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Poverty Bay Herald, Volume X, Issue 2026, 15 September 1883, Page 1 (Supplement)

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ETTIE'S ERROR; * AN AUSTRALIAN STOIIY. BY HAROLD W. H. STEPHEN.

(Continued.) No, he dared not keep silent, but this lv would do : he would, after the deed had bee* executed, openly inform John that it was lm intention to bring the matter under th< notice of the coroner (who was, also, th-police-magistrate) ; and then, if the unfortu nate man were wise, he would fly the country before a warrant for his arrest could bexecuted. He would have three clear day.' start, and might get to Melbourne in thirty hours, and then take ship for some port oi South America, where no extradition treaty existed. To this effect, Mr. Grant expressed himseii to James Squires, whilst they were smokinp an after- breakfast pipe, and before the ladies had made their appearance. James, as in duty bound, _ sought to dis suade him froni divulging the secret. 11 Surely," he said, " you are in hono: bound to. silence. The facts were mad' known to you professionally, and should be regarded as confidential." " You must allow me to be the best judge M>f professional etiquette," replied the solici %or. " Besides, no etiquette in the world would justify the with-holding of such n secret. My duty to society demands of me to speak, and speak I must, and will." " Will nothing persuade you to silence? " " Nothing. I can understand your desirt to shield your cousin, and save the family from disgrace, and I commend you for it ; but I am not so situated, and God forbid that I ever should be t It would be a sort: struggle, if I were, but I think, even if if were the ca3e of my own brother, I should tell the truth." James smiled. 11 You doubt it ? Well, no man can tell how he would act under such circumstances. In this instance, however, I tell you plainly, all I will do is give your cousin timely notice." " Since you are so decided, I think it would be as well for you not to let the ladies know of your intention," said James. "Of course I shall not ! It is not likely that I should be such an ass as to voluntarily expose myself to their tears and solicitations." " By the way, would it not be well* before saying anything to John, to look up that diary, and read the entry yourself ? " " I should like to ; but we shall scarcely find it." " I don't know," said James; "it may be in the despatch box still. I do not think Miss Sprod made any mention of the diary to my cousin. See now, that box usually stands on a writing-table in the smokingroom. I will take some means to ensure John's absence for a few minutes, and thor; you can open tha box, and see if it is there. You cannot mistake it, as it is an ordinarj Lett's Diary, with the year printed on the cover." "So be it," replied" Mr. Grant. " But there is something else 1 wish to say before we go inside. Are you aware that, by Captain Squires' will, you succeed to all his property, in the event of John's dying without dsaue ? 1; \ " Yes," said James. " What then ? John is as healthy as I am." "True, but his life is not so certain," said the solicitor significantly. • James started violently, but spoke no word. " It is well to be prepared for the worst," continued Mr. Grant, " and, although I think it exceedingly improbable that 'your cousin would be convicted of murder, still he might be ; and, in such a case/the property would come to you, subject only to an allowance of five hundred a year to his widow. But, if ho were sentenced to imprisonment, the case would be different, and the Crown would probably place the estate in trust for his wife. Now I think it would be better for all parties that there should be no trouble in thi? matter ; especially as I don't mind "telling you in confidence, I hope that your cousin will succeed in getting away. Ii should asr-sign the place to you, subject to the payment of the allowance to his wife, and a similar allowance to himself. That would get over all difficulties, and leave the property under your management. Of course, such an assign.jpent would not hold good against his chil'Jlren, should he have any, but would merely be valid during his lifetime." "And shall yon suggest this *o him?" asked James, his heart beating wildly at the prospect. " I think so, if I fiud him at all amenable to reason." But James suddenly remembered that John, being innocent, would never consent to such an arrangement — still the conversation bore its fruit in time. The deed of Reparation was finished and executed by Ettio that afternoon, and then Mr. Grant and James Squires set out for Buokinburra. CHAPTER K. A KNOCK-DOWN BLOW. " There in Buckinburra," cried Charlie Dawson to Miss Davidson, as they came Within view of the homestead. *"What a pretty place!" exclaimed the young lady — and she was right, it was decidedly a pretty place. There was nothing grand about the view ; but it looked homelike and pleasing; for the house waa surrounded by trees, and overgrown by crcopers — now in full bloom — and the winding river, with itn steep red banks, formed an appropriate back-ground to the picture. John met them at the gate, and stared in amazement at his cousin. " Here's your little girl," cried Charlie. 11 1 hope the nursery is ready." "Yea, cousin," said Miss Davidson, jumping lightly to the ground ; " I am really the little girl who was consigned to you, as Mr. Dawson said." John took her offered hand, but was still too surprised to speak. "Here's your doll, Misa Davidson," said Charlie, handing it to her. " I hope you wifl not forget to thank' your cousin for his thddghtfulnesa in commissioning me to buy }t for you."

4," Oh, no— l am really much obliged," said the young lady ; " and the doll is a beauty." " And are you really my cousin, Matilda Davidson?" asked John, at last finding speech. "Yes, I am^-only you must not call ny ' Matilda,' you know— everybody calls -mo Tilly." " Come into the house, cousin," said John ; " Charlie will see that your traps arc brought, round directly. And how did you get on with Charlie ? " he asked, when that gentleman hail driven oil to the stables. " Very well indeed— we made friends at once." "Did he fcc'l you of my great trouble? I ask, because otherwise I shall have to explain why my wife is not here to meet you." " He told me everything, and I am so sorry ior you, cousin. But Mr. Dawson has a letter for you which may clear up the mystery. Now, run away, and get it. I know you must be dying to read it. Tray don't mind leaving me to walk up to the house alone — besides, I want to go into the orchard, and eat a peach." Thus adjured, John hastened after Charlie, and secured the precious epistle, which he proceeded to read on the spot. When he had finished, he made use of some naughty words, which I may not put ou record. "What's up now?" asked Charlie, who wp.s standing by his side, filling his pipe. "Just read this, will you, and tell me what you think of it." " From the old "un," said Charlie, as he glanced at the letter. "It doesn't start too politp, anyway. Well," he continued, when ho had read it through, " that is about as I cheerful an epistle as I ever came across in my life." | "You see — they do not, even yot, enter into ' particulars." "No— but we can't be kept in the dark mwch longer. Grant is at Mother Battlcy's with them, and I expect he will be over this evening." " If I find that anybody has been misleading my wife in this matter," said John, between his clenched teeth, "I'll break every bone in his body 1 " " If there is anybody at the bottom of it, you may depend it is your sanctified cousin, James." "I think not — I hope not — if, indeed, it were so, I would — " John stopped suddenly. "You would what?" asked Charlie. "I tell you what I would, and will, do in such a case ; and that is cowhido the gentleman until my arm aches ! " An hour later, Charlie's prognostication proved correct, for Mr. Grant and James Squires arrived, just as a bell rang for the evening meal. Mr. Grant seemed grave and anxious, and his greeting was stiff and formal ; but the presence of Tilly Davidson prevented any allusion being made to business, until the gentlemen adjourned to the smoking-room, after tea. "Now, Mr. Grant," began John, after he had supplied his guests with tobacco, and brandy and water — " I hope you come prepared to clear up this abominable mystery, which has made things sc unpleasant during the last few days." Mr. Grant shook his head. "It might be a? well if the mystery were never cleared up," he said, significantly. " I do not understand you, (sir," replied John, somewhat haughtily. " I may tell you at once that I hate mysteries of any kind, and that, with all due respect to you, I am determined that this one shall be made as clear as day, to all the world, if necessary." Now, the stranger's bedroom opened off the smoking-room, and when Mr. Grant went in there to wash his hands, before going into the dining-room, James had hurriedly placed the diary in John's despatch-box, which stood on a side table in the latter apartment. Then he had joined Mr. Grant, and on coming out — John and Charlie both being absent — he had pointed to the box, and suggested the advisability of making the search at once. Mr. Grant acquiesced, and found the diary, as a matter of course. James then left him to examine it in the bedroom, which lie did without delay. Consequently John's protestations sounded, to the solicitor, like mere bravado ; for ho thought that there could now be no question of the young man's guilt. " Perhaps," he said, " your desire for publicity will cease to find expression, when I inform you that everything is known to your unfortunate wife, and to myself as well." " What do you mean ? " cried John, angrily. " This .kind of cursed innuendo will not suit 'me, Mr. Grant, and I insist upon your speaking out 1 " The solicitor began to lose his temper. " You force me to say what I understand you have already heard from Miss Sprod — that a suspicion exists that you and Mr. Charles Dawson have been concerned in killing a man." " And this suspicion ? Upon what is it founded ? " Mr. Trant thought that ho had never yet met such a "hard case" as John Squirea'. " A man was found dead on this run," he said, curtly. " The death is accounted for by yourself. You admit that you and Mr. Charles Dawson killed him." "Impossible!" cried John. "This is past bearing 1 How did 1 admit it ? When did I admit it ? Was I mad or drunk at the time ? " "I should be glad to know that you were either mad or drunk when you committed such an awful crime," said Mr. Grant, who was now thoroughly angered by the young man's contumacy — as he deemed it. " Your admission of the fact is in your own writing, in thi3 book " — here he took the diary from his pocket. "My diary 1" exslaimed John, offering to take it. " Excuse me," said Mr. Grant ; " I cannot let this book out o£ my hands. " You cannot let mo have my own diary ! " cried John. "If you were not my guest, sir, and an old man, I would soon call you to account for this impertinence." ■< " John Squires," began the solicitor, in a tone of eolemnity which enforced attention ; " this matter is so serioua that it behoves us all to command our tempers, and treat it with the gravity it deserves. Listen — I will read out to you two entries made by you in this book, and you will then see the futility of persisting in this pretence of ignorance." He then read aloud the passages written by James. John grew white as a sheet, whilst the old gentleman was reading. He then arose, and, walking behind Mr. Grant, asked, in a suppressed tone of voice, to be permitted to look at the writing. Mr. Grant showed him the two passages, and in doing ho, exposed the fact that sundry pages had been torn from the diary. " I never wrote those lines," said John, firmly. " And see 1 Someono lias been tearing out the leaves 1 The diary has been tampered with 1 There is no one here could have imitated my writing but — you infernal scoundrel I You did it 1 " Ho rushed suddenly towards James (who hnd risen from his chair) and struck him a violent blow on the face, which cut open his cheek, and felled him to the ground ! . " Good heavens ! " cried Mr. Grant. " This ia outrageous 1 " " Sorves the villain right," said Chailio, as James slowly arose from the ground — " I always knew he was at the bottom of it 1 "

"John Squires," said James, deliberately, whilst the blood flowed from his wounded face, " you have struck me — a day will come when you will wish your hand had withered before you struck that blow 1 " ■ Then he walked slowly out of the room. " For two cents, I'd repeat it 1 " cried John, after his cousin. " Sit down, man ! " said Mr. Grant, takin/j him by the arm. "Do not mako matters worse by giving way to you temper." "An infernal scoundrel who would have starved in the gutter, if it had not Jbecn for i my father I " exclaimed John, as he re-seated himself. Mr. Grant for a moment, began to believe that he had been mistaken, and that James had really forged the entries — but then he re membered that tho discovery had been accidentally made by Ettie, witkout James's knowledge. It was absurd to suppose that ho would have committed the forgeiy, and then suffered the book to remain in the hands of its owner. No — this violence of John's must merely he a planned attempt to avert suspicion. " Now," said the solicitor, " after what has passed, I decline to enter into any further discussion on the subject. Here is a deed of separation, signed by your wife — will you please peruse, and then sign it ? " John took the deed, and without glancing at it, tore it to shreds, and flung the pieces on the ground. " That is my answer, sir," he said. " This last insult is too much 1 " cried Mr. Grant, rising Irom his seat. "It it w«re possible to avoid it, I would not remain another hour under your roof — as it is, I must stay until the morning, but I trust that you will permit mo to remain in my bed-room till then." " You can do as you please, sir," said John, sullenly. " For the matter of that, I meant no insult to you — but that is of no consequence. You have chesen to take part against me, and I care not what you think of me." " Let me give you a warning, and a word of advice, before I go," said Mr. Grant, impressively. " For your father's sake, I shall delay as much as I dare ; but I must place this diary in the hands of the police, and leave them to deal with the matter. If you are wise, you will fly at once to Melbourne, and take the first out-going ship for Rome foreign part — if possible to South America. If you lose no time, you may get away in safety. I have no more to say. Should you determine to face the matter out, I recummed you to place yourself in communication with a solicitor at once. Further, I -beg of you, do not— whilst this awful accusation is pending — add to the misery of your poor wife by intruding upon her. Goodnight I " John and Charlie stared blankly at one another; and then each mechanically filled his tumbler with spirits and water, and drank in silence. "There's going to be trouble," said Charlie. "It lookalike it," replied John, gloomily. " Didn't I tell you that beautiful cousin of yours was at the bottom of it ? I suppose no -^one else could have got at the diary? " " None of the people here could have imitated ray writing," fiaid John ; " and, now I come to think of it, I remember that, when we were mere boys, he used to show mo how he could write my signature." 44 What could have been his' motive ?" " I cannot conceive." " Unless it was pure malice — I know the chap was envious of you." " Well, tho question is : what is to be done now? " " The best thing to do, in the first place, is to join that little girl in the drawingroom, and tell her what has happened." " Nonsense I Why should we worry her with such a tale ? " " She is sharp as a needle, and will guess that there has been some row. Besides, everybody will know all about it to-m»rrow, and she has heard all the rest of the story. And, I can tell you, I'd rather trust to her for advice than moat people. Her head is level, as the Yankee say." " You seam to have studied her character pretty closely," said John, with a melancholy smile. "But, come on then, since you wish it." " And now, my dear Mi 33 Davidson," said Charlie, who had taken upon himself the ollico of narratar, and had given a graphic account qf the whole affair — " now you know all. What do you think of it? " " I think you were quite right to knock the man down, cousin," she said, to John, whilst her heightened color showed that she meant what she said. "If it had been me, I should have knocked him down again, as often as he stood up I " " You little vixan 1 " said John, almost restored to good humour. " Yes, I would, indeed. And let mo tell you, I have no patience with your Mr. Grant, who seems willing to believe anything bad of you." " You forget, my dear, that my o.vn wife has condemned me," said John. " She has been misled — most likely by that villain. Still I don't mean to say that I am very well pleased with her. You must forgive me, cousin, but I think she has been too ready to believe ill of you." "I think so myself," said John, bitterly. "We must make allowances, though," said Charlie. " Mrs. Squire's made the discovery herself, remember, and so would not be so likely to doubt as she would have been had it been told her by someone else. Lot us wait to see what she says when she learns the truth." " She will not believe me," said John, dejectedly. " But I'll make her ! " cried Miss Davidson. "You? How will you do that, Tilly?" asked John. " I'll go to her first thing to-morrow. Not with either of you, mind ; but with that nice old man, Bandy Tom, whose has been telling ' me all sorts of things whilst you were quarrelling in the smoking-room. She will believe me, I should think." Charlie looked at her admiringly, but John shook his head. " Even your advocaoy will fail, I fear," ho said, " unless there is some evidence to support it. However, you can try, my dear cousin ; and I need scarcely say I shall bo equally grateful to you, whether you are successful or not." " If she will not believe me, do you think it would do any good if I were to offer to stay with her for a few days ? " " Certainly not 1 " cried Charlie promptly. " I did not ask your opinion, sir," said Tilly, with a laugh. " I do not know but what it would be a good move," said John. "Besides, for aught we know to tho contrary, Charlie and I may be arrested before a couple of days are over, and you could not remain here alone without the servants." "Arrested ! " cried tho girl. "Surely they would never dare ? " "Not dare to arrest two wicked murderers?" said John. "Yes, Tilly— it is almost certain that some such thing will happen. Indeed, I think I will go over to Albury and give myself up to tho police." " By Jove, that would be a good move 1 " cried Charlie. " Lot's go to-morrow 1 " " I will think of it," replied John. " And now I must write some letters at once. I must write to my wife, and also to a solicitor — and then it will be necessary to get someone to manage here, in case 1 am arrested. I'll write to our agent to send a good man at once. You young people must amuße yourselves as best you can whilst I am away."

And the young people succeeded in amus

ing themselves very well indeed ; so much so that, when JoWn returned, after an absence of over two hours they did not at first believe that he had been away ten minutes. " Tkat is the nicest little thing I ever met in my life 1 " thought Charlie, as he turned into bed. " I am sure I shall like Mr. Dawson very much indeed," thought the young lady, a* she performed a similar operation. From which thoughts it may be deduced that Charlie and Tilfy would not be likely to find much difficulty in amusing themselves whenever it chanced that they were alone together. Some likings blossom into lovinga v«ry soon — espeoialjy on tho banks of tho Murray in summer-time. CHAPTER XL IN A NEWSPAPER OFFICE. At dawn, on the following morning, James rode away from Buckinburra, on a horse whioh was hi 3 own property. He had packed up all his belongings before he went to bed, and given them in charge to Bandy Tom, promising to send for them as soon as possible. In his haste to get away, he had forgotten that he was leaving Mr. Grant behind ; but, when he did remember it, ho consoled himself by the reflection that, having no vehicle of his own, he could not have been of any service, and the solicitor would naturally apply to Charlie Dawson to drive him as far a*. Mrs. Battley's inn, from whence he could take the coach to Albury. James's heart was filled with bitter animosity towards his cousin. The gash on his cheek reminded him of the gross insult he had received, and he vowed that nothing should prevent him from being avenged. In this mood, the dark thought occurred to him, that it might not be impossible to secure John's conviction of the crimo of which he was so Hinjustly accused. The case was strong already, and it needed but the addition of any fresh evidonce to rondcT it very strong indeed. Could that evidonoo be obtained in any way ? He had now no scruples. He argued that, fcr far slighter insults than he had received, many a man had met his death in a duel, in days when duelling was the resort of all men of honor. He wa3 now engaged in a a duel with his cousin, and the destruction of one of them must be the result. If John were victorious, he would be ruined, and perhaps imprisoned for many years ; if he gained the day, that fate would be his cousin's. He did not believe that if John and Charlie Dawson were convicted, they would be hanged — at least, it suited him so to think ; for as yet ke shrank from such an extremity of villainy as would bo involved in sending two innocent men to the scaffold. But, in his heart, he knew that he would be capable of sacrificing himself in order to save them. And then he had gone so far that retreat was impossible. He could not undo what he had done. Nothing but an open admission that he had committed a forgery would render the criminating entries in the diary innocuous — and that open admission ho would never make. For his own protection, it bohoved him now to make every effort to validate his work ; and thus, self-interest was thrown into tho scale with his desire for vengeance, and the envy and jealousy, which had originally led him astray. By making a slight detour, ho avoided Mrs. Battley's, not carjng to expose himself to the necessity for narrating the events of the previous evening, which, he thought, would be told more to his advantage by the solicitor. On arriving in Albury, he made his way to the office of one of the local newspapers, with the editor of which he chanced to be on friendly terms. To that gentleman, he addressed himself, ostensibly for the purpose of seeking his advice and assistance, but really with a view to supply information which would be too tempting an item to be kept out of print. The, fact was that he feared Mr. Grant might be talked over by the women, and induced to keep silence on the subject of John's supposed delinquency. The editor heard his talc with amazement. " Now," said James, " I have told you all, and I want your advice, and your help, if you can give it. My idea is to seek employment in tho journalistic line. You know I can write a little" — he* had amused himself by occasionally contributing an article to the journal—" tell me whether you think I am fit for the work." " That is not an easy question to answer," was the;reply. "Writing an article at your leisure, upon a subject in which you happen to be interested, and whioh you know tolerably well, is very different from writing against time, upon any and everything that crops up. Then there is the question of reporting; if you get employment on a country paper — you might not bo capable of producing a condensed, yet faithful record of local meetings, or law cases, as, in such an event, you would probably have to do. Above all, it is a career in which there is no advance, and rarely any withdrawal possible. You will get to like the life, and daily grow more unfit for other employment, requiring regular | hours of attendance, and orderly habita. But there is no promotion in our ranks, and, unless you try your luck in a metropolis, you will never be any better off in prospects, or in pocket. If you go at once to Sydney or Melbourno, you will find it almost impossible to obtain literary work. • You will clash with men of ability and experience, who will regard you as an amateur and an interloper, and it may be many months before you receive pay for any work that you do. And when you do receive pay, it will be insufficient for your wants, unless you obtain an engagement on salary, which you will find immense difficulty in doing. No, sir — take my advice — have nothing to do with journalism, whilst there are stones to break, and wages to get for breaking them." Now James was quite in earnest in his desire to obtain employment on a newspaper, for he knew he must do something to earn his living, and, like most men, he regarded literary work as about the easiest # he could find. It may bo conceived, therefore, that this discouraging reply was not very acceptable to him, especially as (again like most men of literary tastes) he fancied himself quite able to hold his own with the best men in Australia. " You take rather a jaundiced view of the business," he said. " I speak from experience — a3k any journalist, and he will give you much the same answer." " But is there no opening for imaginative work, for instance ? " James had some MSS. of tales and sketches which he thought were moro than good. " None at' all. Probably there are not at this moment two men in Australia who are making their living solely by such work. There is too much competition, and too much amateur worlc ; and English authors now supply advance proofs of their novels at low rates ; whilst some unscrupulous newspaper proprietors do not hesitate to reprint anything that suits them, trusting to their insignificance, and the certain cost of legal proceedings, so securo them immunity from prosecution for piracy." " Well," said James, "I shall not decide in a hurry, for it will not be possible for me to leave this district till my cousin's affair ia settled Home way or another. "Of course not. I sup_pjosc4hcr~fact.j avo public prop'. ity ? " jr^""~' " Mrj^fiftairtold me ho should lay the caso

before the police, as soon as ho returned to Albury." " Then I cannot do wrong in writing a paragraph about the case," said the editor. " I should say not. But I would not men tion names if I weije you, at present. I suppose whether I gave you permission or not, you would put in something about it." " I suppose so," replied the editor, with r» grin. "I did not promiso secresy, and such a. ~pn?ation paragraph is too valuable to be lost. Fill your pipe, and look over the papers, whilst I write the par. You can then read it. and see whether it is 0.X." This is what he produced, and what subsequently appeared in the newspaper. " We understand that there has come to light some clue to the mystery which surrounds the fate of the man, supposed to be George Boardman, whose body was found at Buckinburra last year. It is rumoured that two wellknown young squatters are seriously implicated, aud that evidence of their complicity has been afforded by one of themselves. It is to be hoped that no respect for persons wUI prevent justice being done in this lamentable case." " Don't you think, that last sentence ia superfluous ? " asked James, who was, nevertheless, delighted io see it. "No — we must say something, and, by George, if your cousin and Charles Dawson are guilty, they deserve to suffer I " " Well, I suppose you know best," said Jamos, pumping up a sigh. "It i.s a miserable affair, from beginning to end." " The cad is not yet," retorted the editor, j significantly. "Let us hope it maj not be a j rope's end." j He could not resist making that old joke, even although it might be not in very good taste, and prove extremely unpalatable to his friend. But James smiled — a sort of melancholy smile, you know — and the editorwas reassured. Evidently the young man had not yet forgiven the blow ke had received from his cousin. CHAPTER XII. Tilly's smoke-parliament. Tilly Davidson was a clear-sighted, resolute, little woman. Though a child in years — she was only seventeen — the life she had led had matured her mind, and sharpened her faculties. Born on tho outskirts of civilisation, she had been early taught how to defend herself in case of need ; and, indeed, more than once she had been called upon to use her knowledge; for her father's hou^e had been twice attacked by natives, and once by bushrangers, entirely to the cost of the assailants. Then, until her mother's death, she had known no other teacher or companion; and, indeed, she had scaraely even seen a young lady until she was placed in a boardingschool at Brisbane, when she was fourteen years old, and already had the manners tond ways of thought of a woman. Still she was childlike in her capacity for enjoyment and absolute unconsciousness of self. Brought now face to face with difficulty and trouble, her training stood her in good stead ; for she did not, like most of her sex, resign herself to inactivity and leave the men to worlc ; but at once resolutely determined to take part in clearing her cousin from the shameful imputation which threatened ruin to him and his friend, Charlie Dawson. Having formed her plans over night, she proceeded to put them in practice in the morning. In the first place, she attacked her cousin, and made him promise to apologise to Mr. Grant for his rudeness to that gentleman. " It's quite natural that you should feel annoyed with him," she said ; " but you have no right to blame him for believing what your own wife accepted without question. Besides, you cannot afford to lose any friends just now, and I am sure he means you well." " How can he mean well to a murderer?" asked John, bitterly. " That is nonsense. He has known you for years, and always liked you — it is impossible for him to get rid of that liking in a moment, even if he doe 3 believe you to bo guilty. Go to him at once, and make your peace. Now, sir, she continued, addressing Charlie, after John had left the room, "I want you to show me Mr. James's room." " What on earth do you want to go there for? " asked Charlie. "He rode off at break of day. I want to see whether he left anything behind him, whichmight servo as a clue to this mystery." " Then you agree with me that he is the chief cause of the trouble ? " " Certainly I do. I fed quite sure of it, and I am almost beginning to suspect his motive." "Ah, that's what beats mo 1 Tell us what you think." " Not yet," replied Tilly. "I must satisfy myself as to one or two other things first." " By Jove, you are quite a little woman of business ! " exclaimed Charlie with an admiring glance at the young girl, who, in a muslin morning-gown, looked so emintntiy kissable, that he was fain to turn away, with a sigh, lest he should be guilty of some folly. "What means that portentous sigh ?" she asked, playing with her victim like a kitten with its first mouse. But Charlie was not to be caught napping, and he took refuge in nonsense. " I sighed because I am hungry," he said, " and I thought how long we should have to wait for breakfast if you persist in rummaging over the whole house first." " I don't believe you," she replied, " and, if I were not hungry myself, I would keep you waiting, as a punishment for telling me a falsehood. But, come now — we will just have a look around whilst John and Mr. Grant are making friends again." The search bore no result, as we, who are behind tho scenes, know it could not, and presently they returned to the breakfast-room, and met John and Mr. Grant, who had "made friends" after a certain fashion; though it was evident from his manner that the solicitor had by no means abandoned his suspicions. By tacit consent, no allusion was made, at the breakfast- table, to the subject which engrossed all their thoughts ; but, as soon as the meal was over, Tilly suggested an adjournment to theumoking-room. "Lot us have a smoke-parliament," she said. "Papa ia always smoking, so I am quite accustomed to it, and I know that there is no uae expecting to extract sense from gentlemen who are longing for a pipe." (To be Continued. ) 80-rEEr. " If George Doxat were only like 80-Poep next door, how much easier it would be to obey papa I " and Mis Ethel Campbell put the fancy work on which she was engaged down ijt her lap with a sigh, and fell to dreaming. The afternoon thoroughly lent itself to that do-nothing occupation, for it was June, leafy, balmy, bright, and tho scene was as pretty as miniature resources could make it. The villa in which Ethel Campbell lived was only twelve miles from London ; both it and tho adjacent one, let to the handsome artiste, Harold de Burgh, belonged to Mr. Campbell, who, being a man of some taste, had made the most of the undulating nature of the tiny bit of land which surrounded his home, and had laid it out to the grouted advantage. — — .-.-■- It •<,ita'tlio very picturcsquooess of Garden. Villas which had induced Harold de Burgh to become Mr. Campbell's tenant, and transport

himself and his easel and paintings there abou' a week previously. All the interviews with Mr. Campbell had taken place at his office in London, Mr. d<Burgh not having been to Garden Villas, except on the one occasion when, wandering past, he had fallen in love with the enchanted spot, without for a moment believing that that enchanted spot had a fairy of its own, and tha' that fairy was none other than sweet Ethel . the proprietor's daughter. He had not been twenty-four hours at Garden Villas, however, before ho saw and loved fair Ethel as she sat working among thp trees. Of course she knew Mr. de Burgh had taken the next villa, and had grumbled because a nasty dauber was coming there instead of a family with girls, among whom she had been looking forward to a pleasant companion ; for Ethel's life was very lonely some times, when Mr. Campbell was away for hours in the city. The father, meantime, was perfectly satisfied wit-h his new tenant. He had paid him a whole year's rent in advance, and seemed quite to enter into all his ideas about beauty and ©rder. Ho did not know who he was, but what did that matter since he paid in advance, and Mr. Campbell had no intention of being intimate with him ? He never encouraged neighbors, hence Ethel's wellnigh isolated existence. A3 soon as Harold de Burgh bscame aware that a little beauty haunted the adjoining garden, he took good cara to put himself en evidence, though not rudely or offensively. Ho trusted in his own good looks, and thought probably that if he could only attract the young lady' 3 notice, he would be able to magnetize her into a desire to beoome acquainted with him. He was right. No sooner did Ether perceive the handsome neighbor than she became interested in him, and watched his movements with furtive glancea, pretending all the while to be deeply engaged at her embroidery. In fact, during 3everal days a regular game at bo-peep went on between them without their seeming to perceive how comic it was, so seriously were they both impressed by the sentimental or love-tinted side of the picture. And all the time Ethel was to marry George \ Doxat, or so at least Mr. Campbell had decided. George Doxat, who was such a steady, hardworking, well-to-do young man, that there was not a single father in all Mr. Campbell's mercantile clique who would not have hailed him with pleasure as a suitor for his own daughter. Ethel had not seen him for four years, during which time he had been in China, " coining money," as Mr. Campbell said. She had not a very lively recollection of what George Doxat was like, for, naturally, at fourteen marriage had not been discussed with Ethel, and she had paid but little attention to her father's Now, however, he was daily expected to arrive in England, and somewhat to her dread she had been prepared by Mr. Campbell to expect that soon after his arrival he would make a formal proposal for her hand. Instead, however, of endowing her absent and almost unknown lover with the perfect qualities of form and mind which mystery and incognito generally produce, Ethel was inclined to exaggerate his deficiencies, more especially sinco she had been playing bo-peep with Harold de Burgh, as he either glided softly among the foliage in his half of the garden — only divided by a low wire paling from the Campbell's side — or stood by the window in front of his easel. Yes, when Ethel at last looked up from the somewhat nightmareish dream in which George Doxat played so goblin a part, there were Harold de Burgh's eyes fixed on her in tender admiration. 9ho dropped hers in a moment, and the tell-tale color was coursing over her face just as her father's voice called her. He had come home early from the City today, not alone either. She sprang up, upsetting her workbasket, from which sundry balls and skeins of silk tumbled in helpless confusion, catching on to the boughs and leaves of the adjacent shrubs, and adding in no small degree to her nervousness, feeling certain Harold's eyes were still fixed on her. ' Ah ! what would he have given at that moment if he had only dared to o'erleap window and wiro fence and go to her assistance! She re-established order as speedily as possible, gave one look up at tho next door window ; ho was, or pretended to be, deeply engrossed bp his painting, and she ran into the house. George Doxat 1 If Ethel was flashed and flurried in her manner, rendered so by tho little episode in the garden, she was perfectly composed by comparison with him. Never could it have been supposed that a man who had seen anything of the world could be so shy and sheepish as was George Doxat. He had not a word to say for himself, but stood looking at Ethel as though half afraid of her. As for her, she very speedily recovered the equilibrium which she had temporarily lost among the silk skeins in the garden, and took him in, as women only can, at a glance. " Of course he isn't as good-looking as BoPeep ; stiil, he- is rather a fine-looking man, though his hair is reddish. I wonder whatever makes him so shy ?" this, of course, to herself. Then to him, " Won't you come out in the garden, Mr. Doxat, and have some tea after your hot journey from London ?— Then I can exhibit him to the other one, and perhaps mfike him jealous," this latter part of the sentence of course once more to herself, a3 she tripped down the steps in front of George Doxat, having rung for the dainty maid of the establishment to take out the afternoon tea. If Ethel had not been a little afraid of her father and his enforced determination that she should marry this sheepish-looking man, she would thoroughly have enjoyed the idea of rousing 80-Peep into jealousy, by coquetting with the new-comer under the trees, for Ethel was naturally a sprightly girl, loving fun and mischief very thoroughly. As it was she was determined not to be baulked of her present amusement by the thought of future annoyances. She chatted away very gaily to Mr. Doxat, as though striving with all her might to put him completely at his ease, looking up meanwhile, every now and again, from under i llong lashes, to see what effect this hehaviour was having on tho next-door neighbour. Ho had disappeared from the window ; could he be coming into the garden ? No ; not a sign of him. Ethel's manner became a little irritable, and George Doxat was not one whit less shy. Altogether it was very provoking. Provoking ? Yes ; except to Mr. Campbell, who was deh"ghted, and felt inclined to hug his daughter. He restrained his feelings, however, confining them to saying he had one or two letters to write, and would leave the young people to entertain - each other for a brief space. George Doxat made an almost imperceptible movement as though he were about to follow him, which had the effect of amusing away Ethel's irritability. "Is he afraid to bo left alone with me ?" she queried, laughing to herself. " Since I do not want him to make love to me in earnest, strange if I cannot frighten him away altogether ; and tho best way will be to j try and get up a mock flirtali. r>." And with thorough zest v;ouid Ethel have entered into this project, only there was not a oreature to be seen in the next garden, while the window was absolutely tenantless. " Yes, there is a movement among the dis-

tant shrubs ; something — are they eyes ? — looking through them. Oh, this game is too childish ! A man like Mr. Harold de Burgh ought to be ashamed of it ! " And then she set to work in earnest to make an impression on tho returned wanderer. For a minute she thought she had succeeded : he talked more like a civilized being than he had done since his arrival, and seemed gradually to be getting a little more at home with Ethel ; in fact, once or twice he opened his mouth as though he were going to tell her something important. She speedily closed it, however, with a joke. She had no intention of having confidences with Mr. George Doxat. On a sudden he uttered a loud ejaculation, put down the cup of tea he -was in the act of drinking with an impetuosity that sent half the tea into the tray, and bolted. What did it mean ? Ethel gazed round her in astonishment. She could see nothing to call forth this extraordinary flight. There were no eyes peeping through the bush now, but the stalwart shoulders of the painter as he went up a flight of stone steps into his own house. That, however, could not have affected Mr. George Doxat — what had he to do with 80-Peep ? And for some minutes Ethel sat in solitary state— wondering. A quarter of an hour passed, and she was just beginning to think o£ calling the dainty Abigail to come and take away the tea-things, after which she intended to retire into the privacy of her own apartment, when who should ahe see coming through the drawingroom of her villa but the erratic Mr. George Doxat, accompanied by the handsome artist from the adjoining house. Down the steps they had marched, right up to Ethel'a tea-table, before she knew whether she was asleep or awake. " My oldest and best friend, Mr. Harold da Burgh ; let me introduce him to you, Miss Campbell." " I am sure I am very happy to make Mr. de Burgh's acquaintance. Will you have a cup of tea ?" said Ethel, coloring to the very roots of her hair, and seizing on the teapot as though it were a talisman against confusion. " Thank you — thaak you very much," and their eyes met for an instant as he took the proffered cup ; then th<? girl looked down. Even with this formal introduction, BoPeep's occupation was not yet gone. There was, however, no shyness about Harold de Burgh, he was manly and straightforward enough now that he had been introduced, and was consequently dans son droit. "It is strange that my old schoolfellow Doxat should have turned up here after all the years that have passed since I last saw him. , " Yes, indeed, very strange." Ethel felt a shyness with the artist she had novel- experienced with the man her father had selected for her future husband. "So many things, too, have happened siaee we last met, eh, Doxat ?" went on the painter ; " you are married, you tell me, and the father of a Venus of two— it makes mo feel quite an old man." "Mr. Doxat married?" cried Ethel, looking up now with very wide-open eyes, "mar- ; ried, did yau say ? Oh, lam so gladl " The spontaneity of this exclamation was scarcely complimentary to George Doxat, whose shyness had been occasioned by hia dismay at what Miss Campbell would think of him when she learnt that he had been false to the promise he had made her father that he would return in four years and claim his little wife. As far as she was concerned, then, that cry had set him quite at rest, especially as he more than half suspected he had found a substitute, a substitute too, that he doubted not would, on his recommendation, find favor with even the redoubtable Mr. Campbell himself. Nor was he mistaken ; as far as profession went Harold de Burgh was only a mock artist. He was a dilettante with three thousand a year, whose pleasure it was occasionally to absent himself from the great world in which, by right of birth and position, he moved, and give himself up for a time to the 'study of the artistic and the beautiful. He had studied the beautiful to some purpose in Garden Villas, and so everyone thought when, a day or two later, he obtained Mr. Campbell's consent to his marriage with Ethel, after that young lady, having summoned up sufficient courage to look him straight in the face, had whispered, " Yes, darling Harold, I will be true to you for life, and I am so glad George Doxat married in China, because now we can be happy without disappointing anybody." Of course the George Doxats were at the wedding, and a right merry one it was ; to listen to George Doxat's speech when he proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom, no one could have imagined it was possible for him to be shy even during the brief space of one afternoon. Next season there will be a very important picture by Harold de Burgh to be seen in the lioyal Academy — we hope on the line — that of his pretty wife in the character of 80-Peep. —Judy's Annual. An American p.vpku publishes the following paragraph, which, for pure, unadulterated, and original invention, is equal to anything of the kind we have seen. It was under the head of ' Society,' and it said ; " The latest among New York bolles are ' complexion ' dogs. It is the proper thing now for a girl only to appear in the street with a dog that matofce3 her complexion aud costume. Those girls who walk with St. Bernard dogs invariably wear fur upon their costumes of the same color as the coat of their pet, with gloves to match. Now that Spring cestume3 are coming in St. Bernard dogs will be vassc. In their place will run Italian grayhounds, Skye terriers, pugs and collies. One young lady is having an elaborate costume made by Worth, and her pug to be painted the same color so as to harmonize with it," Beautiful I M. G. Tissandier has described to the Paris Academy of Science his new electrical motor for balloons. It consists of a screw propeller with two helicoidal blades nearly 10 feet in diameter, a Siemens dynamo-elec-trical maohine of new design, and a light bichromate of potash battery. It is intended to propel an elongated balloon of about 1000 cubic yards capacity. The frame of the sorew propeller weigs 15£ lb., is stretched with silk varnished with India-rubber lacquer, and kept taut by steel wire stretchers. The dynamo -electrio machine has four electro magnets in the circuit, and frame parts are of cast steel, so as to bring the weight down to 121 lb. It drives the screw by gear, which reduces the speed in the proportion of 10 to 1 ; thus, if the coil makes 1200 revolutions a minute, the screw makes 120. It gives out _220 foot-pounds per secend with a useful effect of 55 per cent. The bichromate battery gives a better yield than accumulators of the same weight. It consists of an element divided into four series and arranged in tension. Tho element consists of an ebonite cell holding four litres — or 0.88 gallon — and containing ten plates of zinc and eleven cakes of retort carbon, arranged alternately. The imiiiesged-sttrfaCtTbF the zinc is one-third that of the carbons. This battery, charged with a highly-concentrated and very acid solution, is constant for two hours. The liquid becomes heated as it is impoverished, and the duration of aotivity may be prolonged by the addition of chromic acid. — Knowledge.

i > nu.Li.sii-ti.i.> isV.ii. J- nr^n.NKLL, for Tin-; propr motors, frkoeriox ])i t fai;u a:n ; .d thomas citrsp.