THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1718, 25 October 1884, Page 24

THE NOVELIST.

A STORY OF LAKE WAKATIPU. • 1 1 . '

„, Written for the. Otago Witness, BY "SAGITTA," A«th«» of "Tho Fate of a Pioneer," &c. Chapter XV. ;SB£T and Jim seemed to recover from their adventure in the rapids now that they had the necessary condiments of life which, in their • position, was as much as they could, expect. There was ealfc, pepper, toa »nd sugar, and none but he who has passed at least „ , days without these articles can form any idea of the comfort to be derived from these simple and often much abused ingredients. Both mon were ill, very ill, with this distinction, that JDisbet did not know of it beyond a vague presentiment that something dreadful waß hanging over him, which at any moment might prostrate and overwhelm him. Jim, on the other hand; felt himself dying, slowly but surely. He knewthat there was no hope for him, and as day after day passed by he became more resigned to his fate. The unremitting - and tender care which he received at the bands . of Disbet both humiliated and grieved him. His case was hopeless, even in a skilful doctor's bands ; be felt that nothing but death could • release him ; and to see the man from whom he received nothing but kindness, and whom he bad come to murder, busy himself about .him as if he were his brother overwhelmed him < with'a'Be'nee of shame and remorse, a thousand times worse to bear than death. Jim also ' plainly saw the change in Disbet'a appearance, but did not like to speak to him about it for fear of precipitating the sickness which he saw was overtaking him. - On the second day after Disbet bad secured the storeß of the two camps- against the depredations of the rats and wood hens, and sheltered them sufficiently from the rain, Jim said to him: '>

"iwish, sirj you would goto the Government camp and see whether there is a letter for you. It would cheer , you up. I can manage very well two days by myself. I feel quite easy about that; I wish you would gb, if you feel equal to the journey," "I feel strong enough for the journey now," Diebot replied ; " buihl have a presentiment of coming dangers, which. I cannot got rid of, and which at times depresses me very much. However, I fancy it will do me good to know ,' the truth, even if unfavourable, and if Ido uot go now I may perhaps not be able to do so in a fow days hence, and suspense I know will only aggravate my uneasiness and fears." So it was agreed that Disbet should on the ollowing morning set out for the Government camp. There was still plenty of time to arrange everything that afternoon, in order to

ensure an early start nejet day. As Disbet went on with the preparations for Jim's comfort during his absence he appeared to regain his usu 1 *! spirits, aud long before dark there was sufficient firewood collected to last Jim for a week, all the available vessels were filled with water, find placed close to him, scones were baked upon flat stones, and wood hens, ducks, and pigeons already roasted, were provided in sufficient numbers for quite a party. Although the near prospeot of hearing from his Lizzy had revived Disbet'a sphits, the exertion required for these preparations had considerably fatigued him, far more, ho told himself, than they should have done. Partly on account of this and partly in anticipation of tbe early start next morning, ho retired to rest earlier than usual. However he ouly slept uneasily and with long intermissions of wakefulness. Before it was fairly daylight he was up, made his breakfast, and prepared his luncheon to take with him for his midday meal, As soon as it was fairly break of day he was prepared to start, after a kindly leave-taking of Jim, and enjoining him to take -avery care of himself, he left on hia journey for the Government camp.

The day was beautifully fine. There was that wonderful transparency in the atmosphere which brought on the trees, the projecting spurs and deep recesses of the mountains the general perspective, and the effects of light and shadow with that wonderful charm only Been in the early morning, when tho newness of day invests creation with celestial glories. Expectation and excitement, nourished by tho brightness of the newborn day, had revivod Disbet'R Bpirits considerably. He marched along blithely, and took the near cut which had proved fatal to poor Harry Linchpin. He fancied he could recognise the exact spot where Harry was tripped up, and thought he bad no difficulty in singling out the very piece of projecting rock to which he had clung until the • demons who had designed his death had made him let go the last grip he had upon life. Reviewing the cruel act at the very scene of ita occurrencs he wag filled with bitter feelings towards the ruthless viilains, who, hti told himself, had met with well-desorvad punishment, without accomplishing the end they had in view. After spending a while upon the spot in reverie he hurried on towards his destination.

It was yet early afternoon when he sighted the Government camp. No sooner did he catch the first glimpse of the camp than he made an eager rush for it, to be — oh, how cruelly deceived,

Arrived at the camp he flung open the box, and thrust in his hand, — but there was nothing there. It took him some time before he comprehended that tho object of his journey had been in vain, and that his hopes of receiving a letter from Lizzy were dashed to the ground.

He sat down upon the stretcher and stared vacantly upon the empty box. E.9peatßdly he asked himself, "What shall I do?" But no answer came to the question. All round him seemed to be a blank, in which he was placed as a mere shadow of what he had been. So vacant appeared the vasty void about him that .he felt as if ho had lost bis identity, and was some stranger in the midst of a dark dreary desert, without patha or tracks, where, there being no escape, he need not make an effort to rouse himself. His very, senses refused their duties. He saw not, ho heard not. A consciousness of utter hopelessness crushed all life and energy out of him. He Bat there the very monument of dejection, but one step removed from madnesa. : , ■ How long he sat thus he knew not. A cold' shiver running through him startled him at last. He had been perspiring freely, and Bitting down in the cold damp tent made him shiver in every limb. It was bright daylight still. Ould it be possible that some one had taken the letter ? for he could not yet believe that Lizzy had not written. He examined the' footprints about the tent and the camp fire. No, there could be no mistake. The footprints were those of Robertson^ the postmaster aud maileamer. They were intact, and no one bad been there since. Was it possible, after all, that .Lizzy bad not written 1 Such a thing was not to be thought of. . She had faithfully promised to write in any case, and without fail, and to' doubt her would be to doubt his own existence.' Oould it be possible that his lofcfer had not reached her? That other fiend in human ahape , might have takon it from more wantonness. What, was to preveni Jiim ? And yet that would not absolve Lizzy from her promise of writing — a promise ebe had made spontenaously and unconditionally. But there was no letter! . He would go at onco to Lizzy and tax her with negligence. Suddenly, and for the first time, he bethought himself of Lord Starr^ i borough, and it shook him like an aspen-Jeaf, How it was he knew not, but tho thought of that man lamed his evory limb, »nd almost paralysed bis minri. He oould not f.hink, he could not act — he did not know what to do. Tho cruel disappointment disposed him to be cruel to Lizzy, and to Lord Sfamborongh, tho thoughts of whose persecutions overwhelmed him with a force far more formidable than that of any of the trials be bad passed through in the rapids, with the relentless waters raging about him. He appeared to Disbßt's fevered brain as the incarnation of the Evil One, pursuing him with a motive as hidden as his actions' seemed to be diabolical. What could he do to defeat an enemy like Lord Stnmborough, with wealth and the influence of a high position in his favour? He would go at once and caution Lizzy against the serpent that by accident had found ' its way into her home, and which was even now coiling its deadly fold about her heart. It was only a three days' journey to Mrs TregenniDg's from the Government camp where he was. He could Bend somebody back to tend Jim. But how was he to meet Lizzy ? Would not such a »tcp hurt her most cruelly ? What reason had he tto reproach her with rach heartleaß suspicions as rose in his mind ? How could ho ever hopa to pacify his conscience if Jim should perish before help could arrive from Lake Wakatipu ? What good could he do if he were to proceed on his projected journey? All these considerations dissuaded him from going to Mrs Tregenning's ; and after resting for a time he lighted 'a fire and made some tea — the bushman's chief consolation, which in its exhilarating influence exceeds alcohol in conditions of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety. He had no appetite, and when he had prepared a bed and lain down he could not sleep. As the night advanced he grew more and more feverish ; be fait that if he staid in bed he should get sick, and perhaps not be able to reach his own camp on the morrow. He rose without having closed an eye in sleep, and packed up some flour, salt, matches, bacon, and bigouits from the Goveinmont stores, and as the moon waa then rising and the track for a considerable distance was a very woll-defmed one, he decided to set out upon his return journoy. As he proceeded his weaknoß3 grew upon him. His feet aeerood to stick to the ground, and it was only with difficulty he could movp fAoog in an uncertain and tottering manner. The crisp coolness in the air, heralding the coming day, revived him a little, and

at last the nun rose full and bright in a clear" sky, chasing' away dark doubts and sombre fears. The young and joyous day had a beneficial effect upon him, and as the raya of the sun began to infuse him with a new life he marched aloni? less wearily and troubled. Arrived at the Hidden Falls Creek be refreshed himself with some tea, biscuits, and bacon, and, overcome by the genial warmth of the day and his exertions, he sank back in a slumber. He slept f6r hours, and wh9n he wakened the sun had already attained its sonith, warning him to proceed on hia journey. Much strengthened by his meal and sleep, he commenced the ascent of Homer's Saddle, for he declined to take the near cut, where his companion met with so cruel an end. The ascent of the Saddle, although by no means very steep, tried his strength to the utmost, and wheu he had reached what is known as " The Cave "" — a hollow detached rock— he found that his burden was too heavy for him. He con-, sequently divided it into halves, suspending one portion in the cave in such a manner that it was safe against rats and the devastating ground birds, and with the other half continued hia journey. He was now only a fow hourB 1 walk fiom his ccvinp, and for the greater portion the road wan a gsntle docline. Thus, with a lightened load, he reached the banks of Pyke s Creek, and was almost within hail of his journey's end. The sun was still high above the horizon. i

He sat down to rest himsolf, in order to regain sufficient strength for the pull across the river. Here he Hat, smarting under 'he sting of a bastard's name,— an outcast from society, a wanderer, with failing health, in a wilderness, a cruel and rankling wound in his heart, a toy in the hands of a bad and designing relative ; while only a fsw hundred yards away, a distance ho might have easily traversed in a few minutes, there lay a holpless luckless cripple reading the letter Disbet had written to Lizzy — the man above all others he would have liked to meet. The man who, for a few matches, a pinch of salt oca handful of flour, would have given him a fortune, would have dispensed for him a balm to heal his heart, restored to him his mother perhaps, removed from him the stain of his birth, and olo'vated him to the highest position as a peer of the realm of his country— and be was unaware of the fact. Yet ouch is life, and fate, and dispensation !

In fact, while piebet was brooding over the helplessness of his position, and mentally casting about for a way out of the difficulty, Bolts was contemplating how to get the letter safely into Lord Stamborough's h*nds. He knew enough of his lordship's affairs and intentions to fully gtasp the value the epistle would be to him. He also understood that if the letter fell into any one's hands it would {rive the finder, if so minded, a powerful hold upon Lord Stamborough. . Bolts had begun to entertain serious doubts of ever reaching Lake Wakatipu again. His strength was reduoed to a minimum, and he saw no hope of reoruifcing himself. It was the day after he arrived at the Bite of bis late camp, and sank down exhausted by the soddened ashes of the camp fire. He had rallied some- 1 what after a rest, but as it would take him at least ten days or a fortnight to roach the Government camp his heart sank within him when he reflected that be could see no moans of surviviug the morrow.

He had not the heart to burn the letter, and yet the fear that ho might die, and that it would be found upon him and delivered into Mies Tregenning's hands, as directed, weighed heavily upon him. Bolts found an irresistible attraction in reading the letter } those portions referring to Mr Howard, Disbet's guardian, charmed him, and impressed him with feelings totally new to him. He would read carefully again and again, and muse over them during the frequent rests he was compelled to take, tt

"I wonder," he soliloquised, "whether a fellow is any better for being a paraon ? Thia parson chap seems to be like nobody else ; be talks like a catechism, and makes you feel as if he wore talking to something inside you, that can't answer back, as you would like to hear it. I never was squeamish, but, somehow, I could almost cry over the chap. If ever I get out of this scrape I'll go back to London and be , a missionary. I can tell them what I've passed through, and that'll be a lgsson to all, But 'ow am I ever to get out of this?" Bolts' contemplations generally ended with thia question ; but to do him justice he really felt contrition at bia past misdeeds, and was brought to look back upon his past life with sincare repentance.

" If I honly 'ad my life hover again I would bo different, and it would be < better, too, for his lordship," he would often say to himself.

, ■ In all his remorseful moments he always re ferred to Lord Stamborough in the most affectionate terms, never reproaching him with bitter reflection* for the part ho had made him play ; nor did tho situation in which he found .himself ,evor tempt him to blamo his lordship for being its cause. It appeared as if it was enough for him that he did whatever he undertook for their common good, and ho engaged in it with a will, as if his own happiness depended upon the issue. Notwithstanding this Lord Stamborough bad a coeroive influence over his man -the accidental discovery of a crime in which he had detected Bolts, and which placed it in his power to threaten, this worthy's life with sure extinction. But a 'forbearance on his lordship's part, quite as judicious as it was interested, • and an employment congenial to Bolts' tastes, together with a lavish supply of funds, made this pair fast fellows in iniquity. Bolts had also n kind of reverence for his patron's rank, and through a long connection had looked upon the partnership as conferring a certain sanction of all that was done and planned by it. He was firmly_ convinced that the success attained hitherto in the villainies of the firm was owing to the social position and distinction it commanded. He was, however, thoroughly aware of his own importance in tbe concern, and when occasion demanded it he knew perfectly well how to assert his dignity and value as an integral part.

Yet with all this his position was so extremely desperate that he would have sold his partner at this particular juncture for a few matches, a pinch of salt, and a handful of flour, taking the chance of fbe consequences in the seclusion of the West Ooast mountains. •

Bolts was now upon his tour to the Government camp, and although the first day of his journey was drawing to a close he had advanced a very short distance only. - Disbet, after a long rest, prepared to cross Pyke's Greek in one of the canoes, which he effected not without considerable difficulty. Once on the opposite side of the river it did not tako him, lonpc to reach hia camp, where Jim had a chaeiful fire blazing, and also a feast in the forward stages of preparation, in anticipation of hia arrival. A look at Disbet's face startled him, and told him at once the result of tho journey,

" You do not appear to have been successful, sir," skid Jim, afraid to betray, by any further remark, the alarm he ebneeived at Diabot'a appearance, who replied in an absent manner :

"No, Jim, I was not. There was no letter for me."

The tone in which this was said cut Jim to the heart, and he saw the pain it caused the speaker plainly depicted on his couutonance.

" Depend upon it, sir," murmured Jim, in a voice quivering with sympathy, " that there is some mistake, easy of solution. Miss Tregenning,., for whom everybody has to. say a good word, and towards all whom I have heard speak of her have a good wish, would not willingly inflict the slightest wrong upon any one,, much less torment you with neglect or cruelty, if Bhe oould avoid or prevent it." Whether it was the tone of sympathy or the good sense of the remark, it had a wonderfully soothing influence upon Disbet. For the first time since his return he looked at Jim's faca, and in his turn he was surprised at his altered appearance. He saw d,eath written upon every one of his features. Hiß movements showed that all power and control over his limbs were forsaking him. In a moment he had forgotten hia own troubles. He made Jim lie down in the most comfortable position, and attended to the simple preparations for their meal. When they were finished at last Jim ate almost heartily, by way of encouraging Disbet to dp the same ; and it appeared as if the experiment was successful. To the inquiries about his health Jim answered, in resigned manner, that he was still of opinion that he would never recover ; in faot, he found himself failing fast, and that Disbet would soon be released, to prosecute his investigations of the state of affairs at Lake Wakatipu upon the spot. " In fact, sir, I had wished that you would go straight to Mrs Tregenning's farm and set your mind at rest about matters which affect you so closely in case you should get no letter. lam quite resigned to ray fate. I can look forward to dying with a kind of thankfulness, without any feeling of at the' awful change. Nor do I say thia with the slightest mixture of vainglory ; and I hope you will fully understand all this when I have told you the story of my .life." Jim said thia in the absent manner of a man speaking more to himself than to any companion. After a while, and receiving no answer from Disbet, he continued :

" I have always been under the impression, sir, that clairvoyance proper 1 only preceded death, and I now feel quite sure that my conjectures and sensations proceed from such a state. I feel the past rushing away from me ; the future gathers around. I see dimly as through a thick mist. My brain receives the imprint of a thousand shadows at once, which, flit across it like the reflections in a mirror. They make my head reel. There is more light and les9 rapid movements now. I see one figure — it in Miss Tregenning. She is in deep distress. She takes out of a box a letter in her own handwriting, and reads it over until tears blind her eyes. The letter was intended : for you, but through some mishap it was not forwarded. She suffers the same pain with which you torment yourself. In the far-off background and indistinct there moves the , dark figure of a man. Vainly does he attempt to approach Miss Tregenning. Something appears to guard her against him. ■ Some invisible power repulses him when he nears her. She is agitated, but unaware of his presence. She re-reads her letter a second time. The figure still persists in endeavouring to attract her at tention, but in vain. Hold ! there appears the figure of another man in a strange garb, and armed With a club. The two figures seem to be the ehadows of one man, so like are they. They meet. Ah ! The man with the olub fells the other to 'the ground. Both are gone. Ah 1 what is this ? Miss Tregenning has Been the blow descend ; she is in agony. She wrings her hands. Again a mist passes over my eyes, and a pain through my bead. Miss Tregenning re-appears. In her hand, that held the letter, rests the hand of a man, handsome and fair to look ht. But it is not you; ' He is dark and exceedingly comely, tall and well shaped. Her expression of distress is gone, soare the dark figures in the background, which has changed into a landscape. It is Mrs Tregeuning's house. The scene, is bright with sunshine. The green, foliage of the trees vies in brightness with the azure of the sky, and the silvery surface of the' lake shoots through the branches its mirror-like reflections. Little children play on the lawn before the house " Here a groan from Disbet interrupted the trance into which Jim bad fallen, who, comingto, asked : " What have I said ? what have I done ? My head aches and tbrobß -as if my brain was boiling." Both men, in their disordered mental and physically-exhausted state trembled with emotion and excitement. In vain eaoh tried to speak in a rational manner ; their thoughts were scattered and words refused to come to relieve them. In this state they Bat for a long tims, the primeval forest intensifying the darkness which had settled upon the mountains. The wind, in hollow sough, moaned through the leaves, -while underneath them reigned a death-like stillness, The gloomy quiet about them at last allayed the tumult of conflicting emotions in the breasts of the two men, giving way to pains of very opposite descriptions. Jim, though only imperfectly conscious of what he had seen' and aaid, plainly saw that his utterances had hurt Disbet, and he felt annoyed at having been the unwilling means of adding to his troubles. Disbet, on the other hand, waß maddened and awed by the revelations which Jim pronounced in bo mysterious and solemn a manner. A voice told him that his efforts to make light of them or explain them away were vain. Jim's words rang in his ears like a knell, which doomed his hopes for ever. The new fear to which Jim's utterances had given birth in Disbet's bosom rankled deeper and pained him more than Lord Stamborough's machinations had done. Sleep was impossible. Rest seemed to aggravate the fever that was raging in his brain. . No explanation can be offered for the strange mental Btate to which man is subject under certain conditions. The philosophy of the past tried to exterminate them with fira as witchcraft ; modern philosophy accommodates itself to receive such conditions as facts, and research may perhaps accomplish what fire failed to do. ! Already it ■ has been ascertained that, when genuine, these conditions are the outcome of abnormal., mental and bodily states, when the soul asserts its supremacy over thing's mundane, and frees itself of its earthly tram- , mels. | Jim's trance w.as an undisgujsediy genuine one, and it was its spontaneity which impressed Disbet so forcibly. He never for a moment questioned its honesty, so far ag Jim was concerned. , Neither was there any reason to suspect deception of any kind. The fact waß tba.t Jim himself was sorry for having given Disbet pain. The whole occurrence was totally unexpected, and therefore the more ominous and pregnant with evil forebodings. Chaptku XVI. When they had retired to rest that night both Disbet and Jim were tossing about incessantly, each troubled beyond endurance

by the baneful revelation. A 'superstitious awe settled in their minds, and made them feel as if they were the football of unknown dark powers, to be kicked hither and thither without any will or any resisting force of their owji. Neither had spoken a word Bince the unwelcome occurrence. The night was far advanced I when Jim at last broke the silence by remarkI ing : - • " You are restless, Bir. ( Do you not think you could sleep if you were to try ? lam sure you are in want of .sleep, and you should 'make an effort to get some rest." " Rest ! " cried Diobet. " How can I get rest, when a fever is raging in my brain, when my heart iB wrenched from my bosom,, when a dark inscrutable power strangles every, hope. of my life, and hurls me down to the gulf of irremediable despair 1 Best ! .when a demon' in league with the powerß of darkness haunts me through the wilderness untrod by the *fbo£, of man ; who, when he has wrung from me. my heart's blood, assails my soul with, and awful omens ; who fills my mind with,.bi,t^r thoughts and feelings towards all whom 1 have cherished, honoured, , and revered ! , Rest ! when my fevered blood, lashed into' furyL surgas through my veins' as if it would burst forth and drown me in my own gore ; when my maddened brain can 'think of nought but curses and denunciations ; when in all this turmoil of persecutions my strong arm 'falls lamed and helpless by my side,, there'.' b'eiog nothing to strike but shadows which",'overwhelm me with a weight more than human mind can bear. Rest ! when my life has been one chaos j when I have been torn, a .babei from my mother's bosom, and cast upon .the waves of life a .nameless thing; when,'dr|fting down the stream, rebuffs have, driven me 'forth from ray home, my station in life, and 'my country. There is no rest for me J The ghost of my former self, I am doomed to roam- where no human eye may penetrate— far from l;he busy crowds of men— to die an outcast an'd'an exile, who has nought in common with hisJrind but the sunshine and the storm."

Jim had wisely let him run on, knowing that sperch would relieve him, -, „ „ (i . When Disbafc had ended his outburst of passion and grief, Jim said calmly- and solemnly: _ *' I do not wish to pry iqtoyour secrete, air, but by accident I have come to know a good deal of your life— enough, at least, to understand and respect your, feelings . as you have juat expressed them. Nay, more than that, I can deeply sympathise with you;, l, too, have experienced similar disappointments to yours, which have driven me step by step to my, present position. If you will listen •to my story now, it may comfort you and give you strength to bear your trials* -I have longed to tjdl.it. to you for some time, and I feel if I- do not do so now I may not have strength enough left to do it to-morrow." Disbat made no reply. He had busied himself about the camp fire, which,' replenished, sent up its lurid' flames, shedding that sombre and uncertain light uponthe surrounding darkness which invests a camp fire' with such a peculiar charm. He apparently took a. delight in his occupation, and went on- heaping logs upon the fire. The fierce fury of the flame accorded with the tumult of) passions within him, and with the glare he fought the darkness around him. ' , , It was not until Jim mildly remonstrated by sayiDg, "We shall be roasted alive,. sir,. with the fire, if you put •on any more logs/! "; that Disbet ceased doing so, and he came .anil sat down by Jim's side. He was evidently calmed, and composed himself to listen to > his companion's tale. - . Jim began by saying : < .;, ■ " My Btory is a long one, and if. it tires you you will be kind enough, sir, to tell me so." . : '"I am anxious to hear it/r eplied Disbet, " but I am afraid to tax you in your present weak state." ' ■ < „>. " Oh, sir, it doesn't matter for me ; I have looked upon myself as a dead man ever since we came to this camp," said Jim. "But' l will commence. My real name is JohnSfcan.nel, and I am a native of Manchester, where my father was a house carpenter. Being a good workman he found constant employment, aa the town was extending in every, direction at the time when I was a boy.- We were 'a happy family of- four children, of whom I was the eldest. I was sent to a good school,>.and made very satisfactory progress. When. I 'was nine years old something occurred to 'estrange my father from my mother.- Instead oV being at home at nights he would go to the -publichouse, and by-aud-bye -he came home drank and, abused us all in the most frightful manner. Next he neglected hia work, and then Want — bitter want — entered our home.-- I saw- my mother waste away, and' my father grow more aiid more careless of us and reckless of himself. Hard words wore bandied between my father and mother; and I had- juat sense enough- to see that there were faults on both Bides. ;?Upon oue occasion ' I attempted to be peacemaker between them, but received cuff a. from* any father and reproaches from my mother. At that time I seriously contemplated running aw&jj. ■ My home was not a happy one, and often we were without fclte "necessaries of. life for days together. But I could not leave my sister and mother, both of whom were ill at the time. My two brothers grew. up> quite neglected, and a3 they tormented my "mother, I had often to protect her against their annoyance. a ' *. ''■.-.■ „". > "It was one cold winter night — mother had been very ill, and there had not been a fire in the grate the whole previous day— when father came home about two o'clock in the morning. ! He complained of the cold, and told me to go to the place where he was then employed and bring home some refuse timber.' I had often been sent on such missions, for I waß strong, and could carry a good load. Well, I-.went. It was a long way off. When I got to'tha house, then in ' course of erection, I saw some one enter the same plaoe I was directed to. I sneaked" up quickly, and hid in an empty cement cask which stood close to the door. The figure came out again, and presently I heard the cries of a baby -coming from the house. At the noise the figure fan away as fast as it could. I cannot to this day say whether it was a man or a woman. I went into the place, not knowing what to do. Directed by the cries I went to tne baby. It was well wrapped up, and there was something pinned to its wrappings, which appeared->to' be a letter. I decided to carry home the .baby, . and let my father and mother do what they thought proper. I also took some wood,- for I knew I dare not return home without it.-^ I made up a load of wood and carried Jfaa. distance, put it down, and then returned .for. the baby. Iv this manner I managed to 'reach home unobserved. When I got there .my father had fallen asleep, but mother ,was awake. When she saw the baby phe stormed me with questions. I told her all that -I .had seen, and what I knew about it, and gave her the letter, which she opened. It oontained a £20 note, arid enjoined the finder to take cara of the baby, and further directed him to call daily at a certain newsvendor's shop, and ask for a copy of the Daily Times for Mrs Graham, in the 'agony column' of which newspaper a. notice would appear, signed • 03707048,'- in«

tauiring after the welfare of the baby, to which tne finder was to reply under the signature of * Mrs Graham,' appointing a place of meeting. If the baby had been well cared for, Mrs ; '"Graham would receive £500 ; in the j meantime ■ She would receive £5 every quarter, in a letter *" from the same newsvendor, until the baby was three years old ; after that the amount would ' fee doubled every three years. Mother waß m * eostacies over my discovery. It was getting } 'day, and, weak as she was, my mother went - but with me to buy bread and meat for a sub- ' ■tantial breakfast. This was prepared just ' " when my father woke,, who, although he did - not conceal his astonishment at sight of the feast," made no inquiries as to how it had been ' prooured: The baby stranger was fast asleep, ' and Be did not suspect its presence. He went to Mb work at the usual hour. At dinnertime I used to take bis dinner to him. That day it was of the best. He looked at me with a •earching glance, but I did not divulge any- ' „ thing, as my mother had told me to avoid, if " possible, any explanation. V All that day my mother was busy cleaning up and putting things straight, and when the evening, came the house was clean, bright, and •heerful. There was a good fire in the grate, . and a good supper upon the table. Over my father's chair hung a copy of the Daily Times, nicely ironed. Mother and we children were all clean and neatly dressed, 1 and there was comfort and pleasure apparent in everything in the room. When my father came home the J surprise was too much for him. He looked around in a puzrled sort of way, and at last asked if' a legacy had been left to my mother. She answered' Yob,' and showed him the baby. At. first he scowled at the little stranger, bur. , when mother told him all the particulars he Satted me on the head, and told me I bad one right to briDg the baby home. Father « "did not care much for any of us children, and ■the name apathy towards him seemed to have grown, up in our hearts, but I was my mother's ' - favourite. "Well, that night, although father went out »fter supper, he came home early, and sober, . and from that time everything went well for - maay years. The quarterly payments for the keep of the Httle stranger came regularly, as iftlso ,did the newspaper, but the promised , notice did not appear. t "I ehonld have told you that the baby was * a girl, and not many hours old when I found her. She' was tenderly cared for by mother, .and .even my father seemed to care more for her than for any of his own offspring. We i sailed her ♦ Lily Dale. 1 She grew up as delicate and pale as 1 any lily. If blood does count for anything, it was easy to' be seen that our «Lily was of gentle parentage ; and although she was not a' strong child she wss always healthy, and gave very little trouble. • f Thus time went on. Lily with advancing '• ' "years' grew more and more beautiful, and when ' ten' yeaJsof'age gave promise of becoming a - young lady of the highest promise. About thitt time my mother died suddenly. Father ' ' gradually relapsed into his bad habits ; my "Brothers took to evil company ; and my life, as well as Lily's, was made very miserable. I was now nineteen years of age, and had a good situation' in a' wholesale warehouse as clerk, and enjoyed the confidence of my employers. ;Shortly after the death of my mother my sißter ' died, and then the remittances for Lily's sustenance stopped.. My father sank lower and ' lower, and my brothers ranked with the worst characters of the city. I saw plainly that Lily, who up to the present time did not know but ''that' Bhe was one of the family, was much annoyed -and grieved by these events. One ' night my father oame home drunk, and ordered ' Lily, to prepare him some' supper. I got up to get things ready for him, but he swore, at me, and said he would have no bastards loafing on him, and that Lily should leave the house at once. I always kept some gin in the house, with .which I plied him when he showed signs ' of violence,' and this stratagem answered upon !v the present occasion. ■ He fell fast asleep after ' having a, few drinks from the bottle. ,\ /." Lily had beard him, and I went into her ",,' room, helped her to dress, paoked up her things and mine, and we left the bouse, neyer to.return. I told my employers the first thing " in the morning what had happened, and asked them, for my discharge, and a recommendation "to some of their connections in London. They * ;w,ere, unwilling to part with me, and suggested that I should go to Oxford, where they had a '.branch establishment, , I readily agreed, and that very day Lily and I set out for that place. When we were settled I told Lily, in answer tocher urgent inquiries, her whole history so far ; a8 I knew it. She was deeply moved by it, and, child as, Bhe was, insisted that a notice ' v . ihould be inserted in tne ' agony column ' of the Daily Times, stating that ' Mrs Graham ' wished te be relieved, of her charge by *03707048,J appointing a place of meeting, > .and also giving an addresß in case the party — whoever they were— might prefer to cominunieate by letter. No reply of any kind came, ; ;»nd after a while Lily resigned herself to her fate, t ' •■ > H,Jf u We lived happilytogether. Lily was too young; for. any trouble to oppress her permainently, and, being, naturally of a cheerful terniperatnent, she soon forgot that she had a secret. rl / was .earning sufficient to make our home Comfortable, . and Lily wanted for nothing to ; which girls of middle olass families are accug- ' ibmed.. She ,was a good musician, and a proficient for her, age in many female accomplishments. " So we.lired on happily, when I suddenly discovered that I was deeply, madly in love .with Lily." Here Jim paused and took a drink of tea, after which he proceeded : 11 How I made' the discovery, was very sim- ■ pie. Lily was now sixteen years of age, and I * .waßtwenty-five. Lily used to st<ty out longer in returning from her .singing lessons than .'.usual. ' My suspicions were excited, and one afternoon I saw her in the company of a young student, and' from their behaviour I observed tfclimt they were on terms of intimacy. I oan,ndot describe to, you my .first feelings upon this discovery. , „ • *«.«» -That evening, f after supper, I spoke to * Ziily on the subject. > She made no attempts leoncealment, but frankly and innocently ad- * tnitted ithat she had formed an acquaintance ' <with the young man. She did not know his «ame— ehe had never thought of asking it ; she 'bad'.rdet' him only three times, and she pro- ■ feilied she ybuld not speak 'to him again until y pa^ : discovered 1 who 1 he was. My inquiries "«K^)ed to information whioh gave rise to, the (jrayeßJb fears. The young student was |fee Bfiion of one of the first fancies in the land, »od one of the wildest apd most reckless young fellows in Oxford. I broke piy discovery as - gently a« the circumstances and jpy feelings would permit, to Lily. She listened to my exhortation's with much attention, and at the end cried a good deal. " After that I bad not the heart to declare my feelings towards her, though I am sure she must have understood my solicitations for her welfare and her favour. She avoided goiDg -out as muoh aa possible. I need not tell you ' that by this time she had realised every pro- ■ mist of 'her youth. She was beautiful beyond ' ernpare ; people would stand and stare at her

as she passed through the street, and she was as good as she was beautiful. " Business compelled my absence for a week. I cannot describe the feelings with which I left my treasure unguarded and unprotected, but I could not insult her pure innocence with adnio^ nitions that were selfish, if not worse. She bid me ' Good-bye' tenderly, kissed me, and I went away comforted. I returned earlier than I expecr,ed, and surprised Lily crying bitterly over tho letter which was pinned to her wrappings when I found her. I tried to comfort her, but it seemed as if my words only distressed her more. She went to her room, and I took a walk to compose my feelings. Ou my return a tattling neighbour told me that a young student had been in the habit of calling upon Lily during my absence, and though he had been at first refused admittance, he afterwards paid lengthy visits. " My jealouoy awoke afresh, and deepened into dark suspicions by the strange behaviour of Lily. At night, just before going to bed, Lily told me. with tears, that the young man to whom I objected had paid her several visits. I could riot but speak firmly and plainly to her of my apprehensions, and amongst other things also alluded to her birth as a bar to an honourable alliance to a man of such exalted station as her admirer. I also referred to the other alternative which suggested itself by her birth, and hinted that the result of her connection with this reckless scapegrace might be a repetition of her own hapless position. The words were scarcely out of my mouth when she fell on her knees and eried — ' Oh, spare me ! spare me ! It is too late— too late ! ' My worst suspicions were verified. "I raised her, and' though my heart was bleeding and my mind was full of bitter thoughtß, I tried to comfort her. She begged me not to desert her, or to think unkindly of her. She swore that she had been an unwilling victim ; she had been stupified in an unaccountable manner. She had refused to see him Bince ; she would never look upon him again. I succeeded in pacifying her, and Bhe ietired to her room.

" I, on the contrary, was beside myself with rage, mortification, and I fear revenge. No sooner had Lily left me than I went out, late as it wan, to seek her seducer. I found him at bis rooms. A party had evidently just broken up. The room was ablaze with light ; the table was covered with the remains of a feast. The lordly debauchee was sitting before the firo. When he saw me he rose, turned pale, and told me to call again tomorrow, when he would make a settlement. I told him the only settlement that could be entertained would be one which the world and society recognised. He laughed in my face, and said that could never be. Lily had told him her story, and Bhe herself knew that such a thing was impossible. He twitted me with my jealousy, and Bpoke slightingly of Lily. This was moro than I could bear ; I raised my fist and felled him to the ground. He fell into the fire, from which I quickly rescued him before he sustained any great injury. The noise attracted the attention of his servants. I was given into custody, and committed for trial. , The prosecution dwelt upon the atrocity of the assault, imputing that I had tried to roast the young man alive upon his own hearth, and made me appear as a criminal of the blackest .dye. About the same time my father and brothers had committed a burglary with violence. I was described as belonging to a criminal family, and the resuft was that I was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude at the instigation of young Mr Disbet, the then Lord Stamborough's second son, and the present representative of that family."

Disbet caught Jim's hand, and being too deeply agitated to speak, he gently pressed it.

After Jim had recovered from the exertion of the lengthy recital of his story and the excitement coqeequent upon it, he said, addressing Disbet : "You will now understand, sir, why I engaged with Bolts to come out into these parts upon a mission of murder. I have already told you that I knew you were to be the victim, and that you had been kind to me. Since my conviction I have met with little j kindness from anyone, and your treatment ! won you my good will. I resolved that if it should ever happen that I could be of use' to you I would render you any service in my power ; and when I found out who sent us on this mission, and what its object was, I determined to turn the cards upon him, and if possible spoil his game." " But did Lord Stamborough not recognise you when he saw you in Queenstown ? " aiked Disbet. " You forget, sir, that more than thirty ' years have passed since the time we last met, and thirty years of such a life as I have led change a man wonderfully. I am afraid that I have changed in other respects as well as in appearance since that time," answered Jim ruefully. " Did you lay down any definite plan, or have you got anything to go upon to sheet home to the present Lord Stamborough any of his misdeeds ? " inquired Disbet. " I have not anything of the kind, sir," answered Jim. " When I engaged with Bolts to come out to this wilderness, and found that it was in the service of the man who had so cruelly injured me, my firat observation was to mentally remark how small the world was, that enemies who had parted in a far-off country should meet at the antipodes ; and I the next was the strange way which Nemesis adopts in following man with his crimes. Close upon the heels of this came a feeling of exultation of possibly having it in my power to . tear the mask from the face of a man of crime, and expose him in all his wickedness. This last thought took possession of me comEletely. Till that day, when Bolts mentioned is name, I had never seen or heard of my enemy. I tried to find out from Bolts all I could about him, but at best he is ,an un communicate man, and I am sure he would not have divulged his lprdship's name but for the accident he met with in the neighbourhood of Mrs Tregenning's farm. But I would have known him in spite of that. Well, my intention was to find out from Bolts all I could ,about him; then I intended to get, rid pf Bolts, and- throw myself upon , your meroy. vTn case I succeeded in gaining your confidence, I would be guided by you in my further actions." , • , " And yet you raised your hand, armed with a deadly knife, against me 1 " remarked Disbet. < " I did," said Jim. " I do not know, sir, whether you have ever experienced the influence'of a strong, implacable mind upon youra. If you have, you will understand my explana- ' tion ; if you have not, my experience may be of use to you. J ? botn Exercised and experienced the influence, and kn"ow that it is immeasurably stronger ib evil' than in good causes. Of all the men J have' met Bolts attained an evil ascendancy over me more powerful than I had ever experienced. I was in the act of ridding myself of that influence by springing upon him, when you struck the knife from my grasp and closed with me. Had I not hesitated by reflecting how you would act if you saw me strike down my mate, the deed would have been done before you could have prevented it,"

" Were it not that I oan see tio reason why fou should at this solemn moment deceive me, would be inclined to think that you were trifling With me," said Dinbet severely. " I have no desire nor reason to trifle with you, »ir," assured Jim solemnly ; " on the contrary, I am anxiou3 to place everything before you in the clearest and most complete light. Both Bolts and I knew perfectly well that one of us would never return from this mission. The subject was frequently hinted at between us. Bolts would have done away with me— first, from motives of securing both his own and Lord Sfcamborough's safety, for I knew too much to be trusted ; and, secondly, for the purpose of netting the whole reward of our iniquity himself. My motive for trying to forestall Bolts was Nature's first law— aelf-

preservation." " I can now fully understand your argument/ remarked Disbet, " and I also see that had it not been for Lord Stamborough's accident Bolts would not have divulged his name to you, and would have been under the impression that you did not know who your employer was, and you would consequently have been safe."

" Yes, sir, that is exactly the position," went on Jim ; " but it haß been ordained otherwise. It is little I can add to what I have already told you of this dark business. I am sure that there is another motive at the bottom of Lord Stamborough's deßire to be rid of you than jealousy, and I believe that you stand in the way of his acquiring worldly goods in the shape of property ia land or money, I cannot say which, but Drobably both."

" How did ha come to know that I was at the Lakes ? " soliloquised Disbet. " That I cannot tell ; but I know that he and Bolts came out from England with the certain knowledge of finding you at Queenstown or in its neighbourhood. You will also see, Bir, that Lord Stamborough set out on his journey with a design upon your life, for Bolts when he engaged me broached the nature of the job for which I was wanted— namely, your murder — before his lordship bad seen Miss Tregenning," answered Jim to Disbet's ruminations. " You are quite right, and the same idea has passed through my mind more than once, but it leads to nothing, and leaves me as wise as I was before," said Disbet. Both men sank into silence. Jim was muoh exhausted by his recital, and Disbet's mind was filled with conjectures as varied as the colours of the chameleon. Ho could not decide upon any line of action, and in fact Jim's revelations of clairvoyance, recounted at tho end of last chapter, caused him more serious and disagreeable apprehensions than any of Lord Stamborough's schemes. It was also plain to him that Jim — as we shall continue to call him— was sinking fast. His eyes were deeply sunk into his head, and he breathed with increasing difficulty. His sands were nearly out. Disbet felt strangely attracted towards him since he bad heard the history of his life, and longed to hear the remainder, but he had too much consideratiou for Jim's condition to importune him with questions. He contented himself therefore with making him as comfortable as oircuinstances would admit. . The night was far advanced, and both men looked anxiously for the dawn, yet eaah waa pecupied with thoughts no flood of light— not all the Buns, and moons, and stars — could brighten up or illume. (To be continued. J