"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8061, 13 July 1904, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

THE NIGHT OF FLYING k: CANDLES, ~ ,-, (By MRS C. ST. WILLIAMSON.) 1 Author of "The Barn Stormers," etc. » [Aii Rights Resbbyi::d.'] (t was Carnival time, and it seemed to , 9te that every soul in gay little Mentone was bubbling over with the joy of lift— 7 except myself. In the beginning I had been happy too. When I came out about Christmas time to spend the rest of the season, on the Riviera, to paint pictures- and amuse myself, I thought that on. the whole I was a lucky mortal. I was young and strong, with , no pressing responsibilities; and sine© last year's Academy, people had begun to say to each other, "That chap Cyril Havelock seems to be doing .good -work." I had meant to make a. few sketches round about Mentone, and then move farther on ; but ' after I had been stopping for a day or two at a quiet hotel, my name was seen in tue local papers, and somehow I was drawn half-reluctantly into society. I went to >» i dance one night, met Virginia Arnold, and —that was the beginning of the end. Before our first waltz was over, I knew what was bound to happen to me. Knowing this* I should have had ..strength of mind to leave Men?ton©, or at all events to keep out of 'her way, and never see the girl again, for it "works like madness in the brain" to worship a woiman without hope that she may be won. ' ■ I had heard of Miss Arnold last summer in London, where she had been presented ■ad made "a great sensation, not only because she was the American heiress o-f tie hour, but because of her 'great beauty, and 1 eharming, simple ways. Fate would have it, however, that I was to travel to the Eiviera to meet her, and to be miserable. I had always felt rather a contempt for ' inen who made fools of themselves about girls they could never hope to marry, when all that was needed in the beginning was a .little resolution; but now I had to find out that "he jests at scars who never felt a •wound:" I did not go away ; I did not keep out of the way. On the contrary, I Agerly availed myself of every opportunity of seeing Virginia Arnold, though I was „ r grimly aware of the. misery I was storing up for myself in a future empty of her. I ; joined the Tennis Club because she was a member; I went on excursions up into the mountains, walking beside a red-saddled ' donkey on which she merrily rod«. I had never cared' much for dancing, but now I never missed a ball, and they were fre- < quent. By the arrival of Carnival week, I was the most unhappy, man alive ; for ' if I could have got the girl to. care for me more than for hundreds of more eligible- men, who were ready to give ten years of their lives for a chance, I felt that it would be a caddish act for a poor young artist— not even famous yet-^tc^ dare offer ' -himself as a husband for the heiress to twenty millions. Virginia's father, who had brought her to the Riviera (the mother had died years ago), was a hard-headed 1 business man, passionately proud of his daughter, after the cool, quiet manner characteristic of him, and holding ambitious views for her future. What these views were, it was not difficult to guess ; for Lady Grantonville was also (staying at the Riviera Palace, chaperoning Miss Arnold, and her son Lord Grant .(who would be the Marquis of Grantonville- some day), had given up his beloved hunting to join his mother in Mentone. Virginia and Lord Grant were constantly > He was not bad looking, but was an irritatingly slow young man, who cad a doranouse &ir of being only half «w*ke. Even in my most furiously jealous ' moments— and they were too many for my peace by day or rest by night — I could scarcely believe that so bright and starry a girl as Virginia could really enjoy his society. Prompted by his energetic parent, how; ever, Lord Grant was continually evolving plans to please Miss Arnold, and then drowsily proceeding to carry them out7. He owned a magnificent motor-car, and hired a small steam launch, so that he was always prepared for expeditions by land or sea, whichever the whim of a spoiled girl might suggest. He had also brought out B&veral fine saddle horses from England, and Virginia was allowed to ride with him, chaperoned only by a discreet groom. When this programme began, the dear, idyllic donkey excursions were given up ; but once I, was able to score over my fortunate rival, and to score heavily. . This was when my friend, Manuel '-= Cortez, appeared on the scene with his marvellous electric airship, which was still the talk of tie hour. The invention of Cortez had not only made a better record than any other airship yet invented, but it triumphed in combined lightness and the superior size" of the car attached, which was able to carry two persons. It was easy to steer and practically noiseless. I had known Cortez intimately when I was painting in Spain last year, and we had joriesponded intermittently ever since. He said that his visit to Mentone was paid on ny account, and that we would " do some -, good things together with the machine." , We did the good things, winch excited the surprise of everybody, and the (literally), soaring ambition of Virginia Arnold. I * heard that she was " dying for a. flight in air with Signor Cortez, and he was delightr ed to grant the favour for me. Her father, after some persuasion, sanctioned the adventure, which lasted for an hour, described r by Virginia as "the 'time of her life." After that, I flattered myself that mere motprcirs and common steam launches would seem tame to one who had sailed in ether. But this triumph of mine was now a *" thing of the past, and Cortez was attracting crowds of journalists to Monte Carlo, when the Mentone Carnival Week began. 1 Lord Grant had taken Vinrinia and 1 a dozen others on his launch to Villefranche for the naval battle of flowers (a party in which I was not included) ; we had all been to Nice one day for the Corso Carnivalesque ; * aad- had a wild afternoon of confetti-throw-ing. i& 'the Mentone streets, hidden under masks and dominoes ; and at last' came the ' evening of " Moccoletti "—the night of flying candles. . Lady Grantonville had not wonted Virginia to venture out for this, as the Moccoletti {an . entertainment of early Italian wrigin, consisting of running about with 15jAted candles, trying to keep your* alight, and doing your best to blow out those of others) sometimes draws 'a rather rough crowd into the streets. But the girl had pleaded for the fun, which was entirelv new to her, as she had never 'before' been on the Riviera ;"jpand!-Bfe> last her chaperon jonsented, slyly mnking it a condition that ■Lord Grant should never, leave Tier side. Virginia had on the same ;domino she, had

worn in the">afternoon, which was. a little imprudent if she did 1 not wish to be known, as she had taken off het mask for tea at Rumpelmeyer's, and bad afterwards driven home in an open carriage without it. The domino was of white satin with a bunch of violets on the hood and another afe the throat, so that, even when the little black lace mask hid her beauty, she was a conspicuous figure among others less charming. Knowing that she was to be in Lord Grant's care, and that I was not wanted, I decided that I would not go out for the moccoletti ; but I wandered up and down the corridor at my hotel like a lost spirit, and finally 'threw my wise resolution to the winds. The thought of Virginia drew me ! like a magnet; And presently I, too, was. in the crowded streets which overflowed with merrymakers in quaint costumes, as a ' stream of sparkling water overflows its banks. Festoons of scarlet and yellow lanterns swayed above the heads of the crowds, like tulips shaken by the wind ; re<* and purple fire shone into black eyes and lit up laughing, unmasked faces, while everywhere the candles fitted, small yellow - sparks in the blue, illuminated dusk, uncertain in their movements as fireflies. In the long main street my eyes, quickened by love and jealousy, soon separated Virginia. Arnold in her white domino and Lord' Grant in his crimson, one from the irrelevant crowd. They were in the far distance, but I saw them, and knew that there could be no mistake. . The girl had thoroughly entered into the fantastic spirit of ike night. Her slim, white figure flew back and forth, threading jibe" crowd like a delicate ivory sfcuttte weaving through a skein of bright-coloured wooL She held her lighted candle high above her. bead, and so quick a/nd skilful was ■ she, springing on tiptoe or dipping unexpectedly down, tihat while she blew out a dozen candles, no one could 1 succeed ill the light of 'hers. Lord Grant was much slower in his movements, and' followed his charge at a distance, clumsily but conscientiously. I noticed- thait a tall man in the dress of a Brown Carmelite had singled her out, and was making a determined 1 attack upon her candle. She caraght sight of 'him also t realised his intention, andi was evidently bent on defeating '"it. She darted away like a swallow, skimming up the street towards the towering,' Jmd'dled mass of the old town, the Brown Carmelite close upon her heels, Grant — -who should have aided and abetted her— hopelessly left behind, swamped among the contending eddies of the throng. Unmasked .as 1 was, and without the candle which was the insignia of the night, I could no longer resist the temptation to |isurp' the privilege of guardian, which Grant did not seem, able to maintain. I ruthlessly elbowed the good-natured crowd as; l pursued, always keeping the white domino in sigiht, when suddenly a, girl, pushed roughly by a young peasant, who strove to Wow out her ' camdle, stumbled and j fell in front of me. I should Lave been a! brute if I had not restrained my impatience far enough to snatch her up and set her safely on Her feet again. "Why, it is you, ' Phrasie!" I exclaimed, finding" close to mine the handsome-, dark face of the young woman who' had : served as my chief model since I came to Mentone. "I hope you are not hurt?" '■"Ntf, no, monsieur, not at all, thank you. I was in too .great a hurry," she replied, in the mongrel Italian-French patois which I had come now to understand. But there was* no smile on her red lips," amd her eyes were strained arid eager. Y^ithout waiting for further words, she dashed! away up the street which led on, round a slight bend, to the oldtownl I followed, not for ThiasieVoglio, but for Virginia . Arnold, i Here the pafli was clearer; the crowd merely overflowed a little z in a thin trickle of individuals, beyond the spot at which I had been stopped. Passing the bend 1 could see a long way ahead, but Virginia had vanished. Lord Grant was close in. front of me now t and), turning as if h© felf my presence, he spoke my name. - " Hullo, Havelock," he said. " It's confoundedly provoking, but I've lost. Miss Arnold, wio was in my charge.. 'Suddenly she disappeared, just as if she'd put on an' invisible cloak. Queer thing, isn't it?" I felt furious with the slow, blundering •fellow, but I 6aid that Miss Arnold must have run up one of the narrow cross-streets, and if in© liked I would help him find her.. He was glad enough of my assistance, and t tried to* assure myself that in a minute we should 1 be upon Virginia's track; that I should then have won the right to remain by her side. But we searched everywhere vainly. From mere annoyance our trouble grew to alarm, then to sickening fear. We questioned everyone we met, but, though several had seen fcbe slender figure in the white domino with the violets, no' one knew which way it haid eventually gone. For. hours our search lasted. Her father :had to be told, and rated Lord Grant soundly with certain strong American words. Then . the police were informed, and all Mentone was ransacked unavailingly for the missing girl. . Next morning, telegrams were sent summoning- detectives from^Paris. The place buzzed with gossip, which, was maddening to me. Some thought that the heiress had eloped with a lover disapproved by her people; others whispered of murder and horrors not to be spoken aloud; {bus days passed, and nothing was heard of Virgin* Arnold. I was almost out of my senses. I could not sleep or think, much less, paints Most of my time I spent in wandering about the neighbourhood, trying to learn something, for my belief was that my darling, as a, famous American heiress, had been kid* napped for a ransom. Again and again Euphrasie Voglio came in vain to the studio I had taken in the old town— so I

heard from the shopkeeper on the ground floor — hut at last she left a note. I had supposed that she merely wanted an appointment, to pose for my half finished picture of " La Mentonaise," but it seemed there was something more. " I beg that Monsieur will see me," she had scrawled in ill-spelled French. "It is to me a matter of life and death, and maybe to him also of some importance. I will call one© more at three o'clock to-day." I returned to the studio at that hour, expecting to be asked for my advice on Some silly love affair, as 'Pi]jraisie was a local beauty with more tlian one admirer ; and she pretended to set great value on my opinion. Her first words, h&wcver, startled me out of my indifference: " Monsieur 'Avelock is interested about the young lady who has disappeared?" " Yes," I said brusquely. The girl gave a glance at the studio dooi which was closed, tip-toeji to it, and peeped out on the dark landing, then returned to me with pale face, and great black, dilated eyes. " Monsieur will swear, before I begins that whatever happens he will keep what, I may tell him secret?" "How can I swear without knowing?" "You must, if I aan to speak. Oh, do not fear, Monsieur, it's not necessary to repeat the thing I speak of." "You may trust me then," I said. She came very close- to me. "I think you care . for Mademoiselle .Virginie Arnold?" .The girl's manner was almost primitively sincere, and the impulse* was upon me to answer her with equal sincerity. "I care for her more than for all the rest of the world !" I exclaimed. " I thought so ! I have thought it since the night of moccoletti. I cam tell you where she is, if by all you hold sacred you vow to me that you will keep the secret, while you try to save 'her. If you do not. make that vow, I shall bs silent. Nothing can make me speak. They might put me in prison, and I would say that I knew no more than a babe unborn." "I swear to be silent," I said. "It is Francois Rimaldi who. planned everything, and stole her," whispered 'Phrasie., "I know, because we are lovers or we v have been. He had to ask my help, for the place where he wished to take Mademoiselle first belonged to my stepfather, and I could get the key without rousing suspicion at home. Anything is possible on moccoletti night! Francois is a socialist, and has been disappointed in his ambition. He knew how rich Mademoiselle's father is, and that he would pay anything to buy his daughter's safety. Francois meant- to .keep .Mademoiselle Arnold for a few •days, and. then treat for ransom in such. a way that the father would not dare let tfie police interfere, on pain of death for his daughter. When a hundred thousand francs had been paid then Mademoiselle was to be smuggled home; Francois and I were to marry and 'be rich for the rest of our lives. ; I believed all my lover said— indeed I think still he was honest towards me in the beginning. He disguised himself as a monk, and : followed the youno- American lady through the street as if to blow out her candle. She ran on and on, out of sight of her friends, never thinking of danger. Monsieur, you know my step-father's little wood-carving; shop m the old town here ; the room on the sea level— or rather a little below, for you go down two steps when you have opened the low, green door. The shop was closed at that hour, but I had got the key for Francois, and' nobody knew. He had the dooj standing already ajar, gave Mademoiselle a push, as she passed, which sent her stonblmg gainst it. She fell down the -steps, daze* and he held a sponge we€ with chloroform to her face till ehe was unconscious. Then when he had locked the door he wrapped a bK cheap, black domino over her whitp one," and carried her up the stairs behma the shop, which takes one to a doorin* upper street at the back, on a level with the next storey. There/a covered cart was waiting, with the ■brother of Francois as driver. After that, all was simple. They drove up the road towards the mountain village of Sospel, but they did not go nearlv eo far as that. Eemember, it vae now "late at night. The mountain roads were deserted, and they were safe to do what they would. The plan they had thought of was a clever one. \aa know the hermit's cave nears the opening of the Gourg del' Ora?" ■ "Do you mean that hole high up in the face of the mountain, where they say a hermit lived two or three hundred years ago, the front of which is artificially walled in, with a square window near the top? -i-the place which the peasants tell you .is impossible to reach now t though it looks as -if it might be easy enough to find some steep, winding path along the mountain .' "Yes, Monsieur j that is what I mean. 1 There is a way to' the cave, of course, though it is known to very few, and is difficult for even those who have once found it to find again. Well, it was there that Francois and his two brothers took Mademoiselle. They left the cart and carried her slowly, carefully,' up the path which they knew so well that they* could see it by the light of the rising moon. But they did not need to go all the way up to the cave. A. long distance below there is another hole, which cannot be seen by strangers because of creepers and bushes. Inside rough steps are cut, and at last you come out into the cave itself. Mademoiselle is hidden in the cave still, far, far up on the mountain side, mites away from any house or village. • She might scream all day for help and no one would hear, or if they did they would not know where to look, or what the cry meant. Francois has a sister of fifteen or sixteen, who is not quite mad, yet she is. 'not like other girls; but she is devoted to her brothers. She will do whatever they tell her, if it were to steal or kill ; and it is she who lives in the- cave with Mademoiselle — just those two alone; but Francois' two brothers are always outside, on guard and armed, and at night Francois is there also, watching. I do not

know how to reach the cave by Hne path, so I cannot tell you how to go. As for •the lower entrance by the rock passage, it would be useless to look for it on the great face of the mountain, for there are countless holes into which one might go by mistake, and never come out — places whiph would lead to nothing but death. Even if you could discover the way to the Hermit's cave and surprise the brothers, before you could get in — you and those you might take with you — they would eitlier have killed Mademoiselle, or spirited her off by the other entrance. They would die themselves, , now they have gone so far, rather than give her up alive without the ransom they are aiming for." "Yet she must be saved!" I exclaimed "Surely you have not been telling this sfcory with the object of torturing me for no end?" "No, above all things, I want you to find a way of saving herj for my saka even more than yours, for (Francois is playing me, false, and I am half mad with rago because I can do nothing. He hadto confide his plans to me, of I would not have trusted or consented to help him in the beginning, and he counted on my love and loyalty. But when he liad the young American lady safely imprisoned in the' cave he said to himself — oh, I know it well! — how beautiful she was,, and how much better it would 'be to have her for his wife and all her millions of English pounds beside, than a few beggarly million francs of ransom. If this were not so I would have cut out my tongue sooner than betray him ; and even now I have made you swear secrecy, so that, in spite of all, no harm can touch Francois; He has not confessed his treachery to me, but I see what is in his mind by the way his eyes refuse to meet mine, and his confusion when I question him." If he had not resolved to play some new game he would have begun by this time to negotiate with Mademoiselle's father for the ransom ; but he has not made a move to do that. Besides, the eldest brother, who is a priest (but not a good priest), is expected from Toulon, I' know. When this news was dropped by Francois' mother, I quickly put two arid two together. Somehow they will' force. Mademoiselle to marry him, and once she is Francois' wife, the father mu?t make the best of it for. his daughter's sake, At worst, Francois Rimaldi is . one of fhe handsomest men you "have* ever seen, handsome enough to win even a great lady's admiration. Monsieur Arnold might buy a title for him if he chose, and take him. :over to America a >noblenian. It is this, perhaps, on which' Francois counts ; but he counts without me. Oh, I cannot bear the misery he has put in my heart. •Something must bo done. Help me, Monsieur, because you wish to help yourself. L'hinlc — think how you can rescue the lady >ou love ; but do not dream of attacking Francois, for if you do, .she will not live to thank you ; I warn you of that, and I know it is the truth." I was inclined to believe 'Phrasie s s^ory, ■ind to believe also that her caution was not misplaced. A man who would do what Francois Rimaldi had already done, it' driven to bay, would be capable of anything. Promising 'Phrasie that I^'would keep the secret, and that for my own sako [ would not be slow in forming some plan, [sent the girl away. Then, alone once more in my studio, I thought till my brain ached. If I went to Francois Rimaldi, and tried threats or bribery, he would know at once that 'Phrasie had betrayed him, and he/ would surely take swift revenge. If I broke my. word to the girl, and gave the alarm to the police, there was little doubt that Virginia would be hidden elsewhere, or murdered before the cave could be entered. The same danger was to be feared if a private rescue-party set out in secret, for the watchers would not be caught asleep. Suddenly, when I had built up plan after plan, only to see them tumble down again one after another^ as if reared on sand, a new and extraordinary idea flashed into my mind. I hardly gave myself' time to develop it before rushing down the five flights of stone stairs between my studio and the street, and wiring to Manuel Cortez at Monte Carlo. I sent a telegram in cipher, which must have surprised him somewhat, though he was not easy to surprise ; and an hour later it was answered by the one word — "Yes." Satisfied so far, I went to my hotel ; and towards evening one of my. fellow guests brought exciting news into the big hall where I and a number of others were sitting. "That chap, Cortez, has come back with his electric flying machine. Half the town is out, watching it. He's landed on that b'ig open space near Gap Martin. I'd been told the best feature of this machine was that it could be steered as easily as a motor-car, and that, once master of the mechanism, you could do as you liked with it. But I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't seen the man manoeuvring with my own eyes. And the thing is noiseless, except for a sound like the wind among trees." Sea and^sky had melted together in a violet dusk when Cortez and I ■met at an hotel on the sea front, as arranged in my telegram to him. "You are a friend worth, having!" t exclaimed. " You must be wondering if I have gone out of my senses. But I'll explain everything, and- — " "Do that while we dine," he broke in, "if yon think I've earned my dinner." =,■ I "did think so, and was forced to hu-

mour him, though I could eat nothing. ! Besides, we wanted darkness and night for the work I hoped to do. * ■ When Cortez understood the strange cir- I tfnmstances, he agreed with me in thinking it best not to take the girl's father into the secret. Such suspense would bu hard for him to bear ; and then, he might be imprudent, not realising all that 'Phrasie's warning meant. Though it would be next to impossible to find^ tho hermit's cave by means of a hidden path, especially at night, the hole in the face of the rook, walled in with masonry, was in itself a conspicuous object enough, even at a distance. The scheme which Cortez and I now elaborated together was this. He would take his electric air-ship (with me as his companion) in the direction of the cave, and as far as possible on a level with it, until, by the clear light of the stars, we should have made sure of the position. Then he would mount higher, bringing the machine to rest above the cavej^ahd, leaving it, we would make fast '.to the rocks a curious rope ladder whicjjojihe r always carried on his aerial ■expeditions in case of emergencies. On this ladder we would descend I to tfhe square, window in the old masonry which shut in. the front of the cave. We would noieelessly*let ourselves down inside, and draw our revolvers on, the Rimaldis before they knew that they haid been attacked. It "was ten o'clock when we started, and the night was dark save for stars. Mentone goes early to bed, except when there is a dance or some other entertainment on, and the little town, so gay by daylight, was already as silent as if it lay under a spell. Even the excitement of the flying machine's arrival had died down, and no one was near it save Cortez' owm man, who travelled with him usually, unless he wished for another companion in his stead. The spot chosen as a resting-place for the big, stealthy " winged dragon " (as Virginia ibad once named it) was lonely, and we got off unobserved. Never sliall I forget that flight through the night, eeeming to swim among the stars. We flew swiftly, and the hills lay like dark, tumbled waves beneath us. Once we missed our way, but found it again, and when the shadowed Gourg del' Ora opened we saw a pale glimmering spot on t'he mountain face, which meant the front of the hermit's cave. We rose above it, and alighted as if on a bird's back on a. long, level space like a shelf overhanging the cave. Five later our rope ladder was securely "fastened and daoigling — we had reason to hope, from tho bearings we 'hadl taken— directly in front of the hermit's window. J-went down first, Cortez following closely. The' night was still, save, for the sighing of a light wind which had fortunately cov l ered the whirr of our winged machine l yet had not been 6trong enough to alter its course. The ladder was only just long enough. Had 1 there been three feet less of it the venture must ha.ve been vain ; but we had calculated rightly. As I descended 'to the limit of the rope the black square pf the roughly-formed window was almost in front of my face. ■ Stealthily I set my foot on' the ledge of pneient masonry. Not a stone, not. a particle of plaster fell. Clinging to the windo-How-fraime, I began letting myself noiselessly down into tihe cave, and as I did so Cortez reached the window, to go through 'the same manoeuvres just successfully acicompli&hGd) by me. ; Hanging on to the window ledoj« W .. -i- I ihand, I drew from my pocket a sme-lf dec /.trie lantern which I bad bought earlier in 'the day for this very purpose. Suddenly ■ the cave w,as lit up with a strong white ilig'ht, and in ai flash I saw the interior, ,w.hich was divided' into two . rooms, the ivough' open doorway of the further one iming .with a curtain of some mew red material. A couple of men sprang up t dazed with sleep,, almost under my feet. Before they knew what had happened I had dropped on top of them and Cortez after me. In letting myself down I left the lantern hanging from the window ledge by a hook, so that we could see what w© were doing. W«S had revolvers, and so had the enemy, but they were confused bv the unexpectedness of the attack, and wo had all the advantage. We sprang on the two, and 1 had disarmed them with scarcely a struggle when we- heard a cry from behind the red curtain. It was pushed aside and Virginia Arnold ran out, crying, " Save me ! The girl has a knife! She'll kiil me for her brother's sake!" » I sprang- to hcr>, knocking down one of the men, and catching my love in my arms, as she would have fallen. Cortez had his man down also, when suddenly the one I had flung on the floor rolled towards the wall 'and, to my amazement, disappeared For a second or two Cortez must have loosened' his hold upon the other, for, before we could have counted three, they had both vanished in the same mysterious way. Cortez, his Spanish blood up, would have followed, but Virginia, clinging to one, exclaimed, ''Let them goi It is a trap. The underground path is there, and Francois, one of the brothers, is below. .Take ifte away, before he comes, for he is terrible." ] She was right, for, once she was saved, my promise to 'Phrasie would prevent my taking revenge upon the Rimaldis. Cortez sprang at the high window-ledge, and in. a moment sat astride of it. I handed Virginia up to him, then turned to defend myself from the half-witted girl, who would j have crept up from behind and stabbed me in the back. With an eerie shriek of rage," as I wrested her knife away, she darted towards the underground passage, and I made no move to stop her. By this time Virginia was crying out that she could not, emild not go up the rope ladder. But somehow she did go, when Cortez had mounted to the top, and while I feept guard in the window. When I was half way up I heard a yell from below, and sent baek a faugh of "defiance. I have often wondered since whether the brothers believed themselves, baffled by magic, and whether, watching at their cave door, they saw the winged dragon flit, by There was no room for a third passenger, and I waited till dawn on the plateau when, by scrambling, I eventually found my way down. Of the Rimaldis I saw nothing. For 'Fhra"sie's sake they were to go free ; and I fancy they think to' this day that some supernatural power intervened to snatch away their triumph. Now, without more telling, you will see how Lord Grant lost the heiress, and her father forgot, ambition in giving her to me. Mr Arnold, Cortez, Virginia and I kept the real truth of her adventure to The story of an ordinary kidnapping for ransom and a high payment was allowed to be whispered round. It was considered natural that the Arnolds did not like to discuss the unpleasant affair ; and a new sensation was given to Mentone by our

marriage a week later. lam not sure that somo people did not believe me the kidnapper, who had returned Virginia to her parent's arms on condition that I should many her. But that is a, detail. Cortez was my 'best man,- and he has been commissioned to make an airship for Virginia.