THE FIRST LAW.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume VI, Issue 1674, 26 June 1919, Page 6

THE FIRST LAW.

IBy C. C. ANDREWS, Author of "Beggar My 1-ady," "HU Hour," "The House of Murgalroyd," etc.] [All Rights Reserved.] CHAPTER YI. ONE OF THE FAMILY. "1 know!" cried Peggy. "1 know where I've seen you before!" Her linger pointed straight at Clitheroe—the gesture seemed accusatory. He met it without any outward flinching or change of feature. Was he lostt Did the pit gape at his feet after allt he wondered, with the calmest face then. Alison exclaimed; Adrian Glyde looked astonished; Miss Lamotto faintly amused. But Gilbert swung round and stared with wide eyes —hope, triumph, terror, all were in his look. Miss Romayne spoke with a laugh.

"V at on earth do you mean, child?" she demanded. "What am I to look atl And what should 1 remember'?" "You don't?" cried Peggy. "And you're supposed to have sm-h a good jnemory for faces! Well, I never!" She, too, laughed. "You're as black as coal, Cousin Everard, and the Foliotts are as fair as flax, but all the same you're awfully like one of them! Yon must see it, Alison—look at him—it's fcaly the colouring that's different. Bon't you know who 1 mean, Gilbert? Bon 't von, Monique? Then you, Mr jflryde?" No? Oh, what a lot of bats! yfhy, Roderick Foliott, of course!"

"Why—why yes!" exclaimed Alison. "Of course, Peggy, you're right!" Her tone was one of eager surprise. With a fierce intake of breath Gilbert looked away. And Clitheroe laughed easily.

"Miss Peggy's eyes are sharp, evidently, '' he said. '' Am I really like one of the family after all, then, Miss Ro•ayne?" "Very much, as Peggy says: only She colouring is different. 1 can't think ow it escaped my notice. I must certainly have seen it before long. Yon <lo pow, Mr Clyde, surely? Ami you, Ifonique, don't you?"

"Yes, certainly." With the lazily flnuous grace that marked every movement of her slim, long body, Monique rose to her feet; ' tho movement turned her back on Gilbert. "It's awfully ptriking. Clever little minx, Peg! But tir Foliott is considerably older than Ilia original, Alison." "Of course. When that portrait of Boderick was painted he was only a boy —not 19," said Alison. ''Aunt Camilla has told me." She looked at Clitheroe. '♦Yon mayn't feel particularly flattered —probably you won't. The fact is, you know, that Roderick was the family black sheep. But perhaps yon know it, if your father ever mentioned him?" ■U think not. The black sheep? Infleedf And'was'? He is dead, then?" "That is more than f can tell you. <8» anybody else, I fancy. Certainly mo one at Llansladrone could. He may lw alive—if so, he must be getting an old man now. He vanished under a (lend —one of many I'm afraid—when he was quite a young man. His father was a cousin of your grandfather."

• "I see. And was never heard of Again!" "Never. He—well, I believe he could not have come back, you know. Not •without risking unpleasant eonsc•nenccs. Yes, you are really, in features, quite wonderfully like him! You Will see it when you see his portrait." "It is certainly odd how these family likenesses have a tendency to crop up," taid Clitheroe coolly. "And to disap?ear, for that matter. For it seems that am not in the least like my father." "No. But you might be Roderick's brother." "Not in black-sheepism, let us hope," said Clitheroe lightly. He did not glance at Gilbert with the words, but turned composedly to reply to some questions put by Miss Lamotte. £he pit did not gape! Gape J Why, be was safer than ever! Could any one have believed in such bewitched luck as this last stroke? Clyde in a moment hurried away, and Gilbert followed him. Peggy ran off with her 4og, and Alison presently left the room with Monique—she must see Aunt Camilla before the colonel came for her, she declared, and he, Clitheroe, looked more exhausted than ever; he must Teally try to rest until the luncheon-bell lang. She went out, smiling back at him with her brown, friendly eyes, a 4gure almost commonplace beside the Marvellous serpentine, undulating grace •f the one that moved beside her, aud lie was alone again.

But he tried to rest no more than ho had trieil before. Anxiety was for the »ement almost asleep, l>ut his thoughts ran riot. So he was lil<e Roderick Toliott, was he, the man who hail vanieheil under a cloud when he wan young, ■who, if alive, would now be growing eld. Queer, that! And Ineky. Nothing could Vie luckier. Queer still about that woman, Donas "Wade! Why had she shown that emotion, agitation, at the pound of his name, Miles Olitheroe's name? Why secretly stolen to look, as she had believed, upon his dead and Mutilated face? Why instantly, palpably lied about it? "Roderick Foliott and Dorcas Wade —mysterious both, it seemed! How came it that he bore the face of the one? What hidden interest in him had the other? Had they by any thai.' c known each other before? The Vending of the two thoughts was like the resistless rushing together of two streams of water. It swept him, whitefaced to his feet. Words broke from him without any conscious volition «f his owu.

"Good heavens!" he cried. "Can thai he the answer to both questions! An I like my father? Hid my mothei Mine to look upon her son's face?"

He dropped into the chair again, sal Staring with clenched hands from the great window. Roderick Foliott, black.sheep, hail vanished when he was a

young man. And 35 years ago Dorcas Wade, in a large and buxom way, had probably been a handsome young woman. And he, Miles Clitheroe, had never known his parenta. Not only had lie never known them, but he possessed no clue to thorn. The charitable asylum thai had brought him up, extricated him, launched him in life, had told him, probably could tell him, absolutely nothing beyond the one bare fact that, he had been received into tin; institution an infant of a year old. That had been his beginning. Following there had come years of effort, study, struggle, into which he hat] thrown his utmost strength, perseverance ami energy, until success, high success, had seemed within his grasp. And then, in the reaching of his hand to take it, honestly, as he had believed, he had fallen into the artfully-baited trap whose snare he had never seen. Then had followed his trial and sentence, and then the years of .agony in the prison from which he had yesterday broken away. That was his story. And fate had brought, him here, where, for all he knew AM that was bold, reckless, daring in the man rose in him now, as, still staring before him, he, got upon his feet. As lie had done en the moor last uighl he set his strong jaw and laughed. *'J am parentless, friendless, nameless," he said slowly. "I have never had a chance. The trick of a villain threw me into prison. J am Everaril Foliott. There is not a person in the house who would not swear to it but one. Go out of it, leave all that it means, to give place to a murderer, a fellow who struck down a helpless man from behind, and that ma"h his own kinsman? I, who may have the family blood in my veins? No! Self-preserva-tion is the first law! Everard Foliott T am, and, by the Lord, Everard Foliott I stay!" (Tc be continued.)