THE STOLEN LADY.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 14857, 11 June 1910, Page 2

THE STOLEN LADY.

By Alice akd Claude Askew' Authors of "Tho Shulajnito," clo. CHAPTER XI, For an hour or bo Muriel was left to her own pitiful reflections. Thero had been a terrible scene, and sho throbbed and quivered still as :the result of it. She had lost her head in the bewilderment of tho moment and had thrown herself wildly' upon the woman in a frenzy of despair. Mrs Williams had had no difficulty whatever in overpowering and restrainng her. Sho had done so' without temper .and by merely throwing hor strong o'rrtis about the girl and holding her down in her chair until l«jr •strength had worn itself out. Muriel's tempestuous blows had fallen feebly upon tho-air, just: as. those of a. child may who iB being held in check by greater f oroa -than its • own.

Mrs Williams used gentle words as sho attempted to soothe tho girl. Sho did not address her as Miss Latimer,' not even by tho adopted namo of Elsa. but 'sho called her Elsie, " my littlo Elsie," just as if she rogarded Mario),- in vory fact, as her own lost niece.

"Don't take on so, dear," she .'murmured. " If I spoko sternly it's just because I havo to. Owen must bo obeyed you know. It goes to my heart to hurt you. You'to such a little winsome thing— .jlint like my. Elsie." And all the while, evan when her'passion was at its height, -Muriel had a haunting idea that the woman longed, .to-take her .in her-arms, Jondk and caress' Tier os a mother might ■ canaa.a favourite .child. , ; Muriel's place at-last'to a flood of tears. She cried , as. sho had now cried boforo-ih' hor happy pampjyod lifo, She had novor':kno\vn>the. meaning of real sorrow,.she had nover beon'denied anything that 'she-desired, she .had had her own will ■ in everything. She was learning a lesson stern and hard loscod, . "Oh, I don't want any moro adventures," she wailed. " I want to go homo to my dear uncle and \aunt; for' what will-they think has become of me? And Quentin, too—my poor Quontin—l lovo hiiu so—l lovo liiiii, so!" • She slipped dojfit on her knees, upon tho floor, burying-her faco in her'hands and sobbing her poor little heart out. , Mrs Williams Btoopcd ovor her, stroking her black, dishevelled hair with a hand that tried to touch, it, gently. "You'll havo a new homo," 6ho urged, "a wonderful homo, richer and moro luxurious than anvthiug you have over dreamed of, I'll show at you by and'by. And look at these clothes, my dear." Sho drew back, tho coverlet, exposing tlie dress that had beon lying thore, half hidden, to fulli'-viow. ' Do you know that this embroidery is almost priceless? And the'-girdJo—seo—it is studded with precious stones. Thoy aro yours —all yours." "I don't care ior any horrible old castle," sobbod'-Muriel. 'I hato castles and fine dresses and—and fairy, princes. I want my own homo, my own people, and I want Quentin. Oh, for tho lovo of .Jloaven, let me go home." 1 Sho dragged herself upon her knees, clutching at. Mrs Williams's skirt. "You con'.t.be 60 wicked," sho panted, "as to keep.mo : Jioro when • I' want.to 'go. You can't tell ■ me to lovo a man wlionl havo 710 lovo to givo'.: You can't bo bo cruel to me. If you loved your littlo nieco, for htor pake lot me go." Mrs Williams disengaged herself gently ,- and sho mado hor way to tho door. "Have your cry,out," she said; "it's tho best thing; for yon. Cry to your heart's content,.and then you'll seo that wo'ro notroally treating you unkindly, that wo ore giving you far moro than you will havo to abandon.•• You will bo grateful to us ono day, and you will; laugh instead of weoping: Thoro, my child, think over that. I'll leavo you to yourself a while, •and whori I come hack I trust that your tears. .will bo'dry.", . •. - 'With which she took her departure, oponing the door and closing it behind

her quietly. Yet Muriel, oven as she knelt there upon the floor, sobbing pitifully, heard\ the ? key i turn - in; tho;- lock and that she was still' a prisoner^ She had her bad hour alter that, the worst hour that sho had ever spent in her life. Thero were hours of moro poignant.misery yet to come,.but of this eho Avas mercifully, unaware. And in that hour her soul, her'poor little soul, was revealed to her as it had never been before. "It's just as if.it .were all given to me for a lesson becauso I have been a naughty girl," she sobbed to hereolf.' " I should havo been contented with what I had, and with what I was going to' have, and not wanted all kinds of tbinga that don't belong to my day and which, were only silly, imaginings because I couldn't (hid better work to do. Oh, I romember kughing at Quentin because of his humdrum little flat, whore he: was going to take me to livc,Vhis conventional littlo. parties, and—and all the rest of it. But, oh, how I should love that little flat now—with Quentin—it would be Heaven indeed." .. .

Presently, and because she was a brave little creature at heart, her tears ceased to flow, and she pulled herself together. " Since I've got into this trouble," sho muttered, " I must faco it bravely and get out of it as soon as I can; that's tho loiig and the short of it, after all. They can't make 1110 marry against my will; it's always a comfort to remomber that. I shall have to 6ay to Prince Fritz, when I see .him—if over I do sec him—which I devoutly trust I may not, —I' shall have to say, ' Please I'm not the. right girl, and I don't want to' marry 'you;' Then*,' of . course,'' he'll have to let me go, and there'll be an end to it all. Thcso mad people who've got hold of ine—for they must be mad— won't, bo able to keep;' me hack after that. But .it'll bo weeks before tho Prince : comes, she'.' said so, that Mire Williams, wholo -long weeks, and by that time they'll'have given me up for dead, mnd porhaps; Quentin mil have Fallon in lovo with somebody elso—though he always swore. 110 would nover lovo any 0110 but mo—but one nover knows." Iler tears nearly fell afresh-at. tho more idea of such a thing, but sho struggled bravely to keep then! back and continued. her -meditations. I shall .have'i to. try to make my escapo; I don't suppose they're all mad people .who live in.this ensile. It will bo very exciting, oh, tremendously exciting, and I suppose I ought to be pleased to. have such a wonderful time. I've nover road of any other girl having adventures like mine, and, of courso, it'll bo something to romember and bo proud of all my life." She was doing her 'utmost to console' herself and ronow her courage. "Once loutside the , gate," she pondered, "of course, it'll be all right, though, os. far' as I can remember racked 1 ' her brain to recall all that, she had heard I and read of Prince Fritz's property— "it's miles to the gates, and then miles and miles again beforo one gets anywhere near a town or a railway station. I'm sure I don't know how I should find-my way. _ And I've got no money either, 1 so cvei? if .I do get to tho station, how should I pay for my ticket home? I suppose I should find someone to help mo, though —people always do in stories, and I feel as if I were in a story now, though I wislr I wasn't"- \. ; . ;.. %

So'tsho'communed- with'herself, trying hard.to be.brave. "And,;presently, as the rooming wore on, slie- recovered l something of .her spirits in the practical certitude that sho would, spmchow find a way of making' her escape. But the first thing' that Was. solf-ovident was that she nwsfc : humotir hor captors, so that; she should ho allowed- more liberty. They couldn't always be watching her,' and'if she contrived to gain their, confidence, if they believed that alio. was . going ; to do .what tlioy wanted of her; well, tlien she would: surely .Gild her opportunitybefore very' long;'-.- that wvis . undoubtedly what shehad to do. When , ; Mrs - .Williams. camo hack JlDwcl Wust 'iiieet 'hov "with dry, 3|yw ofc r he?. li]!s. "I mustn'l'ovordo it though," she' told Jiflrsolf, "or she's bound to be sus--

picious. But, oh, it will be very nice to get out of this horrible room, with its staring tapestry figures and its drono of tho: river down below/ I'jn sure I shall -'.want ■ to. t-hrdiv myself' oiit the window^if'l am 6hut up her for longbut I'couldn't do that because of the bars. Oh, isn't' it a terrible thing to' be a prisoner? I must think of something else and try;, to forget." Having arrived at this .conclusion she sat down by the window, gazed out at the wild and beautiful panorama of hill and dale 'and 'distant "coastline, "allowed "the stream tp sing to her, and gave herself up to cheerful reflections about. the Prisoner of Cliillon, the Man in the Iron Mask, Count Ugoliho, Ernest de • Fried- < berg,, and such-like inspiring heroes of antiquity. - , After •' n * while/ however, she' got' tired i of this, and then the fancy. her to ! examine the marvellous gown which had been laid out for-her to .wear, -She could not restrain a little cry of amazement when she saw it .at closer quarters. For it was indeed a marvel, that gown. It was ■ cut after' mediaeval design, and was made of some material with which Muriel was unfamiliar. Its colour 'was that of a pale daffodil and it was rich ■with lavish embroidery. There were reds and gold, purplo and orange, that ran into each 'other and intertwined. The hem, too, was adorned with similar embroidery, while the sleeves, long and loose, like those of the dressing-gown were edged with a hom of sable. Thore was a girdle, of- goldwork studded—as Mrs Williams had pointed out—with jewels, rubies and 1 opals for the most part. The bodice was embroidered with an elaboratoi heraldic design. It was not long before the temptation camo upon Muriel to try on this wonderful confection. was a very feminine, and very' natural" desiro After all, it: would pass" the time and save, her from thinking of: horrible .things. Besides, she felt sure that tho dress would be becoming to-'her. , She .had once, , at, a fancy-dress ball,'worn something' of the same kind,/ and she had new forgotten how much the dress had . been admired. .

And'-so She slipped tho dressinggown nnd began; rather" gingerly at first, doubting if she could .put it on without assistance, to struggle into her new attire; hut soon found'that it fitted, as if it had -been m'adti for. her,- •• It ciraa cut away-rather freely'.At "'the throat, she noticed, <is. she stood >iip, ;-not yet fully drrascd, to look a', herself .in the great mirror, allowing-more than a hint of the firni,.white - neck, to-be ..visible; -but.alto- • gether, as she "gazed at her ■ reflection, ■ Muriel was pleased with the effect and quito ready to admit that that particular style offtfregs became' hor,well.. It : was as>'she wtis wrestling with the' the bodice that Sirs Williamsppurt r in ;;her reappearanoe. Sho smiled approvingly ; and "hastened to the w . girl's, side. ' ' - .'/" '

"■Let me help you, my'dear." With deft fingers nhe'adjusted 1 the dress, and then,.stei>ped back'to admire tlio effect,'. "Elsie—my little . EJsio!" she. mur- i mured. Muriel thought that theio were' tears ■ in ' her ayes.

"But you'll havo to dress your hair difforently," tihe wont on to explain, after a moment's pause. "I'll do.it for-yoii, if you'll let me. I always dressed Elsa's hair, . You want it so, and so."

Muriel .submitted, and in a .few moments her ■ soft, black tresses were arranged ' acoording to the fashion' of tho ponpd, a little ■ jewelled cap, which had escaped her notice, adding a peculiar charnT-to.-.the .effect.. She; hardly-- knew herself-when again she ga,z?d in the glass —yet she smiled. Was she indeed- Miss Muriel Latimer?'

"It couldn't be better," cried Mrs Williams delightedly. "I'm pleased with you, my dear child.•'•■Sho regarded Muriel critically. "You'vo,'had your, cry out, and it's . done.-yon ~good,"' she commented. '. ~ ..

.' " Ym,'' rallied Muriel. She : jnet the woman's eyes: without flinching, : " And Wro j riot.,;j,goingto . talk any more just continued m».vnflwmS^i^y " No.';rV'MijTi^iroiild?/o^ to whisper head at the if f'-V " 'Ijhat's- right.-. niufeh trouble, docsn'-t - ifc? ~,And .'nobody hates iiaving/fo/.iiijo ihtirsli^^^ I do. I'm aureSr'caiVsayi'itlie !6Mnsy<if Often. You'll find that'we can-be'as'good and ,kind. to, : you,. j that's what. w ®vf^.ust;cailV^u':now,:;^<ra'kn6w,'.:wheii' we'rei'-not' obliged to address'you ; formally — weva to our ouni little girl." . Muriel shuddered, a littlo when she was addressed'as' Elsa,- but sho did not venturo upoii; :, ariy "remons6rahc'e;''''".WHat''.did "it matter, Rafter all. The/more.alio .yielded now the more likely sho was to have: her freedom.;. V. ■ : .

"What do you think became.oi.Elsat she asked presentlj'—" the real Elsa?;. Do. youtliinlc' she Kutaway? • -

The -old'woman' sliiok her bead. " I dpn't think so," she answered) " for there ifl ; .no reason why she ; should have ruii' away;"* Slie drew a'deop aigh. "I think it is ..more likely that'she 'fell 'into'' the" sea and was drowned. There .'is a wonderful cavo*. : wli.ich she : was;bent on exploring,', and it may be that slio lost her .life there. But she was under our charge, and the fault of her loss is 110 less heavy upon our., heads, whothor she bo dead or still living. And now - ," she proceeded, more cheerfully, ""since you are dressed and' refreshed-1-will -show you' sometliing of the castle. It would take days to visit it in its entirety and to examine all tho •beautiful things, lvhich it .contains: , But you will.- doubtles, like - to- see ■ your own rooms j you can take possession of them at once.' 1 .

Muriel assented eagerly,' and soon sho found herself following Mrs. Williams' down a winding stone staircase, eo narrow that two, could barely walk abreast. It was clear that she had, as'she imagined, been occupying a turret chamber. Thero was a moment, as she followed her leader down the stairs, when a, wild idea, crossed Sluriel's . brain, that she might find her opportunity to run away as soon as they readied the bottom of the staircase and emerged into a more open space. Then ■'■:fch(o.utiiity. of such a proceeding came to her, and she sensibly abandoned the idea. What was the use of contemplating llight when she did not know which may to turn? ' It .was dark on the staircase, light only being admitted, at raro intervals through, narrow slits in the wall, so when they emerged at last by a low doorway Muriel blinked in the sunlight and pressed her hands to her eyes, When she Temovcd them she gave a little cry of amaze, for the scene that confronted her was so fairly-like and wonderful that she had nover seen anything to equal it even in her dreams.

They had emerged on the side of tho tower opposite to that on which her win<io\v looked out—where the castle wall rose straight from the rock of the. ravine, —and she Tecognised now that the tower itself was but one of a pair that flanked the great gateway o{ the castle. Through this gateway, which displayed upon its facado the arms • of the royal house of Altenstein, Muriel could catch sight of a wonderful courtyard, with statues, marble loggias, and a noble stairway that led up to the main entrance. But it was the castle itself, and tho view from the terrace upon which she stood that had caused Muriel to ultei' that exclamation of wonder and delight. The . struct,ure, grey of stone and stone built, could be seen in its full extent. It stood .upon a rocky summit, from which, .upon this side, terrace after terrace led down, by broad .flights of. marble stairs, to a great sweep of soft-turfed lawn below, a vast amphitheatre with a background of dark wood, broken only in the centre, whore it was pierced by a broad grassy road, an avenue 'that seemed to extend almost as far as the oye could reach, adorned, too, with a fountain at the nearer end of it, a fountain with a huge basin and gigantic marble and gilded figures,' while at the far end there appeared, upon a hillock, a ■'building shaped like a small temple. To the right and the left of the valley which was occupied by this beautiful garden, the ground rose', tree covered, in undulating hills, which were traversed by pleasant shady paths; the trees bad been cut away here and'there to'allow of statues, miniature cascades, marblo stairways, and great flower vases beins; seen. Here and there among the hills Muriel noticed the. shimmer of water; it was'as''if'the castle'was rimmed-by a belt of tiny lakes. Mrs Williams spoko as " llyna." ■' . • .

As to the castle itself it was as Muriel had seen it in .what she had fancied to be a dream, A vast irregular pile of true mediievil pattern,,it seemed to' lift •■itself, tieriupon tier, till' the eve .was lost in a maze of pinnac]c6 and•'turrets. When Muriel had gazed her fill' Mrs Williams'.conducted her.across the courtyard to a small side entrance which she opened by means of a 1% which she took from a little bag she carried. And presently they stood in a vast hall, which, Jiowever, as Muriel's .guide explained, was not that of the main entrance.

"All the central part of the castle is yet' to" be furnished," she "explained. .".The. Prince wished to seo to that himself. He will do it'all for. you, 1 Elsa. His taste is marvellous. You will seo .the-frowns,, unfurnished: as ,they are. There. is .what we call, the throne room, the banqueting hall, the ball-Toom, the hall of minstrelsy-—"

" But," cried Muriel wonderingly, " I don't understand all this. I thought it was the _ Prince's object ■to lead a secluded life—to forsake the:, world)?"

" Say rather to Jive as ho understands life," was the answer. " His tastes are not those of the hermit. He is a lover of beauty in all ite forms. Jt is the hurry and bustle and ugliness of modern life that he detests.' lie has avowed, that nothing of that 6ort shall intrude at Plas Arth The vory dress you are wearing, Elsa, is sufficient indication of his tastes—every' stone of this gi'eat castle ropeats them. He is all for the mcdiajval —tho days, of poetry and. minstrelsy—of chivalry. He wouid surround himself with those.'wlioso tastes are similar to his own. ;He does not desire to cut himself off from man—only from the twentieth century—the world as the mon of to-day have mado it. The day will come',' —she was speaking with enthusiasm— "when tyese, empty halls and corridors and galleries will be filled with gay things—when there will bo music and revelry, and singing—the Court of Prince Fritz ' of' Starenhof. ' He will revivehere—the Welsh minstrelsy—that appeals to.:him, you- understand. We shall come in:our national dress—the men and the women of old Wales. My forefathers, and Owen's, were bards, Elsa—and with us it is in the blood; we long to seo past glories revived. And you—think of it, my dear, you will be queen of-all-those wonders—great folk will kneel to you— .they .will, compose'songs in your honouris not that a fate to be desired and envied?" " , Muriel made no reply.; It was, indeed, what she had dreamed of. And yet— and yet—— ■ " Ah;',"jPrince Fritz did well!-,to make Jus-homo in' Wales," Mrs Williams 'con-

tinned, "It is a land of romance and poetry. Do you know, Elsa, that even to-day many of our old customs persist? You will see that the. servants—many of them—still wear the costume of their country. And do you know she smiled down at the girl—" that what we call ' bride capture ' is not :t forgotten thing V'

Thus iho .Welsli woman talked as sho conducted Muriel from room io room, stopping in each to point out fresh wonders of decoration and garniture. There was. nothing modern in design in any .of them, nothing that belonged to the world of to-day save tho electric light, which had been installed throughout, though every globe.was attached to a stem made ■to represent a candle. The-lustres and candelabra, were marvellous. AI Uriel noticed pne especally, which was in blue, gold, and silver, and made to hold .30 candles. She was dazed with the splendour of all she saw. She'trod upon carpols of the softest velvet, sho passed from apartment to apartment, each more marvellous than tho last—none of them, of course, as yet inhabited. The servants—somo of whom she met engaged in their.ordinary duties—occupied another wing of the castle altogether. They stared at' her, but all made obsequious obeisance.

Muriel was shown tho Prince's apartments,' and here they trad delivately, as befitted the solemn occasion. In these rooms evrything was jmre The bed was of the richest wood-carving, surmounted by the royal arms, there were fine pictures, adapted from the Saga of old Germany, upon thi walls. The prevailing lone of .the bed-chamber was' bluo and gold. Tho furniture of the diningroom was in Bordeaux richly worked in gold.. The curtains were of silk, the walls panelled with_ carved oak. The niantolpiece was surmounted 5y a huge swan. There wore at least a dozen rooms in the marvellous suite. Now and : then, in their wanderings, Muriel and her guide would emerge from lavishly-decorated apartments to. unfurnished corridors and rooms, tho walls of which were aggressively bare. -.The effect was jarring—painful. And at last Muriel was shown her own rooms. They, occupied the full length of a corridor that opened on the, central gallery. They were fivo in number and there was but one entrance to the suite, This opened on the dining-room, decorated in white and gold, the peculiar feature of which'was tliat there, appeared to be no table. Mrs Williams, however, explained the mystery. ' Sho pointed to a large square alcove.. " That is where the table belongs, my dear," she said. " There is a peculiar arrangement by which it can bo lowered at will, through a trap-door, to the servants' apartments below, where .the courses can be ' changed. So, you see, ib is never necessary for servants to enter your room. You will dine hero with Eosio, when she returns, for she is_ absent just now—with-her father. I will ume with you, too—sometimes—but, as a rule, Owen wants me." She proceeded to explain tho mechanism by which tho table worked and pointed out to-the girl the bell that she must ring when sho requireH her meals to bo : served. Tiie dining room opened into '.two boudoirs, and these were succeeded by the bed chamber and dressing cabinet, at the far end- of which was the niost wonderful bath that Muriel had' even seen. It was round, built of marble, and about live feet deep.. The walls all round it were frescoed with romantic subjects. Those of the dressing room itself were draped in pink silk. Muriel gazed, appalled, at her bedroom. Tho .walls were covered with moire silk, and the furniture, like the bed itself, was in bli|e and gold. On a column'Btoo'd "a bluo glass.globo for the night light. ■ All the bedding was of blue silk, tho .-coverlet of .gold- brocade, richly embroidered, Tho • curtains hanging from the baldachin 'bore scenes from, legendary history. Tho ceiling was deoorated with Cupids playing. Of the two boudoirs, one was rich with mirrors, tho other .was conspicuous for the number of portraits "of tho lost Elsa herself. From each of the rooms there was a-line ,view over the'ternices and gardens. , ■ ' ■■ ■ ■ • ".I;*should .nev.er be comfortable heTe— never," panted Muriol;.,. She thought lovingly of her simple little.'bedroom at home, her narrow white bed. "It is all too'.magnificent; it frightens me." Nevertheless she allowed herself to bo interested in tho pictures of Elsa. But beforo one of these, a life-sized portrait in. oil, Muriel stood aghast, for she was sure that it did not represent Elsa at all, but herself—that, indeed, it was the famous picture .which had been painted of: her by th® celebrated English artist when she was a little girl, and which had been exhibited at the Royal Academy. She had never before seen tho actual picture, but was acquainted with reproductions of-.it. It represented lier as a little court lady of the olden days,- standing primly erect in'a stiff brocade dress, her hair floating over her shoulders, and there was a background of tall-flowers, 'as high as 'herself, vivid red and blue, which harmonised exquisitely with her black, hair-an.didark. eyes.. It .was.-a, purely imaginary picture aiid the artist hia only made use of the sketch which he had taken of her. for the'face of. t'h'e child in, the picture. But it was she,' herself, just as she had been atHhat.age,'and Muriel could.not-jbut admit that her resemblance to the lost Elsa was-: : more than .astonishing. jSTo one, seeing this, piqture with the others, could have d'ouhted 'that they represented one and l the same. girl. j\lrs Williams smiled. "Ah, you recognise yourself," she said, " and you are surprised to see that picture here, It \yas purchased by . the Prince some three or four years ago, when he saw it at a London dealer's/,' and, of course. he thought at first that it was actually a portrait Elsa. When he learnt that it was not he declared that he' must still have it because of the wonderful resemblance. It was that portrait that led us to trace you out, -my dear. So you see it. wasn't'altogether, chance of the long arm of coincidence. We knew that Elsa had a double, ,who lived somewhere in the neighbourhood of Northridge. That was all. tho information we could acquire.: We were actually going to Northridge to investigate when we'ran across you at .tho station. So it was lucky we iriet, wasn't .it?"

Muriel agreed that it was lucky. She was ready to agree to.anything now in tho joy .of; her anticipated freedom. That joy was' soon to be dashed to the ground." ' " ' ' :. .

" You will have the use of these rooms,". Mrs Williams explained, "the whole suite." They were standing in the boudoir of mirrors. " Everything' they contain is "yours. You-won't be lonely because Rosie should arrive to-morrow. You can a lways go out' with' her or with me. Later 011 you can. roam . about as you like- as long as you keep within bounds. But for the present, my dear, until we" understand each other thoroughly, you must not mind, or consider yourself a prisoner, if I keep the key."

JTo Muriel, who had been calculating upon being allowed her liberty and then ■plotting -escape,' these words were far from reassuring. And worse was to come. • • " You'll settle down- to everything nicely in time," the Welsh' woman continued comfortably, "that is if you don't worry your head abou ( the past, but just make up your mind that you're really the luckiest girl on the face of the earth. The Prince will never know that he has been deceived—how can he ■when he liasn't "seen Elsa-tei nee she was a' child ?—and in some ways—l admit it—he will be the gainer, .for there's that about you, I suppose it's birth and breeding, which Elsa never had and never could have acquired. All you have to do is to play your .part well. But see that ■ you do that," —her voice grew sterner—" for if you should attempt"-, to deceive us, in any way, you would have cause to regret it' bitterly. . We have means of punishing you that you cannot guess • at, and which'-we. won't-..discuss because there is, let- us hope,, no need. We should have to use the same means if you refused to (all iri with our plans for-.your benefit. It's Owen who- has bidden me say these, things to you," she added, " but he doesn't mean to be unkind—only to be sure of you."

" It's just as well to s'ettle air these things at once," ehe went .on, since' Muriel

made no answer, but 'stood by the window. to which she had moved, gazing out and gradually realising the increasing diilicaltics of lief . position. "There, must be 110 half measures. You have to cut yourself off, absolutely- and completely, from the old life; you have to adapt the new one as if you had never known any other. And'in order to . as-. 6iirc this, in order that your friends may give. up the search after you, we have devised a plan that I trust you will readily fall in with. It is to write a letter, a letter in your own handwriting, taken from a copy I will give ycru, and which, when written, we will send abroadso that it may be posted from some place which we shall select The letter will account for your flight from home, and slave off further inquiry for many mouths to' come—till you are married and settled and there isn't the smallest chance of finding you. That's what we want, isn't it, my dear?'.'. , She spoke ingratiatingly and as' if she took Muriel's consent for granted. '-Perhaps the latter had ■ been overacting : a little in her eagerness to be allowed to come and go as she choose. But Muriel paled with terror. She was being asked to write a lie to her dear uncle and aunt —a lie that would cut off all chance of rescue from without ,

She allowed herself to drop into a chair, a quaintly-fashioned and richlycarved piece of furniture.. " Show me the copy of what you want me'to write," 6he faltered.

Mrs Williams' took, a paper from,tho bosom of her dress, which she h.inded to Miiriel 1n silence, but smiling as though she expected instant acquiescence. Muriel pursued' it slowly, from beginning to end, her eyes dilating as she read. Then the paiper dropped from her nerveless fingers to the floor. . "Oh, no,", she cried, " I 'can. never write that—never! It; is an infamy! How dare you ask me to do such a thing ? —how dare you?" -• •

(To' be' continued)