TALES AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9309, 8 August 1908, Page 1

TALES AND SKETCHES.

. ♦ THE CASE OF LADY BROADSTONE. , (By ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT.) /fcttthor of "By Right <* Sword " "A - Heritage of Peril," t" A Courier of Fortune, . ;■■;. Eto., Etc. '* TAkl Rights Rssxrvk>.] *■ ■'. • • ■ .-_ — */■■'. CHAPTER TV. "-' a&Dffi's TEST. . , mmrm I^Bu* Sadie did not forget the/purpose ■»f her journey, and with American ■ramptal^ she set on foot inqumes ■tVXrt Hunter within two days of ■En the highest terms of him as a rising ■politician and still a possible heir to ■fefc cousin, Lord Broadstone. Everyone ■ said pleasant things about Dornson ■ fend foretold a great future for him. ■ 'But Sadie was not content with ■this; and resolved to put his disin■terestedness to a severe test. She |lmd had, plenty of fortune-hunters to ■deal with in her own country; and if Hshe was to marry him, she was deterHmined she would be chosen for herself Hand not for her wealth. ■ She had made shrewd preparations ■Accordingly. She had had a credit H«pened - urith one London bank, to H#|i<wii:' her Teal position and wealth ■were stated; and to another Bank Bhe ■had had just £1000 remitted, together ■with a guarded letter about her. This ■amount was soon spent, and ishe meant ■to use the matter to test Dorrisori.' ■ .Nor did- she neglect that ugly Car■diff incident. She spent' enough time Hin Cardiff to find the Llewellyns and Hascertain that although the name of ■Gilbert Gardiner had been used, the Hfeal offender was Gilbert Dorrison. HjShe discovered, too, that the brother Hbf the girl was a fiery-tempered WelshHman, who would prove a dangerous Heneniy should he learn the truth. ■ Fired with resentment against DorHrison,both on account of his act and ■because- of the smooth lie with which ■he had met her question on the Aronia, prepared her test and wrote to him, H^ '" i think I shall marry again. lam ■staying at. the Caslton. Sadie PorHlock j" and awaited his visit with much ■curiosity. ■ ( Dorrison on his side -had been wait■ing eagerly for wor,d from her — he had, ■been.raowit at Broadstone— and called ■that same evening. Sadie was magnificently gowned, and Hwas wearing her richest diamonds. She Hhad taken especial pains with her toilet Hto impress him. • " You . are radiance, personified," he pressing warmly the hand she him, and gazing ardently into her " As I told you once before, London not the promenade deck of the ■Aronia." "You have made me feel the differHence, indeed, by keeping me so long at distance." H " I have been very busy," she said. H' "And I very lonely." She encourhim with a glance, and he added : H"I would not have thought it possible Ha mere fortnight even" without you Hfcould seem so long." HJ Sadie looked down and then asked H with a smile : " Shall we get our breath H first P What have you been doing?" H -.. "Trying to kill a few days at my weary house, Broadstone : but was to be ..wired for the instant a ■ word came, from you. T left Gardiner Hfcehind fr»T that purpose." ■ ""Gardiner? Who is that ?" ■ "My man, you know," he said, in■Sifferently; but ready to curse himself HJfoT having mentioned the name. H " Ah, I remember. That shameful H affair. But he has done the right ■thing?" HJ "Oh, yes. They were married three Bdays after we landed." HJ She was so surprised at the glibness HJof the lie that she could not answer HJfor a moment. "lam glad," she said HJthen. "My heart is always moved by cruelty to my sex." "I honour you for that; and man the world though 1 am, we are alike " His air was one of complete Hf rankness and candour. He was an ex■cellent actor. ■ His falseness disgusted her. That could do the thing was bad enough, to lie about it so glibly and with hypocrisy was loathsome. Her imwas to tell him what she knew ; the words rushed to her lips; but checked them. She could act even than he. " And now tell me what you have doing?" he continued. "The decannot have seemed long to you — you could have ended it with a She laughed gaily. "I have been seeing everything, and buying, buying, until I don't what I haven't spent. I have playing my part. Don't I look He was puzzled. " Playing your he asked.^ " As a millionairess— what else ? How Londoners worship money! Talk New York — why even Chicago is way |Mback in respect," .and she rattled with an account of her doings in largely imaginary. "Do you think you would care to In London ?" he asked after a time. bring the talk back to the object of visit. HJ "My l It would be just good. No you folks are proud of it." He took out her letter and looked meaningly from it to her. She smiled dropped her eyes. He moved nearer to her. " And so name is Sadie?" he said, lowerhis tone. HI " Have you anything to say against — except that there are many thouof Sadies in the States?" This a coquettish smile. "I think it's a loveable name— eswhen signed to such a letter Haa this." HB "Mr Dorrison!" Hi "You remember the last night on Aronia, Sadie?" A glance as of reproach at even a

hint ofpossibie forgetfulness answered him. He touched her hand, and she did not withdraw it. He wae more excited at the thought of t^he prize he had won than he had ever been in his life. "And you will marry again? She nodded in assent. "You will give yourself to me?" "If you really care for me? .Just a whisper, this. " Dearest, with all my heart," he said, earnestly, and would have drawn her to him, but she put his arm away gently. " Are you sure you love me- — tor myself?" "On my honour. You are more to me than all else in the world, I swear," he cried, his voice vibrating as with passion. She drew back, and with a shudder clasped her hands to her face, and sat down. A long pause fell between them. "Sadie, you don't doubt me?" With a deep sigh she took her hands from her face, and let her laTge dark eyes rest upon him. " Dearest," he whispered. | "I have been wicked. How can 1 doubt you? let I ought not to have done it." i "Done what? Not that I caTe. You could /flo nothing that Vould snake my love for you." C "Wait, wait; I have misled you. I told you I had been playing my part. I have. I sent for you that you should know. I ought to have told you first. 1. had a craving for the adulation which is paid to rich women, and — it is all ended. Read this. All the money I had at the bank "was five thousand dollars — a thousand pounds. It is gone. See how they write. Oh, the tears it has cost inc. She took from her bosom a letter CTeased with constant thumbing and stained" as if with the tears she had shed on it. , He read it, and turned cold with consternation. "Of the sum of £1000 placed to your credit by the First National Bank of New York, a balance of £3 2s 6d remains to your credit. We have to-day had to return a cheque of £20. We cannot, of course, allow you to overdraw your account, and await your instructions." ' He read it twice before he could trust himself to speak. "Do you mean— — -" he.. began, when she interrupted him witß a iaughi" "I mean that I have had a gpod time, I was determined on that. I have lived just like ■ a millionairess, and have heaps of debts. I have bought everything I took a fancy to -" " You have spent a thousand pounds in a fortnight!" he broke in. "The only thousand pounds you had?" " I knew you would come to me, Gilbert. You are not angry? You said j nothing could shake your love." He was already congratulating himeelf upon his escape; and his pale face Avas set and resolved as he folded up the letter very precisely, and returned it "It is not for me to be angry," he answered. "What can Ido for you?" " You have asked m^ to marry you." "My dear Mrs Porlock, I am not rich enough to marry anyone who can spend that sum of money in a fortnight." "But you asked me?" she insisted; enjoying his confusion. He got up and, paced the room. "Why; then-, thiti , Cariton^business ; iis, all a deception/^ She nodded. ** Your dress, your 1 jewels, your signs of wealth?" "Don't they become meP Don't I look the part?" "You — you are an adventuress. These debts you have incurred without means to pay them. ■ They may -involve you in trouble — in v great trouble — even with the police." v "Can they?" she asked, irresponsibly. " I can give the things back." "What axe you going to do?" "To do? Why, to become your wife, of course." "But I cannot marry an adventuress." She shrugged her shoulders, and her diamonds sparkled and scintillated. Then, with a laugh: "I suppose I am." " You can't expect me to marry you in that case?" "But- what can I do? Without money, without friends — if you desert me — without even means to get back to the States: Mi* Dorrison — Gilbert! Surely you won't — oh !" and she sank back in* her. chair apparently, in great distress. Her dejection touched him slightly in spite of his disappointment. He was willing to help her if he could. And then an idea occurred to him. He sat down again and said quietly. " Let us talk it over. Of course, marriage is out of the question : but I can help you if you really can get rid of these. debt 6." "I can do that — my jewels will do that," she answered. ' " Show me." "I can help you to make perhaps enough money to enjoy legitimately some of the thinps you have had here." "I will do anything in the world for money," cried Sadie, with excellentlysimulated desperation. "You can keep a secret?" " Have I not kept this? Did anyone on the Aronia suspect?" \ "Well, there is a secret involved. You have played your part so well that you could play another — this time with me to help you. There is a. man I know who has lately married a girl with a huge fortune. He has been already married — unknown to her — and the first wife is living. The man and wife have not met for many years. If you will play the part of that first wife there is a fortune for both you and me. You say you have come to the end of things with this " — and lie waved his hand about the room — "and will do anything for money. Well, here is a chance of making enough to do all this in earnest." Sadie sat buried in thought. "I could do it," she answered at length ; "but who is the man, and what is all this to you?" she asked. " Never mind that for the present. You will know all in good time." A very different Gilbert Dorrison this from the fascinating ship companion of a few days before, thought Sadie. " But how could I personate the wife? The man would know me in a moment," she objected. "I doubt it; allowing for the lapse of time, and if we make certain changes in your appearance. You and she may not have been unlike each other years ago." "Oh. it is horrible!" sighed Sadie. " But 1 must have money." "I have her likeness with me. I have often meant to ask you whether you had ever seen her. This is the first wife." ' Tt was a photograph of— herself 1 The" room eeeined to reel with her. But in a moment she had regained selfposppssion and rose. "Mr Dorrison. you have made the mistake of your life. I am no blackmailer — not e,yen an adventuress. I just fooled you with this letter. My bankers aTe Morgans, and my story about poverty just a fairy tale. I have made it my business to find out a, great : rfeal about you since my arrival in Lnn«lin; and you may hearof me again. TViis was just a play-acting test. Go, nlease, and take with you this knowl^dce — there is on© woman in London who knows you for the paltry sconndrel you are V*

Too dumbfounded to reply, Dorrison left the room at once ; and Sadie sat down td think over the strange knowledge so strangely gained. CHAPTER V. DORRISON' S BLANK CARTRIDGE. Gilbert Dorrison felt his defeat keenly. Never in hie life before had he had to drain such a cup of humiliation ; and the taste rankled and enraged him beyond measure. The disappointment was bad enough. He had had the golden apple of Fortune in his very hands, only to have it torn from him with degradation and insult, and without even a faint hope of recovery. But the disappointment was not by any means the wor6t. He had been so out-juggled that in his folly he had let the mask of hifi hypocrisy be snatched away. Had the ©kin been torn from his flesh, the pain and smart could not have been worse. All through the night he winced at the remembrance of Sadie's contemptuous glances, and shrank under the lash of her bitter words. , , , , . „ His own stupidity in not haying made inquiries about her wealth betorehand wae like a sword in the . flesh. There were a dozen ways in which he could have found out the truth, and he groaned as he thought how, with that easily-gained knowledge, he could have answered her avowal of poverty with passionate declaration of unselfish love' for herself, and have pressed her to marry him, wealthy or a pauper. Instead of that, he had let her see right into his inner nature. There is one woman in London who knows you for the paltry scoundrel you are. The words bit like acid, for there is little misery more acute than that ot a hypocrite in the hours which follow hie first detection. ; • '.. c , " Even Sadie would have been satisfied with the punishment she had mfli-tpd upon Him had she known what a night of n?ony he endured. The next day, however, he was able to take a leas depressing view °f ™c position. The personal smart was dulled. He had made a fool of himself and had lost the best thing that Fortune had ever T>ut in his reach; bit after all she could do him no real injury. It was not likely their paths would cross again; and even if she remained in London, she was not likely to meet those who knew him, nor, if she did, to tell them anything. All that he had done was to refuse, to marry her when she said she was poor ; and thousands of men would have done the same. As to his proposal that she should personate his cousin's wife, he had mentioned no names; and if any necessity arose he could easily deny the whole thing, or pretend that he was merely testing her. • And in all other respects he stood just where he did before the thing occurred. He was in want of money, it was true, but he could trust himself to get enough out of bis cousin to smooth matters over. ' He had for some years spent a great deal more than his income, and had lost considerable sums in Stock Jlixchange speculations. As the heir to the Broad'stone title and estates, he had never had >any difficulty in raising money up to the time of his cousins marriage, and hia' debts ran into a good many thousands. The marriage had made a difference, of < course. •'■ lhe mp^ey^ndferschad. closea - their oasbbb*e4" *»& wiite of •.*oein ii .in^ed i , wer^ pressing for repayment. _ : He looked into his affairs that morn-in<r,-and not without some uneasiness saw that he must have some five thousand pounds to meet immediate needs. He would would go down again to Broadstone Towers that day and get it from his cousin. A very slight turn of the screw ought to be enough to squeeze that sum out of him, although he was by no means willing to part with money. . ,".,, ,« i_ The Towers was a deadly dull house to a man of his disposition, and. just ai present it was additionally, gloomed by the shadow of Mr Petherby/s death two months before. The rich man s anticipation had been fulfilled. He had died as he had lived— at work. He fell back in his -chair one day m his omce an the big varnish works; and in two minutes was a dead man. Nor was it easy to find a single individual, except Eva, who regretted him. Eva had always shrunk from the task of entertaining people, and now pleaded his death as a reason for seeing no one; and she passed most of her time alone, or with. Jack when he was at the Towers. She saw very little of her husband. He. was often absent, from Broadstone; and when there, spent most of his days shooting or riding, and passed the evenings in his own rooms, where he could tipple at his ease. She was glad to see Dorrison. Jack liked him ; and she took her cue from him. Her life of subjection to her father had made it difficult for her to form any independent opinions or to take any initiative herself. Her nature was one< which required some stronger will to rely upon and cling She found Dorrison when she went down to dinner, and welcomed him sweetly. . "A pleasant surprise, Mr Dorrison. I am glad to see you." " Didn't Bertram- tell you I was coming I I wired him." "I have not seen linn to-day. But he never tells me anything. You see it wasn't necessary for me to know, I mean," she added, with a faint and rather sad smile. "You are always welcome, and we don't count you as a guest. Your rooms are always ready." " That's very pleasant of you, Eva. But if I had known, I would have wired to you as well as to Bertram. You have the knack of always saying pleasant things, you know." " Have I?" she replied quite simply. "But I really mean 1 am glad to see you. Jack's coming in a day or two; and he'll be glad to see you, too." " How your face brightens when you speak of him, Eva." " He's all I have in the world to — I mean, we have always loved each other so much. You see, in the old days at Petherby I was so dependent on him for heaps of things." "I understand," he replied,'meaningly. , " Don't tell Bertram I said anything like that But I " she faltered and stopped. Then, with another wistful smile, she added ; "I am afraid I am always saying things I ought not, except to Jack, of course; but he understands." "I hope I understand, too, . Eva. But I wish with all my heart you were happier. You deserve it; on my soul, you <lo." Eva tried to restrain a sigh, and to cover it with a smile. " I don't know that I am unhappy, except that I have

one little bother now. lam losing my maid; and she lias been such a companion that I shall miss her. On* gets bo used to people about one. I know I'm very selfish." " I wish I could think that was your only trouble," declared Dorrison earnestly and with a steady look that somewhat disconcerted her. Before she could reply, Lord Broadstone entered. He took no notice of Eva, who shrank away to the window "Hullo, you here alrdady, Gilbert?" he said. "They told me you w«re out when I arrived. Didn't they tell you I waP here?" " I only came in in time to scramble into my things. Dinner's ready Come on. For once I declare lam hungry;" and he went off, leaving Dqrrison to give his arm to Eva and follow. Even the pretence of common courtesy had been abandoned by him. The dinner was a dull affair. His lordship ate much and drank more, and his only remarks to his / wife at first were made when/ he grumbled at something on the table. Dorrieon tried to make conversation with Eva; but she was overweighted by the presence of her husband; so that even Dorrisou, who could always talk readily, found himself a little at a loss. When the wine had! had some effect, Broadstone spoke a little to his wife. "Been out to-day?" he asked, abruptly. - " I went for a drive this afternoon, Bertram," she replied, much like a child to an elder. " You look peeky. Want more air. Too much indoors. I wish" you'd teach her golf, Gilbert." " I should be delighted. Where are the links?" "Within motoring distance. Do you no end of good," lie added, to Eva. "Jack's coming in a day or so, Bertram. I shall get out more then. It's so lonely getting about by oneself." "Well, it's your own fault. You won't see anybody. But Jack'U wake you up a bit, I hope. I'm glad he's coming." ' •Eva smiled. Any kind Teference to her brother pleased her. "I hope he'll be here to-morrow or the day after," she said as she was leaving the room. He got up and opened the door for her — an unusual act of attention — and said with a smile: " Try and buck up a bit, Eva." But as. soon as she had left the room he shrugged his shoulders and grimaced as lie resumed his seat. "She doesn't seem very happy, Bertram," said Dorrison. "She's a doll; that's all. And one isn't in the mood always to be playing with dolls," he returned impatiently. " Get's on one's nerves. Perhaps the cub will do her good." " I like Jack,'' declared Dorrison. . " All right. I shan't be jealous," sneered Broadstone. But what brings you back co soon? I was glad to get your wire. How's the widow?" "It's off. I made ; an ass of myself, to toll the truth." He could already force himself to speak lightly of it. " I cried off. It turns, out she hasn't I'^jiliy; itny .mon»y> t .&o-?l boat a diploinatip/retreat."' ' . "Trust you for diplomacy. But what a sell, eh?" " Oh, I don't know. I wanted the money, but I'll be hanged if I wanted a wife." " Comes to that, we all want money, by Jove." Broadstone had a strong suspicion of Dorrison's object, and meant to forestall him. " Except you, you mean.". "My dear fellow, I'm as poor as a rat. Think of throwing myself on the parish to get some pocket money." A little ji^ke at which he laughed. " But now the old man c dead, you ought to be on velvet." "Velvet? Cotton waste's more like it. The Towers are mortgaged up to the hilt, and every pound I spend I have to go to. my wife for. If you'd married the widow, you'd soon have known what that meant. Velvet !" and he laughed again. "Well, the truth is I want some money very badly ; and, what's more, I must get it from somewhere." " Poor old Gilbert ; and I was going to ask you if you could manage without that thousand a year for a time. Of course, legally you're not entitled to it, .now that I'm married: but I wanted to do the square thing by you." "'Legally'? That's the first time I've heard you use that word." "Well, old chap, you aren't, are you? But I don't want to bother." "If it comes to ' legally, 5 what price your marriage?" Lord Broadstone shook his head and grinned. "That cock won't fight, old chap. You hinted something about that the other day when you were down, and I've been thinking it over. You see, it's this way. I'm either married to Eva — or to somebody else ; and in either case, you'd be out of it." Dorrison frowned. " Well, I want £5000," he said, firmly. ".And there'll be trouble if I don't get it." "Trouble for you, you mean? I'm sorry lor you, old man." "I said 'trouble.' I didn't say for whom." "If I hadn't been a fool with old Petherby, I could have done it. When he asked what my debts were; I was idiot enough to name half the amount. I could as easily have got a hundred thousand out of him as fifty. As it is, I've had to get ac much as I could out of Eva. Now her trustees are kicking, and golden eggs are scarce." "1 must have money, Bertram," repeated .Dorrison. "That's what I've come down for." "Then you'd better ask my wife for it. That's all I can suggest. 1 ' "Which one?" asked Bertram, Bharply and nastily. But his lordship only shook his head and chuckled. You don't want to quarrel, old man, do you? That won't help either of us. I'd let you have the money, if I had it; but I haven't. I want twice as much myself; but I haven't aa many shillings. I'm kicking my heels in this infernally dull hole, only because I can't afford to live anywhere else till after the next rent audit day." " You can raise it somewhere?" "My dear fellow, my bankers wouldn't lend me a brass farthing on my signature alone. I'm overdrawn already pretty heavily." " Get your wife's, then." "Which one?" mocked Broadstone; and then added seriously : e< You haven't got the hang of this thing, Gilbert. If you can upset this marriage, do it. I'll be glad enough, on my oath. I don't think Eva would mind. I'm sick of the life. Now old Petherby's gone, no one would care." Dorrison smoked for a while in frowning silenco. "Look here, Gilbert/ continued his cousin, "think of some way in which I can help you, and I'll do it. But to ask me for ready money is no more good than to throw a fly for a trout in a water butt." Dorrison frowned again, this time very sourly. " You call it upsetting the marriage, but for you it's more than that — it's bigamy." " Don't *«Jk rot, Gilbert. If my first

wife is alive I didn't know it when I married Eva; and I don't believe it now." "But I warned you." " Oh, no, indeed you didn't. You said something afterwards; but it was too late then., of course." " Do you mean to deny that I wrote and warned you?" "That's about the size of it, old chap. You've been dreaming. I had no such warning from you." "Do you deny that Gardiner brought you a letter?" " Not a bit. That was to sa** -you couldn't get down in time for the ceremony, or something equally trifling. I forget." The eyes of both met in a long steady stare. Then Dorrison said : " You've been seeing some infernal lawyer?" Lord Broadstone winked. "You ought to know by this time, Gilbert, that a blank cartridge fills no game bag. And now let's talk about something else." <■ He mixed himself another whisky, and soda and lit a fresh cigar, chuckfing to himself at Dorrison's black looks of discomfiture and anger. CHAPTER VI. SINISTER THOUGHTS. Jack Petherby had one of those bright, open-hearted, generous natures which spread sunshine all' around. Everybody had a good word for him ; and the instant he entered the Towers the place seemed to catch the infection of his winning smile and to ring with the echo of his cheery voice. There was only one person with whom ho could not be friendly — Broadstone himself. The latter professed to Eva that he liked her brother: but Jack made no secret of his dislike for his lordship ; and the two nearly came to quarrelling the morning after Jack's arrival. Jack in his impetuous way had walked into Broadstone's room and asked: "How is it that Eva is looking so troubled. Lord Broadstone?" "You had better ask Dr Bradford, Jack. He looks after her." " He doesn't give*.- medicine for her spirits. The trouble's there. And they're your look out. She is downright miserable." " Hang me if I know the reason. She has everything a woman can want. I can't do anything." " You leave her so much alone, for one thing. She's hipped to death." " Has she been saving up her complaints for the head of the family?" asked Broadstone, with a sneer. " You needn't sneer at me because I'm only seventeen. She has no other friendsyor, relatives except me; and it's my place to 6peak to you." "Look here, my boy; go away and grow a little, and when you're a bit older and understand something about women, come and quarrel with me. Your sister can do exactly what she likes, when she likes^and how she likes, and why she isn't happy I don't know, unless she's grizzling over — well, you know pretty well what I mean. But 1 can't help that, I suppose." "He'd have made her much happier than she is now," replied Jack. losing his temper. "I -.wish" I was older, I'd take her away for a bit." "I wish you were, Jack. Then you'd gee what rubbish you're talking. You ''mean well enough ; but you want tact. Don't bother 'me any more about it. We cn^tchanire things.".' : : ' . . ' f Jack went off feeling very ancrry at 'this evident truth, and found '.Eva m the morning-room looking so'thoujerhtful arid troubled that his heart ached for her. He stood watching her a moment I before she saw Him. Then she jumped up with «. smile. "Sit down, girlie. I want to talk to yon." „,'«„ "What now, Jack?" "Look here, you're not happy What's the matter?" r{ Not happy when you come? Jack, how. ridiculous!" "Is Broadstone unkind to you?" "No, Jack. Why?" "I caught you just now off your ! guard and you looked so wretched I'm sure there's something the matter. Tell me." " There's nothing to tell, dear. Nothing important, that is. Nothing thai can be altered. I'm alon© a great veal : but— l suppose it's an awful thing to say—l'd rather be alone than with— oh, don't make me speak about it. . " I know how it hurts to keep things to one's 6elf. I wish I could always he here." r ' . ! " That's just it. Ido miss someone ! to talk to." "But there must be heaps of people who would be glad enough to be your friends, Eva. Can't you find i someone?" . She smiled. "You know what a nervous little silly I am. I cant make any friends at all. I often wish I could"; and she sighed. " The governor never ought to have made you marry Broadstone," he burst out impetuously. "It was a beastly shame." "Don't, Jack. It hurts." "If I'd been at home it wouldn't have happened. We'd have cut away first and gone to America. I wish we had." Eva made no reply except to sign again, more heavily than before. " I heard from old Don the other day, Eva," he said after a pause, watching her closely. ♦ "Did you ? I hope he's doing well." "He left Montana some time ago, and went to Mexico. He said lie was doing all right." "Does he — does he know I'm married?" " I wrote and told him all about it." "That was best, of course," she said, keeping her eyes on her lap. "Is that what worries you, Eva?" She kept; her face down and did not answer. . " Eva, you can trust me. And you can't help it if it is." The tears were in her eyes and she was trying to gulp down the sobs. " I do try not to think of him, Jack, but — oh, I wish sometimes that I was dead " ; and then the _ tears gained the mastery, and she laid her head on her arm and broke down. "Father told Bertram all about it, Jack," she said between her sobs; " and-he often 3neers about it when he's had a lot of wine." Jack was rather frightened by the storm he had loosed, and did his best to calm her; and then abused Broadstone. "He's a brute," he said curtly. " No, Jack, not that. I don't suppose he knows how it hurts; and often he's as kind as any man could be." " When -he wants something^ I suppose," he growled. " Never mind, Jack," said Eva presently, wiping away the tears. "We can't it. I have to bear it all my life ; and I try to make the best of it. But of course it was a horrible mistake"; and, after all, it must be as bad for Bertram as for me. I ought not to think of Don ; and it serves me right." " Rot," declared Jack laconically. " I wish you'd stand up to him a bit more. He only married you for your

coin, and you've got the whip hand there." ; " Don't, Jack. I'm only glad to do whatever he asks for the sake of peace." At that moment Dorriaon strolled into the room. " Hullo, you two : having a little family conference? Don't let me be in the way." But Jack was glad of the interruption. He had stirred a trouble of which he could not see any solution. He liked Dorrison moreover. " Don't go, Mr Dorrison. I was only trying to cheer Eva up a bit." " You should be here more, boy. That would do it. You're the best medicine for her. Isn't it so, Eva?" Her answer was a smile and a glance at her brother. "I haven't managed to cheer her up much this morning," said Jack, a little dismally. " What you should do, Jack, is to stay here awhile and look round to find your sister a friend' or two. She's hipped in this big house alone. She'll be worse than ever now, because she's losing her maid who has been a sort of companion, hasn't she, Eva?" " I should think Broadstone fhould find her a friend," said Jack " Bertram -doesn't quite understand Eva, I fancy. He told me he brought Miss Hamyl here for that very purpose." Eva's face clouded. " I don't like Gertrude Hamyl," she said, quickly. " I'm not very much surprised at that," replied Dorrison, drily. He managed to imply a great deal by his tone, and Jack noticed it. Eva flushed and looked down; and then- Dorrison added : " She and her mother, are coming down here on a visit I understand." Eva rose. "Oh, don't let us waste the morning talking about Gertrude Hamyl," she cried. "We have to go for our ride, Jack. I'll go and put my habit on." "What did you mean about that Hamyl girl, Mr Dorrison?" asked Jack, when they wefe alone. "Nothing, my boy,'' was the reply given in a tone that implied much. " I have nerer seen her." "You haven't missed much. What Bertram can see in her, I can't for the life of me understand. That's all." Jack frowned. "Do you mean " "I don't mean anything, Jack, but it's an infernal shame. That's all." He did mean a great deal. He had been thinking over that ■ conversation with Broadstone, and had come to the conclusion that it would be a very good stroke indeed for him if he couloT set Bertram and his wife at loggerheads and perhaps separate them altogether. It might pay him well to stand by Eva's side in the case of a family quarrel. He would at least be on the side of the money-bags. And he knew enough about Broadstone's relations with Miss Hamyl to make capital out of it at need. But he would not let Jack draw him into saying anything more just then, so he rose and, asked if ho might go with the two for the morning' 6 ride, and then went off to get ready. Another thought occurred to him in regard to separating husband and wife, and while he and Jack were waiting for Eva he began to sound Jack. " By. the w*ay, did you ever hear any more of tha^ old friend of yours, Don i Stuart, 'who.w.erit out- to. Montana? When I was out there I tried to find him. Thought perhaps he'd be able to put me up to some good things there.". - \ "He left Montana and went somewhere in Mexico,'- said Jack, unsuspiciously. , " Wise chap. Montana's about played out except for the syndicates. No chance of his coming home, I suppose?" he asked casually. " I hope he won't," said Jack, gloomily. "Why not?" "Don't you know?'' The question was quite ingenuously put. J " Oh, you mean about your sister? ; That's all over long since, of course; but perhaps it would be as well. Ah, here's Eva." Dorrison liked tlio idea the more he considered it. If Don Stuart could be brought Home he might help materially Ito separate Broadstone and Eva. Her low spirits, pale looks, melancholy and yearning for a companion, all suggested that she had by no means forgotten her old lover. If Broadstone were disposed to set him at defiance, he was not inclined to take it meekly; and his nimble wits were soon busy with fresh schemes, in which he saw himself as Eva's champion and defender, a position that might be made both comfortable and profitable. During the ride an incident occurred that gave a fresh and even more sinister diroction to his thoughts. ■ They were crossing some fields, and Dorrison, who was riding. a steady old hunter, put his horse at a gate and cleared it Jack followed; but his horse refused, and he was thrown. He was up again in a moment with a laugh. "My million wasn't much good to me then, Mr Dorrison," said Jack. They had just been speaking of his being a millionaire. "If the brute had broken my neck it would have been Eva's instead of mine." "Don't Jack," cried Eva, nervously. "Don't talk nonsense, boy," said Dorrison, sharply. " You only frighten your sister. And get a firmer seat before you try another five-barred gate.V " I'm going over this one anyhow,?' was the quick reply; and stung by the taunt and heedless of Eva's protests, Jack made the jump after three attempt©. Dorrison watched the scene with a calculating cynical smile. If Jack had broken his neck, Eva would have been entirely alone. "Jack,',' he said, us they rode off, "I like your pluck; btit if you do dare-devil things like Uiat, I shan't come out with yon again." ' l I wish you weren't so v.enturesoino, Jack," agreed Eva; but the lad cuiy laughed gaily. " I was determined not to be beaten," he declared. That night, when Broadstotio aao Dorrison were smoking together al:>/ie, the latter spoke of the incident m .1 way that showed the significant course his thoughts had in rcga.'d 10 it. "Jack had a nasty spill out with me to-day," he, said. He described the affair, and added: " Ho, has plenty of grit, that boy." "I wish he'd broken his neck," was the reply. „„ " That's kind of you. Why?" " About a million and a half reasons, and each of 'em worth twenty shillDorrison paused, flicked the ash off his cigar, and took a pull at his whisky and soda. Then he said very slowly: " There are other accidents, you know, Bertram." " He's too lucky to meet with cm — the interfering young cub." "Luck helps those who help themselves. There are accidents and—accidents, you know." "What do you mean?" " Has Eva made a will?" " What the deuce are you onvmg atP" " She'd have Jack's money if— an accident did happen ?" " I never thought of that. By gad, I'll see to it." There was another pause " X pbmid. He's very fond of sailing,, l

on the big lake, and it's — it's < beastly dangerous. I've beoa out with, him more tnan once, and I know I" Broadstone turned and (stared at his cousin; and their eyes met. After a pause, Broadstone said: "I think you've got a heap of tho devil in you, Gilbert." "I didn't say anything." "But you hinted a heap." " Rot. Of course, when I'm with him in the boat it's all safe enough because I look after myself. But — it might happen, even then. And if you had that million and a half of bis, you could " "What!" " About £20,000 would set me straight and put me well on my feet again." "I don't pretend to know what you're driving at, Gilbert. But, of course, if I had another million or so, £ could spare you £20,000 easily. But don't talk about such things. You give me the blue devils." "All right. Get that will made; and now that's settled, let's talk about the weather." But they spoke very little for tho ■rest of the evening; and Lord Broadstono went to bed more drunk than usual. (To be continued.)