THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5028, 8 June 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LSTERATURB-

A DOCTOR’S STORY. CHAPTER VII. Miss Nash did not reply. She fidgeted with the cover of the book again ; she regarded me wistfully and furtively. George Fairfax would have said—furtively. ‘I have come all the way London to pay you, Mr Lissamer,’ she said at last. ‘ I cat not return without leaving you the money. And indeed I will not.’ ‘ It is quite impossible to go through the papers, and ’ ‘lt is not necessary. Surely, sir, I can trust you, after what you have done for us.’ ‘Yes, Miss Nash, you can trust me.’ ‘P know that. I will leave, then, this twenty-pound note with you,’ and here she laid upon the table a brandnew Bank of England note, upon which, for greater protection, she placed the book that she had been opening and shutting; ‘and at your leisure—any time—pray let me have the balance, should there be any.’ ‘lt you insist, then. And where shall I write to you ? ’ Again Miss Nash’s expressive countenance shadowed over quickly, and she did not answer for a while. ‘Let Mr Kench have the balance, please,’ she said at last. ‘No. I would prefer to send it to you direct,’ I said very firmly. ‘ I shall require a receipt, and I have to write to you concerning a few effects—not money—left by your father in his lodgings.’ ‘ They are of no great consequence, she said; ‘ some old stage costumes and wigs, Mr Kench says. Nothing ‘And the address?’ I said persistently. To my astonishment she said : ‘ 99 Dark Street, Camberwell.'

And to her astonishment, and conscious of my superior knowledge, acquired from the postmaster of Breymouth at the expense of four shillings and sevenpence-halfpenny, I said instantly : . ( You are deceiving me, Miss Nash. There is no street of that name in any part of London.’ CHAPTER Till. Htacintha Nash took time to recover from the effect of my last announcement, She sat looking at me very earnestly, and I felt, as it were, under the microscope of her dark, flashing eyes. Mr Keoch’s late uncomplimentary observation, that the elder Miss Nash had ‘a devil of a temper,’ recurred to me at the moment; her face darkened so completely with the rush of blood to it that seemed to settle there and burn itself in. But then the expression on the face was not that of anger ; and discomfiture, shame, and detection will bring a crop of blushes to the front. There is nothing much worse than being lound out, if it’s only in the paltry matter of a wrong street. ‘ No, Mr Lissamer,’ she said at last, ‘ you will not find it in a Post-office Directory ; but it is a true street to my sister and me ; it has no other name one-half as real to us ; it represents the life, the home, the thoughts, the future of us both ; we call it by no other name than Dark Street. And Dark Street it is, God knows.’

She spoke with some excitement, and wtih her lips quivering; an impassioned woman, who said strange things in a strange way, and as if she meant what she said. Ihe natural trait of the ‘.born actress,’ after all, 1 should have thought, had I been more suspicious, as X might for a while have thought afterwards, when the spell ol her presence and manner was with- ' drawn. And that was only for a while. ‘Xtou are in great distress, you two girls,’ was my impetuous response to this. ‘ln ’ * Does it look like distress ? ’ she answered, taking up the book with quite a conscious look of pride, showing the twenty-pound note again, and once more placing the hook over ir. ‘ Well,’ I said, hesitatingly, ‘ that does not, certainly.’ * There were many reasons for calling it Dark Street. It was of Delia’s christening—my father entered ii' ; to the jest.’ ‘ The jest! ’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh, there is a subtle humour in it, did you: but know,’ Hyacintha said, without a smile upon her face ; ‘and it was understood by the family perfectly. I hofe I am not called upon, Mr Lissamer, for any elaborate explanation.’ ‘ N—no,’ I answered, still doubtfully; ‘but bow can our accounts be satisfactorily arranged—how am I to return the balance of the money due to you, when you give me an address that is not correct ? ’ ‘lt is correct enough for me/ she answered, still in self-defence. ‘The address of a place that does not exist.’ ‘ [Save in the imagination of two eccentric women who are hiding in the dark.’ ‘ Then ’ * Who are compelled to hide. And so, Mr Lissamer,’ she said, interrupting me, ‘ I do not want you at present to know where Delia and I are to be found. It will be a favour to me if you will not even mention just yet that I have called here. My sister and I can trust no one with even a clue to our secret. We are very wrong, I dare say, and we have suffered for it by being kept in ignorance of our father’s death till now ; but it was not to be helped. There is such a thing as Fate, though Fate is out of 'fashion just at present/ ‘You believe in Fate, Miss Nash V I asked curiously. ‘ It is more natural for me to believe in it than Chance,’ she answered/ with a tremor in her voice, as she rose to S°- :

I rose with her, and felt that a forced smile was rapidly dying out of my face beneath the gravity of hers. But I had to hold my ground, in a way, still. The interview, I felt, must not terminate in this unsatisfactory way. ‘ Miss Nash,’ I said, ‘ I cannot take your money under these circumstances.’ ‘ Because of the paltry balance that may be due to us ? ’ she said, a little scornfully ; *or because you feel aggrieved that I do not tell you where to communicate with me ? ’ ‘ For both reasons, if you will.’

‘ Because I have tried to deceive you, let me say,’ she added ; ‘ but you were too inquisitive, Mr Lissamer, and there was only one defence left. ‘ You could have trusted me.’ ‘ I have already said I trust you—and I will,’ she added. ‘My sister and myself are not ungrateful, and never will be ungrateful, for such extraordinary and unlooked-for kindness as you have shown towards us. But, Mr Lissamer, you must trust us in our turn.’ ‘ Trust you—in what way ?’ I asked slowly. ‘ To let you know where we are in a a few days—or weeks—from now.’ ‘ You will do that ? ’ . ‘ Yes.’ ‘ That is a solemn promise ? ’

‘lt is.’ ' . . , We looked each other steadily in the eyes again, as we shook hands, as if there were a compact between us, to be ratified by some such ceremony. ‘I trust you, Miss Nash,’ were my last words to her; and she inclined her head gravely and very gracefully towards me. And so we parted, and I was left once more to my own thoughts, my own devices, in the howling wilderness which Breymouth was ever alterwards to me.’ CHAPTEE IX. Three weeks after the visit of Hyacinths Nash to my seaside lodgings, I was back again in Thistlewood Street, Newington Butts, restored to such health and strength as I could ever expect to have. It was late in the evening when I reached Thistlewood Street, and was clasped to the broad chest ol Mrs Matherway, my housekeeper, my second mother, my guide, philosopher, faithful friend, and nurse. I ‘ I’m main right glad you’re home, lad,’ she cried. ‘ Stand farther back, now, for a minute, and let us have a good look at you, and see it it s been worth all the trouble and worry and money that it has cost to keep you so long away.’

(To he Continued .)