THE Broken Seal.

Thames Advertiser, Volume XVII, Issue 5741, 21 March 1887, Page 2

THE Broken Seal.

(NOW FIRST PUBLISHED,)

A NOVEL By DORA RUSSELL. Author of "Footprints in the Snow. " The Vicar's Governess,"" Out of Eden,' &c. CHAPTERLVL—"Love is as Strong as Death." It was strange, but Annette did feel happier after she had seen Alan. It was a sort of balm to her heart to know at least that he loved her so deeply; that his misery was as great as hers. This idea helped her to endure the pleased excitement of her mother and Lily when they 4 arrived at Kingsford. They had thoroughly enjoyed their week in town. Mrs. Doyne had never had so much money in her possession to spend before, and she had spared nothing on Lily's dress. Annette had to listen to the comparative merits of costumes.and materials, until she was utterly weary of the theme.---— She went to bed early and left her mother and Lily happy and elated; Annette thinking the while of Alan's gloomy face and miserable, passionate words.

And Alan. As he walked back to the Court after his unexpected meeting with his old love, the most overwhelming emotions almost overpowered him. It had not made him happier, at all events, the brief moments when they had stood handclasped, each looking into the other's heart. " Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been brokenhearted !"

What! it had come to this, then. He who had prided himself upon his honour, had swerved aside ! He had no right, he knew, to meet Annette, and look again on the face whose bright beauty to him made all else seem poor. And yet he would go—he would go—he would see her once more, though it cost him all that he had hitherto Jield dearest and most sacred upon earth. It was an evil resolution for a good man to make, and it brought him no peace. He was so restless that his mother looked at him again and again with anxious eyes, and when she asked him if he were going over to the Grange to welcome Lily home, he started up from his chair with illconcealed agitation. ;■ " Not to-night," he said ; "I v cannot go to-night!" Nor did he go the next day, for the morning post brought hhn a letter that served at all events for the moment -to wholesomely change the current of his thoughts. It was from Plymouth—from Mrs. Lester—written in her unformed hand, writiug, to tell him that the day before a little child of sin and sorrow had struggled into the world. " But we think badly of the poor young mother," the kindly woman had written, " and the doctor fears she is sinking fast. And, Sir Alan, she has asked for you. The baby is a Utile hcmty, the image of my Jim gone, and as I tell Laura we'll call him Jim too, and he'll be a comfort and a blessing to us. But she takes no notice—just lies in a half stupor like, and her mother's nigh mad with grief." Alan had no sooner read this letter than he resolved to start at once, feeling sure from the way in which Mrs: Lester wrote, that the unfortunate girl must he extremely ill, and no doubt wished to see him regarding the future of her little i child.

He telegraphed therefore to Mrs. Lester, and he wrote a little note to Lily to tell her that he was obliged to, ' start for Plymouth without a moment's delay. But Lady Lester could not understand the conduct of her son. Not to find time to go across the park, to kiss the sweet girl to whom he was to he married in less than a fortnight! Her old feelings of uneasiness began to return.' Could Alan have seen Lady Miles during Lily's absence? Could the old-fascination have resumed its sway ? And Lily thought it strange too, that Alan had not found time to see her before he went away. She stood with his note open in her hand after she received it, and her colour varied. " Well my dear that is from Sir Alan, isn't it ? Is he coming to dine here to night ?" "Hehas been called away, quite suddenly, to Plymouth," answered Lily. " Something about that poor creature he makes such a fuss over I suppose. Well, he'll be back to-morrow or the next day—and now my dear, about the invitations for the breakfast—they ought to be sent out to-day ?"

And they were sent out. Colonel and Mrs. Doyne requested the company of nearly all of those whom Mrs. Doyne designated as" the "best people" in the neighbourhood, to breakfast at twelve o'clock, on July 17th,'' on the occasion of their youngest daughter's marriage with Sir Alan Lester," and nearly all " the best people " thought fit to accept the invitation.

All but Mr. Harford of KimeL The Squire wrote a friendly note back to Mrs. Doyne regretting that he would be absent on the 17th, as he expected to be in town at that time, but he begged that Miss Lily would please her " old friend" by accepting a pair of diamond earrings that he enclosed, with his very best wishes for her future happiness.^ " I believe, you naughty girl, you might have had Mr. Harford too if you had chosen," cried Mrs. Doyne in high good humour, as she admired the Squire s gift. "Of course Lady Elizabeth tried topreventit,butlam certain at one time he thought of proposing for you.

" : Oh, nonsense, mother," said Lily, who did not care that Godfrey Harford's true feelings should he boasted about. And not only did Lily receive a handsome present from Mr. Harford, but she received one from nearly every person that she knew. -She was going to marry well, and her friends naturally appreciated this. So boxes came every day, and congratulation, and there was 'constant excitement and merriment at the Grange. Only Annette looked ill, and was sad and troubled, bin Mrs. Doyne thought it wiser at this time to take no notice of the depression of her eldest daughter. *** * , # In the meantime the expectant bridegroom was passing through very d'fferent scenes.

When he reachel Adrian Davis' gaudily painted establishment at Plymouth, the little billiardmarker received him with absolute tears in his ye^.ow eves. " '' Oh ! Sir Mallan, you come to a sad Vrase !" he cried, " our dear gai is sink-

ing fast." "learnestly trust not." «I fear there is no 'ope, and my dear lady is beside 'erself with grief—and the blessed babe, its a crying night and day, fit to burst its little throat." This melancholy account; of the household was unfortunately a true one. Laura Davis was very ill. She wandered at times, and woidd ca 1 !, h piteous accents, for her dead Jim.

" Jim! Jim ! come back to me, come back to me!'' were the first words Alan heard from her fevered lips, _ and they naturally painfdly affected him. , He had planned a future for this poor girl, and had often thought of the time when he intended proposing to Adrian Davis to take his wife and_ stepdaughter to some great Australian city, there to begin a new life, and leave the old shadowed one behind. Alan had meant to settle a sum of money on poor Laura, so as to make her independent, and he also hoped to induce her to leave her little child with Mrs. Lester. But this was not to be. She had never rallied after her babe was born ; the long, mental sufferings she had passed through having completely prostrated her. Then fever set'in, and a dull unconsciousness clouded alike the past and present to her darkened mind. Yet gleams of memory pierced the gathering clouds, and during one of these she. had asked that Sir Alan Lester might be sent for. . It was terrible to see her mother. Her restless misery, as she wandered from room to room; as she stood looking at the white, haggard, drawn face lying on the pillows, or listened to the fevered words, always harping on one theme! "Oh!if she would only not talk about him!" said Mrs. Davis to Alan with a moan, " But its" Jim" " Jim," until it just breaks my heart to hear her!"

The love indeed which poor Jim Lester had treated so lightly had been "strongas death." From the hour that she had learned that he had forsaken her, Laura Davies did not care to live. Even the touch of her little babe's hands did not rouse her from her apathy; but this little babe was a source of undoubted consolation to Mrs. Lester. She had taken it under her own charge from the first, and showed Alan with pride its little red, puckered face and sturdy limbs, enveloped hi the daintiest of lawn and lace.

" I've took it," shetoldhim, " and no one else shall have it—it might be my own Jim, come back agen' to his little cot, I'm that fond of it—and sometimes I think it is." ,

And it was well indeed for the child that this kindly creature had taken it so completely to her maternal heart. For the soul of its young mother was drifting, fast away, and each hour her watchers knew might be her last. But just before the end came she recovered her consciousness. They had sent for Alan Lester/and as he bent over her full of pity, she looked up with her dark, sunken eyes straight into his face.

" Sir Alan," she said, in a husky whisper, "be—be a friend—to the child."

"Iwill,my poor givl!" answered Alan, solemnly ; " have no fear for Iris future, it will be well cared for." " And—and,"she faltered," don't let Mm know—that his poor mother-*-" "Oh ! hush, hush, Laura !" cried Mrs. Davis, falling on her knees by the bed," don't talk about that now. Oh! my darling, have you no word for me— no last word of forgiveness for your wretched mother ?". Then Laura feebly put out her hand. " Mother," she said, almost under her breath, "Mother, kiss me—and—and forgive your child." She scarcely spoke after this, murmuring a word sometimes before her voice passed away, murmuring one word with her last breath-" Jim, Jim!" {To k continued,)