THE NOVELIST,

Otago Witness, Issue 1970, 22 August 1889, Page 29

THE NOVELIST,

THE HOUSE IN THE FELLS, OR HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER. By FABIAN BULL. Aubhor of "Stella," ',' After Long Years," "The Letter in Cypher," &c. There's a Divinity doth shape our ends, rough hew tliem how we will.— Shakespbabk. t Chapter XX. Conflicts.— The East Eoom Again. ND you think that any excitement of a painful nature would make him worse ?" " There can be no doubt of it. Any mental shock or anxiety w^uld certainly bring on a relapse, the consequences of which would be most seri- « ous. Sir Clement never had a strong constitution. You will remember hearing that all his brothers and sisters died in infancy, and although he has generally enjoyed excellent health, his long illness, and especially this last relapse, have tried him greatly, and now that the worst is over I cannot disguise from you that it has been a hard struggle. He is going on nicely now, but if anything should occur to throw him back again I could not answer for the result. However, there is no danger of that, I hope. You must keep his mind quiet and Contented at any cost." "How can I do that?" asked Ismay, looking straight up into the doctor's face. They were standing in her boudoir, surrounded by all that wealth and cultured taste could furnish and love consecrate to her service; herself the brightest and most cherished thing there. But she put the question in such a, tone of anguish, even fear, that the kind old man started and looked at

her in amazement, and then for the first time he noticed the change that some 14 or Iff hours had wrought. When he had spoken to her the night j before, on leaving his patient, she had seemed anxious indeed, but also full of hope and cheerfulness ; now her countenance was downcast and her attitude listless and hopeless. The once bright and lovely eyes, heavy with unshed tsars, were so piteous and yearning in their expression now that they were raised to bis own, that Dr Melluish — who was a good man, and had long honoured and loved Clement—longed to take the poor young thing to his heart and comfort her in her unknown trouble. " How can I do that when there is bo much to trouble him 7" said Ismay, scarcely conscious, however, that she was asking the question aloud, still less that the doctor would consider it in any way addressed to himself. " My dear Lady Dyer, what is the matter 7 I fear you aie in some trouble ; if so, will you not let me help you 7 You have known me for. some months now, arid Clement has known me since boyhood. Will you not let me help you, or advise you 7 " She shook her head gently. " You are very kind — but " •' My dear, do not misunderstand me. I do not ask for your confidence, but you look ill — you are strangelyaltered. Idp not ask whether anything has happened, or what it is ; but I see that you are distressed, and I advise you — since you cannot speak to your husband — to tell your troubles to somebody, just to ease your heart. You are not bound to take anyone's advice, you know ; but unless you throw off some of this burden you will worry yourself ill," " I am not so weak as you think." " Pardon me, I do not think you weak at all, but there are some things people can bear, and some others they cannot, just according to their several organisations; and you know there is an old proverb, " Friendship doubles our joys and divides our sorrows," and such a friendship is my prescription for you." "I have no friend in the world but Clement," said Ismay, and her lips quivered. " When he is well I will tell him, and until then I will try to bear it as well as I can myself." The good doctor was pained. He would so willingly have helped her if she would have allowed him, but he did not misunderstand her silence, or believe her to be haughty and ungracious merely because she was unhappy. "Well, my dear, you must please yourself; but I need not tell you that to help Clement Dyer's wife will always be accounted a privilege by his old friend John Melluish ; and so if ever you want assistance I hope you will let me give it. And now I must wish you good bye, or my other patients will think I am neglecting them." He held out his hand smiling. Ismay took it, tried vainly to utter a few words of everyday greeting, and then burst into a passionate flood of tears. "Ah ! just as I expected — hysteria I Poor thing, she must be kept quiet, and not over excited, if that is possible. Come, let me put you on the sofa and ring for a glass of wine. You will be better soon." She yielded herself to his command like a child, for indeed she began now to feel the effects of her night walk and terrible anxiety, and as {he did so he took her left hand which she had previously kept concealed, and started when he saw the fresh scars with which is was disfigured, and at the same time a painful suspicion forced its way into his mind as some subtle instinct of danger warned Ismaj to draw back her hand. But he held it firmly. "It is badly hurt ; you must let me dress it," " No, no ; it is nothing. I slipped yesterday evening and cut it. It will do well enough ; my flesh soon heals." A crimson flush suffused her face as she made this excuse, and the old doctor shook his head sadly. Ismay felt that he suspected her, and that it would be better to confess the truth than lie under a painful, perhaps injurious, doubt. With a great effort, therefore, she choked down her sobs and sat upright on the sofa, Dr Melluish standing beside her and still holding the injured hand. " I will tell you the truth," she said, looking bravely up into his face, " I hurt my hand last night on the moor above Westmeath Grange, where I went, unknown to my husband, to visit my father, and arrived just in time to see him die. The injury is of no consequence." She said this in a tone of such compelled calmness that some persons would have taken it for indifference, but the old doctor knew better. He knew that she was suffering tortures greater than any mere bodily pain, and his heart smote him for its momentary suspicion. " My dear lady," he began. But she turned away, answering his unspoken thought. " I am not angry with you for suspecting me — I suppose it was natural ; but I should like to be alone, please." Thus dismissed, he would fain have lingered I to make his peace, but dared not. There was such a sorrowful surprise in her violet eyes, such an accent of contempt in the forced quiet of her voice, that he felt it better to yield to her wish then and strive to prove its injustice at some future time; so with a kind word of adieu he left the room and ran against Jessie on the landing. " I beg your pardon, sir." "No harm done. Oh, by the way, you are Lady Dyer's maid, are you not 7 " " Yes, sir." " Then go to her— not at once but in half an hour or so, and take good care of her ; and, mind you, don't let her worry and excite herself or over-tire herself as she did last night, or I won't answer for the consequences." J And leaving the astonished Jessie to make ! the most of his warning, the physician hastened to the front door, sprang into his brougham, and drove away. Meanwhile Ismay had sank on the sofa, weeping and sobbing convulsively. Alas 1 poor girl, her fears had too well told her how it would be, and the doctor's words had only confirmed them. Clement was too ill to be spoken to on business — to be troubled and disturbed in any way. He must be kept quiet and amused, his body at

rest; his mind tranquil; and it was fo his' v/if e that the doctors looked to do this. She it i was who, smiling and cheerful, must soothe and comfort him ; how could she do it 1 how could she do it? she, whose heart ached and bled over the dreadful revelation of the night ; she who longed till her brain grew dizzy — merely to rest her head upon his breast, to tell him all, to ask whether ho could forgive her her father's sin; and whether the knowledge of that sin might not be buried with the dead man who had been wronged, instead of being proclaimed aloud to bring disgrace and dishonour on those who survived him. She wanted to tell Clement all, and to draw comfort, strength, and peace from the stores of Christian faith and tender human love he was always willing to pour out upon her. In short, she longed to consign her burden, too heavy for her to bear, into his loving wisdom, in whom she had such perfect trust. Yes ; here lay " the secret of her daily strengthening love for Clement — she trusted him. Love springs from many cau3es,|and is long or short lived accordingjas they are worthy or worthless. A fair face, a sweet voice, a little foot, a musical laugh, have each and all given rise to passions, declared by their victims to'be eternal, though generally proving more evanescent than the charms which excited them. Esteem, respect, gratitude, pity also bear their part in this drama, to say nothing of lesser motives, such as money, ambition, or fear. But of all the qualities, mental or physical, on which affection may be based, there is but one which is steadfast, over which time has no influence and fortune no power, which outlives the fiercest storms and the sunshine which is often more fatal than the storms — and that is trustworthiness. A person in whom you can trust, whose honour, faith, and truth you cannot doubt ; whom you could no more believe guilty of falsehood, meanness, or subterfuge than you could believe it dark at noonday ; who is true in word, deed, and [thought— such are they who keep for ever the love which they once win. Say not there are none sueh — there are. They may be rare, as all precious things are rare, and some minor faults of manner or fortune may at first conceal their merits from strangers; but be not discouraged — they do exist, and if not found more frequently, it may bo that you and I are ourselves to blame. Clement Dyer possessed this exceptional virtue, and Ismay had known now to discover and appreciate it, and this it was which had slowly but surely won his wife's heart, and won it for ever; and the very strength of this love supported her in her hour of need, and gave her power to endure the cross laid upon her ; when with a weary body, an aching heart, and a mind upon the rack, she was commanded to preserve a bright and cheerful countenance — to deceive him for his own sake; to utter white lies with still whiter lips. "Ob, God, I cannot do it I" she cried, lifting her tortured face to heaven, and then she prayed for strength, since, if she would not risk his life, so it must be. To her mistress in this state came Jessie, breathless and excited from her short interview with the doctor. "Oh, madam, Doctor Melluish is gone, and " " And what, Jessie 1 " "He knows where you were last night, madam 1 " " I know he does ; I told him," and the weary head fell back again with a sigh of pain. After a few moments Ismay spoke again. "Tell me, Jessie — how did we get home ? I remember nothing after the moment when my father died. How did I get to you, or how did you find me 7 " '• You came back to us, Reuben and me, for we waited in the porch, not knowing what else to do or where to go, and fearing we might lose you if we went away ; and you opened the door and came to us and said in a low voice, ' Let us go now ; it is all over.' " "Was that all 7" " Yes, madam, we knew by that that you had seen Mr Clare and that he was dead, and all the way home you were quite silent, and did not utter a word." Israay clasped her hands over her eyes. " And do you suspect nothing, Jessie 1" she cried. " Suspect, madam 7 Ido not understand. I know that you father is dead, and that you are unhappy, and also that we are not to talk about the matter for fear Sir Clement should hear it and it should make him worse." " True, and yet Dr Melluish suspects me." " Ah, madam, he is a man of the world, and I have heard that such are always disposed to see evil where it does not exist, but I am a simple girl. I know you and love you. Whatever you do is right in my eyes." "Ah, Jessie, Jessie; yours is an undeserved trust, I fear me," said her mistress much moved. "Is my faith, madam 7 " And it was so — a faith she could have died for. Happy those who can so love and trust, and happier still those who are thus loved and trusted. It gave Ismay a courage and strength that nothing else could have done, and she willingly suffered the girl to bathe her heated brow, to arrange the pillow comfortably, and finally to bring a cup of hot and strong tea— that universal panacea for all pernicious ills, from the Queen on the throne to the washerwoman among her soapsuds. i Having done so much unopposed, Jessie ventured upon a little advice. "Will you not try and sleep awhile, madam," she said. "You have had no rest all night, and I am sure your head aches." " And my heart, too, Jessie ; but all your remedies cannot minister to that." " It will be better presently, madam." The wise little woman was right. I believe that few of us know, or knowing, are willing to acknowledge, how much the mind and body act and react upon each other. Ismay fell asleep despite all her protestations, and awoke refreshed. The first bitterness of the struggle was over, and she could enter Clement's room, and talk, and smile, and cheer him without fee-ing that the task, great as it was, was yet too great for her strength. Later in the day Mr Steyne came to communicate the melancholy intelligence of Mr

Clare's death, and inquire into his daughter's wishes. It was a short statement he had td make, though many and speculative were the lawer's deductions therefrom. But Tsmay listened in silence, knowing what he did not— that not one fraction of the dead man's property, not one acre of land, or crisp bank note, would ever be hers ; and sad as she was she could not refrain from a slight smile when he related his plans for taking possession and ruling the Grange in her name. " Would it not be better," she gently suggested, "to wait until after the will is read 1 You know the property is nnentailed." " Certainly ; but there is no doubt it has all been left to^you — the only child, the only near relative-7-no doubt whatever." J ♦'You thought differently once, Mr Steyne, when we talked this subject over some months ago." True, I thought that woman Knighttra was i manoeuvring for a share of the property." " And has anything occurred since then to make you change your mind ? " " I cannot say there has, and yet " Ismay quickly interposed. "SirgOlement is ill, Mr Steyne, and the doctors have decided that he must not be spoken to on this or any other trying subject ; but I believe I what his wish would be, and I am certain that any such measures as you suggest would be as opposed to his feelingsj as they are painful to mine. Let me, therefore, beg you in his name and my own not to interfere in the matter until we at least know what ground|we have to go upon." Mr Steyne was not convinced. He knew, however, from old experience that it was useless to argue with a woman, and from the first hour of his acquaintance he had declared Lady Dyer to be the most obstinate of her sex. As he could not appeal to Sir Clement in support of his views, he was compelled for the time to bend to her wishes, but he did so with rather a bad grace. " We shall be giving all the power out of our own hands," he said, " Who knows how those people may profit by our weakness ? They may make off with every available article — clear the house from cellar to roof." " They have held almost entire possession there for some months now. My poor father was but little check upon them, I fancy. If they are dishonest, they have had ample opportunities for robbery, so that a few days more can make but little difference ; but if it did, if it were the certain loss of thousands, I would rather lose them, and let everything go on quietly at present." Mr Steyne looked as he felt — astonished and amazed, but Ismay could not forget that her father had confessed that Judith knew the fatal secret of his life. Without this she would rather not have coma in contact with her, but now she felt that she dare not ; so she ' persisted in her determination to let things take their course, and repeated to Mr Steyne bis former words about the " wisdom of patience." " You see I have learned to practise youf own lesson," she said smiling. And the lawyer went away discomfited. But events proved Ismay's wisdom, for when Mr Clare's will came to be opened, it was found that he had leftfall his property, landed and personal, to " Hugh, only and illegitimate son of his late nephew Hugh Glare — to him, his heirs and assigns for ever," with a very coasiderable life interest to each of the Knightons. And so the poor deaf and dumb boy became a great landed proprietor and a magnate of the first importance, and his mother gained her pomt — that for which she had sinned, and lied, and hated, and intrigued so long. Did it bring happiness ? I trow not. You may buy even gold too dear, and Judith, who would have sold her very soul for vengeance, now that she had exhausted her last vial of wrath would willingly have laid down her life for mere weariness. Meanwhile the occurrences at the Grange gave rise to great gossip in the country. A will so manifestly unjust caused general indignation. There is a wide-spread sense of justice in the English character, to which this successful intrigue of the Puritan and his sister proved most uncongenial ; and many a pacific landholder and quiet country squire called it "rascally shame," and Wondered whether the Dyers would sit down quietly under the injury, or whether they would do battle for the old man's estate. Mr Steyne was, as a matter of course, extremely'indignant. He took it as a sort of personal affront that any one should have dared to cheat one of his clients, especially to the tune of some £5000 a year, and his only consolation was that he was able constantly to declare : " I told you so I knew how it would be along. If they had Only listened to me 1 " &c. Which remarks appear to contain within themselves some secret element of comfort, as the intelligent reader must have frequently observed. But I believe that nothing disturbed Mr Steyne so much as Lady Dyer's complete indifference. 11 What, madam," he said vehemently to her one day, "do you mean to say that you will not interfere? Do you mean to say that you will let these people profit by the coerced will of an old man in his dotage, and not make an effort — a single effort — to convict and punish them ? " "You forget, Mr Steyne, that that old man was my father." "No, madam, I do not; that's the very thing that I da iwt forget. You are his heir, his legal, natural heir, and it is an act of injustice " Ismay hastily interposed. " My father may have had reasons for what he did, the will may not be so unjust as we suppose." " What reasons could he have had ? " persisted the lawyer, who had no inkling of the true state of the case. Ismay had no intention of enlightening him, though she could not but think that I the property thus left to the son of the j murdered man might have been meant as a ■ restitution. Strange and heathenish, it is true, but yet a proof of repentance for which she who had witnessed that painful J dexthbed was thankful, and tried to extract thence some [fragments of hope concerning the future, and perhaps^present, fate of the misguirVd old man. "What r.^^ons'could he have had?" said Mr Steynejjagain.

1 Ismay turned quickly upon him» ■ " I can't tell ; but it wak his wish, and that is enough for me. ' I never disputed it while he was alive. I will not dispute it now he is dead." " And what does Sir Clement say about the matter? " asked the solictor in high dudgeon. "As I have already told you, Mr Steyne, he knows nothing at ail about it. He does not even know of Mr Clare's death, and you may see that I have not ventured to put on mourning for him." This was true, though the lawyer had not noticed it ; but Ismay's dress of bright blue (Clement's favourite colour) was now a fresh offence in his eyes, though in truth >it mattered little to her what she wore, for her heart was too full of pain and anguish and suffering to admit of much room for external things, and she had willingly assumed a garb which she knew would please her husband without giving the colour' another thought. "Then you will not have the will disputed? It would certainlynot hold water; for if ever man was mad Mr Clare was during the last months of his life. We might throw the whole affair into Chancery, and drive them out in no time." Ismay shook her head. "If I could do it to-day I would not; no, no ; it must be as I say." And compelled at last to be content, the lawyer took his 'leave, thinking that of all unmanageable creatures women were decidedly j the worst, and husbands the most pitiable of mankind. And Ismay, thankful that the dreaded interview was over, went upstairs to Clement. "Is that you, my darling ? " he said fondly. " Where have you been all this time? " " Talking nonsense ; and I am heaitily tired of the occupation. How are you now ? " <l Better ; if I could get this pain out of my leg I believe I should soon be downstairs again." " Oh, I wish you were," Bighed Ismay. | "My darling, what is the matter ? You are j worn out and tired ; all this nursing is too , much for you. Ah, me 1 I often think I was a selfish old man over to tie you down to this ! fate." " Yes, you brought me from such a happy home, from among such genial companions," she said with a touch of bitterness. •• What wonder if I should regret them sometimes ; and you should then be jealous." •• My dear child I " " Oh, you wish to pretend that you are not jealous, but I know better. Do you so soon forget the polite attentions of Miss Kneigh-' ton and her charming brother 1 Ah, Clement, I believe that if .you had not come to my rescue when you did, I should "have been in a madhouse long ago, and now it eeerns you regret having saved me from such a fate." " Not regret it, my darling ; not regret it if you are sure that you do not ? " He was reclining on the couch when he said this, earnestly and with a passionate tenderness. Ismay was standing at the table pouring out his medicine. She brought it to him, stood by while he drank it, making a wry face as he did so, and then she put the glass down again and walked to the window. What was she debating in her own mind ? He could not tell, he watched her with some curiosity and wonder. It was not the first time lately that she had turned from him when he had spoken of his love, and he did not understand it. Could it be— ah I could it be that she indeed regretted the act that had made her his, and repented the life-long vows that she had taken ? As this painful fear shot through ,his mind he moved uneasily, and uttered a moan of pain. Ismay flew to his side. "What is the matter, Clement? Dear Clement, are you worse ? " He looked earnestly into her anxious face. «« Do you love me, Ismay ? Should you be very sorry if I were to die ? " " Die 1 Clement. What do you mean ? — why do you frighten me so ? are you worse ? I will send for Doctor Melluish — I will send to London. Oh, why do you look at me in that way ? You must not die— you shall not," and she leaned over him in an agony of fear. " Ah, Clement, you are smiling at me now. You did not mean it; you are not really worse?" " No, I am not any worse," he confessed. " It was a foolish question." "It frightened me," she said with a shudder, sitting down at his feet and trembling, while he, though half triumphant at its success, chid himself for his cruel manoeuvre, and begged very humbly for forgiveness. " I have a great mind not to grant it," she said. " Why did you try me so abominably ? " " Ah, that is my seirefc; but you have not yet answered my question." " What question ? " " Do you love me, Ismay ? " " And so you arc jealous after all, most sapient of husbands, and most shameless of tyrants 1 Why, do you think I should have married you at all, sir, if I had not suffered ; from that ridiculous infirmity you apeak of ? I but please to remember that we are an old | married couple now, and not a pair of lovers " "Very well," he said, and for tho first time she perceived that a real anxiety lay under the apparently playful question, i "Clement," she said, suddenly springing up and standing bef oTe him with her hands clasped and her large blue eyes turned upon his, "I don't know what you mean, why you ask the question, or look at me so strangely, but I am going to tell you the truth, the whole truth, without reservation or concealment. The day when I promised in God's sight to love and obey you I committed a pei jury; I did not love you; my sentiments towards you then were respect, esteem, and gratitude, but not love. For j some time after that I was simply in- i different, but that feeling did not last long. I learned to read my heart on that day when we nearly perished together in the waters at Lynn. I knew that I loved you, ( and from that time to this there has not been a day nor an hour of my life that has not taught me the value of the prize I have won. Yes, Clement, my love, my darling, my husband, I love you — I love you with every pulse of my heart, every fibre of my being. You are dearer to me than my life, Without you my existence would not be life. I love you — not as children love, to forget and love again, but as a woman who, having Btaked

her all upon a cast, Jf it should fail her, has no I other hope or care remaining. All of good in me— and that is little enough — is of your teaching. Without you I might have lived and died almost a heathen. You are my conscience, my better self. Without you my life would be but half a life, a body without a soul, and beyond all and above all and through all, Clement, I love you, I lovp you, I love you." The wiid words failed her, the strong power that had upheld deserted her, and she was glad to hide her flushed and quivering face on Clement's breast. Ah, happy Clement so to love, so to be loved ! A joy came to him there too great and also too deep for expression. He was fain to shut his eyes and murmur broken words of gratitude to a kind heaven. While still kneeling by him, with her face hidden, Ismay said : 11 1 don't know what makes me talk in thiß way now, but you -prill never doubt me again, will you Clement ? " " Never more, never more," he murmured ; but he did not know how terrible a trial of | his faith was even then at hand. • A few days after this Ismay made a great resolutfon. She had been debating the matter in her own mind for many days, and without being able to arrive at any conclusion, for the more she pondered over the late scene in her father's room, and bis last words, the more helpless she became. The whole affair and its surroundings haunted her, as so many things had done of late ; it haunted her till she got no peace night nor day, sleeping nor waking ; No ghost-fearing, ghost-be-leiving man had ever so hard a time of it as she, and all because old Mr Clare had told her to look in the East Rooms for the proofs of Robert's innocence' and his own guilt. Why she should have thought that this was a command she dared not disobey, I cannot pretend to say ; but so it was. She was not strong in health, so that things preyed more upon her mind than they would otherwise have done, and there was no one to whom she [could open her mmd — no one who by a few words of kind and wise advice could set the matter before her in a just and sensible light. If there had been — if Clement had been well enough and strong enough to take the matter in his own hands — all would probably have remained as it was, and this story might have ended here — or might never have been written. But Clement was ill, confined to his room and his sofa, and perfectly ignorant of all that went on around him ; and so it came to pass that Ismay formed the wild determination of making another secret journey to Westraeath Grange in order to seek for those papers in the East Rooms. In an earlier chapter of this history you will find a description of the " House in the Fells " and more especially of the East Rooms, but lest you should have"; forgotten it, I must remind you that these rooms lay at the back of the Grange ; they consisted of an entire wing, uninhabited and deserted for some reason unknown ; they were not shut away from the rest of the house by any formal arrangements of bars and bolts, but superstition had long marked them for its own, and the cowardice and credulity of theservants had left them to a long and undisturbed neglect. You must bear in mind also that these rooms had a private entrance, formed by a flight of steps from the garden ; that in one of them the luckless Hugh had met his death, and there his dead body had been found by his brother and cousin. Furthermore, it will not surprise you to learn that ever since that time — now some four years before — the East Rooms had gained a yet more evil celebrity. Strange sounds were heard in them ; footsteps were said to pace the dim corridors night by night ; and scuffling movements and wild cries disturbed their silence. In short, the rooms were haunted, and the people of the Fells told one another under their breath how that the scene of the murder was enacted there night after night, and that Hugh's sheeted and restless ghost walked, and still would walk there, until his murderer was brought to justice and hanged. But how that could be, seeing that Robert, whom they had all suspected of the crime, was in his grave by the sea, no one took the trouble to state. But after all the story was no worse than others of its kind, and ghosts, like fairies, will not bear too close an investigation. Such, then, was the castle that Ismay proposed to storm ; but to do her justice she knew nothing about the ghost, or she might have been less daring. As it was, howsver, her mind being fully made up, she called Jessie to her assistance, and held a cabinet council of ways and means. As might have been expected, the wise litle Cornish girl was very much averse to her mistress' plans. She remembered their last expedition, not yet a week old, and trembled at the idea of another. " Oh, my lady, do not go. Rememterhow ill you were before ; and I)r Melluish said " I "Dr Melluish is an oli woman," retorted j Ismay, after which climax of sarcasm Jessie felt that any further objections would be badly 'received ; yet she continued to put j in her protest until the very last moment, when Ismay impatiently told her that she (Ismay) had made up her mind, and would go, but that if Jessie were afraid she might stay at home and mend her stockings. After this there was, of course, nothing more to be said. Jessie was no more afraid than was her mistres3, and the pair, habited in their memorable dark cloaks, with Reuben as their escort, started on their adventures some hour or so before midnight on a warm April evening. Of course there was no moon. Ismay decided that this was an advantage, and certainly the starlight proved very efficient until they entered the shadow of the wood, where but for Reuben's topographical knowledge the two women would certainly have lost their way. As it was, he piloted them safely through, and they reached the Grange without any misadventure this time. ! They did not go near the front of the house, nor yet through the courtyard guarded by the mastiff Nellie, whose deep bay, however, they plainly heard. No ; they turned at once through the deserted gardens towards the East Rooms, for it was here that Ismay's errand Jed her, and it was here that she was determined to effect an entrance. Not with out emotion did she enter this portion of the grounds, into which she had scarcely penetrated since the night o£ the murder,

details of which she' now remembered with a painful acuteness, and she knew that Reuben shared her feelings, for he drew his hand across his eyes and groaned aloud. She had net told her companions the object of her visit, but the shepherd had a shrewd guess ; indeed, he had suspected Richard Clare from the first, and knew weli, though he asked no questions, the nature of his death-bed revelations. He strongly suspected, therefore, the object of Ismay's present visit; but he respected her reticence, and did not attempt to intrude upon it. It had been arranged between them before they left Elmsleigh that when Ismay gained admission through the glass door bo often mentioned, she should pursue her business alone, while her two companions waited without. Strongly as Shade Knighton and his sister were known to have fortified their castle, it was scarcely to be expected that they would leave so dangerous a portal as this unguarded, and Shade had indeed proposed to strengthen it by means of two or three iron bolts, but failing to do bo at the moment the, whole thing had escaped his memory, and the, door, loosely secured by a latch, yielded readily to Reuben's strong arms. One moment after — one moments pause, and Ismay stoo^ within the fatal room; doubly fatal, as she was yet to learn — fatal to her happiness, as it had been to Hugh's life. i An irrepressible shudder ran through her frame as the cold musty air greeted her, and she clung convulsively to Reuben's arm and looked breathlessly around. The moon, soniewhac past the full, had now risen, and threw a faint light into the deserted room, just it had done on her last visit. Now, too, as it had been then, the sweet breath of lilac and syringa was borne to her on the night a r .r, and the taseels of the laburnum waved over her head, while to complete the resemblance, the church clock from the distant village lung out the hour of 12. Sick at heart, the listener's hands grew cold, her knees trembled. So like it all was to the past that she half expected to see the hideous corpse and staring eyes of the dead man again ; but the paroxysm of terror passed off, and with a resolved heart, though nervous hand, she took the lighted lantern from her faithful squire, and bade him return to Jessie in the garden, and wait -for Jier. " Are ye sure ye can bear it, bairnie ? " he asked, with pitying tenderness. "Yes," she answered resolutely, "I am sure." He bowed his head and went down the steps, and she, turning her back upon human sympathy and the bright moonlight, entered the deserted and ghostly rooms. Mr Clare had not told her where to find the papers, but this did not disconcert her. There was but one place, she thought, where they could be effectually concealed, and that was in the large oaken cabinet. She proceeded j towards it, therefore, without delay or hesitataion, passing over as uhe did so a large dark spot in the floor, the nature of which awakened feelings too well explained,- But what was her consternation when she found the cabinet locked, knowing that she had not the key nor any means of procuring it ! One drawer alone was unfastened, and this was full of scraps and knick-knaokeries of various kinds, but no papers. She, however, was still occupied with these, hoping to find the key itself or some clue to her search, when she was startled by a distant noise. It was not a loud sound by any means, though the death trump could scarcely have startled her more, it was merely the shutting of a door, followed by the distant echo of footsteps coming one by one along the empty corridor. Ismay stood motionless, petrified into stone by sudden fear. She watched the door of the room in which she was with dilated eyes, she heard the steps approach it, she saw it open slowly, slow!}'-, and with a sudden instinct and courage for which she could never account, she dropped her long cloak over the lantern in her hand, and walked steadily forward until she found herself face to face with Judith Knighton. (To bo continued. )