VIOLET LISLE; OR, A PEARL BEYOND PRICE.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 22, Issue 90, 21 November 1911, Page 5

VIOLET LISLE; OR, A PEARL BEYOND PRICE.

All Rights Reserved,

By the Author of “All or Nothing,” “Two Keys,’’ etc., etc.

PART 12. CHARTER XXX.—(Continued.) “ Dear old Goody !” said Violet ; and if Lady Westall had not shut the door and gone away to her own iflom, she would have seen a smile on the lovely face such as had never been there within her recollection. It was a smile of the old days, called up by the mere sight of Goody’s face..

“ The same Miss Vi’let,” said Goody presently, holding Violet at arm’s length from her ; “only more beautiful. Oh, Miss Vi’let I’m that glad to see you—” “ Glad- to see me !” echoed Violet, iier blue eyes becoming intense with suppressed feeling. “ Sit down here where I can look at you, and talk to me. I don’t care what you say, bnly! talk and let mo look at you. How did you find me 7” Voluble old Goody needed no more than a start to talk, and in a moment she was telling the way she had worked out the whereabouts of her dear “Miss Vi’let” and Violet listened in a dreamy fashion, as if she hardly heard what was being told her, but as if she were quite content ho sit there, with the work-roughen-ld hand in her two soft ones, and lo bear the familiar, voice that had talked to her at her bidding from the time she could remember. “ So,” said Goody, concluding, “ that’s the way I came to find you, r 1 it’s the happiest moment I've >wn since that dreadful night when

i ran away from me and I lost you. Oh, my blessed lamb ! What happened to you. after that?" ‘‘ Never mind about me yet,” said Violet, smiling into the faded eyes ; "you can see for yourself that I have fared well. I found Lady Westall at the beginning and I could never tell you all she has done for me."

" Ah, I knew she was Heaven’s good the moment I set ejes on her. An’ it was her as held out the helping hand to you ? God bless her ! An’ she belongs to the gentry too. Ah, I’m glad of that. An’ you,, Miss Vl’let—you wear silk as if yon had never known anything else. Tell me there’s nothing in blood ! I wish your father could see you this blessed minute and Goody looked: shrewdly up into the beautiful face to see how much resentment was betrayed in It for the father who had shirt the doors against her. '

"My father," repeated Violet. "Tell me about him. Is he well ?" "You don’t bear him no ill-will, then?" demanded Goody, with a glad smile.

“ Why should I, Goody ? I disobeyed him. He did what was right.” She said it firmly enough ; but there was a sadness that came Into her eyes that made the sympathetic creature exclaim :

“My poor lamb. It was a cruel wicked thing to do, and I ben’t the one to say it wasn’t ; and he knows it was now—has known it ever since, and that’s what’s told on him so.” ‘‘He isn’t ill, Goody?” cried Violet anxiously.

‘‘He ben't well, Miss Vi’let, that’s the gospel truth ; an’ it’s the blessed reason why I took it into my old bj?ad to work it out where you was, and come for you to tell me how things was going on, and let you know how he was. I did think you would, maybe, hold it against him ; but you don’t, do you, Miss Vi’let?” A gleam of hope and gladness shot into Violet’s eyes. ‘‘No, I love him better, it seems to me than ever I did before,” she answered. ‘‘ Tell me about I him, Goody.” “ That I will, my lamb,” said Goody, greatly relieved, it was plain, by Violet’s answer. ‘‘You will remember what he was —so proud and like. Well, I won’t say he’s not been jest as proud to this blessed day ; but he’s broken and aged like, Miss Vi’let, so that you would not know him for the same. Why, I ups an’ gives him my mind, now, frequent, which you very well know he wouldn’t have tolerated, to say the least, in the old days ; an’ what should be the blessed cause on it but yoO—jest you ?” “I ?”

" Yee, you, Miss Vi’let. It began at the very first after you went a>ay. Leastways it was about a or so after it. I was scared at the very first, and didn’t dare to say nothing at all r and by-and-by it all came to me what a shame it was an’ a' sin too, if it comes to that, •in’ I went right up to him in his study, an’ I said right out that he

Vi\s 3 hard, cruel old man. Do you he sent me pacltin’ like he u-onhl in the old days ? Not he. I It, Miss Vi’let, an’ to tell you the truth, I had my bundle all r'-’/'d and ready. But what does be do but answer me back. I don’t remsmber what it was he said ; but I ’mew !;«; minute he talked back that T was safe to speak my mind, an’ I did.” " I’oor father !” said Violet, softly. " Jiht, to be sure !” ©aid Goody, wdh a trieraphant toss of her head ; “ but he lefiruad some things in those days that I never would ’a’ thought to tftadi Irftn. Well, it was some time Afore 1 noticed muchl change bearer tb*i : hot by-and-by he began to tH>k o’ tkw time when you was a Ji.ttl* laws, »n than I noticed that he ynun’l eating as ho should an’ the wng #«’ ehort cf it is that he’s ft hrokjiit man. Oh, ho has his pride «t 4 naw& a* 1 tWut he’d give to see

you I didn’t dare send you word through the lawyer gentleman till I’d seen you and known with my own eyes that you hadn’t done nothing to disgrace—” “Goody !” said Violet, her eyes flashing with an angry light that Goody White bad never seen in them. “ Body o’ me !” cried the old woman, “Jbhat’s the first bit o‘ your father I’ve ever seen in -you., - - But I didn't mean ! believed you could, not him.”

“ And did my father ever believe that dishonour could ever- come to me ?” demanded Violet, her head proudly erect, and her voice cold and incisive.

“ There now,” said Goody, “ how quick you are ! I didn’t say so. Why I thought he meant it myself, once, an’ I jest up and was rating him for it, when he flew into one of his old tempers, with ‘ Woman my daughter would die before dishonour would overtake her ! ’ Bless me ! hut I was scared ! What he meant was that he was afraid you had lowered the name of Lisle by doing something that a Lisle never should do.” “Ah !” exclaimed Violet, with an accent that was at once one of anguish and one of pride, “my father had faith in me. And you think he wishes me to return to him ?” “ I think he is sickening and growing old with longing for you, and with fearing that his act has ruined your young life. Oh, Mias Vi’let, if you would but come back an’ humble yourself that much a£ to say you would like to be with him as before, and ask him to forgive you, it would he the saving of his life, I’m sure.” “ I will do anything to he hack with him and you, <^pody.” “My blessed lamb, I am sure of it.”

" But, Goody,” said Violet with a sudden sadness, " I think my father will not receive me back." "You don’t know him now, Miss Vi’let —” began Goody, when Violet stopped her, " I have disgraced the name ; or what is the same, he will think so."

" Oh, Miss Vl’let what are you saying ? M

“Did you ever hear of Miss Mabel Marsden, a public singer, who has created some sensation in London ?” " Oh, yes, Miss Vi’let." " Do you think my father would be proud to know that she was his daughter ?” "His daughter ! Oh, Miss Vl’let!”

■° You see," said Violet, sadly, " most people would be proud of it; but my father would think I had disgraced him.” " Yes, Miss ViTet,” answered Goody in a sort of dismay, knowing the inveterate and unreasonable pride of the man ; " but, Miss Vi’let, you needn’t say nothing about that part of it. Why, don’t you see, Miss Vl’let, there ben’t nothing so very disgraceful in it, is there ?" "Nothing at all, Goody," answered Violet, smiling sadly at the notion-

“ Well, won’t you say nothing at all about it ; but jest let Lady Westall that has been such a good friend to you, go to your father, an’ tell him you’ve been with her, and not say a word about the singing." " It would be a deception, Goody," said Violet; but it was plain she bad grasped eagerly at the idea. "Bother the deception, Miss ViTet," said Goody. “ Let us go to Lady Westall,” said Violet; and she rose and nodded to Goody to follow her.

CHAPTER XXXI. /; FATHER AND DAUGHTER,

Violet knew she did not need to ask Lady Westall to serve her ; but she wished for the friendly and unprejudiced advice she was sure of obtaining from her, and so she prefaced her request by a brief account of her father’s condition, supplemented by such interruptions as Goody could not refrain from uttering. “ I wish to go to him,” said Violet at last. ‘‘ I have been pining for the old life—l don’t know why ; and now I think I must go to my father, and bs to him what a child should be. Help me again, as you Eave so often helped me.”

The singular pride of the father Lady Westall could not sympathise with, though she knew full well that it Wa<s common enough ; but the distress of Violet she could understand and sympathise with, and sbs was willing to humour the father for the sake of the happiness of the child. She could see what apparently Violet could not—that it was to get nearer to the life that had had Guy in it that was urging her on. ‘‘ Mabel, dear,” she said, ‘‘ let us say nothing about the singing since it will offend, and I will do as Goody suggests. Is he so wedded to his present home that he will never leave it ?”

“ Not he,” answered Goody. “ I think the (.only reason he remains there is because he has kept on hoping that Miss Violet would come back to him.” ” You would wish to live somewhere else, would you not, Mabel?” asked Lady Westall. “ If it could be,” answered Violet, thinking shudderingly of what had been said of her by the villagers because she had gone to London with Martin Jenkins. ” Then I will go to him ; and if he is willing to have you return, and will go to some ntw place to live no one need ever know that you and Mabel Marsden ar« the same.” ”It won’t be ’ willing ’ to have Miss VlTet come back, but glad he’ll be,” said Goody, with such a confident air that Violet looked up at her with a bright smile. ” An’ if you only manage him right there won’t he no trouble about getting him to go somewheres else to live.” Lady Westall smiled.

*■ I will do my best at managing,” she said, f and I will be at Penarth

to-morrow, if you think that won’t be too soon after your absence 7” “ Too; soon 7” queried Goody.

“ I mean so soon that he will suspect that you have had something to do with my visit,” explained Lady Westall.

“ Bless your dear heart, my lady,” said Goody, with a pitying air, “’he suspects now ; but as long as he does not know that I know he suspects it will be all right. You know what men are, I’na sure, an*' he’s one oj them. He’s willing I shall do anything tp get Miss ViTet hack hut he ain’t willin’ I should know he wants me to. You jest come to-morrow an’ don’t have no doubts.” So this arrangement being made, Goody returned to Penarth that afternoon, and pretended not to notice the uneasiness of her master whenever she was near him. He would have been willing to hear any volunteered information, hut he would not ask for any, and Goody chuckled complacently as she went about the cottage with as indifferent an air as she could assume.

The next afternoon she opened the door of the cottage in answer to a summons, as if she had not heard the stopping of a carriage in front of the gate, as if she had not been excitedly peering along the lane ever since the early morning, and as if she had no more notion who the visitor was than the man in the moon himself.- “ Does Mr. Melville Lisle live here ?” asked Lady Westall, with difficulty keeping a serious face in view of the suppressed chuckles and grimaces of glee made by the delighted creature who stood curtseying before her.

“To be sure, my lady—ma’am, I mean and Goody nearly shook to pieces with her mirth.

" Will you give him my card and say I will be glad of a few minutes of his time ? I have come on an errand of importance.”

"Walk in, please,” said Goody, ushering her visitor into the little parlour.

Then she went upstairs to the study where Mr. Lisle who had heard all of the conversation, sat nervously twitching his long fingers. " Well, well ! who is it ? What does she want ? Give me the card and he almost snatched it out of Goody’s hand. " H’m ! Lady Westall. Help me on with my coat, Goody. How clumsy you are, Goody." " You ought to have a valet, you ought," grumbled Goody, thereby showing more plainly than she could have done in any other way how greatly changed her master was. " Don’t vex me,” he said petulantly ;i" don’t vex me. What do you think she wants, Goody ?" " How should I know ?” returned she, as if in sulks. He rubbed his hands nervously together, and looked as if be would like to ask her something more direct, but thought better of it, and went downstairs, erect and bearing herself like a Lisle, but with very little of that haughty bitter air, that he had worn when Lady Darlington waited in the little parlour for him. He bowed courteously to Lady Westall, who half rose when he entered. " You wished to see me, I believe," he said. “ A handsome, aristocratic old man,” was her thought, as she glanced at him before responding to his words. “If he is like this when his pride is broken, I can imagine what he must have been before and whether for Violet’s sake, or for a natural prepossession towards him, she liked him at once.

‘‘ Yes,” she answered, ‘‘ I wished to see you, but I would like you to believe before I broach the subject of my errand, that I have come in no meddling spirit, but only because my affections are bound up in the cause I wish to advocate.” Melville Lisle breathed harder than was his wont, but placed his hand upon his breast and bowed, saying, with the utmost courtesy “ I find it easy to believe that anything you may interest yourself in will be worthy of iny closest attention. I beg of you to proceed.” She smiled a little at his stately gallantry, though she was careful that he should not notice it.

‘‘Thank you,” she said. ‘T will not tax your patience with a long preface, but will come to my purppse at once. You have a daughter, Violet ?”

His face twitched rs she could see, and there was an eager movement at the sound of his daughter’s name; b«t pride was not yet dethroned, and he drew himself a little more -erect, and answered :

” I had a daughter of that name.” ‘‘.Then you still have, for she is living,” was the soft answer. There was a pause of some moments, and then he said, a little unsteadily : ” She may he dead to me.” “ How can that be when she longs to return to your home ? ” asked Lady Westall. ‘‘ Do you know why she left my home ?” asked the father, struggling hard with pride that had already wrecked his life. ‘‘ She has told me all of the wretched story—l know more of it than you, perhaps. I know that she was as blameless and as innocent as the angels, and that you sent her out into the hard world to become whatever fate and her own nature might make her.”

It was said a little indignantly and Lady Westall was a little fearful after the words were out of her mouth, that she had undone the good she might have done ; but Melville Lisle had pondered that theme too often and too painfully to shy at it now, and he smothered his first feeling of anger at being so spoken to, and answered eagerly : ‘‘ She had disobeyed me and had voluntarily left her home to cast in her lot with another. She had been

gone a day and a night, and then returned to me. What was I to think ?”

“You should have thought the truth—that she was a Lisle, and be appearances what they might, that she could not have done a wrong act.”

It was a subtle appeal that Lady Westall made to hlim, and it carried far more weight than a volume of proofs would have done. “I may have been wrong,” he admitted.

“Oh, you were wrong,” said Lad> Westall, earnestly ; “ and I see now that you will meet me half-way. May I tell you of Violet ?” The womanly Impetuosity with which she took it for granted that he was now In sympathy with her relieved him of a needless amount of gradual yielding, and he answered, with less effort to hide his real feelings than before ; “ Please do. Is she well 7 Yea, tell me about her. I kn!ow, from what you say, that she must be worthy now as say ” and he half arose to how — “ that your friendship for her would be evidence enough for me. Is she well ?”

“Very well, and longing to see you.” " She has forgiven me ?” " She believes that you did right in treating her as you did.” ” Yes, that would be like her. She never had this pride of mins.”

Lady Westall smiled. "Do not be too certain of th/at,” she said. “ Violet hap pride enough in being a Lisle.” The fathecls face lighted up at that. His greatest complaint against Violet had always been that she was deficient in pride. “ Then she has never done anything to—to —bias never ibeen forced by circumstances to do anything to bring—not precisely disgrace, but —” “ She has never done anything that a Lisle might not be proud to do,” said Lady Westall, thinking that she could not be responsible for his unreasonable prejudice against public singing.

Melville Lisle rose from his chair and walked to the window, where he stood silent for a few minutes. Then he turned and went towards Lady Westafl.

” Lady Westall,” he said, “ bring my child to me. Let me confess to you who have been her friend, as I can see, that I have so longed and j earned to have her back that but for the fear that I should find her what my treatment of her might have made her, I would have gone to search for her ere this. I did not know my own child,”

“ No, you did not know her. It was my good fortune to find her soon after she left you, and she has been with me ever since, the sunshine of my life.” ” Heaven bless you,” murmured Melville Lisle. ‘‘There is one thing, Mr. Lisle,” said Lady .Westall, hesitatingly. ” What is it ?” “ This : Violet makes no stipulation; she will rejoice to come to you as you will ; but she knows that her name has been bandied about this village, and that it would be a real shame to her to return to it, and have the villagers look askance at her. Would you object to- living elsewhere ? Remember this is my suggestion, not hers.” ‘‘ It does not matter whose it is; I shall willingly leave here. Do me the honour to let me know what your plana are ?” ” Always with reference to your better judgment ”; and Lady Westall bowed almost as low as Mr. Lisle had done a moment previously. This exchange of courtesies was quite as sincere as it was ceremonious, for the poor gentleman was mightily taken with the beautiful woman who had befriended his daughter, and she was of the opinion that with all his pride he was a singularly fine man. They were both in a frame of mind to please each other and Lady Westall proceeded to untold her plan with far more confidence than she had conceived it. It was in; fact nothing less than that he should go to London with her, and be her guest until she could have her neglected place, Ravens--croft, in Surrey, put in order for their reception. He demurred with a touch of his old jealous-pride ; but she represented first that it would be hard on her to suddenly lose Violet, who had become necessary to her, and secondly that he would need time to look about him to find a suitable place to live. Of course he yielded finally, and it was arranged that he should return to London with her, and th a t Goody White should be left behind to pack the goods in readiness for removal. The furniture was to be left in the cottage until it was required, the lease which Mr. Lisle held not expiring for two months yet. CHAPTER XXXII. THE EARL OP GRANTHORPB. The meeting between Melville Lisle and Violet was more affecting than anyone knowing how much she had suffered through his harsh pride would have been able to believe. Each was affected differently, but almost equally powerfully. To Violet her father represented even more than the parental idea—he was a representative of a past which was more dear to her that she had resolutely set herself against any renewal of it ; and, moreover, from the overbearing, forbidding pride of thte past, to the subdued manner of the present, gave him a dignity whllch all his haughtiness had never conferred on him.

To him Violet was a wronged child, and he would have greeted her with affection in any case ; but when he entered the drawing-room at Lady WestaU’9 and was “met by the ex-

quisitely beautiful creature, so richly and yet so daintily dressed, and knew her for his daughter, not only his affection, but his pride as a Lisle rose from his heart, and be had scarcely returned her impulsive greeting, when he held her from him and exclaimed :

“ You, my Violet 7 Why no Lisle ever lived that had more to be proud of in a daughter than I have. You would grace a royal crown.. Ah, there is something in blood that will tell.”

Violet laughed, with a sad ring in the music of it that was lost on the ear of her father. “ I am not likely to grace a royal crown, however,” she said, “and I shall be satisfied with gracing my father’s house, if he will have me.”

“ Oh,” said he with a gentleness that affected her deeply, “ now that I stand) in your presence, my dear child, I realise more than it was possible to do before how terribly I wronged you. You must forgive me, Violet—you must forgive me.” “ Then let us say nothing about it, papa.” “ Yes, yes, that will be best. But when I look at you, beautiful as you are, and with that look of pridie on your face —Ladj Westall told me you had developed the pride of the Lisles —and think that you went from my door with nothing but your strength of character between you and the temptations pf the world, I realise how much I have to be proud of in the daughter that through it ia.ll never did a thing that any Lisle could blush to own.”

Violet could hardly bear deceiving him about her occupation during her absence from him ; but she knew ijp well what a shock it would be to him to learn that his daughter had stood on a public platform and sung for money, that she refrained from undeceiving him, and by so doing made it impossible to do it later, when what was now a trifle became then a matter of great importance.

It was curious to see how Melville Lisle developed anew under the care of the daughter upon, whom his whole strength of pride was now centred. He went with her and Lady Westall to Ravenscroft and accepted the hospitality of the friend of hlis daughter as gracefully as if he were not the poor gentleman whose poverty had driven him from among his associates in his own level of life. The subdued manner and petulant spirit disappeared, and he became as stately and dignified as ever royal duke. However there was more in It than the care of his beautiful child, who made it her task to enliven his life. She saw with no little wonder, but also with considerable pleasure, that there was growing into existence a regard between Lady Westall and her father which promised to end in something stronger. It was a little singular, she thought, as she watched them walking together, that l it should come into her young life to witness the birth and death of bier own love, and to foster that of her father. For foster it she did, thinking that she • could do no greater kindness to either of them than to do so.

It was all so peaceful, so Idyllic, at Ravenscnoft' that It seemed as if it might be possible to find some rest for her aching heart in forgetfulness after a while ; but she did not or would not take into account that while she was seeking forgetfulness there were others who were seeking her. For a time after she had returned to London and was singing there, she had looked into her audiences on the nights she had sung, dreading lest she should see the face of Guy there; but she had not seen it, and one ni !v L , she became conscious to her secret shame and anger that she was beginning to fear that she would not fiftd his face there. Not that she would have yielded a jot of her position ; but she bad been so certain that he would not give her up so easily. Now so much time had gone by; without any word or sight of him, or of Lady Darlington that she had given up—shall it be said, hope ? and if she thought of them or either of them, it was as belonging to an irrecoverable ■ past. The human heart is a singular thing. Had Guy Darlington appeared before her at any time during her lonely and sad days she would’have turned her back as coldly upon him as if he was the least of created beings to her, and jet she could not keep her thoughts from him.

But Lady Darlington she would have been glad to see, and scarcely a day went by that she did not wonder if there was not some way by which she could bring herself into communication with her, without thereby seeming to soften towards Guy. It was thus with her,-and perhaps she was thinking these thoughts one day when she had been left alone by her father and Lady Westall who had gone for a drive. She was sitting at the piano, idly running her fingers over the keys and singing softly to herself, as hor wont often was, when she became aware of someone standing in the doorway of the music-room. She glaniced carelessly up and stopped. Lady Darlington stood there, fairly devouring her with her eyes, On the stoppage of the music and the startled look from Violet, she ran towards her with outstretched hands, crying ; “Oh, Miss Marsden ! Miss Lisle ! Violet ! ” It seemed perfectly natural for Violet to be embraced by Guy’s mother, and yet the strangeness of it struck her too, and there was a consciousness of it in her manner as she drew hnelc and said’:

“ How did you know I was here, Lady Darlington ?” “ I searched for you. Do you believe I would let you go out of my life so easily ? You made me your

del tor -for life ; you stole my heart away, as I must think you have a fashion of doing, and then you slipped away from me as if you hoped to be rid of my importunities in that

fashion.” " You know I was obliged to go away, dear Lady Darlington,” answered Violet, pleased to see Guy’s mother, but each moment dreading what she was certain was to come. ‘‘ I think, dear, that you ran away to avoid seeing Guy. Was not that it ?” “ Yes,” answered Violet, gravely, meeting the issue mo; y steadily than she had hoped she corid. She knew she needc 1 all her composure and her cour. e ; for it was plain that Lady Darlington had come to plead for Guy. " And you met Guy afterwards in Nice ?” “ Yes.”

“ Do not be offended with me, dear, for speaking of this, will you They were sitting together on a sofa by this time, and Violet did not refuse to let Lady Darlington take her two hands in hers, but she answered monosyllabically : " No.”

“ You know why I have come here, dear ?” “ Yes.”

“ I have come for myself first. Not to apologise for my injustice to you in the time that is past, for I know you forgave that before you risked your life to save mine. You did it for Guy, though you will not say so now, but you must have forgiven me if indeed you %ver needed to. I think such a nature as yours holds forgiveness in readiness for any offence.” “ I never thought I had anything to forgive, Lady Darlington. You did what was right and I am glad I had the opportunity to serve you, I know why you have come here. I will hot be foolish and pretend otherwise ; besides I wish you to feel how much in earnest I am. You have come as much for your son as yourself.”

“ Yes, dear ; and will you not forgive him. Surely it cannot he much for you, who forgive those who illuse you, to forgive one who loves you with all his heart and being l —Guy does that, dear. Will you not forgive him ? Will you not let me take hack to him the assurance that you still love him ?” “Love him!” cried Violet, starting up quickly. “Yes, I do love him so that my heart is sore and wretched ; hut forgive him for doubting me—for having no faith in me when he pretended to love me ! No, I will not do that. I never should havq doubted him. But he —he insulted me. I know lam speaking of your son, hut I am speaking too, of the man for whom I rislfcd a disi honoured name, because I loved him better than anything this world had to offer. No, Lady Darlington, I tinow as I speak that my love for Guy will make my life a burden, but I will not forgive him. If I loved him less I should forgive him more easily.” “Now I see your father in you,” said Lads Darlington sadly. “ Poor Guy.:’

“ I think,” said Violet, with that new bitterness which had come to her with sorrow, “ that I ncedi pity more than Guy.”

” Do not be angry with me,” said Lady Darlingtqn so sweetly, that Violet cast herself into her arms and sobbed.

‘‘Oh, I am so wretched !” Wretched indeed she was, but not all Lady Darlington’s persuasions could make her yield a step from "her determination to sever her life from Guy's. She was so gentle with bar firmness that Lady Darlington only despaired the more, and at last rose to take 1 leave of her, extracting a promise first that she, at least, should see more of her sweet little nurse in the - future. “I shall not hide from you,” answered Violet, “ and I shall be only too glad to see you always, for I love you, too. Oh, here is father. Do not forget that he knows dotting of Mabel Marsden. Father, this is Lady Darlington,” she said ; for her father had entered in search of her, not knowing that anyone was witli her.

All Melville Lisle’s dormant pride was aroused in-an instant by the L name he had heard, and Lady Darlington saw him assume his coldest and most repellant manner. But she was not to be baulked by that. ” Mr, Lisle and I have met before,” she said ; “ and, I think, understand each other. I hope so at least, for I am here to-day on an errand somewhat different from the one that took me to him on the previous occasion ; although I had not i hoped for this pleasure to-day.” The tone was so courteous and conciliating that Mr. Lisle could not be I less than courteous himself, and he j bowed in his stateliest manner. Lady Darlington went on : “I have been trying to persuade your daughter to add one more fav- | our to the numbers she has already conferred on me. Perhaps y'ou did I not know, sir, that she saved my life at the risk of her own.” I “ She had not spoken to me of i it,” he said. \ “ Sim did ; and in those dajs I learned to love her so well that I became anxious to have a closer hold on her. I came to-day to try to induce her to do my son the honour of becoming his wife.” ‘‘And what was her answer?" inquired Mr. Lisle so stiffly and with a 6 near an approach to his old manner that even Violet looked at him in surprise,. “ She refused him. And now, I appeal to you, sir saying to you ! that I believe no man is worthy of her. I beg the honour of the alliance as humbly as once I proudly scorned it. Will you, sir forgive the ignorance that once made me ar-

rogant and lend me your ass-staace ( ' to prevail upon your, daughter to change her mind,?” 1 Melville had listened with surprise to the words of the woman who had once dealt his pride such a blow, and he was too much of a gentleman not to respond with the courtesy her humility demanded, “ I must pardon anything in the past, Lady Darlington,” he said ; “for I was no less guilty of underrating my daughter ; but after 'all that has happened, I can only say that I should never ■ attempt t® use my influence with my daughter. She shall he free to make her own choice, and I have no fear that she will choose otherwise than well.”

“Thank you, papa,” said. Violet. “ I love Lady Darlington very dearly hut I have told her that what she asks is impossible.” The tears stole to Lady Darlington's eyes i ; but she controlled herself, and' embraced Violet, and hurried away; with only a- low bow to Mr. Lisle. The latter looked after her with a proud look in his eyes, and then turned to where Violet had sunk upon the sofa weeping. “My dear,” he said, ** I have never questioned you on the matter of which Lady Darlington has just spoken, nor do I wish to. Her errand here now. Would be a complete vindication of you, had one been; needed. It was not needed. But I have other and more important mat- 1 ters to communicate to you.at this' moment.” “More important matters!” Via-; let thought. ■ As if there could be any matter more important to her than this which he had dismissed with a wave of his hand, “ You will hardly guess, my dear,” he went on with a mixture of ppm* poslty and suppressed 'excitement, “ what I have to communicate: to you.” She smiled in spite of her grief, “I think I can guess, papa.” “ Impossible,” he said with an air of surprise. . : “I have observed your attentions to Lady Westall with 30 much plea* sure that, if—” .

“ Ahem !” coughed Mr. Lisle with a ' pleased embarrassment. “ I—er—that:is—well to. be sure, Violet, I will not say that I have been, unaware of the manifold attractions of —of Lady Westall—if she will pardon me for mentioning her name in connection—that is—er— but really, I was not making reference to that at present, though I will not say that you do not anticipate me by a very —a very little. I was sure yoi would approve—though I am not certain that I may find enough favour, in her eyes—eh, Violet ?” "I cannot answer for her, paptt; but it would surprise me if she does not think as favourably of you as you do of her. But what was it you wished to tell me ?”

Ah, yes. What wouH you say If I told you that the Earl of Granthorpo stood before you ?" “ The Snrl of Grcuthorp* ?” “The Earl of Granthorpe. Violet. It is startling, Vat it is true. 1 met the family solicitor in the villag« —he had come down from Lowdon to inform me that all the intervening heirs to the title and immense property o' Granthorpe were dead: and that I was Lord Granthorpc.” “ Lord Granthorpe !” murmured Violet again. She was thinking that the Darlington estates lay adjoining. “ And you arc Lady Violet,” he paid. “It has come late, but it, nevertheless, heartily welcome.” (To be continued.)