CHAPTER XXXIV.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 10654, 1 July 1896, Page 4

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The morning air was blowing freshly> the rooks were cawing in the great oaks, tho blackbirds were singing in the hedgerows, the whole earth lay smiling and glad, when Mme. St. Ango left the hotel to rovisit tho places she had once loved so dearly. They were all in the vicinity of Deeping Hurst. The old homo of her rival was nearest ; then camo Scarsdale ; Beauliea lay at some little distance to tho west, and Fielden Manor toward the south. It was a neighborhood singularly rich in grand eld historic houses. Mme. St. Ange deoidod to look first of all on the home of her youth — Beanlieu — again ; she Attracted no attention as she went through the streets.

Very soon she had left the town behind her. Sho was a quiok graceful walker, and the few miles of country road were nothing to her. The trees and fields, the turns of the river, the winding of the green lanes, weie all familiar to her. Presently Bhe reaohed Beaalieu. It was occupied by new people, but she determined to go up to the well-known door and ask some question or other which would enable her to see the place. There was a fierce pain at her heart, yet she could not shed a tear. She recalled her bright, happy, lost life— the time when her gentle, kindly mother had been so proud and fond of her, so sure of her success in life, so hopoful for her, so caressing and indulgent to her. Ah, Heafen, the bitter, terrible difference bo-

tween then and now! Onco more she trod the old familiar paths winding through the grounds round to the side-door. In her mind's t'anoy she could sco her mother's face, as she bad seen it hundreds of times, looking out of the great bay-window, with its wreath of passion-flowers around it, waiting with loving words to wolcome her. " There is no love like a mother's," Lola thought ; and a great tearless sob roso from her heart to her lips. Could it be that' but a few years ago sho had been a beautiful, happy, innocent child? She could remember so vividly the day when Mrs Oliefden came from White Cliffe, bringing with her Dolores, and how inadamo had said they were to bo friends and to love each other always. A cruel, bitter smile curled her lip. •« Well, " she said, v if I have suffered, she has suffered more ; and that was al' I asked." Her heart grew hard and cold again. She looked into the old hall ; nothing was changed. It might have been only yesterday that she placed the flowers she had gathered on tho hall-table, and laughed at her own fancy for calling her. self a red roae. She was glad to move away ; she had

seen her old homo, and the sight of it had been like a searing iron to her. She felt ill and tried ; she would go back to tho hotel and partake of refreshment, > and then she would begin to make inquiries. Bhe would have to exercise groat caution, but she must know why sho had been sought, and what those ' advertisements meant.

the walked back to Deeping. In the High Street she saw a fruit shop where some fine grapes and peaches were for sale. She was thirsty and faint from fatigue, and she thenght that nothing would be more delicious and refreshing than a bnnch of purple grapos. She treat in to purchase them, and sat <30-vm . Thero was some little delay in serving

hor, and, whilo she was thinking that * this would be a good opportunity to ask a few questions without attracting attention, a smart little pony carriage stopped at the door, and a beautiful girl in a blue dress descended from it. Mme. St. Ange, watching eagerly with eyes full of pain, fell back with a low startled cry when she saw the girl's face, and clung to tho chair, as though 'to prevent herself from falling. It was Sir Karl's face nnder another guise ; there were Sir Karl's clear blue eyes, with no shadow of guilt or guile in their depths. There were his clustering waves of hair, there was his mouth, at once so gracious and proud. For a few moments it wa3 as though the sight had stricken her dumb. Then the girl was by her side, and a sweet silvery voice was say-

ing— 11 1 should like some -of those nice .grapes, Mrs Grey, for a sick woman whom I am going to see. " The low voice was like Sir Karl's. The soft blue eyes glanced carelessly but kindly at the bent figuro in the black dres3. If each could have but known! ]f some good spirit conld have told Gertrndo that this was the woman for whom she had sought, the woman with whom rested the knowledge of her father's fate, what grief and trouble might have been spared her! Mmo. St. Ange watched each movement ot the graceful girl. She listened to each word she spoke ; she could have cried out. " Karl, Karl! " She was nearer losing her senses and reason just then than she had ever been. Karl's eves, Karl's voice! Her head drooped on her breast ; she could not hold it up. •• lam afraid you are ill, " said a eweet, kindly voice ; and the eyes like Karl's were bent upon her compassionately* •'Thank you, I am quite well," madarao answered, coldly; and the young girl drew hack with a chilled and disappointed air. Mn-.e. St. Ange did not hear what else passed ; it seemed to her that her mind was all chaos. That some one spoke of Lady Fielden she knew, then the beautiful giri was gone, and she sat there with her grapes before her. She raised her miserable eyes to the , woman who had just served her. •'Who is that young lady?" she asked.

The woman replied coldly. Bhe had been displeased by the stranger's repulse of Gertrude's well-meant kindness, » That is a visitor of Lady Fielden'a —Lady Fielden of Pielden Manor," she said. , ••But who is she — what is her name?' cried Mme. St. Ange. The voice was so earnest that the woman felt compelled to answer. "Her name is Allanmore," she replied. <• She is the only child, I have heard, of Sir Karl Allanraore, who ran away from his wife and his home many years ago."

««He — what?" asked a voice that wn B Hrdly human. v Ran away from his wife," was the briof mply. " And his daughter is on a visit to her mother's old friend, Lady Fielden."

" And her mether — is 3he living or dead?" asked madame.

" Her ladyship is living abroad— l believe with her other daughter." «• And Scarsdale?"

" Scarsdale is shut up; only the servants are living there; and a great loss it is to U9 at Deeping. Sir Karl was the best customer that ever came into this town. The grapes are three shillings. Thank y"ou. Good afternoon."

The next minute Mmc St. Ange was standing in the sunlit street, scared and bewildered, and really more at a loss than ever.

She had seen Sir Karl's daughter, the very apple of his eye, the pride of his life, the little child whom he had loved with a great, tender love. And she was staying at Lady Fielden's. Was this the girl who wanted her? Was that the solution of the mystery?

She had a strange fear of asking more questions, but she must prosecute hen inquiries. Sho had thought of walking over to Scarsdale, As it was in the charge of servants, she thought that she might go ovet the bouse and see for herself the rooms in which he? hated rival had spent the happiest hours 6F her life, and in which her heart had been brokon. But, after looking into the sweet face of bir Karl's daughter, she had not tho strength. She wanted to see the girl's face again.

She decided on going home and resting; and then when tho shaded of evening fell, she would make her way to Fiolden Manor. She remembered the keeper's cottage; she could call there under pretext of having lost her way, and talk to the keeper's wife — she could in that manner perhaps learn something of what was going on,

She lay down to rest, but she could not sleep. Karl's daughter! She must see her again. How cruelly she had repulsed her! When the gentle hands had touched her, why need she have shaken them off? Yet — strange contradiction — she hated her!

It was growing dusk when she took the road which led toward Fielden Manor, It had been one of hor favorite spots; she knew the ground quite as well as she knew those of Benuliou. She would like in the dusk to steal up to the windows ( and get just one sight of Gertrude in he* evening diesa, and then she woul \ spend an hour or two in the kepper's cottage. Sho folfc that the key of the mvstory would bo found thero. So, in the falling evening light she stole round amongst tho tall trees where once she had been proud to Bhow her face. In her dark dress and with her light footsteps sho passed on, making no sound. She know the road too well to make any mistake, and fortune favored her. ? The night was so densely dark that it was almost impossible to see even one's own hand. The' moon was hidden behind a mass of clouds. Madame hid herself behind the thick leaves and spiays of the creepers which clustered around the bay-window of the dining-room. Ihe blinds were but partially drawn, and she could see into the room. In the dark shadows, with the thick overhanging leaves, she was sure of not being discovered herself.