THE PRIDE OF THE MORAYS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 18, Issue 41, 21 May 1907, Page 7

THE PRIDE OF THE MORAYS.

SALL* RIGHTS RESERVED,

By MAURICE SCOTT,

Author of "The Mark of the Broa< 'Arrow, etc. etc. PART 6. CHAPTER XIV. t . SIR TALBOT HESTER BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH.

"I'm a plain-spoken man, Sir Talbot Hester. I've made my pile on a policy of going straight to the pointwhile others hesitated, waiting for the other side to make the first move and while they've waited I reckon I have scored."

Thus Abner Vansittart, who, as he himself expressed it, had no notion of allowing any man to fool around his daughter, and break her heart. "Ever since she was born, Sir Talbot," continued the millionaire, "my little girl Cora's had every thingshe's set her mind on—everything that money could buy." Sir Talbot reddened slightly at the implication, yet' deemed it wiser to let if pass unnoticed.

"Now, I won't commit myself as far as to say she's set her mind on becoming Lady Hester," continued Mr. Vansittart—a shrewd-visaged, yet kindly-looking man, with.a keen eye for commerce, yet a child in the ways of diplomacy. "But you've paid Her considerable attention, Sir Talbot, and I'm of (he opinion it's time you and me understood each other."

Sir Talbot winced. Confound the old fellow for forcing his hand! Tie had been purposely keeping oil' while keeping guard that no venturesome knight should enter the lists and carry off the prize.

And now old Vansittart was bringing him to book. lie. must either declare himself as a suitor for Cora's hand, or withdraw altogether; and in that case old Vansittart's millions would not go long- a-begging. Seven or eight • million dollars! Phew! And the girl w a s quite presentable—pretty, even. And. after all his position, was unassailable, even if— He had done everything orthodox; he would be pitied 'rather than blamed should anything crop up. Bah ! What could crop up '? He was a fool to worry himself over a fancy!

"I—vou flatter me, Mr Vansittart," he said, his mind revolving rapidly, and urging him to. emulate the example quoted by the man of dollars—to go "straight to the point"—to leave the other side to make th> first move, should there exist an'"other side." "I—l will deny that the hope has aris< n within, me that I might count myself in an favourable light with Miss Vansittart and, if J have hvsilated—l will be frank with you—l have purposely hesitated in putting my fate to the test." "I reckon that's obvious," was the elder man's reply; "and a s one of the parties most concerned, I should be glad to hear your reasons." "Your daughter is young, I am, as you know, a widower " "That's more a matter on which Cora might be expected to hesitate than yourself, Sir Talbot," retorted the American drily. "True. My chief obstacle is that you are a wealthy man." "Jl'm! It's the first lime I've heard it suggested that Amuri-ican dollars formed an inipedimtnl to marriage in the old country, Sir Talbot Hester." The baron.it ground his teeth. Diplomacy would avail him nolh'mwith I ]iis outspoken Westerner. 'lh. ; gloves hat! I.vfter come off. "I see you und T.stand me," he said. " W'evo I to propose for your daughter's hand, I lay myself'open to ih> imputation of marrying h-r for h >r money." "Yes, that's so. I don't tlvnk it could be truthfully asserted that the balar.ee would fall evni. Sir Talbot Hester, there's no need to bent about the bush, When you did'me the honour of paying court to my girl, I made it my business to inquire into your position. Politically and socially you might be styled—as we Westerns would say—a big bug! Financially"

The silence that followed was even more eloquent than words. Sir Talbot rose to tho challenge.

"You mean you would refuse me your daughter's hand on account of my financial position?"

"N-o. I don't go as far as that. Your career proves you to be a very smart man, Sir Talbot Hester—a man with brains, and the capacity to use them. Now, I'm a self-made man, and I'd sooner trust my pile in the hands of a man whose ability —backed with money—ought to carry him into the cabinet, than see my dollars dissipated by, a fool in order that my girl might be called a duchess."

Sir Talbot's face flushed with anticipated triumph. The keynote dominating the millionaire was ambition, and such a father-in-law would be worth having, "Since you have studied my affairs you know why I have held back," he said in low, agitated tones. The stake was a big- one. He must deal his cards with great care. "And that fact has convinced me you're an honourable man, sir," responded Mr. Vansiltart warmly. "Had you been a mere fortune-hunter you'd have proposed long ago." "Then—then should Miss Vansittart —1 assure you sir, I have loved your charming daughter from the time of. our first meeting on hoard the liner " began Sir Talbot, feeling that such declaration was demanded from him.

"Well, I'm under the impression that such is her belief, Sir Talbot," returned Cora's "poppa," bluntly. "You render me the happiest man in England," returned the hypocrite "nnd it shall be the aim of'my life to make your daughter the happiest w«man, Mr. Vansittart.'i

1 • Yes, returned that gentleman, pithily. "I reckon you'll find it ! worth your while to be good to her -as long as I'm i n the land o' the living. But I take it, a man in your position-!* tfa* publia eye as one may say-can be trusted to keep his

inmiiy relations sound and beyond all touch of scandal. Well, then we will consider that little matter settled. You can speak to Cora right, away, an 1 there'll be a trifle of a million dollars deposited to her account on the day of your wedding." Sir Talbot Hester drew a deep breath as he separated his long, white fingers, shaken and squeezed into numbness by his father-in-law in prospective. And then as he left the Hotel Cecil- in which the Vansittarts occupied a luxurious suite of rooms facing the Embankment, he almost staggered at the prospect of the dizzy heights of power to which the millionaire's money might enable him to climb. A hansom carried him to his chambers in St. James's-street and there he sat down alone to review the situation.

His hand had been forced—no doubt of that—and to draw back was an utter impossibility. No more alluring prospect could possibly present itself to his acceptance. With him love had always been thrust aside for ambition, and Abner Vansittart's '.'pile "• would indeed enable him to go far. Why then should he hesitate,, why | feel compunctions, because of a chance resemblance, a coincidence in name? It could be nothing more. And now.his mind reverted to his first wedding day and the weeks proceding it. H o w pretty Barbara Moray had attracted him; and how, while he debated within himself the discretion of uniting himself with an ancient pedigree, rather than money, his diplomacy was outgeneralkd by the astute Mrs. Gore-Ritchie who literally entrapped him into a proposal, nor swerved from her purpose until her niece stood beside him at the altar. But after that—he shuddered at the remembrance.

The iufernal fog filling the carriage until bride and bridegroom could barely see on" another, and the coachman could hardly iind his way to the station, where the fog seemed even thicker, and the officials had practically to lead them to the compartment reserved for their journey. He had thought Barbara shyfrightened of the man who was her husband. She had shrunk away from him into the opposite corn?r of the carriage. It was only afterwardsafter that horrible crash in the darkness— wh n all on a sudden the fiends of hell appeared let loose to workhavoc and destruction, wh:n great masses of steel and iron were rent asunder and splintered like matchwood, when the air rang with heartrending, agonizing screams, coupled with the hissing of escaping steam, the detonation of fog-signals, exploding too late to prevent the catastrophe. What a night of horrors! What a night of horrors! Would the recollection of it ever fade from his memory? Tt was only afterwards wh-n he understood the worst, when they brought him a packet of half-burned papers taken from the scorched clothing of tlu> hapless bride, that he had discovered them to be his own letters to Alison Slannil'orth, and it had dawned upon him that Barbara, instead of being shy, was sulky, and though he was not sufficiently heartless to rejoice in her death, he realized that, had she lived, matters would have been the reverse of comfortable. And moreover, the fact of her carrying her letters on her wedding tour furnished sufficient indication that the honeymoon would not have been cloudless.

As he wondered then, so he wondered now. How on earth, or how across three thousand miles of ocean, came Alison Stanniforth's letters into the hands on Barbara Moray? Unless Alison had read of his intended marriage and had written to h-'s intended bride. Women were so infernally malicious, though he-hod calculated that that back chapter in the history of his life had been written in too remote a spot ever to crop up and trouble him further.

However, poor little Barbara had been killed, and thus Alison's attempt at reprisal fell through; but he had almost forgotten the circumstance until that idiot, Johnny Templeslone rushed him off to tho Parthenon to witness some juggling performance. And there, not only was Hie juggler's name, Stanniforlii and llu man himself an obvious American, but the woman who assisted him—whose name was withheld from (he programme—was the living image of his dead wife. Barbara! He had been travelling all the previous day and night, and for nearly a week previously and wondered if his vision were reliable, his eyeballs seemed starting and ready to burst. Yet it was Barbara, and yet not Barbara! Barbara Moray had been a merry little maiden. The former was grave, dignified, almost sad. There was something in her face ho could not remember ever having seen in Barbara, though that might readily be. Mrs. Gore-Richie had been a perfect she-dragon on guard when ehaperonage was concerned. He had barely kissed more than the tips of her niece's fingers until the clergyman pronounced them man and wife. But how perfectly ab.-mrd! -The daughter of Sir Malcolm Moray—tho proudest baronet in all Scotland who claimed kinship with the House of Stuart—on the music-hall stage! Why, every clan that ever wore a tartan would assemble in public protestation against such an indignity. And what would Mrs. Gore-Ritchie be about to allow such a graceless proceeding on the part of her niece? The thing was absolutely impossible.

And yet he found himself influenced by an unaccountable reluctance to enter upon a second contract; for were Barbara still alive, she was his wife—unalionably his wife. The mere thought tilled him with dismay now that Abner Vansittart had dangled the bait of a million dollars alluringly before his eyes. For Sir Malcolm's affairs had turned out even worse than he had expected. There was no money whatever, and the prospect of supporting a wife now that his own financial affairs had gone wrong was not one at all to Sir Talbot's liking. But such a thing could not be. Barbara, gentle, sensitive, refined, unsophisticated—by what means had she been brought into contact with people who lived by the means of entertaining the public in a musichall? And he was, as Mr. Vansittart had said, in the public eye, his name constantly in the naners. Had

accident, or, a, passing wn.ni, separated her from her husband, it. \vas not likely her aunt would allow her to drift out of recognition, even if Barbara herself had so desired it. And ihat, he flattered himself, was not at all likely. Barbara would, no doubt, have given him good many bad half hours over the Alison affair, but, like .many another woman, would have had to pocket the affront and make the best or the worst of the man whose wife she had become It was a striking resemblance, ihat was all. Yet how odd the resemblance should be in connection with the name of Slanniforth. "What has happened to your divinity, Johnny?" he. asked one day with an air of seeming carelessness, as the two men were in the smokingroom of the club. "My 'divinity'?" "The lady of the flying knives. It was a startling exhibition—so startling that it appears to have been taken off the programme. I turned into the Parthenon to see it again, but was told the (urn was off." "Yes," answered Sir John; "the last time of its performance was the evening on which we went together. All sorts of rumours are afloat. At first a medical certificate declaring the lady's utter inability to appear was issued, and it was said the feat would be put on again as soon as she recovered from an attack of nervous prdst ration. And thm it was whispered there had been an accident—though a slight one—and that the management, having been w a i'iied of their responsibility should anything fatal happen, decided to withdraw the turn." "A sensible decision; the girl may have been killed any night. Did you ever ascertain who she is? You were tremendously interested at the time, I remember." "Yes," answered the younger man. "I leain.'d from one of the officials that she was the juggler's cousin—a Miss Alice Stannilorth. Did you speak, Hester? Yes, the name is uncommon; that she had come over from New York for her health, and while watching her cousin vainly endeavouring to instil enough courage into his wife to face the knives proffered her service, with what result you know." "H'h, plucky little Yankee," drawled Sir Talbot, puffing out volumes of smoke between, himself and his listener. "And what has become of the devoted family?" "Gone into the provinces, so I understand. Good-night Hester. I am duo at Lady Blair's;" and Sir John Temples! on.} had gone, leaving Sir Talbot, wondering what to make of the information. One fact seemed incontrovertible. "Whether the mysterious lady he Alison Stanniforth or his wife Barbara, neither had sought him out, although his name was in every newspaper and on every placard. ' And then he struck his hand heavily en the table with a silent oath. He would marry Cora Yansittart, let who would try to prevent him! And whoever might try to frustrate his ambition should find' it no easy task.

CHAPTER XV

UNDER LOVE'S SPELL. Once more the girl whose hitherto calm, peacefully-uneventful existence seemed all at once encompassed with strange and eventful happenings, found herself the recipient of hospitality and kindliness to which she felt no act. of her own entitled her—except that Keith Heriot loved h-r, and his sister, receiving her at first for Keith's sake, soon grew to love her for her own.

Yet what would brother and sister say did they know they were befriending, concealing the wife of Sir Talbot Hester? Was it right so to deceive them ? While her memory had remain'd a blank, noiu? could blame her that she made no attempt to remove herself from the surroundings into which she had unwittingly been plunged. But now—now she was an impostor; she was imposing on the kind, good friends whom it would appear that Heaven itself had sent to her assistance.

Though would not both Lady Blair and her brother rejoice to know their bounty was extended to one of the Morays of Edinburgh—one of the last-dying "old stock "—rather than that Keith Heriot should cherish a hopeless passion the poor little unknown American whom, by reason of. her connections he could never ask to become his wife.

True. And how joyfully would not Barbara reveal her identity if only she had never stood at the altar beside Sir Talbot Hester, or even that if assured Lady Blair's strict sense of a wife's duty towards her husband would not compel her return to a man of whom she stood in loathing. "My dear," said Lady Blair, on welcoming her to her beautiful home so different from Lisle-street, and into which Barbara fitted so naturally and easily as to arouse wonderment in her hostess, "have you any objection if I drop your surname during your visit?" "My—surname!" "The thief doth fear each bush an officer." And now Barbara changed colour and realized the impossibility of continuing a life of dissimulation. Lady Blair observed, her embarrassment, but attributed it to the girl's distaste for her cousin's profession, and its consequent notoriety. "I have alluded to you as Miss Alison, and my maid appears to have conveyed the information throughout the household," she , went on, "and for some reasons I thought it might be as well to allow you to remain 'Miss Alison.' My dear, I entreat you not to misunderstand me. Your cousin is, by my brother's description, a man whom to know is to respect, and snobbery in any form is detestable; but it is unpleasant to find oneself the object of conspicuous attention—l am sure you agree with me—and Mr. Stanniforth's name has been given euch prominence "

The pained expression on the girl's face checked the kind woman's utterance, and then Barbara hastened to correct a wrong impression. "I do agree with you. dear Lady Blair, and I dread noth'ng so much as—as bringing discredit ui-on"— "Not 'discredit,' " interposed the hostess, gently. "The word could never apply to one whom my brother t*k«R «o Hoar* on interact, in as voUT-

self, dear girl. But it would not be pleasant for any of us if you were recognised as tho heroic young lady who evinced such an utter disregard of flashing steel. And people are so inquisitive." "I—l it is more than good of you to have me here," replied Barbara. "I may not trespass on your kindness long. I—l wonder if I could obtain some employment—something in which I might earn sufficient to keep me."

"You mean as an alternative to going back to America?" asked Lady Blair.

Barbara gazed at her i n wonderment.

"To America! I should be afraid. A strange country and my education would be looked upon as old-fashion-ed, I fear. What could I do in America?"

"But Keith is under tlu impression that you were born there, and that you have a sister in New York" protested Lady Blair, in astonished tones.

"Yos; Ilenliann told me so," she faltered. "But—but—Dr. ITeriot will have told you of my accident, and that for a long time I could not remember, and now—now '—

A flood of tears came to her relief, and then no child was ever soothed more tenderly by a loving mother than was poor, little Barbara Moray " in the arms of Keith Heriot's big sister.

"My dear," she said, softly, when the girl's passionate grief had somewhat subsided, "do not tell me anything you would rather keep to yourself, but 1 should like to help you if I might. Alison, is there not some trouble relating to the time before the accident—that, accident which for a while—mercifully perhaps —banished it into oblivion?" "Yes," admitted Barbara, trembling with fear lest the kind woman's sympathy should draw it from her in spite of herself. "But do not question me, I beg of you. My burden is one 1 must bear alone."

"Alison, dear," said Lady Blair, tenderly, "I will ask you nothing you desire to conceal, but one thingonly. You know my brothm* loves you? That he has not spoken I am aware, but "

"He. must not speak," interrupted Barbara, almost fiercely. "Beg him not to, because of your affection for him, because of your goodness to me."

' You cannot .assure me that you have no Jove to give him in return, Alison dear."

"What matter?" exclaimed the girl clasping her hands over her heart as if to stifle a deadly pain. "What even if I loved him? There is an insuperable barrier between us, a wall of granite. Granite, say, rather steel against which we might hurl ourselves all our life ineffectually, until one or other perish misertbly in the effort to break it down."

"Hush, d'.'ar," spoke Lady Blair. "Do not get excited. You are alluding to your cousin's occupation, and, of course "

"Yes, that's it—that's it," broke in Barbara, in dread lest she had committed herself. "I have been on the stage you know, not as an actress, but as a mere mechanical mus-ic-hall entertainer. What greater barrier could exist for one of the Heriots of Inverurie?"

/'But what if Keith's love rises above such a barrier?" she asked. "It has done so already Alison. I confess to you that when I first, hoard of what seemed to me Keith's infatuation for a music-hall artiste. I discouraged the boy—pronounced the thing impossible."

"It is," cried Farbara, "utterly—utterly impossible!" cried Barbara in heartrending tones.

"Yet I think you love him," pursued Keith's big sister, softly. And a second time Barbara's fortitude gave way.

"Love him," she wailed. "Love Keith! Indeed—indeed I do, but it is only to my undoing." A long and tense silence followed and then when Barbara uncovered her eyes and lifted her head, it was to find Keith beside her, who now took both her hands into his own, and drew her close.

And then she saw they were alone, for Lady Blair, on her brother's en trance, had stolen silently away. "Alison, my dearest," spoke Keith, in deep, emotional tones, "I pledged my word of honour to Hermann that until your memory came back I would not declare my love for you—would not ask you to become my wife. But the words I heard from your dear lips as I entered the room just now, release me from my promise. Alison, my darling, since you love me, nothing else can come between us—nothing shall. Give me permission to write to Hermann today, to tell him y QU are to be my wife. My sister will make all the necessary arrangements for our marriage, and "

Barbara, at first overcome with astonishment at finding him by her side, had momentarily yielded to the joy of his presence, had suffered him to draw her within the comforting shelter of his strong arms, even aflowed his lips to rest on hers—as heart cried out to heart with a n emotion too deep to find expression in words.

And then, as with a sudden rush she remembered, and tore herself away.

"Oh, you must not—you must not" she cried, wringing -her hands. "Hermann was right in forbidding you"— "But you are mistaken, Alison, dear," interrupted Keith, gravely! "Hermann did not forbid, or rather, he did not disapprove. He stipulated I should wait until your memory returned. Alison, he feared you might remember you had loved. My darlling, it is not so?"

Once again was Barbara weak. She was young; within her the fire of youth rioted joyously, and it was the first time she had ever come under love's spell. Again she rested within his arms, again their lips met and lingered. And then she put him from her, her face white and set, her eyes evident of anguish.

"No," she said, im a hollow, hard voice, "it is not ao. It is due to you to tell you so much, only in mercy I beg of ypu not to inquire further. The past is now clear to me. It came back on the eight the knife gra?ed my temple. Keith, I loved no other mam, I can love none other"— "My dear one !** "No." she went on, sadly. »«But

even while I love you I can never be your wife." "Because of " "You must not ask. me. In pity accept my statement, and d 0 not seek to know more than I can tell you." "I will ask one thing only,'-' he said. "Is this barrier 0 f which y fi u speak insuperable?" For a moment a ray, almost of hope flashed across Barbara's mental vision. Sir Talbot Hester's life was not invulnerable. Men and women died in their prime every day—why might not he? "At present-yes," she replied, almost breathlessly. "But in the future? May not time remove it?" "Time may—it may"— "God grant it!" he said, fervently. "Alison, I car. wait—l will wait. You, and you only shall become my wife! I swear it!" "Make no rash promises," she urged. "You do not know—you might reproach me. I have no right to bid you hope. Keith, try to forget me!" "That were impossible, "• he answered. "But for you I should have died," she breathed, softly. "Yet it might be better for you if we had never met." "Let, mo be the judge of that," he said. "Alison, love such as mine, once given, ca*nnot be taken back. Give me one promise—that you will come to me should ever the barrier you speak of be removed?" "I can promise tnat cheerfully," she smiled through her tears. "You will never again think of Hermann's profession, and your short-lived participation in it, as a possible obstacle between us?" "Since "you do not look upon it as an obstacle, how can I?" she said. "Promise me one thing more." "Another ? You said one only." "That you will marry no man-but me. That to no man else you will yield the right I claim bj' reason of my love!" He had crushed her almost fiercely in his arms, and she could not say him nay. But it must be for the last time, she told herself. "Promise!" he whispered. "I promise. None save you, Keith, shall ever call me wife!" And then she kissed him once upon the lips, and fled from the room in dismay.

CHAPTER XVI

BARBARA LISTENS TO START- | LING NEWS. What had she done, she asked herself in the solitude of her handsome room? Where was the much vaunted Moray pride, when she had so yielded to the avowal of a love which could never be hers ? Men such as Sir Talbot Hester rarely died. He would assuredly live to a ripe old age, and she? She must leave Lady Blair at once. Kind and good as was Keith's sister to the girl loved by her brother, Barbara must separate herself from him. Only misery could "be the result to both of their daily intercourse. Better even to return to Hermann and Solina—resume the 'knives act,' and remain Alison Stanniforth to the end of her days, since poor Alison herself could not come back fr 0 m the grave to denounce her as an impostor. But even as she hesitated Fate stepped in a«d decided the issue.

"Alison, my dear," said Lady Blair on the day following Keith's declaration, "my brother is leaving town. An important appointment to one of the largo hospitals in the north of England has been offered him, and he has decided to accept it."

Barbara made no reply, but her eyes showed an expression of relief, coupled with regret.

"It is bsst he should go. I am sure, you think so, dear, do you not?" continued Lady Blair. "Is it best he should go away ?" faltered Barbara. "Why should Dr. Heriot leave London?"

"For one thing, dear, to enter on a more extended field of practice. And then we have decided—Keith and I—that under those circumstances you might remain with me."

"I—remain here? Oh, thank you, you are more than good; but " "But you propose to seek employment, and I am able to offer it to you. Here am I, a lonely woman, with neither chick nor child of my own, and dependent on my 'little ' brother for numberless 'little services that would, in. the ordinary way, fall to the lot of a companion. Now, in Keith's absence, I must engage some one, and I have an idea that you and I could pull together very nicely."

Barbara's heart was full. If she had experienced more sorrow than fell to the lot of most women, at least kind friends had been raised up on all sides to aid her in her adversity.

"" Alison, dear," went on Lady Blair, very gently, "I would not ask you to remain if such is not your wish; but it would make Keith happier to know you were here with me." "Would it—would it?"

"Yes, indeed. Alison, dear, the poor lad is broken-hearted, yet cherishes the hope that Time, the universal healer will remove all obstacles to your happiness. And unless you turn to your sister in New York, it is his earnest desire you should remain with me. You will not de*y him that poor consolation?" Barbara hesitated. It was, she knew, one thing to talk of finding employment, but not so easy to secure it. There seemed two alternatives open to her—to remain with Lady Blair, or to return to Hermann Stanniforth and his wife. And now, grateful and appreciative as she was of the man's sterling qualities, the Moray blood shrank from the publicity of the juggler's calling. Was it not her duty to remain among those of her own rank, her own country, since an opportunity had been created for her to do so? At any rate, it was a haven of rest for the present, until she could think .what Jp doperhaps find Mrs. Gore-Ritchie and consult with her aunt whether there was any way of setting right the error of her supposed without scandal.

Scandal ! Disgrace ! There was the trouble. 'Twere easy to explain the accident that had -deprived Barbara of her memory, but what a Babel of tongues would wag as to the reasons

inducing Lady Hester to send another woman in her place in the carriage beside the husband to whom she had just been wedded !

Truly, it would be thought, even as Keith had suggested, that she had left him without just cause-that she had not then become acquainted with .either good or bad qualities in the man she deserted.

"You will stay with me, dear?" asked Lady Blair, observing conflicting emotions working in the girl's troubled face.

"Thank you—yes, I will stay," was the reply.

And then Keith had and Barbara grew accustomed to be called "Miss Alison," and, thinking 0 f Keith, sha felt almost happy, and Lady Blair's house was the brighter for her presence. The housekeeper was old, and, as befitted a family retainer 0 f long standing, disposed to be despotic; and even her sorelytried mistress was astonished to find how readily she yielded to the young companion's tactful assistance," and rejoiced to see how Alison's quiet diplomacy removed all friction between the obstinate old Scotch woman, and the more up-to-date maids until, by her aid, the establishment ran on oiled wheels.

"You are my greatest comfort, Alison, dear," was the constant cry of Lady Blair; a nd again Barbara rejoiced at the opportunity of serving those who were good to her. She soon, learned that her aunt, Mrs. Gore-Richie was abroad, and the house in Buckingham Gate closed But Barbara's husband—oh, how her soul revolted at the thought'!—was in London, according to the society journals, in the chronicles of which some allusion to his doings was rarely absent, and she was thankful that Lady Blair's visiting-list did not include his name.

Sometimes the fear oppressed her that some chance caller might recognise her as Barbara, Lady Hester, but as the days wore on she became more confident. Lady Hester lay in the Moray vault, and Lady Blair's guests paid scant attention to her ladyship's- "companion." Save one—Sir John Templecombe, who after his first introduction to "Miss Alison " in Lady Blair's drawing-room grew surprising attentive and courteous to his hostessto that lady's great amusement.

Innumerable were the excuses he found for calling at the beautiful old house in Regent's Tark. Offerings of flowers, choice both in selection and variety, the newest books, concert tickets—all in turn served their purpose, until Lady Blair laughingly suggested that Sir J o hn was undoubtedly in love.

Barbara could not misunderstand the allusion, though it distressed her more than a little.

"Then surely it must be with you, my lady," she said, "since his attentions are devoted to you exclusively" "Yes, Sir John has a proper sense of deference to age mingled with diplomacy. He could scarcely p a y court to you and ignore me. But that you are the attraction luring him here, my dear Alison, is obvious to me,'* smiled her ladyship. "Oh, I am so sorry.' What can I do?"

"Do not worry, dear girl. Sir John is a good fellow, but ho will not break his heart. Ho will pull that unfortunate moustache of his a shade more fiercely when you reject him, will appear dejected and inconsolable for days—perhaps even weeks —and then turn his attention to the latest star on (he variety stage and worship at her shrine; though in justice to Sir John, I am bound to say. he adores such constellations from a distance."

"Then I need scarcely feel flattered," began Barbara, with a flash of the old Moray pride, checked by the remembrance of her supposed position as the relative of a variety entertainer, to say nothing of her own share in his performances. Oh, what a cruel trick Fate had played her—one which would overwhelm her with mortification until the day of her death! And now, in the realization of her dear father's loss, in the realization of her loneliness, and* that an insuperable barrier stood between her and h?r lover there were times when Barbara prayed to die.. Life henceforth, to her, could be devoid of charm, destitute of happiness, since only the bitter alternative was offered her of continuing the deception her soul abhorred, or proclaiming her identity, and taking her place by the side of the husband whose >very name was repellent to her ears.

She was strained in her conversation with Sir John after that, but he, nothing daunted, exerted himself still more to be agreeable and entertaining. And one afternoon, when Lady Blair had been called away, he related, to Barbara's horror—tha marvels of the T knives act ' by a juggler named Stanniforth at the Parthenon, loudly regreting its discontinuance.

"It was really the most bloodcurdling thing," he went on, "and if 'twere still on the programme I should try. and prevail on Lady Blair to take you to see it; and, do you know, Miss Alison, you strongly resemble the girl who stood while the knives were thrown. I couldn't for the life of me imagine of whom you reminded me when I first saw you, but recalling the juggling business settles the point that has worried me more than a little."

Barbara felt her colour change, even though she exerted all her selfcontrol. The young man saw her crimson cheeks, and mistaking her sensations hastened to explain.

"I beg of you not to feel hurt, or construe my words into an offence," he said, eagerly. "J assure you I meant it as the highest compliment. Miss Stanniforth—she was the juggler's cousin—was very charming, and her manner and bearing most distinguished. There was 'blood ' in every line as she stood there like a marble statue. I suppose it was a remnant of the superb courage which inspired the Pilgram Fathers, though the juggler's wife in an American too and wild horses couldn't induce her to face the knives. You are not offended with me, Miss Alison?" "No," smiled Barbara, recovering her equanimity, "for I e'm sure you meant to flatter me. The—the entertainment must have been very unusual.''

"The woman was unusual," replied Sir John, pulling wildly at his moustacke, and evidently searching in his

brain for words in which to express his admiration of Barbara herself, an intention from which she determined he must be turned at a ll risks. "And what became of her? Why was the performance discontinued?" "That's just what Hester was asking me yesterday.""Hester?"

"Sir Talbot Hester. We were together in a stage-box on the last night the knives were thrown To all appearances there was nothing unusual. Stanniforth took the girl off very quickly after het call; but she always seemed to shrink from the applause. But I have heard rumours 0 f an accident, and that the authorities prohibited the performance."

"And-Sir Talbot Hester-he is a friend of yours?" she asked in a strained voice. '

"Well, in a way. Though I hold friendship to be rather, a sacred thing, don't you, Mis.s Alison?" "Very, indeed, Sir John."

"I—l should esteem it a privilege to be admitted to the—happiness of possessing your friendship, Miss Alison,", he stammered.

The girl looked at his simple, honest face, with its big, blue, straight* forward eyes, and told, herself she might need such a friend. Was the thought intuitive? At any rate, hia goodwill deserved serious recognir tion. "Sir John," she said earnestly, "I should like to be your friend—ta hold your friendship a sacred possession." He eagerly took the hand she ex. tended towards him. "If—if you could rest content to accept only as much—or as little—as I can bestow," she faltered. "My life is chequered in its course. I am compelled to ask an unusual amount of confidence and trust from those who would befriend me."

"I would sacrifice my life to serve you," ho said, simply. "I will ask nothing, only to love " "No," interrupted Barbara, firmly.. "We may be friends Sir Johnfriends, but no more." "Do you mean that?" he asked, huskily. "I do." She tried to steel.hfer voice. He released her hand and sha saw his face pale as he tugged at his moustache.

"I'm sorry," he jerked out presently. "But I take your offer—let us b'e friends. I'm not a brilliant chap, but there's nothing I wouldn't do to serve you." "I am sure of it," she answered. "But how let us talk pi something else. By the way, returning to your heroine of the Parthonon, was your friind, Sir Talbot Hester " "I think he comes under the heading of an acquaintance," broke in Sir John. "We are both members of the same clubs, you see. I mean, ha is not my friend in the same lightthat you and I "

"Of course not," returned Barbara, anxious to divert him from' the subject, well knowing that she was playing with fire. "And was he as interested in.the young lady who faced the knives as yourself?". "N-o, I hardly think so,", returned Sir John, reflectively, "though he was struck a ll of a heap at witnessing the show. I remember it was the first night of his return to England, after twelve months' absence in the East."

"You mentioned him as inquiring about her," continued Barbara, anxious now to know if her husband had evinced any sign of .recognition. "Just casually," replied Sir John. "Hester's too absorbed just at present, in his approaching marriage, to feel any interest in anything else." "His marriage?"

The room suddenly spun round, and Barbara held on to the arm of her chair.

"Yes. He's engaged to marry Miss Cora Vansittart, the daughter of old Abner Vansittart, who can't count his millions. It's a ripping fine marriage for Hester, whose affairs have gone wrong of late."

Barbara sat there, not daring to utter a sound. Then he had not recognized her—he believed her dead. Sir John, feeling very sorry for himself over his rejection, was,'for tun- $ ately, staring at the carpet, and by. way of making conversation, rambled 1 on:

"You may remember that ghastly railway collision at Hungerford Bridge about eighteen months ago? Sir Talbot and his bride were in it, and she was killed. She was poor, but belonged to one of the fine old families; but his present marriage, means dollars, though I am told the Vansittart girl is pretty, and quite young, too."

Was this true? Was Sir Talbot Hester—like some hideous monster depicted in the myths of old—demanding still another sacrifice at the hands of womankind?

A young girl, pretty, rich! Ho was marrying her for no other reason if Sir John spoke truth. Was he in ignorance of the fact that she who had been Barbara Moray still lived—that the woman on whose finger he had placed his ring in the Westminster church was yet in existence, and that consequently, his marriage with Miss Vansittart would be illegal, their children for ever branded with an undeserved

Yes ; the fact that Sir Talbot had asked another woman to marry him proved his unquestionable belief that his first wife lay buried deep ia the Moray vault.

Then, at whatever cost to herself, Barbara could not stand idly by and allow the other woman to enter on an unhallowed contract. And though almost rather than face the man who was h?r husband, would Barbara have readily faced nermann's knives with the certainly that one would be sheathed within her heart, the honour of the Morays demanded she should intervene.

Through her act had Alison Stanniforth gone to her doom; by her act also, must Cora Vansittart be saved from disgrace, and Sir Talbot Hester preserved from the commission of a crime. (1546.) To be Continued.