, and, I hope,'very often." •

The tears were in Fanny's brown eyes already, and dropping upon her cheeks, bat Helm bent forward and kissed them away. " I know yon will miss me for a little while," she said, softly, "bat you will soon get over that, though I am sure you will not forget me when I am away." . "Forget you.; no, indeed I" cried Fanny, " bat I don't know what I shall do without yon, dearest Miss Drammond, yon have been

so good to' us all! And who shall Igo ta now

when I am in trouble and puzzled about . things ? I shall get into all sorts of muddles— I know I shall—when yon are sot hare to help me." " " There are plenty of other people who will tell you what to do when you are puzzled. Go to Mrs Hyde, or Mrs Sevtirne; you know bow kind she is, and how fond you are of her

little boy." , "Oh,, yes, she is very kind," said Fanny, "but not kind like you. Of course she has got Mr Severne and the baby to think about, wad you always seem to think of us first, as if we'were really important to you, and not as if yon were just doing a kindness. I don't know what we shall do without yon—any of US.". ■;;■..:.■■ . ■ '■- ■' .-..•■ ,"■■ / ; "You must consult your father when yon are in trouble," said Helen. " Oh, that is not the same thing," skid Fanny. " Men, gentlemen, you know, don't like to be bothered, and they don't always understand. Now you always understand, and I thought you would go on living at the Hall, and that we should see yon every day, and that it would all-be jo nice." Fanny's veice grew more and more dolorous as gti'e continued.- " And whenever I waa puzzled by the servants or the poor of the parish I had only to say to them 'Miss Drummond Bays 10 and io,' and they gave in at once; and I unsure they will never give in to me when fon are not here to back me up. Because, you see, father says I must not behave like a little girl, I must be his. balper and companion, and the mistress of the house, and an elder, sister ta the children and everything, and it sometimes seems a great deal more than I know bow to do." "Yob will grow older every day," said Helen," and yon will find that every year stakes things easier. I hope you will write to me sometimes, will you not, Fanny! " . "If I may," said Fanny, gratefully," I will write every week and tell yon how everybody Ss getting on." , "And all your troubles," said Helen, with a little smile. Fanny's troubles seemed to her very small justs then. "Not many people know about it, do they!'' the child went on, with a wistful look. " I suppose I may tell papa." "Certainly. Everyone knows it by this tima It is no secret."

" There be is 1" cried Fanny, starting up

as a dark figure pasted the window. "I will call him in to speak to yoa, and then you can tell him yourself." She was out in the hall before Helen could stop her, and pre-

sently returned, leading her father by the hand. There was a touch of concern in the look he gave her—a concern which was interpreted by his words. " Fanny tells me that we are to lose yoa from Redwood," be began.

11 Yet; I am going to be trained as a hospital curse. I hope," said Helen, hesitatingly, "that you do not disapprove."

"Disapprove 1 Far from it; but I trust yon Bra not taking up this course because you are unhappy at Eedwood."

"I have been very happy indeed with Mrs Hyde," said Helen, colouring a little, " but I feel that I have not quite enough to do here, and I want to learn how to be nseful."

"It is a gcod object," said Mr Bailby, gently.

"But isn't it dreadful that Mi«R Drammond should go away from us ?" cried Fanny. " I don't know how we shall g.tt on without her." .

"Mis« Drummond haa been so very kind to ub all that tve shall miss her very much," said Mrßeilby ; "but you must remember, Fanny, that she has something else to do be■idebeit>g N kind to one set of people in a country village." •

" Then yon do not think I am wrong- in Solas." said Helen* with downcast exes.

I "No; why should yoo not go?" be said, I quietly. irYouhaveno ties here, aud it is Swell to do all that one can for the good of the world. I wish you happiness and sticcsss." He held out his hand as he spoke, and held hers gravely for a moment or two, looking, as if there were somethiug he wanted, but knew not exactly how, to express. It came at last. "You have been very kind to my children, my motherless 'Children," he said, with a thrill in his voice, of which she could easily divine the meaning. « and I thank you. I may say' God bless you,' before you go 1 " She looked up for a moment as if to thank him, but her eyes were full of tears. The man's kindhaartedness had vanquished the awkward shyness that so often stood in his way. His tone wan almost fatherly, and the becediction seemed to cheer and strengthen her as she went on her way. Nevertheless, she was very glad when the farawells were spoken, and she wag free to depart. Shehad not thought that gha would feel the parting with the Beilbys quite as much as she did. The new rector, who bad been her father's helper, wa« like an old friend, and the children had become inexpressibly dear to her. Shs felt it almost hard that she could not show her affection in any practical way. She would have been very glad to help them as she used to do in the days of their comparative poverty, but they jwere lifted above such need of help a' present, for the Bedwood living was a good one, and Mr Beilby was, therefore, a nrosperous man. : .

" They hay« no need of me," she said to herself, with rather a sore heart, as she went back to Redwood Hall. " They will forget me in a week. It is well lam going somewhere where I can be of real use. I don't mind how hard the work ia as long as I feel it is worth doing. lam sure it is good for me to be going, and I thinii Mr Beilby thought so too, and if, as Felix says, the work may be too hard for me, I must come home again, though not without a strnggle, for I don't mean to be beaten easily." So it was with a chearf ul countenance that she set. forth on her first lonely expedition into the world, and her courage did not falter, even though the leave takings at the station wura something of an ordeal, for all the Beilby children were there, and various old pensioners of her father's had come up from Redwood to bid the old rector's youog lady good-bye. But, in spite of her courage and resolution, it was exceedingly trying, and she was glad when it was over.

'Felix had chosen the hospital she was to go to, and had made various arrangements for her well-being. She had nothing to do but to settle down in the niche which he had found for her, and to go through the routine of her various duties with as much industry 'and patience as she was capable of. Certainly her occupations were at first neither very congenial nor vary interesting, and the work was sometimes exceedingly heavy; but jast then Helen was glad of any amount of hard work, as it kept her from brooding over the losses that she had recently sustained. The breaking np of her home and the death of her parents were not trials to be easily sustained by a Datura so gentle and affectionate as Helen Drammond's, and from day to day she felt that she had been wise to cut herself off resolutely from the associations which constantly renewed the memory of sorrow. Here, in London, in the great wards of the hospital where every moment was occupied, and brain and hand were equally busy, she had little time for retrospect, and at night she was so weary that she' fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Even Felixi when he saw her after a few weeks of this sort of life, was obliged to own that she looked better than when she was last at Redwood, and that her strengih did not seem to be too severely taxed. Sac was a favourite with the nurses, and , pvipnte, and doctors alike. She enjoyefl IvW work, and bad, as Felix put it with a. smile, evidently found her vocation.

" But. I thought you were going abroad," she said to him when be came to see her iv the recreation hour, and she went for a walk with him through some of the qniter London streets.

Felix looked at her at! she walked beside him, and thought how well the curse's costume became her. The fair face looked all the sweater when framed in the plain bonnet with its broad white strings, and the lobg cloak did'not altogether disguise the graceful lines of her tall and supple figure. She looked' strong and healthful and beautiful, and Felix felt, as he often did, a little thrill' of astonishment with himself for not being mora,iWarnUy. inclined, iowards the cousin whom be liked and admired so much, but did not love.

" I thought I was going before now," he said, "but I have been detained. Archie Severne has been ill."

" Did he allow yon to attend him, then ? " said Helen. '

"Not.he. We had to send for a doctor from Southminster," said Felix, with a smile in which Helen discerned annoyance. " What detained me was that I had to do his work."

" He is bettor now 1"

" Yes, I think so, it was only a chill, with a touch of fever, I think; but it was a tedious affair, and very wearying to his nurse."

" I should be afraid so. How is she 1 "

"I did. not think her looking very well," said Felix, " but that cannot be helped as long as she has a husband like Archie," and he half laughed and half sighed, as if trying to disguise from Helen and from himself the bitterness of the conviotion.

"Poor Marjory I" said Helen, softly. Felix did not answer. A vision rose up before him of the face he loved, as be had last seen it, wan and worn by the cares of nursing; possibly, as Felix sometimes feared, by the irritability of the sick man, and tha difficulty of satisfying bis rsquirementß. Mrs Hyde had Baid to him lately that Marjory w«8 losing her beauty, for she was thin aad pale, and there were shadows about her eyes and lines upon her forehead, bnt though Felix's heart ached when he looked at her, it always seemed to him that she was mora beautiful than ever. It would not do however, to pot all this into words, and so he began to talk to Helen about her hospital life, and led the, conversation so skilfully away from himself and all his concerns, that it was not until afterwards that she recollected how little she, had learnt about her friends at Redwood. He had scarcely uttered the Beilbys' names, and yet it was about them that Helen would have liked to bear. Fanny's letters came, regularly, but were somewhat unsatisfactory. But Felix was so busy in putting her through an examination on har duties that she really had not time to make many inquiries after Rsdwood folk.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

It was on one of the first warm days of spring, and shortly after Felix's first visit to Helen iB London, that the Squire of Radwood Hall came up to the prettly little bouae now occupied by Mr and Mrs Severne. It was a mild, still afternoon. The fruit trees were in blossom and the birds were busy with their nests. There was a blue mist of hyacinths in the woods, and every corner of dell and dingle was starred with primroses. "If any day conld make a sick man well," thought Felix, •• this is of alt others the very day." He almost hoped to find Archie in the garden, but on inqniry he found that Mrs Severne was out and that Mr Severne was in the sitting room. Thither Felix betook himself, and found to his amaze that the roem had been sedulously darkened, windows and blinds were alike closed, and Archie's form was only dimly visible on a coach iB the darkest corner.

" Shall I bother you if I come In t" raid Felix. " How are you torday, old man t" There w^s a somewhat fretful exclamation from cue sofa, but no very intelligible answer to the question. Felix came in and glrat the door.

"Headache, I suppose V he said, standing beside Archie's sofa.

" Yes, headache," was the reply, rather grnffly.

"You would be"much better for alittla fresh air in the room. Why don't yon come out into the garden and get a little wind and Bnnshine ? That would take away your headache better than anything." " That is what strong, healthy fellows like yon always say," returned Arohie, irritably. "For my part I hate sunshine. I like coolness and quiet, and a subdued light sometimes."

" Well, so do I, sometimes," said Felix, good-bumouredly. "But can't I do anything for yon? What sort of a headache have you got?" ;

"It is almost better now; it doesn't matter," said Archie.

"Then I think I had better open the window," said Felix, with decision. " What do yon mean by shutting yourself up in the dark like a woman because you have got a headache 1 Come out with me; you will be all the better for it."

" I don't suppose you know what headaches like mine are," said Archie, in a tone of great irritation. " I wish to goodness yon would hold four tongue. If yon and Mariorv

would Ist mo atone I should ba obliged to you, but it !s always the same; no woman can help nagging, and you are as bad as a woman any day." " Thanks for the compliment," said F«Hx, quite undisturbed, " I don't mind being put oa a par with Marjory. See what a fine afternoon it is." He had pulled up the blind and opened the window. A flood of sunshine illuminated the little room, and Archie, haltreluctantly, drew nearer to the window, loaned hia arm upon the sill, and looked out. The garden waa bright with spring flowers, the scent of hyacinth and wallflowar waa wafted softly to his nostrils on toe passing breath of an April wind. The freshness and beauty of the scane brought Hj> peace to his troubled brow. He laid his hands over his eyas, for the light was too strong for him, and quite unconsciously uttered a sort of moan, like that of a creature in pain. Felix, standing at the window, steadfastly regarded him, and at this point placed hisjiand upon his friend's shoulder. •"There is something tha matter with you beyond a headache," he said gently. " Why not make a clean breast of it 1 You'll be the better for speaking out." Archie made an impatient movement. He wae as petulent as a child. " There is nothing the matter," be said, "except the remains of what you doctors csilad nervous shock at the time, I remember. It seems absurd to you, no doubt, but one does not so easily gat over the remembrance of experiences like mine." "It is not absurd by any msans; but after a year's time I think you ought to bo able to put those painfnl memories aside. Is it at night that thsy torment you most J" "At night, tnoatly." Archie's voice was still sullen; but after a ps.usa he spoke rapidly, as i£ impelled by some irresistible impulse to confession. " There is one particular nightmare," he said, " which I have two or three times a week at leaat. Last eight it repeated itself in a queer way. I had it twica over, and then I got up and read so that I should not fall asle*p again; but, it was an odd thing, the nightmare still seemed to come. Dream or vision, or whatever it was, while I was still awake it got between me and tho pages of the book somehow, and I could not drive it away, Good heavens, Felix:, yon don't think I am going mad 1" ■

" Of eoursa not; but I think you are nervous, and that porhaps your digestion may be in a touchy sort of state. What was your nightmare like 1"

Archie's answer was nexc door to being uniatelligible. He spoke low and fast, and the words which Felix distinguished most clearly related to tha clutchiog hands and fierce eyes of a man who wanted to drag him down, while the angry waves of a swelling sea mounted higher and higher around the fragments of wreckage on which he and other shipwrecked mariners bad sought escape from death.

"Ah I" said Felix, " that is the dream you used to have when you were delirious. A sort of notion that somebody was wanting to kill you daring that wreck."

" I had jt then, had I ! I do nob wonder, G-od knows I have never been frae from it ever since." He hid his face in his hands and groaned aloud. Felix again watched him silently for a few minutes. There was |no sound save that ef the birds' twittering voices and the bam of a stray wild bee which seemed to have mads its home in the row of bushy wallflowers beneath the window frame. "It seams to me," Felix stid, " that there must be some foundation for this dream of yours. Was it suggested by something you saw or heard during the wreck of the Aurora ? " •' If there were," said Arohie, with a restless movement, " I do not see any good in recalling it." " There is this good, that by telling the incidont you m'gbt dissipate your midnight vision. It is probably because you won't face the remembrance fairly and clearly that you are haunted by it; and I think I have some clue as to the incident which impressed j you so strongly."

He spoke with deliberate quiet and calmness ; bat Archie gave a great start, and lifted his face suddenly from hia bands, a face which had grown suddenly white, as if his whole being were shaken by some sadden fear.

"What do you mean?" he stammered, " How—what do yon know 1 "

" I think I told yon that I met a man in New York called Strangways " "I never heard of him on board the Anrora," Archio interposed, hastily.

" No, Ido not suppose so; he called himself on board by another name. Ha was a steerage passeiigsr like yourself, and was known as Jeremiah Strong."

A sort of shudder passed through Archie's frame. Felix felt satisfied that he had hit the right nail on the bead. Archie must Tiave witnessed that terrible scene between Strangways and the man who had robbed his daughter of her last remaining chance of life, and the horror of it had impressed itself in some peculiar w*y upon his brain. Felix had often said to himself that he did not understand Archie, and this touch of bypersensitiveness seamed to him somewhat inconsistent with the young man's character. But, after all, he had seen too much of human nature to ba very much surprised by any of its contradictious.

" You knew the man ?" said Felix, in a lower voice.

" Yes, I remember him," Archie acknowledged with a gasp. The lower part of his face was again hidden, but Felix saw the drops of perspiration standing out upon his forehead. Us pitied Archie for this stress of emotion, but he was quite convinced that the only way to rid him of hid nightmare was to induce him to face that terrible memory courageously, and to resolve that he would be its thrall no more. Therefore, he pressed his point.

" I have cf tea wondered whether you saw anything of him,during the voyage; at any rate, I suppose you were with him on the wreck, for some part of the night ? " " Bach man for himself," interposed Archie, in a curiously strained voice. " You do not ezpect that under those circumstances one could take much notice of what was going on axound one."

"I do not know," said Felix. " I should have imagine:! I hat one's senses would have been sharpened at such a time; and the story Jhat Straagways told m« was so terrible that I think you must have seen or h«ard something of what passed."

" Can't you hold your tongue ?" said Archie, with sudden roughness. " I have told you over and over again that I won't talk about that night. The sooner I forget it the better."

" You will forget it all the more speedily if for once you speak out," said Feliz, sternly. " You are giving way, brooding upon it, making a fool of yourself. Do yon suppose you are the only man in the world who ban been shipwrecked and seen horrible sights! Fall yourself together and be a man."

" I do not kaow what you want me to say or do," said Archie, shamed as it seemed, into some sort of acquiescence: " I can't see the slightest good iv raking up all the painful incidents of that shipwreck. Why, that man—that man you speak of," he went on, lifting bis face while his eyes dilated with a curious expression of mingled horror and fear, " that man was fool enough to think he could save bis daughter by putting a lifebelt round her. She was half-dead already; she had not the slightest ohance; but a strong man—a swimmer—the belt was of some use to him I"

" Ah, that is a thing I was coming to," said Felix " You »aw it, then ? Some brute, it seems, took the lifebelt forcibly away from the girl and used it himself. I do not like to think of that old man's face when be told the story, and for the sake of our common humanity I sincerely hope that the ruffian did not find the belt of much use to him."

Felix could not; see Archie's face, bat from the nervous twitching of bis fingers he conjectured that the scene bad made a great impression upon bis mind. It was in a hnsky voice, very unlike bis own, that Archie presently said, in a confused and stammering way: " You said the man—that man— was alive in New York. I never thought he would get safe to land." " No, it was a moat remarkable escape," said Felix, " bis arm was broken, and he was a great deal bruised and battered, but he was one of the very few picked up and brought to land. The girl, of course, wag drowned. Well, from what you tell me of your dreams, Archie, I suppose that is the scene which repeats itself. I can imagine that that old fellow, with his flsrce eyes and his helpless agony of rage, could not easily be forgotten. Now just tell ma—l ask for the sake of confirming my own theory—do not yon in your dreams oonfnse yourself with the man who took the belt? Oo you not feel as if you had committed the crime, and the old man's bauds were stretched out to clutch your throat, and his curses were lighting on your head 1 My dew fellow, it; is a very common

experience and yon need not worry yonrsslf about it. , Your only danger lies in your brooding over it so that it may become a fixed idea, which—to put it very plainly— would ba the first step towards a form oE mania which it might be difficult to cura. That is why I tell you that you had bettor look the thing fairly in the face and try to combat it."

"What is there to seel" cried Aronio, with a despairing groan. " You do not know what you are talking about. And yet—don't you understand ? Don't yoa know tha truth ? It is no use talking to me about mania ; things are bad enough without that. I was tho man."

Thare was again a sadden silence. It was the torn of Falix to start and. even to turn pala. He made sn involuntary stop backward, then his voice changed, and he looked at Archia'a bowed head with an expression of mingled pity and comprehension. " Do not say such things, man 1 You have, aa I thought, let the thing get hold of you too mnch. Rouse yourself, Archie llt is a delusion, a dream—like your other dreams. We know very well—Marjory and I—that you are not a coward or a villain. Do your Be3t to forget that dream of yours, and these faooJes will soon fade from your mind."

He spoke in perfect good faith. The very idsa that Archie could possibly have been guilty of so base an act was too terrible to be entertained. Hs conld only be sorry for the suffering which such a delusion would entail. It would have been easy at that moment for Archie to seize his advantage and to treat his own statement as a momentary aberration of mind, but ,he bad lost his self-control, which had been maintained only through tbe silence which he had failed to braak. Now that Felix had broken down the barrier reticence wa« impossible.

" I toll yon," he said, uoaraely and excitably, "that I know what I am saying as well as yen do. I took the belt from ths girl. The old man had told me to pat it round her, and I refused. Why should I blame myself for that ? Tha girl could never have been saved. Wby was my life to be thrown away as well ? Bat for that lifebelt I should have been drowned. To throw away one's life for a sentiment, what was the nea of that 1"

Falix recoiled. The justification of his action carried more conviction to hia mind than Archie's bare assertion of the fact; but still he did not believe. Let Archie talk his delusion oat—that was the notion that presented itself to his mind. It would probably die away in its own time.

" The girl was unconscious," Archie went on, hurriedly. "I believe she was dead already, or dying. No woman could stand the exposure of that night. It was a mere mad fancy of the old man to think that she could be saved. Hadn't I myself to think of, and Marjory, too ? tf ßufc for the old man's eyas and those bony lingers of his, which tried so bard to get at me, I should have forgotten the whoie thing long ago. Ido forget it in the daytime, but at night ha comes back, and I go through it all again, aad hear him calling down vengeance upon me, and ssa the hatred tin bis eyos. Teach me to fo"rget that night, Felix, and I will thank roa all the days of my lifn." " You had better put youraelf entirely nnrisr my care," said Felix, practically, " and see if I can't euro you. Do not be afraid. We will make you forget. I will stop that dream from coming; see if I don't." He spoke cheerily, and gave the young man an encouraging pat on tbe shoulder. It was a delusion, of course. Poor old Archie ! To think of his keoping it to himsslf all this while 1 Bat the cheerfulness of his tone sesraed to produce no reassuring effect upon his friend. In fact Archie scarcely seemed to hear hia words. Hi roused himself from his dark reverie anil mnnnared, " I thought thai, old fellow must be dead. I thought it must be his ghost or something that haunted nip. ia thin way. Do you say that he isalivo— aliva in New York, and that ha told you his story ?" "He did." " Then," said the young man calmly, " I might as well cut my throat or put a bullet through my head, for that man will never rest till he has found me daad or alive. I thought the worst was over," he said, with a slight shudder, " and bsing dead he could do ms no harm. I see now that it is all to come." What could Felix say in face of go strong j a delusion ? He waited and watched with doubtful eyes, while Archie, raieing himself and moving back fiom the window, Bung I himself once more on the sofa, from which he had been reluctantly dragged, and hid his face ib the cushions.

" You bad better lot me stay here and not drag me out into your cursed snnahine," he said, in a muffled voice. "I tell you that old man will find me here one of these days, and will have his reckoning, as he said. You had better let me aloae."

He lay haggard and motionless for some minutes, and Felix leaned against the window frame musing over the story he had heard. He was relived when, after a considerable period, Archie again moved and spoke—this time in a. more natural voice.

"I say, haven't I been talking nonsense V ha askod. " I have been having that dream of mine again—the one I told yon aboat, you know; and whan it. gets hold of me Ido not think I am quite responsible for what I say,"

A heavy load seemed suddenly to fall from Felix's heart. In spite of himself Archie's words had produced an uncomfortable seneation of doubt. Hs was glad to bo restored completely to his former opinion tbat Archie had brooded so long over tbs horrors of the shipwreck that he had at last come to identify himself with the unknown rnffism who had committed a crime, of which Fslix felt certain that Archis was not capable.

{To be continued.)