A COUNTRY SWEETHEART.

Otago Witness, Issue 2104, 21 June 1894, Page 39

A COUNTRY SWEETHEART.

By BORA RUSSELL, Author of "Footprints in the Snow," "The Broken Seal," "The Track of the Storm," "The Vicar's Governess," "The Last Signal," "His Will and Hers," &c.

[All Eights Kesebved.]

Chapter XXVIII. A Discovery. OMEN in general have a strong interest in jewels, and I in stories connected with them, and Mrs Temple, of Woodlea, wao no exception to the rale. Thus, the day after Kathleen Weil's diamond case had been decided,

sh« was reading it in the

morning papers, when her husband's nephew John Temple entered the breakfast room.

He shook hands with her and then with his uncle in his usual pleasant fashion, but had scarcely begun his breakfast when Mrs Temple commenced talking about the actress's diamonds.

"There is such a strange case in the papers this morning," she said, addressing John Temple; "an actress, Kathleen Weir, has had her diamonds stolen in a most extraordinary manner."

John Temple was in the act of helping himself to some toast from the toast rack as Mrs Temple made the remark, and for a moment his hand remained suspended, and a dusky wave of colour rose to his face.

"Do you know her ? " asked Mrs Temple quickly, instantly noticing these Bigns of agitation.

' No," answered John Temple, a little huskily, and then he took the toast, bat left it untasted on his plate.

"Have they recovered the diamonds, then ? " asked the squire.

" No, I suppose not ; her maid had taken them, and substituted false ones in the same settings. Bat here is the. account ; you had better read it." And Mrs Temple handed the newspaper to her husband.

John Temple said nothing ; he began slowly eating his breakfast, but apparently without appetite, and then he opened another newspaper and turned to the column containing the trial of Margaret Johnstone for diamond stealing.

" So," he said, a little scornfully, after he had read it, " this young lady, Miss Kathleen Weir, seemingly was tired of some of her diamonds, and wished to dispose of them 1 " " Perhaps she was tired of the man who gave them to her/ replied Mrs Temple. "Very likely," said John, with a little shrag of his shoulders, "of the poor fool who perhaps impoverished himself to give her gauds."

"And then perhaps he also tired of her,' retorted Mrs Temple.

Again John Temple shrugged his shoulders and sat somewhat moodily glancing over the newspapers, while his uncle's wife followed his movements with her handsome dark eyes. He interested her, this good-looking man who had taken her dead boy's place, and having him at Woodlea made the house seem less dull. Sba had a strong craving for excitement, and to her anything was better than the wearisome company of her old husband. And she could not understand John Temple. He was always gentle and friendly in his manner to her, but he was never confidential; and this annoyed her. Unconsciously almost to herself she wag beginning to regard him with warmer feelings than she would have cared to own. At all events she was jealous of him, and half believed that for his sake May Churchill had left her home.

So when breakfast was over, and the squire after his usual fashion had retired to his library, Mrs Temple went up to John, who was still reading the newspapers, and lightly touched his shoulder

" If the truth were known, sir," she ?aW, smiling, " I believe you could tell us something about Miss Kathleen Weir's diamonds."

Again a flaßh rose to John Temple's face, but this time it was an angry one.

" What makes you say such a thing ? " he answered quickly.

" Because I was watching you when you first heard of the robbery. Ah, my nephew John, I fear you are not as good as you look 1 "

" You have a most brilliant imagination my handsome aunt 1 "

"Do not call me by that odious name ! Bat perhaps I have more discernment than you give me credit for."

" I gave you credit for every good quality ; discernment among the rest."

Mrs Temple nodded her head, and stood by his side looking down at his face. She saw he was more annoyed than he cared to show, and she knew there must bo some cause for this ; for, as a rale, John Temple was very even tempered. Bat she did not say anything more about the diamonds, and after a moment or two she turned away, and John Temple was left to his own reflections.

His expression changed after she left the room, and he frowned, stirred uneasily, and once more read over the evidence given at Miss Kathleen Weir's jewel case. And a bitter losk came over his face as he did so — a look of contempt and scorn — and flinging down the newspaper, he went to the window of the room, and stood looking out moodily at the wide park, which one day would be his own.

" I have paid pretty heavily for a boy's folly," he muttered; "and some day, my sweet flower, it may fall on you."

And this thought stung him sharply. He loved his Mayflower, as he called her, with a true and passionate love, and he would have given up almost anything for her sake. Her beauty, her tenderness, and her devotion to himself had entirely won his heart. B afore he had met May Churchill he had been almost indifferent to the consequences of the "boy's folly," which now galled him so deeply. Bat he little guessed how near the shadow of it was stealing across his path. Yet this knowledge' came to him only the day after the conversation about the actress's diamonds bad taken place between himself and his uncle's wife. He went down to breakfast on this particular morning rather earlier than usual, but the letters and newspapers had already arrived, and placed near his usual seat at the table was a large letter directed in the now well-known handwriting of Miss Webster.

He knew that this would contain an enclosure from May, and so he quietly put the envelope into his pocket without any comment.

"More bills?" said Mrs Temple, looking at him with a curious little smile.

"I am afraid so," ho answered, and his uncle glanced up at him from over his newspaper with tome uneasiness in his expression as he spoke.

John Temple, however, did not seem at all disconcerted. He was always glad to hear from May, and the very fact that he had a letter in his pocket from her gave him a feeling of quiet happiness. He therefore talked cheerfully during the rest of the meal, but as soon as it was over he left the room, carrying his letters away with him, and Mrs Temple looked after him as he went. Let us follow him upstairs to the small suite of rooms which had been set apart for him by his uncle's wish. These consisted of a sitting room where he smoked, a bedroom adjoining, and a little ante-room, whioh had a stone balcony overlooking the park. John Temple went into his sitting room, whioh opened from a corridor, and having pushed the door nearly close behind him, he pulled out his letter, and began reading May's fond tender words with a smile. Then suddenly hia face darkened. ." We have all been greatly interested," he read, "about a diamond robbery, which I dare say you have seen in the newspapers. The maid of the popular and, I believe, pretty actress, Miss Kathleen Weir, had stolen her mistress's diamonds and substituted false ones instead of them. How we came to hear so ' much about it is that Mr Webster, the nephew of the Misses Webster was one of the barristers in the case for the prosecution, and Miss Kathleen Weir was so pleased by the way Mr Webster conducted it that she invited him to her house. He aayß she is handsome and clever, but not exactly what he calls • nice ' ; but all the same I think he rather admires her, and their acquaintance seems to progress in spite of the alarm of his dear old aunts 1 Did you ever see her ? Some time when you are in town— and when is that dear time to be ? — you must take me to see her act."

John Temple went on frowning as he read these innocent words. Here was a mine under his feet indeed I He know the nature of Kathleen Weir — the outspoken, frank nature that was just as likely as not to confide her whole history to a stranger. What if Bhe told Webster ot her early marriage, and he repeated it to his aunts ? He had warned the Misses Webster to keep his marriage to May a secret, and May did not bear his name. Still in some moment the old ladies might reveal it to their nephew, and then no one could tell where the mischief might, end.

John Temple flung: the letter on the table and began walking restlessly up and down the room, thinking what it would be best to do. " She must leave Pembridge Terrace at once," he decided. Bat, then, how could this be arranged ? If he went up to town he might meet Webster, and May was too young and girlish to go about hoase-3eeking alone. "That confounded woman," he thought bitterly of Kathleen Weir, " is for ever in my way." He was full of impatience, chafing against fate and the mad folly of his youth. The door of the bedroom beyond was standing open, and further still he could see from the balcony window of the ante-room a green patch of the park. He went into this anteroom, opened the window, and stepped out on the balcony, still cursing his ill-lack. He did not see as he leaned over the balustrade that someone had entered his sitting room, on the table of which the letter from May was lying open.

Yet this was so. Moved by curiosity, and a more Bubtle feeling still, Mrs Temple had followed him upstairs shortly after he bad left the breakfast room. She sometimes— not often — went into his sitting room if she had anything she wished particularly to say to him, and something prompted her to go Into it now. The door was very slightly ajar, and she pushed it open aud entered the room, and in a moment her eyes fell on the open letter on the table.

She made a step forward and looked at it ; then she read the words with which it commenced.

" My dearest, dearest John."

Her breath came fast., her heart beat quickly, and she put out her hand as if to take it up, but glancing through the open bedroom door she saw John Temple leaning on the balustrade of the ante-room balcony beyond, and her hand shrank back.

But again she looked at the letter — looked at the address in Pembridge Terrace, which

was neatly printed on the paper. She noted this in an instant ; but as she did so John Temple turned his head, and Mrs Temple quickly movod back, aud left the roonij, without him having ever been conscious that she had been there.

But she had made a discovery — a discovery which filled her heart with jealous anger. As she walked on to her room she decided in her own mind that it was the missing girl, May Churchill, who had addressed John Temple as " My dearest, dearest John I"

" Shameful 1 " she thought bitterly ; " absolutely shameful ; and what a liar he is ! Bat his uncle shall know —he shall bitterly repent the part he has played." She walked up and down her room in a state of the greatest excitement. It seemed to her as if John Temple had done her some personal wrong, which he certainly had not. She bad allowed herself to be attracted by him to fill the waste ia her hear!; — but he had' never for a moment forgotten she washis uncle's wife. He had pitied her in her grief about her dead boy, and his manner wa3 always gentle and kiad to women ; bat he did not evea admire her — she was too excitable, too uncertain in her temper, for his taste.

"But I must bring it home to him," she now told herself ; " it's no use striking until I can bring it home. I will send for young Henderson."

She accordingly sat down at her desk, and began a letter to Henderson. At first she thought of asking him to the Hall, but afterwaidsremembered that this mightlook strange to her ha3bind aud Job a Temple. No, she must meet him somewhere about the country, and she paused, pen in hand, thinking where it should be.

She decided in a few minutes, and then addressed the following letter to Henderson :—: —

" Daar Mr Henderson, — Will you meet me to-morrow in the lane that leads to the West Lodge, at half-past 3 o'clock 1 I shall be walking, as I do not wish anyone to know of this appointment, and if I am not there at the time I mention, it will only be that it is absolutely impossible that I can manage to go. la that case, I will go on the following afternoon, at the same time. At last I have something to tell you on the subject we talked of before ; it is almost a certainty this time. 11 In haste, yours very truly.

" B. Temple."

She took this letter with her own hands to the nearest village post office, not cariDg to place it among the other letters in the post bag lying on the hall table, and as she was returning from her errand she encountered John Temple on the road, who was also going to the post office.

Her face flashed deeply as she met him, and a scarcely represaible feeling of anger rose in her heart ; while John Temple, ignorant of the cause, looked at her with his usually pleasant smile.

"So you are taking a walk 1 " he said.

She hardly answered him. She was a very passionate woman, and could not hide her feelings. She stood looking at him, burning to accuse him of what she deemed his treachery and deception. "And are you," she said presently, very bitterly, " carrying a letter to some hidden lady-love — a letter that you do not wish the household to see 1 " John Temple was conscious that he slightly changed colour. "You are always accusing me of something or other," he said. " Perhaps I have glaod cause," she retorted, with such marked ' emphasis that John Temple felt somewhat uneasy. •' I hope not," he replied ; " I have always done my best to avoid offending you." Mrs Temple deigned to make no reply. She gave a little toss 6f her head, and walked on her way, and John went hia, reflecting what a sad thing it was for a woman to have a bad temper 1 And all the rest of the day it wag the same tbiDg. When Mrs Temple spoke to him at all it was either in taunting or bitter words. Her husband even noticed this, and aßked why she spoke thus to his nephew. •' You will soon learn," she answered, and the squire said nothing more. He was accustomed to the changeful temper of his handsome wife, but all the, same he was sorrj that her manner had changed to John Temple. And the next morning at breakfast John noticed how restless she was. There was some disturbing element in her mind he plainly saw, though ,he had no idea it was caused by himself. He had, as we know, his own anxieties and troubles, but he never dreamed of Mrs Temple being connected with th?m.

In the meantime at Stourton Grange her letter had caused the strongest excitement in young Henderson's r^reast, for she had discovered something about May Churchill hq told himself; something connected with Temple, no doubt. He waited impatiently nntil the time she had appointed to meet him came, and then walked to the lane that led to the West Lodge at Woodlea Hall. Here he waited nearly half an hour before Mrs Temple appeared. At last, however, he saw her and went eagerly forward to meet her.

" You got my lettef ? " said Mrs Temple, as she s^ook hands with him.

"Yes, this morning," answered HenderBon quickly, and his brown face flashed as he spoke. " You have something to tell me?"

Mrs Temple gave a little scornful laugh.

" I have discovered, I think, where the beauty that all you men raved about is hidden ; but I must be sure," she said. " You guess what I mean ? A letter came for John Temple yesterday morning — a passionate love letter — from this address," and as she spoke she drew out tho address she had seen on May's letter to John, and placed it in Henderson's hand. "I am almost Bure this letter was from Miss Churchill."

"Did you see it?" asked Henderson eagerly, and with quiveriog lips.

" I saw the first linos of it. It was lying open on a table ia his room when I went in, and I have no doubt it was from her. Bat I want you to find ouc this : to go up to town and see the girl yourself — I mean, to watch the house till she comes out of it. Do not speak to her or call upon her, or perhaps she would again disappear. But if what I believe is true, John Temple will bitterly repent the gross deception he has practised on us all."

" And you believe," he said, hoarsely, " that— that May Churchill— id anything to Temple 1 "

Mrs Temple laughed bitterly. " I believe she is everything to him," she answered. •• The letter I saw began, •My dearest, dearest John.' " A fierce oath broke from Henderson's lips.

"If I believed he had wronged this girl " he began. "He may have married her," replied Mrs Temple, scornfully. "At all events if she ' wrote that letter there is no doubt of the connection between them."

"Some other woman may have written it.

" That is what I want you to find out. Will you go to town and learn the truth, and when ? "

"I will go to-morrow; no, I will go tonight. I will be at the bottom of this, and if ifc is as you think, Mr Temple will find his mistake."

"Do not act like a fool, and get into any trouble about her. Bat find out, and then write to me at once all particulars. If you see her, follow her at a distance, and ask at the nearest shops what name she goes by. Keep ;the address safe, and now good-bye."

" I am not likely to lose the address," answered Henderson, sullenly, as he placed it in his pocket book. " Good-bye, Mrs Temple ; I will let you know what 1 find out, and then "

"Do nothing until you have heard from me. Good-bye. I believe now you are on the right track."

Chap tbr XXIX. Mrs John.

Henderson parted from Mrs Temple with every nerve in his body throbbing with exoitement. In spite of May Churchill's rejection of his love, hia unreasonable passion for her remained unchanged. Thero were times whan he felt he hated her — when be oursed her memory, and blamed her for the undying remorse that overshadowed his soul. But for her, he often told himself, the miserable girl who had loved him too well might have been living still, and he himself free from the galling chains held by his groom, Jack Reid.

But if he hated May, it was a sort o£ loving hatred, while his feelings to John Temple were of the bitterest description. He believed that but for Temple, May would ultimately have become his wife ; and as ho strode down the lane after carting with Mrs Temple, he seemed to see again in his mental vision John lying at May's feet in Fern Dene in the early days of their first acquaintance.

And that he should have induced her to leave her horne — that she was writing to him in the terms described by Mrs Temple — positively seemed to madden him.

" Bat it may be some other woman," he told himself, as he had told Mrs Temple. Bat at all events he wonld find ont ; and on his return to the Grange, to his mother's great surprise, and not a little alarm, he told her he was about to start for London in a few hours.

Hidden anxiety and grief had wrought their baneful work now on Mrs Henderson's face. The terrible knowledge of her son's crime, the awful dread of its punishment, were ever present in her mind. She had grown old before her time, and watched Henderson with unceasing eyes of fear. Thus when she heard of this sudden journey she could scarcely suppress her nervousness. Henderson, too, was moody and reserved, and hurried on his preparations for departure.

"Will you be long away 1 " inquired Mrs Henderson.

" But a few days at moßt," he answered, and he told tho same story to his groom* Jack Reid.

"This is something sudden," said Reid, looking at him suspiciously. It crossed the man's mind, indeed, that bis master was about to leave Stourton for a much longer time than he stated.

" I'll be back probably the day after tomorrow," said Henderson, with affected carelessness.

And Reid felt he could say nothing more, for he had grown certainly more respectful in his manner to his master after the episode of the shooting of Brown Bess.

" A man who would try his hand at that kind of thing. might do it again," self-argued tho groom ; and Reid was not one who cared to be shot at if he could help it.

So Henderson left Stourton, and having arrived in town, he went for the night to an hotel, and the next morning drove in the direction of the address which he had received from Mrs Temple. And fate actually favoured him, for, quitting hie cab before he reached Pembridge Terrace, be walked up tho torrace, and after passing Miss Webster's house for a few yards h« turned back again, and as he did so he saw in a moment, descending the steps in front of the house, a figure and face that he remembered only too well.

It was May Churchill, and closely following her came the prim, neat form of Miss Eliza Webster. They opened the garden pate and then went on the street, and Henderson was so near them that bad May turned her head she must have recognised him. But she web smiling and talking to Miss Eliza, and never looked back, but Henderson distinctly saw the face that had cost him so dear. He paused a minute or two and then slowly followed the two ladies. They went on to Westbourne Grove, and into a large bonnet and hat shop at the corner of the street. Henderson lingered outside at a little distance from the shop, and after waiting about a quarter of an hour May and Miss Eliza once more appeared, and turned their footsteps homewards. Again Henderson followed them ; bis heart throbbing violently aod his eyes never leaving May's form. They went straight back to the address Mrs Temple had given him, and Henderson now knew Mrs Temple's surmise had been correct. John Temple had persuaded her to leave her home and had hidden her away, and Henderson could scarcely suppress the passionate rage that Bwelled in his breast when he thought of it. He was tempted to 50 on— to speak to May and heap reproach on her head. But he knew he had no right to do this. She might be John Temple's wife for anything

he knew, and what good could his hard words do 1 None, he felt. He might — he would -punish John Temple, but what could he do to the girl 1 With a curse between his bitten lips he turned away, and walking back to the shop he had seen May and Miss Webster enter and leave, he went in under the pretence of buyiDg a bonnet for bis mother.

" I want a bonnet for an old lady," he said to a pretty, smiling shopwoman; adding immediately afterwards : " Who were the two ladies who have just been here — I saw them go out— a young lady and an old one 1 "

The pretty shopgirl smiled pertly, and instantly understood the motive of the purchase of the bonnet for "an old lady," by this handsome young man.

" You mmn Mrs John, I suppose, sir ? " she said. " Sha is a very handsome young lady, and it is astonishing how many gentlemen admire her and ask about her, but she is certainly very pretty."

" And doea she live near here ? " inquired Henderson.

" She lives in Pembridge Terrace with the Misses Webster. She is a newly-marriei lady, but I believe her husband is a good deal away. She is a customer of ours, and is often in the shop." " And her name is 1 " " Mrs John. Rather a strange name, isn't it, sir 1 "

" Mra John," repeated Henderson beneath his breath, but he did nothing more. He understood it all now ; she had run away with John Temple, and was called Mrs John, and he needed no further information.

He forgot all about the bonnet for his mother until the shopwoman reminded him of it.

" Choose what you like," he said ; " the lady is elderly — my mother — and a widow."

"But does she wear a widow's bonnet, sir ? "

" I think not," answered Henderson, indifferently. " Something dark and good. What will it cost?"

This matter was soon settled. The shopwoman chose a bonnet, and Henderson paid for it, and then drove back straight to his hotel. When he arrived there he at once addressed the following letter to Mrs Temple :

11 Deab Mrs Temple, — You were quite right. May Caurchill is living at the address you gave me in Pembridge Terrace, and is called Mrs John. I saw her leave the house and go into a shop, accompanied by an old woman. I went into the shop after they left it, and ene of the girls there told me that she (May) was a Mrs John and that she was a newly-married woman, which I greatly doubt. I shall return to Stourton to-day, and go to-morrow morning with my news to Woodside farm. May's father shall know how his daughter has been treated. I remain, yours sincerely, T. Henderson.

Tbis letter reached Woodlea Hall on the following morning, and when the squire opened the letter bag, as was his wont., he rose and placed Henderson's letter in his wife's hands.

" Here is a letter from London for you, Rachel," he said.

Mrs Temple's handsome face flushed, and then grew pale. She had not expected to hear for a few days, at least, from Henderson, yet she knew this letter was from him. Sbe gave one glance of her dark eyes at John Temple's face, who was sitting at bis usual place at the breakfast table, and than withouta word she rose and left the room, carrying her letter in her hand.

But she was scarcely outside the door when she opened it. She read it in the hall, and a hard and bitter look came over her expression as she did so. She kad been prepared for this news, yet it fell like a fresh blow upon her heart. That subtle feeling, whose existence she would not even admit, filled her with indignation against John Temple.

"He shall leave here and go to his Mrs John," she whispered to herself vindictively. " I will wait until Poilip leaves the breakfast room, and then I shall go to him and tell him all. John Temple had better have trusted me — now he shall have to pay the fullest price for his folly."

And she only waited until she heard her husband go, as he was accustomed to do, into the library after breakfast before she descended the staircase with Henderson's letter in her hand. She went direct to the library and entered it, without knocking at the door, and the equire, who was sitting before his writing table, looked up as she did so.

" Were you not well at breakfast, Rachel ? " he said kindly ; " or," he ad-Jed, noticing the expression of her face, " did anything in that letter that you got vex you 1 "

11 1 was not ill," she answered, " bub this letter confirmed some shameful ncw3 that I have come to tell you about John TeraDle." " Shameful news about John Temple 1 " repeated the squire, pushing b ick his chair and looking straight at his wife's pale, determined face.

"At least I call it shameful," she went on, " to induce a country girl to leave her home— a daughter of one of your own tenants — to deceive you, his beat friend 1 Philip, you remember" the girl, May Churchill, who ran away ? I suspected at the time that John Temple had something to do with it, and now* I know! Tois gitl is. living at an address in London, and is called there Mrs John, and she writes to him here, and if she is not married to him she ought to be — and I do not believe she is."

" I will never believe this 1 " said the squire, rising in grsat emotion, hia aged face growing pale. " What ! John Temple wrong May Ohurc^ill ; the little girl I have known since she was a child — the daughter of a man like Churchill, whom I respect, and who has lived on my land siace he was a lad ; and his father before him ? Rachel, what folly is this ? Who has been telling you this wicked — this insane story ? "

"My own eyes told me first," answered Mrs Temple in a hard, concentrated voice, " and every word that I have told you is true. Do you remember when be used to get large letters, which he said were from some late landlady of his, and contained his unpaid bills ? I suspected at that time he was not speaking the truth, and a day or two after I learned this was so. He got one of thoss large letters at breakfast, and he put it in his pocket unread. I said at the time, ' More bills ? ' and he answered, ' I am afraid so.' Well, after the breakfast was over I wentup-

stairs, and passed his sitting-room door, and it was standing ajar. I wanted to speak to him about going to call at Homelands, and I went into the room. He was not there, but an open letter was lying on the table. I went up to the table and read the first lines ; it began, • My dearest, dearest John 1 ' "

"But what of that? 1 ' said Mr Temple angrily. "You had no right to read or look at his letters, for one thing ; and for another, how could you tell by whom this letter was written ? "

" I looked at the printed address on the paper, and I remembered it, and just at that moment I saw through the open bedroom door that John Temple was on the balcony of the little ante-room beyond. So I turned and left the sitting room, and he never knew that I had been there. Then I considered what to do, for I was determined to bring this home to him, and I suddenly remembered young Henderson, of Stonrton Grange "

11 What on earth had he to do with it ? " interrupted the squire.

"He had been in love — was in love, like the rest of them — with this girl," answered Mm Temple, scornfully, "and so I used him for my purpose. He had spoken to me once about his suspicions that Miss Churchill had eloped with John Temple, or rather that he .had persuaded her to run away from home, so that be might join her afterwards. So I wrote to ask Henderson to meet me "

"You wrote to ask young Henderson to meet you 1 "

" Yes, what harm was there in that ? I met him near the West Lodge for a few minutes the day before yesterday, and I gave him the address I bad seen on Miss Churchill's letter to John Temple, and I asked him to go up to town and find ont the truth about the girl. He went the same night, and this is the letter I received from him this morning." She handed the equire Henderson's letter with a trembling hand as she spoke, and her husband's hand trembled also as he took it. Then he read the words it contained, and a terriblj shocked look came over bis face. "If this be trne" he said with faltering lips. •' It is true," answered Mrs Temple, positively. " Don't you remember she ran away, and then after a week or so he said he was going abroad? He went no doubt to join her; she was with him all those weeks abroad, and then he must have brought her back to town, and no doubt would have gone up from time to time to see her. The whole thing is perfectly plain." " Then in that case all I can say is that it is a shameful affair I Most shameful — but he may have married her — probably has, and if he has not done so, he must." Mr Temple went hastily to the bell of the room and rang it as he spoke, and when the footman answered it, he said sharply and distinctly :

" Ask Mr John Temple to come here at once ; tell him I wish to see him."

The footman disappeared with his message, and Mrs Temple stood still. She was excited, pale, and determined, and she did not flinch when she heard John Temple's step outside the door.

Then he entered and looked at his uncle.

" You wish to see me, Johnson says ? " he began, but something in the squire's face told him it was no ordinary message that he had received.

" Yeß," answered the squire, " I wish to see you, for I haye just heard a tale which, if it be true, will make me bitterly regret that I ever asked you under my roof."

" And what ie it 1 " asked John Temple, and he drew himself up to his full height.

••It is that you induced .that young girl May Churchill to leave her home ; that you took her abroad with you ; and that she is now living in London — I presume under your protection — and is called Mrs John. Now answer, is this true 7 "

' A dark wave of colour spread to John Temple's very brows.

"Who has told you this?" he said, looking steadily at his ancle. " My wife has just told me," answered the squira. "It seams she suspected this, and she saw a letter lying on your table bearing a crtain address in town. Sha told young Henderson of this — who it seems is, or was once, a lover of this poor girl's — and she gave him the address, and here is the letter she has received this morning."

The squire handed Henderson's letter to John Temple as he spoke, and John read it through and then laid it down quietly on the writing table before him. " A truly honourable transaction altogether, I muEt say," he said, scornfully fixing his grey eyes on Mrs Temple's face. " It is true," she answered defiantly.

"True or false, it was an action that I thought no gentlewoman could have been guilty of. Wnat I to send one man to watch and spy on another man's actions 1 to read a letter not intended for your eyes I I could not have believed you capable of such conduct."

Mrs Temple's eyes fell before John's reproaches, and a vague feeling crept into her heart that she bad left her work undone.

"It is useless to talk thus," said the squire, with some dignity of manner. " My wife should rot have read your letter, and I have told her so ; but this does not alter the matter. You have not; denied this grave charge, and if you have done this girl any wrong— a girl I have known since her childhood — you must undo that wrong aB far as lies in your power. I mean you must marry her, if you have not already done so."

John Temple made uo answer to this ; he stood there, facing his uncle, and Mrs Temple watched him furtively.

"Have you married her, or have you not ? " urged the squire.

«• I decline to answer that question," theu said John Temple. " But you said you had regretted that you had asked me to stay under your roof. You need regret it no longer, for I will leave to-day."

•• But your leaving wiil not undo the wrong that you have done. Think for a moment who this poor girl is : the daughter of one of my oldest and most respected tenants; a beautiful girl, of blameless character hitherto, who perhaps in her foolish love for you has wrecked her young life. John, you are my nephew, you are my heir, and I entreat you to act now as an

honourable man should do, and make her your wife." Still John Temple made no promise. " You have read in that letter," continued the squire, pointing to Henderson's open letter lying on the writing table, " how this young man is going to her father. Can you suppose that a respectable man like Churchill will, for a moment, sit down tamely under such an insult 7 No, you will have to answer to him for your conduct, as well as to me." But at this moment a rap came to the room door, and the squire paused. " Come in 1 " he called, and the footman entered. "If you please, sir," he said, addressing the squire, "Mr Henderson, of Stourton Grange, and Mr Churchill have called, and wish very particularly to see you." " Where are they ? " asked the squire. " In the hall, sir," replied the footman. " You can show them in here," said the squire, and he looked at John Temple as he spoke. But John Temple made no sign; he had grown a little pale, and that was all. (To be continued.)