ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE.

Taranaki Herald, Volume L, Issue 11881, 1 February 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE.

By Bertha M. Clay. Author of " True to Her First Love," •' 4. Bitter Atonement," " Thrown * on the World," " The Lost Lady of Haddon," etc., etc., etc. CHAPTER XX r I. Beryl, he*ted and quivering with excitement, tore open tha yellow envelope, and saw these words : 'Come quickly. Lady Heath is dead.' This from her grandmother's maid, Jane Brown. Dead ! Lady Healh had goco to Bath as usual. S'ie had declined to come to Winderton until there were more people thefe tt» make it lively. The dowager was a godless old creature, wedded firmly to all the pomps and vanities of this life, which she bad no recollection of having renounced in her baptism. She went from one gayety to another, her shrivelled form bedizened with oldtime jewels, velvets, and lac?, her eagle eyes and booked nose keen on the track of all social scandal, wealth her idol, titles her passiop, do scenes gay enough to stimulate and satiate her long palled senses ; and she had gone— : goue unwarned, in hot baste, from the glare oi gas-lighttf, the glitter of faahion, the crash of pianos, the strident clamour of violtnp, and the rattle of cardp, to the dark silence of the grave, the cold and awful mysteries of the world beyond. This announcement fell on Beryl's ■ heated spirit as snow in summer. From wKd indignation, from a passionate desire to avenge herself, she came down to this blank end of all, this mystery

of a foira in its shroud. And then, she had known no mother but this grim dowager, who had been proud of her, and kind in her way, and liberal ; and she was lying at Batb, dead, with no friend near but a servant. Alfred, the yoanger son, was in Vienna ; the elder son, the earl, had gone for a summer trip to Norway. AH Beryl's selfish rage fell away from her heart, as a cloak falls from one's shoulders. Naturally her refage was her husband. 'Funny, take this quickly to my lord, she aaid, bursting into tears. Fanny hastened to the library. The marquis was sitting in a doll, beait-gick despair, where Beryl left! bim. He did not feel quite satisfied with his methods. In some way he| hai been wrong, and there bad been a ] ring of truth in many of Beryl's words, j But Mrs Ranleigb hal thoroughly de- j ceived bim as to her acts and character, and be could not see her as poor Beryl did, nor Beryl as she was. Fiom his half- stupor of sorrow he- was recalled by the strip of buff paper. •Fanny, can yon get your lady and yourself ready to start for Bith in half an boor ?' 'Yes, my lord.' ■Quickly about it then.' ' He looked from the window ; his amiable heir was lying on his back on the tcrrac, playing with half a dozen dogs. •Harley, trip dowager Lady Hea n is dead ; I ninst take Beryl to Bath at once. Take charge here for mp. Your wife will take Beryl's place. Mrs Ranleigh will aid her.' He pulled a bell as he spoke, and ordered the carriage, and "sent for his valcfc. The Honorable Harley came to him. 'Go contented, cousin ; I will do my best for joar girsts. I'm sorry you are (o 03 disturbed so, but these things happen.' 'Yea. Left here, you will only be rehearsing yoor ultimate position, Hari ley,' and the marquis laid his band kindly on the young man's broad shouller. •Perhaps not. You are not old. My 1 new cousin is youDg and fair. Do you ' not see in prospective a nursemaid pac* ing this lawn, with the Hope of the Modfords in her arms V 'It will be so, Harley, but the boy will be yours, not mine. Goi bless you, Harley, and him, w.ion he comes/ With a hearty clasp of bis heir's hand, the marquis went to his room. 'Grand iellow,' said Harley Medford,winking his eyes rapidly. 'Model man ; but he's aging uncommon fast. I thought il would be just the other way. What can a man like Percy have to briDg grey hairs and wrinkles V And the Honorable Harley wont off to find his wife and that pleasant Mrs Rmleig\ to tell all the news and get what interest he could out of the evening. The Jane morning was just brightening in pink and gold, when the marquis and Beryl, with their mail and valet, reached Bath. Very little had been spoken between the husband and wife during the journey, but Beryl felt that each iustant she hai been surrounded with constant sympathetic care She crouched back in a corner of the first-clas* cir, where they were alone, and cried silently, or thought thoughts that were as, bitter as tears. Would everybody whom she knew (He and leave her alone on the parth 7 Jrf- ( rome was dead, and her grandmother was dead. She thought that now she j would put on black, and th< si brilliant ■> dresses which had seemed to mock her ( beart-pain for her lost love, coull be laid aside. Now she would dare look sad as sr.e felt, and no one wonl 1 blame fcor. »Now, for n little wl.iio, s'»p ne*d not dantv, and sing, n->.d make sparkling little speeches, with a grave aud a loss seeming all the while to iie at her I feet. Then she took som*» comfort in the thought that she had always been good and obedient t-> L»ly Heath ; ano had nothing there to ivpioaih I.tself with. But in this sudden fa^ior, ' as Lady Heath had gone out of tim« , . co the.morquis might go with bis mjs- ' terious ailment ; and then, oh. Low | much she must write against herself on his account ! Tnat very morning sbe had said things that she should not have said 9 and felt selfieh resentments,

instead of patience and humility as became her ! Sbe made more, many more of those good resolutions we are wont to make, set face to face with death. All this impression was deepened m the next two weeks. Alfred Heath and the earl were summoned to England ; and Lady Heath's body was carried to the ancestral vaults at the chief estate of her family. Toen the boose in Park Lane was to be indefinitely closer), rented, perhap3, by and by ; and Bfryi seemed to be the only one to look after matters there. There were inn a Durable deßks and drawers and private portfolios to be gone over, and corrpsjwnrfence and ottw papers to b>- mvif cafe by burning tb««m up. Lor<* A fred had j to go back f o Vienna ; the earl mast return to Norway ; Ms co.mtess was ia delicate health. Beryl and her husband went to Park Lane, the house where Jerome had wooed her and the marquis bad won her." It makes sad havoc in affairs when the wooing and the winning are by different ones 1 The marquis was very patient and good. He bore with the cheerless house, the empty conservatory, the furniture and carpets ahrouded in linen ; he brought bis strong, manly business sense to bear on the bills and the debts, and the confused papers of the old dowager. He took calmly, as a matter of course, that revelation of the penurious, selfish, indebted, extravagant, rowdy, contradictory life, over which Berjl blushed hotly. He brought order out of confusion, and a measure of clean respect out of shiftlessncss. Amid all th's renegade misery, baldness, and deceiifolnesE, of tMs blatant old life of hard sel6shn'ss f looked forth for Beryl a treasure clean , and pure, and sweet and fair, as a star in stormy skies — a lily bloom among nettle?. She found, unexpectedly, among bills and duns, and spicy letters of scandals* and backbiting, the records of a saint ! She found the pictures and the letters of her mother. Her journal of her married days, those two or three brief years ot her motherhood, even a letter addressed to herself, written by that dying hand, to be given when she entered society*, and. which, alas 1 the renegade old dowager had forgotten. Ob, what might those pure, saintly counsels have saved her child ! Beryl spent the whole of a day reading and rereaJing these blessed treasures, while stately, true, full of all womanly tenderness and admirable grace, grew before the portrait of her mother's mind and heart. Overcome at last, realising bow far she had fallen short of her mother's ideal, and bow far she had unwittingly wandered from her teachings, she took the picture and the papers, with many tear?, to her bu3band. 'You will see,' she said, 'how different I am from her, from what she wished me to be ; from what I might have been if she bad lived, or even if they had ever thought to give me this packet — her legacy. They gave me her jewels, but oh 1 how much more good these would have done me ! They show me, Percy, bow wrong I have been. I entreat yonr forgiveness. It ia not too late for me to model myself on her pattern. I will try. Ob, if my mother had only lived ! The mrrquis fe!t grieved for her, now realising for the first time her irrcparab'e loss. He looked at the ivory miniature of Lady Agnes Heath. •That is « very l>»«ly face, Beryl,' he i "aid. 'I will trll you what I will do. 1 will have the be*»t painter we have 1 <iof y it in a full length, to bang in your ) • tii. Bead ono «>f her dieeses with the miniature, and it- can be made perfect.' CITXP'EIi XXHT. T t« ma quH *;ioke aboot the picture j in a g^nrrouH compassion for bis sorrowing Jit tie wife. But when be read | th* 1 topers the grateful Berjl left with him, So admired the character they revved, and sit the Lady Agnes in his mind io a shrine beside his mother. Of late I.c li» r l hern telling himself that Beryl was of a selfish, vain, weak spirit — nty wii&t he might expect as child an'l jnpil of Lidy and Alfred Heath. Now ho bt-gen to briierc and hope bet it tilings <.f l.er. lie perceived thai in person she na-9 rmiarknMy like • her. lovely motley Mill be noticed much

similarity in disposition. Her faults were those of inexperience and carelesseducation, and he began to hope sha would conquer them. They returned to Winderton Castle, but the gay company expected in August did not come. Harley Medford and his wife remained; two or three eldeily political friends of the j marquis came — and Mrs Ranleigh stayed. Berjlj ia her repentance, after readi ing her mother's papers, resolved to bear with Mrs ELroleigh's presence as part of her penance. She could say no more, at least, about having her requested to leave the castle. Beryl fouad that her mother Lad patiently and silently endured all manner of ill behaviour ia her husband, and had only used her troubles as helps in growing better.. She had foand these words in her mother's journal : "Saint Augustine 1 well bast thou said That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Under our feet each deed of shame." Also, " Of our sorrows we can fashion The ladder whereby we climb to heaven.-' When Beryl read these words, she considered of how little she had to complain in regard to the marquis. He bad been stern to her faults, and he bad been deceived by Mrs Ranleigh. So Beryl accepted Laura as part of her penitence. The sharp wound oi Laura's treachery was dulled by time and overlaid by other sorrows ; its memory was less keen. After Beryl returned to the castle, Mrs Ranleigh sought an explanation with her, and smoothed away much of what Paulette hai said. Paulette was dismissed, for Mrs Ranleigh said she was very false and had proved a thief. Laura utterly denied many of her stateI ments, and softened others ; she pro • tested deep love for Beryl. Beryl heard in silence. She said she did toot wish to quarrel with any on<>, nor conld she re establish confidence where once it had been betrayed. On these terms even, Laura found it for her interest to remain at Winderton. Beryl dressed now in mourning ; and, permitted to have a cause of grief, could sorrow for the lost Jerome. She was in an anomalous position — at once a widow and a wife. Her heart in Jerome was forever widowed. Sbe could never love any other man as she had loved him. To him she had given the first passionate love of her youth — the love which regards the lover only, worshipping and adoring the man himself. If her family had let her alone, she would have married bim without an afterttought of terror of his poverty, without grudging the sacrifice of jewels aEd velvet gowns, horses, coaclie?, and numerous residences. That had been the sacred flame, lighted in her heart by handsome, j-ffjctionate Jerome, and it burned now in a still, unearthly light above his grave. She could never feel for the marquis anything like that, but she felt respect, gratitude, trust, and longed to please him and win his approval. Perhap3 she might have succeeded only for Laura, 'Beryl is looking pale/ said the marquis, uneasily, one September evening, to Laura. Beryl sat by the table in a soft circle of lamp-light, her head bent ovei some pretty work which she was doing for the Honorable Mrs Harley, with whom sbe had a quiet friendship. Her face was indeed pale and delicate, her skin transparent like alabaster. 'We should do something to cheer her up/ be added. 'I don't know as she care 3to be cheered up, poor little darling !' said Limub, compassionately. 'Yon krow, ttiero h a certain luxury in indulging hopeless grief. Sitce the dow.iger dieJ, j poor Beryl can rhow without, fear her mourning for Sothrm. I wish she bad never seen J.im 1 ri'.e b wearing out hrr life ov?r that bis. Yes, I wish vre could divert her.' Now, tliia idirt <f a double mourning never entered the honest soul of the marquis ; but, having been pot tliero, it fttayed and irritated him. He said to Beryl next day : 'f think you have worn that heavy mourning long enough — as long as btciety require. It is three months.

I prefer you should ligaten it ap a 41ttle.' 'Certainly, Percy, if you wish/ she Slid ; and that day at dinner she appeared with a lustreless black silk with' half sleeves, and cut square in the neck, with plentiful garnishing of crepe iisse at orm.3 and bosom. 'That is better/ said the marquis^ 'and I should be glad if you went back to your music and singing, and invited some friends and make the house more cheerful. We bave no light to be selfish in sorrow, and Harley an^ his wife are finding it doll.' Before lunch, Beryl went to hitn and asked bim to choose some guests to be invited for October and November. The guosts came, and in the delicious October weather the castle woke to a more joyou3 life. The little mistress was beloved of all. There was a wistful, plead'ng gentleness in her glance, a pathetic droop of her pretty month, a timid manner, which united! 'to the exquisite shape, the dainty head with its golden rings and frills, the fugitive dimples, enchanted all hearts. The guests united to do her honor. The merry Mrs Harley Medford openly laughed at the little countess. Lawrence hung on the gracious lools and gentle words of his young kinswoman, and each morning had a tiny, dewy bouquet to lay en hex plate. Harley read poetry to her. Lord Ravlin wa3 the first of the autumn guests that atrived, and he made love to Bt>ryl's dogs, and declared himself unconsolable if he might not, sit by his hostess at every gathering at table. He went out riding on horseback with Beryl. In this fair home kingdom Beryl stood, if crownless, an unquestioned queen. Then came a former ward of the , marquis, Sir Eustace Friar, a youtb not much beyond Beryl's age, a young man with a hobby always at command. I The previous season he had been nothing if not a poet. He had made ballads and sonnets, and appeared in an annual | and published a thin little volume of I verse in white and gold. But Poesy j was no longer mistress of his soul. Painting had usurped the place of - poetry. Art was now bid ideal. He had a studio at the end of the portrait * gallery, and be 'went about the grounds with a water-color h~-x and an easel, He sketched Beryl i» one pose or another from morning ill night. Lady Beryl in the drawing -oom, on the terI race, at the piano, lading pheasants,, knitting, reading, writing. Hi 3 sketch book was a whole gallery of studies, which he supposed to ba Lady B9ryl. and innocently showed .about as such His artistic infatuation, his boyish frankness amused Baryl, aud she sat indefinitely for portrait?. Sir Eustace betimes reUime:! to his ancient worship and ioditel madrigals to La-ly Bcrjl, and read them Io her in 111" drawing-room after dinner. All this homage was gall and worji-wo-jcl to the jealous spirit of Laura Ranleigb. If sho could nob stop it she could make it bitterness to the marquis aud Beryl. 'How can you expect your wife to go unscathed through the furnace of society life, she whispered. 'She cannot avoid all this admiration, it gois to her unsought. She would ba superhuman to> reject it, and people seeing it, and not knowing her real s : mple purity, will very naturally call her a married flirt. Do see Sir Eustaco Friar, toiling now at 'a Lady Beryl Medford.' ' The marquis strode up to his former ward. ♦Always at the same study, Friar ? Practice should make yoa perfect.' •No/ said Friar, with amusing desperation. 'Angelo himself could not catch the vaporous beauty of that blonde hiir.' *.' } oivl, y"iT.nr.!i n yrcvelf ennspie113113 by art lj ]>i:n.' Ftixr's h^'nagf.' said the marquis, aside, to her that evening. 'Why, my lord! I hok at the boy almost as an infant in arms !' cried Bot)\ ; but sbs Had*) Eustace tunke nomore pictures of her. Christmas was kept at Windtrton Castle with stately old-'ime splendor. Then the marquis and Beryl mad** 6ome visits and prepared to return to Cavendish Square for the London season. ! CHAPTER XXIV; | That procession of months had nefc been a happy time for Beryl Midford.

Each passing day recalled the year before, wben ebe had seen Jerome so freely, and had, alag I been so happy witb him She dreamed of him constantly — never of him as lo3t and dead, but living, loving, glorious in his yv.uth and beauty. More than these wistful memories of Jerome, the singular bearing of her husband distressed her. No matter how submissive she was and intent on phasing him, she could not prevent his jealous watching, and confidence seemed gone forever. It made social life hateful to her. In fact, stirred by the artful Laura, the marquis was making a mani&, of his distrust of his poor little wife. In March a. ball was given by the duke» and Beryl appeared at it — her firet brilliant outcoming since her grand mother's death. The marquis iiimself was dazzled by his wife's extraordinary beauty, as she came to the draw r n;-room prepared to go with him. Hjr 'dress was of royal purple velvet, with a train, cut high on the shoulders, with a stately ruff, and open in a point, revealing the pearly and very shapely I neck ; the bodice front and petticoat were of satin of a pure pale araeythystpurple abade. Pearls were her only •ornaments. She looked most royal as eno came softly forward, her bead crowned with her golden hair. Fanny behind her, with a wrap, extinguished thi3 dazzling vision iv a white swau'sdoffn ck-ak. Her appearance created a furore. Whea she stepped from her carriage lo the carpeted walk before the ducal door, there was a stir of admiration from all the onlookers. As she moved up the stairway, it was a triumph. She was the cenlrs of all ejeß from first to last. People crowded around her for a look or a* word ; and there was fairly a strife until her card was filled for tha danc6S. Never had a young debutante made a more astonishing impression. Anxious mothers sighed in hopeless envy, and the marquis felt the glare of the eyes of dozens of younger men fixed on him. The demon of jeslonsy took possession of his soul. Beryl, carried away at last by this fall tide of admiration, seemed really bright and happy. Her sympathetic face only reflected the pleased looks about her. She really wished that her hasband had been one of her most .Dressing admirers, but said to herself, «Tiiat is uot Percy's way.' Sho never gneseod that the outwardly cold marq:i3 was in a fnry of jealous love and gelf-deprecation. He gave her no congratulations. They left the ball early, and nothing was said on »he way home. Tho next day they <lid not meet uutil luncheon. 'Bury!,' said the marquis, 'I have affairs at Winderton, I do not care to be much at the House this session. I think we raust go to the castle instead of remaining in town/ 'Very well, Percy. I love the castle best of vM our hotnes ' Not a shade of regret. The marquis Mt moved to a further explanation. 'Hurley's son — I hope the child will be a son — snll one day heir the estate, and I &I»oul'i like to have it born at the castle.' 'Tl -2V we should go, and have them come >it ooco, my lord,' aaid Beryl. 'We '-fiv.'Kit invite much company in the ere instances, and as Mrs Medford will n >L ba able to be with you mucb, I pro 0.,0 to you to t ate Mrs Ranieigh,' said Ok usrqnis, slowly. B • ?1 resented thin, but said, quietly: ♦It is rot needed.' «I think it is. I should not think von woijM wish to he left to the sole entertainment of Lawrence and other tnen, who will go and come there.' T.'k a I;°ryl ma^e no more remonstrance, and Mrs Ranieigh was invited. Beryl's rf-ily resignation of the social life wbere fcb" was ?uch a bright, particular si-ir, l'lpos-d the marqnis. She mu3t, tl.eu. maw little for this adulation, since* 3'ie -c readily resigned it, She seemt'l ;o hive no regrets and no backward spuit^s, as ' she went from fhe Bplen<:o'S or the London season to the caeik' i\ i!i« lake region. In truth, the c^t'p suited Bfryl far better than Caven-i-sh Square, with an «ndless Slice- of ronM, operas, dinners, balls, i<? f e«. B"ryl hal begun life yount, an '• s^o h&A worn out thoso things ; l.r.t ahn hod never bad opportunity tv - f'- j a- oat the serene swpetness of country iiPe; and tho beauties of natu-f <•<„!!<« n*»ver r>a)l on her ingenuous 1. -it. T'mp q«i«t sweetnpfis about the £"■•> oi<l oastle wiis soothing as a iow-S'.n.c i'li -'-hy. The spring came enrlj : .n Aj<ril tli<» gardens wnv fair to 6f a:--' in i ho woods and Jells primi •? !•, \ iilc'tß n-K^monep, and crocus sent t>. h:i-->ru! fl >ml morning brightening a^ •. *- U\>- vM\utr wo»l'J. I3?r}) '.'S3 pea'-^ful, but far from •gtroßi-. ■ j.- ; <*>ke' ho very fragile one evening t ni ':;t>diy Harley Medford,

after a keen glance at her, went to his kinsman, who was leaning back in a great chair near the fireplace, which blazed rather for pleasure than warmtb. 'My couain ; I fear in doing a great kindness to my wife, you are harming your own.' 'In what way V asked the marquis. ♦Your fair countess looks unusually pale and delicate. Perhaps tho country spring i 3 too damp for her, or she is lonely here or the change from the manner of life she is used to is too great. She loses her color and her vivacity.' 'Are you speaking of me, Harley ?' asked Beryl, coming np. 'Are you saying the country is too dull, and 1 pine for town ? Do not say that. I love this best of all ; it is so comforting here, so restful .' 'Beryl !' cried Mrs Harley, from behind the window drapery, 'Jo come and look at this wonderful effect of moonlight.' Beryl disappeared behind the curtains, and Mr Harley Medford asked Lawrence to go with tjitu to the billiard room, and knock about a ball or two. 'If I thought I was harming Beryl, I would take her back to town at once,' said the marqnis, wistfully. • 'Never think of that !' cried Mrs Ranieigh, vehemently ; 'happinebs and health are largely affairs of our own creation. lam grieved for Beryl, end angry with her, and so sorry for you I Here, or in town, it would be all the same ; as long as the child will insist on thinking of herself as a martyr, and sit nights mourning, and crying, and kissing over Sir Jerome Sothron's likeness, and notes and old love tokens, so long will she pine away. W'<y eiunot she rest satisfied with the u^pUst lot of any woman in England V «It was all false — false 39 Satan ; but" the marquis, who was never false, believed it ; the venomous shot went home ; it poisonei all his soul. All next day he was dark, silent, brooding ; wounded to the heart's core, not knowing what to say or do. That evening when the gathering in the drawing-room broke up, and Beryl had ju3t summoned Fanny to her chamber, the marqnis sent for his wife to come to him in 4he library. She went. .'Beryl,' he said, sternly, without looking at her, 'you have some trifles — r^lic3 of Sir Jerome Sothron ?' 'Yes, Percy,' faltered Beryl. 'Why do you keep them ?' 'I do not know. I could not give them away. It seemed hard to destroy them. Yet, perhaps, I should have done so. Do you bid me destroy them, Percy ?' Her voice was like a despairing cry. «I will not have you nursing over these things a ' foolish regret that is nothing less than disgraceful to me, and suicidal to yourself. Bring those things to me.' Light broke on B^ryl, and with it returned, like a blaz* of lightning, the fury with which she first heard of Mrs Ranleigh'd treachery. •It was Laura Ranieigh told you that!' she cried. 'Slill you keep her here as a spy, I hate her 1' 'No doubt ; she knows yonr weakness,' he retorted, 'She shall never enter my presence again I' 'Lady Beryl, you instead should resolve to form yourself on her — a weman without social weaknesses.' 'On her ! — the traitiess 1 Percy, once for all, choose between her and me.' 'Choose ? What choice is opan, Lady Beryl ? The law has bound ua together. There was a day when I might have chosen — when I did choo3e, perhaps 1 chose wrong.' Oh, cruel words ! — oh, sharp wounding swords in that gentle, lacerated heart 1 Bui the marquis was carried outside of himself, in jealous fury, over the picture Mrs Ranieigh had drawn. Brryl looked at him in wild-ejeJ agony. Then she gave an inarticnlate cry, and fled out of his sight. As the library door, closed behind her, two «vays were open to her flight, — the stairs leading to her own room and Fanny, a glass door aud corridor leading out into (he park. She did not take tha stairs. Fanny waited one hortr — two — and no ring from her lfiy. Fuial'y she went lo her room. No answer. She entered. The house was dark and silent. The room was empty 1 OHAPTEtt XXV. Fearing she knpw not what, Fanny searched every pare of tho house where her mistress might by any possibil'ty be. Then sho tapped at the dreßsingroora where North slept neat hia master's chamb?r. 'North, do you know anything of my poor lady? I cannot find her.' ♦Surely not. Is shn not ia the house?' Jk'No,' said Fanny, with a sob.

• The door of tho marquis' room suddenly opened, anl the two servants saw, by the soft glow of the porcelain nightlamp, the marquis in his dressing-gown and slippers standing before them. •What are you saying, Fanny !' he asked, sharply. 'I can't find my mistress/ faltered Fanny. 'She is not iv the house.' 'The counte s not in the hou^e at this time of night, or morning ! What new freak is this ?' cried the m^rqui?. angrily. Fanny promptly turned the table 3on him by bursting forth in evident anguish : 'You sent for her, my lord, and she has not come back. Oh, what have you done with my poor little lady ?' '1 ? What have I done ?' said the marquis, indignantly. 'No doubt she is sitting witb Mrs Hurley.' 'Mrs Harlcy is asleep. She has no miseries to keep her waking— no ene mies to trouble . her rest,' retorted Fanny, quite beside herself. 'My lord, what has become of my poor innocent lady ? I'd believe anything might happen to her with Mrs Ranleigb in the house hounding her to the death 1' 'Be silent, idiotic girl!' said the marquis, griping her arm. 'My lord, I can't,' said Fanny, falling on her knet'B and clutching his dressing— robe. 'I am wild about my lady ; she has come to harm.' The marquis became thoroughly alarmed. He bade North call a footman, and prepare to search the garden and terraces. When this was fruitless, more men were'roused and the lines extended. Then the Honorable Harley was called, who at once headed the rear h. His heart misgave him. He remembered how mournful Beryl* gentle face often looked ; how her sweet eyes would fill with sudden tears, R6 if her secret heart were a well of sorrow given to tides like the sea. 'The marquis,' said Harley to himself, 'is all courtesy ; bot, by jove, a. gentle, tender, winning little girl like that needs more petting and gentleness. I don't know how Marion would take it if I were so cold.' The morning sky became tinted with red and gold. The marqnis, worn out with sleepless, agonized search, sat at last in his library. Was it only five hours before that she — little lovely Beryl— had stood in^ that room, and turned on him such great, terrified, entreating eyes? What would he not give now to see that graceful form standing there in safety ! Mrs Ranieigh came rushing in, in carefully arranged dishabille. •Beryl gone, Lord Medfoid ! I cannot believe it. The poor, dear chill ! With wbom could she have gone with?' 'With no one !' thundered the marqnis. 'Mrs Ranleigb, pardon me, I can bear to see no one to-day.' Bnt when Mrs Harley Medford came in, with tears on her kiud face, and softly laid her cheek on his shoulder, an-1 clasped his hand, saying, 'We shall find our poor darling,' he felt his heart comforted by her nearness. Lawrence came in, dishevelled and miserable. 'What are they doing now, Lawrence ? What trace V 'None. They are dragging the old moan,' said Lawrenca, hoarsely. ( Sholi we notify (he police, or send for aid ?' aeked Harley Medford, entering at this juncture. 'No. Search first every place and cottage for four miles around. This one day we will search alone.' • . • • It was twelve o'clock on an April night ; the night, and an hour after, Beryl had fled from her hu3band's presence, with that passionate, despairing cry. The moon was more than half way down the sky, and the 9ilver light fell wildly through the green branches, faintly fringed with new leaves, or struggled more feebly with the masses of evergreens. Owls called to each other from among the mantling ivies, or their broad wings went by as & shadow, as they sought their prey in the night. WinJertoo village 1»> four miles from Winderton C*3tlc, aifd on the outskirts of Winderton village stood a pretty little cottage, the home of a newly-mn<l<J doctor and liia young wife. Doctor Marvel i»*l heej settle 1 near Winderton a little over a year, and was making his way famously ; popular from the urbanity of his manners, the bonnty of bis hoart, and the skill and good fortune that attended his practice. Doctor Marvel had be?n ciiled ont late that particular evening, and wa3 just getting home. A robust young fellow, in all tha fiao vigor of twentyseven well-spent years, the lateness of the hour mtde no difference to him ; the beauty of the April ni^ht, the soft fragrance of tha new-budding world charmed him, an i he loitered along his way, humming a little song.

Suddecly, as some great white nightbird sweeps soundless by, a figure passed the loitering doctor. The figure came up behind him, unheard, a ' not seeming to see him, went by hiii 1 ••!» a swiFfc, no : sele39 motion, like a int. (To be Continued.)