A DAY RECKONING OR BETTER THAN GOLD.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 19, Issue 72, 11 September 1908, Page 7

A DAY RECKONING OR BETTER THAN GOLD.

/'(Copyright.)’

By Hedley Richards,

Author of "The Woman Pays,” "The Fatal Blue Diamonds,”- Etc., Etc* PART IV. That afternoon Barfleet hurried from work, but instead of going direct homo ho went to a wine and spirit shop, where he bought a bottle of the best whisky, then ho hastened homo. Letting himself into the cottage, where ho had lived alone Since his mother's death, he coaxed the fire, that was low, to burn up, then he put the kettle on. The teatable ho had laid before he went to work ; so, feelingj satisfied that the fire would soon be a bright one, he went and stood in the doorway, waiting for Thomas Rigioy, the man who took the keys of Grundy's mill up to the Sycamores every night. Old Tom Rigley, as he was called, had worked for Melville Grundy, father of the present owner ; in fact, for three or four generations the P.igleys had been employed by theGrundys, and Tom would rather have starved than done work for Jabez Armytage, whom ho hated, knowing that he had done his best to ruin the Grundys. Presently Sara saw the thin, spare figure of the old man coming slowly up the steep hill. He was only sixty, but hard work and a good deal of worry -about his children—who had all died young, save one—had made him seem older. "It’s a bit tiring, Tom, remarked Barfleet, as he drew near. "Ay, ay. .The hills grow bigger every year, Sam, as you'll find out some day,” said the old man. "Come in and rest a bit. The kettle’s toiling,” said Barfleet. i For a moment Tom Rigley hesitated ; then he said : i "Well, half an hour don’t make no difference about the keys being at the Sycamores ; and he entered the cottage, sinking into a big armchair. It was not the first time by many that ho had been in the cottage, as Sam’s father and he had been odd friends, and now and then he looked in to ask Sam how he was getting on. "This Is comfortable,” he said, leaning his head back. Sam, who had just taken the kettle oft' the fire, said : "What do you say to a drop of whisky instead of tea ? It would pick you up a bit.” Now, old Tom was generally a Itcady man, but his one weakness was whisky—not that he often took too much, except at Christmas and holiday times, and ho was about to refuse, when Sam drew the cork and pla red the bottle on the table, and the odour of the spirit set him longing. "Well, I don’t mind If I have a drop, It’s . against my rule ; but one’s heart flutters a bit this sort of weather, and it’ll do it good, Yes, I'll have hot water and two lumps ol sugar, but only a wee drop of the irlrlt," he said, as Sam took the Dottle and, going to a cupboard, ,’cached out a glass, and it was well 'or the old man’s peace of mind :hat he did not see the amount of n hisky that Sam put in the glass before ho added the water and sugar. "It tasts mighty strong,” ho said, w he sipped it with evident enjoyment, "That’s because it's old. it vouldn’t hurt a fly." answered Barleet, as he mixed himself a glass mnsiderahly weaker. Then he sat Idwn and began chatting to his visi;or, whose replies gradually became ’ itBB coherent, and finally his head fell on the back of the chair and he began to snore gently. Sam Barfleet watched him. When be was sure there was no danger of waking him he put his hand gently In Rigley’s pocket and drew out two great keys—one of the gate, and the other of the door leading into the mill. Next he went to the cottage door, which ho locked, and slipped ;he key Into his pocket ; then he went into the back kitchen, which had a window at the end and was not overlooked by any of the neighbours, and proceeded to take an impression of the two keys in wax. Carefully wiping the,keys, he returned to the kitchen, replaced them in Rigiey’s pocket, and unlocked the door. When all this was done, he put the f ettle on the fire and made somei strong tea, then went bark to the sleeper, who was still snoring, "Tom I Tom Rigley, wake up ! Don't you hear it's time you were at the Sycamores ?” j Tom slept on, and Barfleet proceeded to ahake him gently, but gradually the shaking became more vigorous. "Wake up, Rigley ! You must take the keys to the house, or you’M got into trouble," said Sam. Perhaps the word "keys” pierced to his brain ; at any rate, ho opened his eyes in a sleepy fashion and looked at Sam. "You must wake up, Tom, or you’ll bo late at the Sycamores,” said Barfleet. "Where am I ?” asked the old man, looking round in a bewildered manner. "You’re in my house. Don’t you remember you’d a drop of whisky, and it or the heat's been too much for you," said Sam. Rigley sat up. 'Tie been asleep. What time is It ?” ho asked, beginning to rouse up. “Oh, you’ve only slept for the matter of half an hour. 1 tried to wake you, but you were too sound off. Now, come, delink this tea, and you’ll fo. 1 wide awake in a wink,” Sam said, handing him a cup of tea. Rigley drank it eagerly. It was frtrong, and very soon the drowsiness passed off. 'Then he rose, saying : "1 must l;o going. The master will think I’m ill or some’at. My ! that whisky was grand, but it’s too strong for an old fellow like me,” he said, is ho put his hand in his pocket, and urn heard the keys jingle. "It was the heat as upset you,” he •opDivd. going with Ritrlcv to the

i aoor, where he stood watching until the old man was out of sight. Then he went back to the table and made a substantial meal, and after removing the things ho locked the door and went into the back kitchen. Sam Barfleet’s father had been a locksmith, and Sam had a considerable amount of skill in that line, though from choice ho was a weaver ; but now ho was going to fashion two keys—one t Q admit him into the yard at Grundy’s mill, and the other to open the mill door. He had the tools that had belonged to his father, and ho worked steadily, only breaking oft' for his supper, after which ho smoked a pipe at the cottage door. As ho stood there he looked up at the Ridge, and in one of the windows of Mullins’s Folly he saw a light burning. "You wouldn’t have me, and you shan’t have him yet awhile, my beauty. I reckon what I’m going to do will put the wedding off considerable,” he thought. Then knocking the ashes out of his pipe, ho went indoors, and having barred and locked the door, he closed the shutters. Bringing his tools out of the [jack kitchen, he worked slowly and patiently until the keys were made, then locked them and the wax impressions up, after which ho put his tools away and swept the kitchen up. Then going upstairs, he saw that the summer morning was dawning, “I guess there'll bo doings in 01- \ erst one before to-morrow dawns, and I shall bo a thousand pounds richer for my share in the work,” ho muttered. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and thought how nice it would be when ho could count a thousand golden sovereigns. "Blest if 1 know which 1 want the most—to serve them Hoylances out, or finger the money ; but my little trick will make it easy to do both,” he reflected. •% , $ CHAPTER IX. , H TOO LATE. Jabcz Armytago was just stopping out of the house, when Makinson, the lawyer, drove up to the door, and, throwing the reins to the youthful groom, climbed out of ic high dogcart. "That’s a now trap, I see,” said Armytago, with a slight sneer. "Yes ; George wanted it, and he persuaded me to buy the mare. But I don’t like her ; she’s too full of tricks. Softly, old girl !” ho said, tatting her head. Then he turned to the groom. "You’d better get down and hold her, Johnson,” he said. " You give her too' much corn. I suppose, you are cotuing in ?” said Armytagc. "Yes ; I’ve a little matter I want to name to yon, and 1 thought I should catch you before you went back to the mill,” replied the lawyer, as he followed the master of the ho', so into his office. "Well, what is it ?” asked the latter, as ho seated himsJlf and hia visitor took a chair facing him. The lawyer leaned forward. "I know why you wouldn’t consent to a marriage between my son and your daughter. You want her to le Lady Olvorstone ” "It wouldn’t take a great deal of wit to find that out, seeing that Lord Olverstone’s the most suitable match about here.” "I’ve come to tell ’ou It’s no go, Neither Lord Olverstone nor my son will marry her.” "What do you mean?” Jabcz Army t age spoke in a sharp, rasping tone. "They’re both madly in love with a girl named Paula Holden, the adopted niece of the woman who keeps the inn on the moor,” he said, in a slow, deliberate tone that carried conviction. "How do you know V” "Because I happen to have a daughter who has a pair of eyes in her head. They’re not handsome ones, but they sec a good deal, and she's seen both Lord'Olverstone and her brother with the girl, and she saw enough to tell her how things were going ; so 1 spoke to George, and he swore he’d marry the girl if she’d hate him, but 1 found out that ho was jealous of Olverstone.” "is that all ? Do you think his lordship’s such a born fool as to marry a girl like that, when he could have Josey and my fortune and” Then Armytago paused. "You sec, ho doesn’t know how much hangs on it. The girl at the inn is bevvitchingly pretty, Laura tells me, and his lordship is not the man to act otherwise than honourable.” said the lawyer. Jabcz Armytago laughed. "if you've come with this tafle because you wanted to make me uneasy, yon have failed. His lordship will marry my daughter,” ho said. The lawyer rose. . "I came to tell you because I know my pet project, the marriage of my son to Miss Josey, would never come off. I’d have managed it in spite of you, but George just laughed, and told me his wife would be Paula Holden ; so when I knew I was beaten, I resolved that you should know your scheme would come to nothing. And now I’m going ; he said, as he rose. Armytagc; rose too. "TiieU’e's one thing you seem to forget—they cannot both many this girl at the inn. Your son says he will, then Oherstoncwill be only too glad to marry my heiress, and 1 don’t suppose he'll! make her any worse husband for this passing infatuation,” "Don’t be too sure. I’ve a feeling that (his girl will spoil your game as well as mine, and. hang it, I hope she will. Why should your schemes prosper aud mine come to nothing?” "Thank you. I really don’t know why, but so far the things I have set my mind on have generally come to pass,” said Arm;, (age. | "Well, you’ll he (bopped on some day, and I'm inrlimd lo think this | [Jan of yours about Olverstone will bo the first tiling that will go wrong.” j "Are you going to turn prophet?” ; inquired the oilier man, with a sneer. I "No, bit if I had a gift that way 'l should say Army tuge o) (he Grange ; wasn't going to rule (he roost in i Olverstone in future. I’m inclined (o think that ‘Grundy, Armytagc, and Buy lance' will soon become a power in the district. You see, they've got a patent.” "Confound them !” exclaimed Army (age, nmvi d out of his usual calm impmssi. • tie; s. Mukinom laughed*

“I'm inclined to think you’ll have more reason to say it before long. Well, good day. I’m awfully busy and he left the room, followed by Armytage, who went with him to the door and watched him climb into the trap. "If I . was given to prophecy, I should say that mare will do for you if you drive her often,”- said Jabez, with a sneer. "I don’t intend to give her the chance; I shall turn her over to George,” replied the lawyer, as the groom got up. Flicking the mare lightly with the whip, they set off, leaving ’ Armytage standing on the doorstep, then he went back into the house/ Instead of going to his office, as he had intended, sitting down, ho thought over what Makinson had told! him, and the more he reflected the more certain he became that Lord Olverstone would not marry the girl at the inn. All the same there should bo no more delay. His lordship would have to make Josey an offer, and he would see that she accepted it. "Perhaps he will ask her tonight. The Olvorstoncs are dining at the Abbey,” ho thought. While Jabez Armytage was deep in these reflections the man who had caused them drove through the gates on to the high road, then he turned the mare’s head in the direction of the town, as not only was his office situated in the lower part, but his house, a substantial building, joined the office. If Makinson had desired, he was rich enough to afford a mansion outside the town, but he preferred remaining in the house in which he had been born and had lived all his life. Moreover, it was his ambition to let his son live the life of a country gentleman, and with this object he had saved. Laura i though his only daughter, was of very secondary importance in her 1 ’ father’s eyes. He was thinking of his son as he drove on, and the mare, which ' was fully aware that her driver was not holding her with a firm hand, began to caper and show a decided inclination to Holt. This caused her master to rouse, and he tightened his hold of the reins ; then, as she was still restive, ho brought the whip down smartly across her back as they turned to go down a steep hill that led into the main street, and at the same moment a man came out of a public-house blowing a horn lustily. The mare shied, then sprang forward and rushed madly down the hill and along the street, where she came into collision with a brewer’s dray. Makinson and his groom were pitched out, and as the mare plunged wildly the wheels of the trap were forced l ack and passed over the lawyer’s prostrate form. Another moment and the horse and trap were rushing wildly forward, while a group gathered round the injured men. It was found that the groom was merely stunned, but the lawyer looked so deathlike that at first they thought he was dead. A minute or two later Makinson’s doctor, who happened to bo passing down the street, came to his assistance, and under his directions the lawyer was taken home on an ambulance and laid in his own bed, A very brief examination told the doctor that there was no’ chance of recovery, and he was wondering whether he should tell Miss Makinson, ns her brother was not in the house, when the lawyer opened his eyes and >oa’ eu nt him. t better ?” Ke asked, in a watt* t. .. ’ "I’m afraid not,” \wm ply, "Can yo« patch me up ?” he asked, in an appealing tone. The doctor shook his head. "1 wish I could, but it’s beyond me.” "Will it be days? 1 ' asked the lawyer. "I think not. A few hours, perhaps less. You are vitally injured. Is there any one you would like to see? A” "I’m a dying man !” and a look of terror came into Makinson’s eyes : then he managed to control himsiflf. "Will you tell Laura to come to me ?” Without a word the doctor went downstairs, and, after telling Miss Makinson that she was wanted, he wrote a prescription, which he sent to he made up at his surgery. Then he decided to wait ; his patient would not Inst long, and it was scarcely kind to leave his daughter aJlono, and no one knew where her brother was. Meanwhile Laura Makinson had gone upstairs. She was small and stodgy, with a sallow skin, colourless hair, a woman with a face devoid of expression, and now, as she drew near the bedside of her dying father, there was neither grief nor solicitude in her countenance. Makinson looked at her. "Laura, I’m dying,” ho said ; and there was an appealing look in his eyes. "I know,” she said, calmly. He turned half from her. "Wchre’s George ? I want George.” "I expect he’s at the inn on the moor. Shall I send for him ?” she asked. "Yes ; but I want to sec Mr. Luke Armytage above any one in the world. He’s staying with Grundy at the Sycamores. You must *end for him, and send sharp,” he said, his voice sinking to a whisper. "Why do you want him?” she asked. The dying man’s eyes opened, and his voice was stronger as ho said "Don’t waste time : send for him. I did his father a wrong, and I cannot face my Maker until 1 have done my best to right it;” and again ids voice died away. Without word I,aura went downstairs and told the doctor that her lather wanted to see her brother, who she believed was at the inn on the moor, hut she didn’t know how to semi a message ; the groom was too ill lo go. "I will send my man on horseback,” said the doctor ; and, promising to return, lie left the house*. Then I,aura went into the kitchen and told the housemaid she must gel her hat on and go to the Sycamores and say that Mr. • Makinson wished to sc-e Mr. Luke Armytage. Next she went upstairs, and on the landing she paused to look iit (he eigvil.-day clock. The •locior laid said her I’alher would not live al ove an hour or two. Well, it would take Mary more than half an hour, probably tliree-qiiuirters, to leach the Sycamores, and it was most likely that Luke Army!ago would lie too 'late. She had a very good notion whv luir father wanted

to see the latter. She had heard her mother’s people—they were not friendly with her father—talk about the way Jabez Armytage had inherited his uncle's wealth, when the cousin, the father of this Luke Armytage, was supposed to be the heir, and she knew that many people believed her father and Jabez Armytage had substituted a will in place | of the true one. Now on his deathbed her father was going to ■ tell, the truth, and that meant ruin to | Jabez Armytage, and Laura did not' mean him to be ruined. She admired the man who had made him- ! self a power in Olverstone. Moreover, she had seen Luke Armytage talking to Josey, and she had been vexed at the evident admiration he j felt for her* t(o man had ever admired Laura, but Jabez Armytage had always treated her with courtesy, and her sympathies were with him. Of course, it wasn't very nice to cheat her father on his death-bed, but if he had been in her place he would have done it if it had suited him, and in every way she felt it would be better for her to prevent this revelation, , "Have you sent for him?" asked the dying man. "Yes. For Lira and for George," she replied, seating herself near the bed. He closed his eyes and lay still, his thoughts busy with the past and the future—the eternal future, into which he was going. He had not been a man to think of such things. Perhaps sometimes, when he had listened to a sermon, his thoughts had gone in that direction, but it had made him feel uncomfortable, and he had put such thoughts from him. But now that the day of reckoning was near the dying man would have given much to undo some of the things he had done, and the desire to see Luke Armytage grew stronger. "Hasn’t he come ?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking at bis . daughter, who shook her head, re- | minding him there had not been time. Just then the doctor entered the room, and Makinson looked at him, saying: "You must keep me up until he comes.” The doctor nodded. He thought the dying man was speaking of his son, and he gave him a stimulating draught. Then he seated himself near the window, while Laura remained close to the bed. Every now and then the dying Mian would ,ask if he had not come. After a time quick steps were heard coming up the stairs, and Laura raised her head to listen. Then a sigh of relief escaped her as the door opened and her brother rushed in. He was a tall, loosely-built young follow, with black hair, which seemed to want cutting, and something of ( a dare-devil face, but there was a • good nature in it, and grief was depicted in his countenance as he hastened to the bedside, exclaiming : "Father, that brute hasn't hurt yon much ?” and he bent over the dying man. "She’s finished me; I had no business to drive her. Don’t you blame yourself, my boy and there was love in the eyes ho raised to his son’s face. "I'll shoot her. But they’ll pull you round, never fear,”, he said. "Therejs no pulling round for me, George, stoop down. I’ve something to say and as his son obeyed, he whispered : "If you want nw to die easy, fetch Armytage, the man tvho’a gone m ""orshlp with Grundy. Bho says a.. fo r him"-and he dioated his <- hurry him ( up. I mi', i ee him and his voice died away* •■Who did yon send for Armytage?” asked George, turning to his sister. "I sent Mary. I’d no one else to send.” With an impatient movement he turned away, and in another moment he was striding downstairs, and she heard the door bang as he passed into the street. "Would George find Luke Armytage in time ?” She hoped not ; but her brother generally . man- ; aged to bring about what he wanted. Meanwhile George Makinson set off 1 at a pace that made people turn to j look at him, his long logs serving him. ' welil, and he Rad got some distance j when he met Mary, who paused. | "If you please, Mr. George, they ; said at the Sycamores that Mr. Luke ’ Armytagc was at Grundy’s mill.” I "I’ll find him. You go home ;” | and George turned his cteps in the direction of the mill, his long strides covering the ground at a rapid rate, , and in a short time, considering the j distance, he turned into the yard at ; Grundy’s mill, almost running into | two men who wore coming out, and . he saw that one'of them was the man he wanted. "Mi-, Luke Armytage, my father, Lawyer Makinson, has mot with an , accident and is dying, but he says he must see you.” A look of surprise, followed by one of expectancy, was visible in Luke’s face. Then he turned to his companion, saying, “Roylance, I shall have to (leave you ;” but almost before the words were out of his mouth. George Makinson grasped him by the ( arm, saying : j "Come along. He said he could not die easy without seeing you.” | Luke’s reply was to hasten for- I ward, and the two young men, both tall and strong, walked as though a wager depended upon them reaching I their destination in a certain time. At last, when they drew near the house, Luke said : i "Do you know why your father wants to see me ?” "No,” was the short reply, as Geoi go pulled the bell and they entered (he house. "Come along,” he said ; and Luke followed him upstairs into a chamber at the front of the house. The dying man lay seemingly unconscious. His eyes were dosed, a nd as they drew near Laura held up her (inner warn!ugly, and the doctor came forward with a glass containing a slight stimulant. He had gathered from Makinson’s words expressions of Utter regret that Luke Armytage had nob come, Hint he had something of vital importance to say, and lie resolved that if it were possible be should say it before he closed his e.vi s in, (hath. ’George took no notice of his sister’s warning, but, bending over his father, said, "Luke Armjtago is h tv, dad,” uttering the name by uhi h he had ahvuvs cattail him in

the years gone toy ana so m. now used jokingly. But there , waa tender ring in the name that tols those present that the young maa. whom the world called fast, had a tender spot in his heart * for the dying man* Makinson opened Hr eyes slowly—a film was' beginning .«/ gather over them. Then he sa\i He Armytage, and made a desperd 1 Bort to rally. "I did your father ’ The voice ceased, ) A was a faint struggle, and Lawye t’akinson was dead, and George s& » on his knees by the bedside sobbing, while his sister stood calmly by. .Then as Luke Armytago and the doctor went downstairs she followed them. In the hall they paused for a minute, and she said :’ ‘l’m sorry you were late, Mr. Luke Armytago. I gathered that my father did yours some kindness. Perhaps he wanted some return from you, but we shall never know.” “I don’t think that was the reason you father wished to see me,” he said, then left the house, accompanied by the doctor, "I wish 1 had been half an hour sooner,” said Luke, hs they walked on. "So do I. Ah, there’s Mr. Armytage,” he said, as Jabez Armytage hurried past them, barely raising his hat; and looking round, they saw him enter the lawyer s house, where the blinds were Lfllng drawn over the windows. As Jabez stopped Into the hall, Laura Mn.iibton came out of the room, holding ,«}; her hand. "Come in here, 1 ' itv’e said, "Is he dead ?” yUuld Armytage, looking at the darkehdl window. "Yes ; he’s just gone.’* "Luke Armytage has been here. IVhat for ?” he asked. "My father wanted to see him, but I didn’t think it wise, A dying man may say things that injure the living, so I took care there was delay. But for George he would not have been here by now. I’ll tell you what my father said to him ;** and she - repeated the dying man’s words. "Ah !” And Jabez Armytage drew a breath of relief. Then he looked at the woman, and realised that she had done him a great service. Moreover, he knew now, what he had suspected before, that this commonplacelooking woman had a strong personality. " You and I will always be friends,” he said ; and she ' understood. CHAPTER X. BARFLEET’S EVIL DEED. That same night as the church clock chimed the half-hour after eleven, Sara Barfleet stole out of his cottage, locking the door behind him. He was wearing goloshes, so that his footsteps were not heard as ho passed the row of cottages, then struck into a back lane, and by a circuitous route, keeping out of the main streets, and aS far as possible avoiding passing the houses, he at last reached Grundy’s Mill. It was a dark night, and he felt thankful that it was. What h® was going to do meant punishment by the law, a term of imprisonment, if ho (was discovered, and the darkness ! would cloak him and his evil designs, As ho put the key in the lock, the church clock began striking the hour of midnight, and as the first stroke boomed out in the darkness he started, then before the third one had died away, he had. turned the key and opened the big wooden gate that led Into the yard. Stealing in, he shut and locked the 1 gate, and as the last stroke of twelve died away, he stood in front of the great door that led into the mill, then in an instant, without waiting to think, he put the key in the door, but it was not as good an imitation as the one for the gate, and it, took him some time to turn it. then he had a little difficulty in gutting it out of the lock, but this was accomplished, and closing, but not locking, the door, he went forward cautiously, now and then striking matches to enable him to find his way until he came to the room where the raw material was kept, and opening the door, he looked jn, finally throwing several lighted matches among the cotton, then shutting the door, he went to a room where there were piles of goods, flannelette and calico waiting to be sent away. Here, too, Barfleet applied lighted matches to the rolls of material, then he hastened from the building and, shutting the door, he locked it, and hurrying across the yard he was soon outside, and having" locked the great wooden gate, he stole away. The return to his cottage was accomplished in even less time than the joiii'ncy to the mill, and without venturing to light the lamp, he removed his boots and goloshes, then undressed, after which he went to the scullery window’, from which he coi.'ld see Grundy’s Mill, and there in the distance he saw a red glow that, seemed every moment to become more vivid. Evidently the police had not seen it, Barfleet had congratulated himself, as he stole home, on the fact that they were a stupid set, and now he grinned as he reflected that even if they saw it now', the fire w’ould have got too Dig a hold to be easily extinguished, and visions of the £I,OOO he should receive from Jabez Armytage rose before him ; he even began speculating as to where ho could hide his hoard. Suddenly he remembered the keys, and, going into the kitchen, he took up his coat and felt for the keys ; thev were there all right, but where must he keep, them ? At last he thought of a hiding place, and, mounting the stairs, he threw his clothes on one chair, and climbing on another, ho reached from oft a tall chest of drawers an old box that had belonged to his mother, and, unlocking it, he touched a spring and revealed a secret compartment, just large enough to hold the keys. As he laid them in it he remembered how proud his father had been of his success in making the hidden recess, and a sense of guilt struck Sam, as he thought that the first use ho had put it to was to hide the evidence of a crime, but he decided they should not lie there long ; he would throw them into the Oliver, but ho would have to wait until he could go some distance out of the town lest by any chance they should bo found. Anxious to know the result of his work, he passed into the little back bedroom and lookijUE out of the

winnow, ne saw mar in tne last ten minutes the i : ..d gained in intensity, the ■' ;.low had become a ill aze that seemed to dance in and :,.it as it caught fresh portions of the great, building. Pen Roylance woke with a start. She had been dreaming of her lover, and the dream h a d not been a) happy one—Neville had been in some great danger—but now as she tried to remember it slipped from her grasp. Still, the feeling of uneasiness remained, but she told herself it was folly. He had only parted from her at ten o’clock, and, surely, nothing could be wrong with him now ? And Pen tried to settle off to sleep, but she couldn’t, and, rising, she went to the window, thinking the cool night air would soothe her, and drawing aside the blind she looked out. "Why, there’s a fire !” ,she exclaimed, as she saw the red blaze dart into the sky, then die down, only to rise again with redoubled fury. "It’s Grundy’s Mill. Yes; I’m certain it is and slipping into a dressing-gown which had been her mother’s gift some little time ago, then putting on her slippers, she opened her bedroom door end ran along the landing to her brother’s room, where she tapped loudly on the door, calling ; "Roger I Roger !" r (To be Continued)*