The Storyteller.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11609, 29 January 1916, Page 2

The Storyteller.

US WOMAN TO THIS MAN.

(By O. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON.) [All Rights Reseuvbd.l CHAFim 111. >XHB BEGINNING —6R THE XN'D? For on® blind, confused instant tho f girl stood statue-still; then, without ft glanc© or thought for Mra Ellsworth, ake ran out of tho room. As ah© reached* tho stairs she s'aw Ruthven Smith ■ v sfefttvditig tto.tr the top, with a small - pistol in his-lifted hand. ' Sho feared t-hat ho would fire a se- ' coiid shot ,and there "was no time to C, reach liim. Somehow, lie must "bo stopwith a word—b\it what word? •Everything depended oca that. Shefcr desporatron incpiwi her, and - inAdp her reckless of herself. -< ' '"Stop! He*s my lover 1" she cried. t. ** Bcm't shoot." i Rathven Smith—a tall, lanky figure tC ft lotng overcoat—kept bis weapon •' aimed, but he jerlced his head mM© fo* " r a glance down at her. fie turned again instantly t<i face a possible antagonist, '"j eyes as .Well, as weapon ready. The . "flight from below had lit up his featured ■ s cbarly for a second; and Mary real-t-hat disgust And Rstonishinent ; }-wsro tho emotions her "confession" ~vhadi inspired in the Archdeacon's cou- .. .«n. She felt physically wck as she ' the irrevocability "of, what ! had. jifet said." If sho coulcfhave r " Nelfcon Smith " might have ''saved himself without compromising

"her, for lie was above all things quick--4 ~'"wxtteS and But in anthat ho "was her "lover," f she'J®Bid committed him as well as herself. Iffe would have to stand -by her, , %and make the best of a situation she ; JJiad recklessly created. This she real-: ' _ Jsed, but had no time to "wonder how. " }io ■would do it. before" he spoke, in a ; i ..tone of unruffled calmness. "Mr Ruthven Smith, wliat Miss Greenleaf says is the truth. "We' re engaged to be I 'teamed. All I want is a chance to explain why you find mo where I am. I'm not armed, I assure you, £0 you ' >■; can safely give mo that chance." * J - " You know my name!" exclaimed. Kuthven Smith, suspiciously. He still: r ', Covered tho other man with his pistol. "I've hoard your name from Miss dreenleaf," said the younger man. "£ ' inow it must bo you, because no other man has a right to make himself, at heme in this house as you are doing.; I".'certainly haven't. Bat bringing her, BcSfto a ffetf minutes ago, after 'dining* ; 4mb, we saw a light in what she said; ""flfes. your room. She was afraid %omeWeak thief had got in,, and I .pr#posedi '<B net that I should toko a quiet look •* round, "while £he wdnt to sfeo if Mrs' JSlsfrorfh safe. -No donbt she was] ■ all :rikht, bedvu&e I heai*lthem talking 1 •• "fogetner while I examined ;rour; premises. Tho next tiling I knew, just, as I was coming down with the news ' ..'Hhat everything was quiet, you blazed ! ■ awav at me. It was quit© a surprise." i;'j "I fired in the air, not at you," -Ruthven Smith excused himself. Mary clutched tho balusters in the ; gudden weakness of a great revulsion. . - "from panic to relief. She might have; •s,lcnown that he would somehow rescue: ier, even from her own blundering. ' >' J{ ehe had left him to take the initia"tive, perhaps he might have done better ; but even as it was he had saved' t&e afeuttion for her by so quietly tak- .. "i ing the propriety of it for granted. • ' The shamed red which had died her •' cheeks at Ruthven Smith's contempt, \ flied away. Her- "lover"—ho was openly that now-—had miraculously , - made his presence in. the other Smith's . loom, after eleven o'clock at night in this early bed-going household, the * most natural thing in the world. "I should always fire the first shot '" .Into the air," Buthven Smith went 1 "on. " unless directly threatened." " Lucky for me you did so this time," •. replied the other. "I don't want to die yet. And it would have been hard lines, as I was trying to do you a good "turn; rid you of a thief if there was; ... oner But I suppose you or some ser- ,, vant must have left the light in your 'loom." "I'm pretty sure I didn't," said Ruthven Smith, still speaking with the ; "nervousness of a suspicious man, vet' " At the same time uncocking and slowly, . ( ,l»alf reluctantly, pocketing his pistol. "Wemust find out how this happened. h Perhaps thare has been a thief "No sign of anything being disturb- ' «d m your room," the younger man asf * cured him. "However, you'd best .have a look round. If you like"— T and he laughed a humorous, frank- • Bounding laugh—"l'm quite willing to be searched before I leave the houpe, so you can make sure I'm not going off .irith any booty." ~"' * Certainly not 1 Nothing of the / .Jkind! I accept your explanation entorely," protested Ruthven Smith. He - laughed also, though stiffly, and evi- • • identhr with an effort. "One gets a start coming to a quiet ' c at this time of night, finding a "/ light in one!s windows that ought to lie dark, and then seeing a man walk I • out of one's room. My nerves aren't ? overafcrong. I confess I have a horror of night alarms—-marked with that sort of terror from childhood. I travel a good deal, and have got in the habit of carrying a pistol. However, all's well that ends well. I apologise to you Wld to Miss Greenleaf. "When I know you better, I hope you'll allow me to make up by congratulating you both on ■ your engagement." V He began to deecend the stairs, tak--fag off his hat, as if to join the girl - whom in thought he had wronged for en instant. "Nelson Smith" followed,' smiling encouragement at Mary over, the elder man's high, narrow head. And 'i it was at this moment Mrs Ellsworth . „chose to appear, habited once more in a hurriedly donned, dressing-gown, a. = white silk scarf substituted in hasto for a discarded nightcap. Panting with ' anger, and fierce with curiosity, she had forgotten her rheumatism and . abandoned her martyred hobble for a :waddlins run. Thus she pounced out' . at the foot of the stairway, and was ■upon the girl before the three absorbed actors in the scene had heard the ' ..shuffling feet in woollen slippers. "."What does this mean?" she qua- ■ , .yered. " Who's this strange man in my houseP What's this talk about * engagements?' " "A strange man!" echoed Ruthven Smith, prickling with suspicion again. " Haven't you mat him, Miss GreenlfiftPs flfliDC© ? " " Miss Greenleaf's fiddlestick!" shrilled the old woman. " The girl's a baggage, a worthless baggage I For five years I've sheltered her, given her the "beat of everything, even to the clothes she has on her back. This is the way she repays me—smuggles strange men secretly into my house at night, and pretends to be engaged to them!" The dark young man in evening dress passed tne lean figure in travelling "clothes without a word, and, putting ;Mary gently aside, stepped between , her and Mrs Ellsworth. " There is no t question-of 'pretending,'" he said gravely, almost threateningly. "Miss f>:'Greenleaf has promised to marry me. - If our engagement has been kept a secret from you, it's onlv because tho ' right moment hadn't come for annoutic- | ing it. I entered your house for a / few moments to-night, for tho first , time, on an errand which seemed ra- ! ther important, as perhaps Mr Ruth- » ven Smith will explain. T - don't feel called upon to apologise for my presence, in the face of your attitude to

SELECTED FICTION.

Miss Greenleaf. It was our intention that you should have plenty of notice before »h& left you, time to find someone in her place; but after what has happened, 'it's flour olwn fault, madam, if w© marry with a special license, and I take her out of this house to- ! morrow. I only wish it might be now J> i "It shall be now!" Mrs Ellsworth screamed liim down. " Tho girl doesn't darken my doors another hour. I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know. But with or without you, Mary Greenleaf leaves my houso to-night." " Mrs Ellsworth, surely you haven't stopped to think what you're saying I" protested Ruthvcn Smith. "You can't, turn a girl into the street in the middle of the niight with a young man you don't know, &cn if sho is engaged to liim." " I won't have her here, after the way shois treated me—after the way she's acted' altogether," Mrs EllswOrth insisted. " Let her go to your cousins if you think they'd approve of her conduct. As for me, J doubt it. And I'm sure sho lied when she .said they'd asked her to dine with them to-night. I don't believe she went near them." Ruthven Smith, who had made a surprise visit at the Archdeacon's and dined there, had heard no mention of Alary Greenleaf ( being expected. For an. instant ho was silenced, but the girl did not lack a defender. ' 1 She will not need' to beg for Archdeacon Smith's hospitality," said tho younger man. "And. oyen .if M>s Ellsworth begged lieri to stay, 1 couldn't allow it iiow. I will sets .that Miss Greenteaf is properly sheltered and cared fon tonight by a lady whose kindness -will make her forgot what she has suffered hero, of cruelty and tyranny. As soon as "possible' wo "shall* lie hitirried by special license. Go to your room, dearest, and put together a feW tliitigs for to-night and to-morrow morning—jtist What wi[l fit into" a hahd-bag; if there's anything else you. value, it can "be sent for later. Then I'll take you ,away." The words were brave and comforting, and a rush' of emotion swept -Merry's sOhl towards the unknown soul? of her knight. He was her one refuge, her protector. She could but trust him. For a moment of- passionate gratitude' slio eveix forgot he Was mysterious, -forgot that a. few hours ago she/had been ignorant of "his existence. When remembrance flooded her brain, her only fear was for him. What if the watchers should still be thero when they "went - out of. the house together ? She had turned to go to her room 1 ; for clothing, lie" hacl suggested when suddenly -this •* question... seemed.. to be ;■ shouted in liftf eU> Hjesitatirig, she looked back; " her 'eyes imploring,' to; meet a- smile so .gay. and confident that: it defied iate. Mary saw that he had understood what was. in her mind, and this smile was tho, answer.

Three minutes were enough for the pafekihfe of a hajg; th&n, luggage' in. 'hand) Bljary turned At the dfior for such a last look as a released convict might give tb his -cell. " Good-bye!" she Said, with a thought of compassion for the next occupant, her probable "successor. And passing Mrs Ellsworth's rtfoifl She a farewell glance at its. fa,mili^r_chairs and tables, each one of which she li'ated with a separate hatred ; bjit with a' shock of : surprise sho found the 'd6or shut. That must mean that the dragon had retreated from the- combat and retired to its lair! Not to be chased from the house by the sharp arrows of insult, 6e€med almost too good to be true. But when Mary arrived, hag in hand, in the front corridor, it was to see Ruthven Smith standing there alone, and the door open to the street. "Mrs Ellsworth has gone to her room," he eipMii&d; " and—er—your friend—your fiance—ia. ont looking for a taxi, not to keep you waiting. \Jae didn't leave till Mrs. Ellsworth went. I don't think he would hare trusted me to protect you from her, without him, though I-^er—l did my best with her. Good heavens, what a fury! I never saw that "side of her before! ~I must say, I don't blame you for making your own plans, Miss Greenleaf. I—l don't blame you for anything, and I hope you'll feel the same towards me. I'd. be sorry to think that—er—after our pleasant acquaintance, this was to be our last meeting-. Won't you show that you forgive me for, the mistake I made —I think .still it was, natural—and tell me what your married name will be?" Mary looked anxiously at the half open front door. If only the absent one would return and save her from this new dilemma! She hesitated; her eyes on the door; but the blank darkness . aid., silence, outside sent a terrible doubt into lier heart, cold and sickly aa a bat flapping in from the night. '' What if he mever came back ? What if the watchers.had been hiding out there, lying in wait, and two against one-—both bigger men physically than he, and perhaps armed—they liad overpowered himP What if she were never to see him again, and this hour which had seemed the Beginning of hope, were to be the end of it for ever? CHAPTER IV. THE COUNTESS DE SANTIAGO.

"You don't wish t4 tell me the name?" Ruthven Smith was saying. "Why should I not wish to tell?" Mary replied. " The natne is the same as your own—Smith; Nelson Smith." And before the wbrds had left her lips a taxr-cab drew up chortling at the door. "I hear from Miss Greenleaf that we are namesakes," Mr Ruthven Smith said, as "Nelson Smith" sprang in and took the girl's bag from her icecold hand.

"I-—he asked me—l told him," Mary stammered, her eyes appealing, seeking to explain, and begging forgiveness. "But if "

" Ouite right. Why not tell?" he answered instantly, his first quick glance of surprise turning to cheerful reassftranco. "Now Mrs Ellsworth is eliminated', I'm no longer a secret, am I? And I expect you'll like to meet Mr Ruthven Smith again when you hkve Si house to entertain him in." So speaking, ho held out his hand with a smile to his '' namesake'' ; and Mary realised from the outsider's point of view the peculiar attraction of the man.' Ruthven Smith felt it, as she had felt it, though differently and in a less degree. Not only did he shake hands more warmly than she had evet known him to do before, but actually came out to the taxi with them, asking Mary if he should inform his cousins of her engagement, or if .she preferred to tell the news herself? It flashed into the girl's mind that it would be perfect if she could be married to her knight by Archdeacon Smith; but she had been imprudent too often already. She da.red not make such a suggestion without consulting tho other person most concerned; so she merely answer&d that she would rather w#te Mrs Smith or go to see her. "To sav that you, too, are going to be Mrs Smith!" chuckled the Archdeacon's cousin, in his dry way, which made him seem even older than he was. "Well, you can trust me to stand hv vou with Mrs Ellsworth. I sliall have to follow your example: ' folc l my tent like an Arab.' 1 daresay she's owina you money. I'll remind her of it if you like; tell her you asked me to. It may help with tho trousseau." " Thank you, but my wife won't need

to remind Mrs Ellsworth/of her .debt, tho answer came before Mary could speak. " And she will l>e my wife in a day or two at latest. Good-night. Glad to liavp mot you, oven if it was an unpromising introduction." "I thought old Huthven Smith would bo sure to bo shocked if ho know tho ' safo rcfugo' I have for you is jio mo.ro oonvent-liko than tho Savoy Hotel," her companion laughed. "By Jove, neither you nor I dreamed when wo got out of the last taxi that we should soon bo in another going back to tho place wo started from I" "The Savoy I" exclaimed Mary. "Oh, but wo mustn't go'there, of all places! Those men " " ".I as'stiro you it's safer there mow than anywhere else in London 1" tho man cut her short. I can't orplain why—that is_ I could explain, if I cared to make up a story. But there's something about you makes me feel as if I'd like to toll you tho truth whenever I can conveniently ; and tho truth is, that for reasons you may understand somo day—though I hope to heaven you'll never hate to—my association with those two men is one of the things I'd like to turn the key upon. And I swear to you that whatever mystery —if you call it mystery—thero is about me, it shan't hurt you. Will you believe this. and trust mo for the rest?"

"I've told you that I would," the girl reminded him. "You aro being noble to me, and I've been very foolish. I've complicated everything for you. First, by what I told Mr Ruthven Smith about—about us. And then —saying yqur;namo was Nelson Smith." "You Weren't foolish," he contradicted her. " You wore only playing into Fate'tf hand.?. You couldn't help yourself. It had to be. Destiny! And all's for the best. You were an angel to sacrifice yourself to save nve, and your doing it the way you did, has made me a happy rtt&h at one stroke. As for the name—what's in a name? We might as well be in reality what we played at being to-night—Mr and Mrs Nelson Smith. There are even reasons why I'm pleased that you made mo a present of the name. I thank you for it—and for all the rest." "Oh, but if it isn't really your name, we shan't bo legally married, shall we?" Mary protested. "By Jovo!" ho exclaimed. "I hadn't thought of that. It's a difficulty. But we'll obviate it—somehow. Don't worry! Olily I'm "afraid -wo can't ask your friend the 'Archdeacon to marry us, as I meant .to suggest, because I was sure you'd like it." y I should. But it doesn't said the girl. " About the S&vey." he went oh, rather hastily. "I Want to take you there b'ecauso I. know a woman- staying in tho hotel—a woman old enough to be your niothOT—who'll look" after you,, to please me, till we're married. She's the widow of a Spanish Coujit, a.nd has: lived in the Argentine, but I 'met her . in New York. She knows all about me —or enough, if she'd ; been in the restaurant at dinner this ovening she could' have done for me what you did. I had reason to think she would be there, when I rushed in to get out of a rather bad fix. But' ,slie was missing. Are you sorry P"

• "If she'd been, there, you would have gone to her table and sat down, and we—should never hare met!" Mary thought aloud. "How strange! Just that littl© thing—your friend being put to dinner—and our whole lives are to b 0 changed. Oh, you must be sorry !™ "I tell ya% meeting you and win-, mug you in this way is worth the best ten yeara of my life. But. you haven't answered my question." "Then HI answer it now!" cried the girl. "Meeting you is worth aIT the yeara of my life! I'm not much of a princess, but you're like St George rescuing me from the cLragon." "St George!" he echoed, a faint ring of bitterness under his latjgh. " That's the first time I've ever been called a saint, and I'm afraid it will: be the last. I can't live up to that height, but—if I can give you a happy life, and a few of the beautiful things you deserve, why, it's something! And even I am better than the dragon. Meantime Pll try t"o grow a bit more like what your lover ought to be; and later I shall kiss you enough to make up for lost time." If ( five hours ago anyone had told Mary Greenleaf that she would wish, actually wish, to have a strange man take her in his arms and kiss her—a man eh 3 had never seen or heard of until that night—she would have felt insulted. Yet so it was with her. She was sorry that he was so scrupulous. She longed to have him snatch her close against his heart and press his lips on ners. Her silence, after the warmth of his

low-spoken words, seemed cold. Perhaps lie folb it so, for he went on after an instant's pause, as if ho had waited for Something in vain, find his ton© was changed. Mary thought it, by contrast, almost businesslike. "Yon mustn't be afraid." he said, " that I mestn to stay at the Savoy mysolf. I don'kj of course. Even if I'd been stopping there I should' move away it' I were going to put you in the hotel, ©lit I have my own lair in London—a place I always como to. _ Indeed, I'm fartly English, and a British subject, suppose, for I was born in Canada, though I've spent most of my life i\i. the United States. Nobody at the Savoy but tho Countess do Santiago ' knows who I am, and she'll easily midorstand that it may bo convenient for me to change my name. Nelson Smith is a most rospectahlo ono, and she'll respect it. Now. my plan is to ask for het when We arrive (sho'll ho in by this time for certain), have a few words of explanation on tho quiet, not to embarrass you, and the Countess will do tho rest. Sho'll engage a room for -you next her own suite, or as near as possible, and then you'll bo provided with a chaperon, so you'll bo all right." "I'm not anxious about myself, but about you," Mary said'. "You haven't told mo yet what happened after you went upstairs at Mrs Ellsworth's, and how vou knew for certain that those m<m Were gone. I suppose you did know? Or did you just chance it?" " t was as sure as I needed to be," Nelson Smith answered. " A moment after I switched on tho electricity m tho room up there—my namesake's room—f. heard a taxi drive away. Then I turned off th° light, so I could look tfufc. By flattening my nose .against tho glass I could s<?o that the place where those chaps liad waited was empty; but just in case the taxi was only turning, and meant to pass the house' Again, I lit up the room onco mote, for realism. That's what, kept me rather long—that, and waiting for the dragon to go to her lair. Otherwise I should have been down before Ruthven Smith came back and trapped me. For a second or two it looked as if .the gaifie of life was up. And just then I found out how much you meant to mo already. It was you I thought of. It seemed such beastly hard luck to leave you as fast as ever in that old woman's clutches." Mary put out her hand to him with •a warm impulse of gratitude—and something more. He took it, raising it to his hps, and both were startled whon the taxi stopped. They had arrived at the Savoy, ai)d though Mary seemed to have lived through half a lifetime of emotion, jUfet one _ hour mid thirty minutes had passed since she and her •companion drove fctftiy from these bright, revolving doors. ■'TRo foyer was -as brilliant and as crowded as it had been when they left, at haJf-pas't ten. Nobody > paid th© slightest attention to the newcomers, and Mary settled ■ • down unohtrusively in a retired corner, while her late companion went away to scribble a line to the Countess de Santiago, he ciia llOt fetufn, iiftl -again the girl had a few moments of suspense, thinking of the dStt'gM" which, deSpite his protests, might not, after all, be over. Just as she had begun to be anxious, liowv ever, ehe saw liim coining towards her with'a wonderful-looking Woman. He had said the Countess do Santiago would <f mother" lier. Anyone less motherly than this JunO-dike beauty in flame-coloured chiffon over clinging goM tifesUo, it Would be hard to imagine. The . Spanish-South .American Countess was a camellia paleness, and had immense, almond-shaped, dark eyes with brooding lashes, and slender black .brows that ,met. In contrast, her hair was of a flame-colour almost as vivid as her draperies; and her- lips were red as poppies. At iifst glance, Mary thought that the dazzling creature could not be over thirty, but a certain hardness about the handsome face, a few lines-about the eyes arid mouth, and a fulness of tho chin showed that she was older —forty, perhaps. Still, Mary hoped th'at her lover had not asked-the Countess to "mother 5 * his fiancee. She had not at all the air of one who would be complimented by such a request. "This is a pleasure and a surprise, 1 ' began tho countess, smiling, her great, eyed appearing to take in the fulllength portrait of Mary Greenleaf with their wide, unmoving gaze. When she smiled, she was still extremely handsome, but, not quite so perfect as with lips closed, for her white teeth were rather too short, somewhat irregular, and set too wide apart. She spOKe jtunglish perfectly, with a slight American accent and a noticeable roll of the letter "r."\ "My frieiid, Nelson! Smith " (she turned a laughing glance on him) "has told me the most exciting news. We have known each other a long time, he and I. You will be a lucky girl. He, too, will be lucky. I see mat." With another smile. Mary was disappointed because the beautiful woman's voice was not sweet.

"Now you must go and engage her room," Nelson Smith said abruptly. "It's getting late. You can make friends afterwards." "Very well," the countess agreed. "And yon—will you come with me to the desk? Yet, no—perhaps it is better not. Miss Grefenleaf and I will go together—two women alone and independent. Lucky it's not tlife season, or we might find nothing free at such short notice. But I>on—l mean Nelson —always did have luck. I hope he always will." She flashed him a meaning, look, though what .the meaning was Mary could not guess. She knew only that she did not like the Oountess de Santiago as sho had wished to like her lover's old friend. CHAPTER Y. THB RING WITH THE BLUE DIAMOND. The crowding experiences of five hours had exhausted Mary Greenleaf. Sleep fell upon her as her head nestled into a downy pillow, and she lay motionless till a sound of knocking forced itself into her dreams. A streak of sunshine thrust a golden wedge between ' the hanging draperies, and seemed a good omen; for the sun had hidden from London through many wintry weeks. Jumping out of bed, she could hardly believe a little clock on the mantelpiece which said halfpast ten. Mary opened the door a crack and took in a letter from a silver tray. "Hurrah, my darling, our affairs march well!" "wrote the new master of her destiny. x " I'vo been arranging about the license, etc., and I believe that you and I can join forces for the rest of our lives to-morrow—blessed day! How soon can you come down and talk over plans P I'vo a hundred to propose.'' Will you breakfast with me, or have you finished already? Yours since last night, till eternal night. —N.'S." The girl scribbled an answer, promising to be down in half an hour for breakfast if he didn't mind waiting. When the note was sent, and she was doing her liair after a hasty splash in the porcelain bath, she re-read her first love-let tar, Spread out on the dressing table. She liked her lover's handwriting. It seemed to express character—just such character as she romantically imagined her knight's to be. There was dash and determination, audacity and the suggestion of an original nature which would never let itself be bound down by conventions. She made such haste in dressing that her fingers seemed to be "allthumbs," and when at length she was ready she gazed gloomily into the long mirror. Last night she had not been so bad, in evening dress, but now, in the cheap, ready-made brown velveteen coat and skirt, and plain toque to match, which had been her "best" for two winters, she feared lest " ho" should find her commonplace. A young man held her hand, (fuestioning her eves with his. "The Countess didn't put you 'off' ?ne?' ; 'i Mary opened her eyes. " Of course

not! Why, you told me you were old friends."

"So wo are—in a way, as friends go in this world, old ; pals,' anyway. She's done me several good turns, _ and I'v© paid her back in her own coin. She'd always do what she could to, help _me on, for her own sake as well as mine. But her idea of what a man ought to be may be different from yours." " She wasn't with me long," explained Mary. " Sho said I' needed sleep after all I'd gone through. The few remarks she did make about you after you left were very complimentary." " What did she sav? Tell me. I'm curious." "Well, if yon must know, she said that—that you were a man few women could resist; and—she didn't blame me." " EPmP Yon call that complimentary? I'm not sure. But let's suppose she meant it so. Now we'll have breakfast, and forgec her—unless you'd like her called to go out with us afterwards on a shopping expedition I've set my heart on." " What kind of a shopping expedi-tion?"-Mary wanted to, know. "To buy you all the pretty things vou'vo ever wished for and haven t W" The girl laughed. "To do that would cost a fortune!" "Then we'll spend a fortune. Shall you and I do it by ourselves, or would you Eke to have the benefit of the ttountess de Santiago's taste?" "01i, let us go without her!" Mary exclaimed. " Unless you " "Rather not! I want you to myself. You darling! we'll have a great day together—spending that fortune. The next thing we do—only it can wait till after we're married—is to look for a jolly house in a good neighbourhood, to let furnished. But we'll get your swell cousins to help us choose that. Perhaps* there'll be something near them. Take my word for it, they'll be only too pleased to remember the existence* of a cousin who is marrying a millionaire."

" Good gracious!" gasped. Mary. "Are you a millionaire?" Her lover laughed. "Well, I don't want to boast to you, though I may to your cousins, for a reason; but if I'm not one of your conventional, stodgy millionaires I have a sort of Fortunatus's puree which is never empty. I can always pull out of it whatever I want, and eo can you. We'll let your people understand, that without any vulgar bragging. But _ come along, let's have our 1 breakfast l" So the mysterious Mr Smith was very rich! Tho news frightened rather than pleased her. The girl had little selfconfidence as yet; but the man appeared to be troubled with no doubts of her or of the future. Over their coffee and toast, and hot-house fruit, he began to propose exciting plans, and had got as far as an automobile, when the voice of the Countess surprised them. "Good morning!" she exclaimed. "I was going out, but from far off I saw you two. So I couldn't resist asking how Miss Greenleaf slept, and if there's anything I can do for her in the shbps?" As she spoke, the great eyes ctwelt on Mary's plain toque and old-fashion-ed shabby coat. Tho girl flushed, andSmith, seeing the flush, frowned at*tlie Countess. " No, thank you," he replied for Mary. " There's nothing we j need trouble you about till the wedding, to-morrow afternoon, at 2.30. You can put on your gladdest rags then, ; please, and be one of our two witnesses, j I believe that's the legal term, isn't | it?" I "I did not know," said the Conn-: toss, with a suppressed quiver in her voice. " I know nothing of marriages, legal or illegal, in England. Who will be your other witnesses, if it's not j indiscreet to ask?" I "I haven't quite decided yet," re- | turn-fed Smith, laconically. i " Ah, of course, you have plenty of friends in London to choose from. And so the wedding will really be to-mor-r°w?" "Yes. One fixes up these things m next to no time with a special licence. Luckily, I'm a British subject. I never thought much about it before, but now it simplifies matters, and I'll have been living in this parish just a fortnight to-morrow. That s providential—for it seems it must bo a fortnight—heaven knows why. I've bipen up since beforo it was light, learning the ropes, and beginning to work them. Even the hour's fixed: two-tlnrty." "You aro characteristically prompt —and business-like," returned tho j Countess. "At wluit church will the < 1 ceremony take place.' as the news- I papers say ? Is it to bo a fashionable j one?"

"No," replied Smith, shortly. "Weddings in fashionable churches' are silly. I'll let you kn<3W in plenty of tirooi where we are going. As you'll be with the bride you can't lose yourself. on the way, anyhow, so you needn't worry." "I don't!" laughed the Countess. " I'm entirely at your honoured to be chosen. Now I know all I need to know I shall take myself off. You must have a busy day before you, and already it's very late—oven later than our breakfast on the Monarchio three weeks ago. Already it seems three months 1 Au revoir, Don. Au revoir, Miss Greenleaf." She turned away with ■ a certain abruptness. ( Smith let her go in .silence; and the girl gazed after the beautiful figure until it disappeared, not because the sight of it charmed her, but because she felt vaguely that it would be best not to look at her companion just then. She knew without looking thati he was angry and that he would be glad to have time to compose himself. The Countess de Santiago was quite as haaidsome by morning light in her black velvet and chinchilla as she had been at night in flame colour and gold; but—the girl hoped she was not ilnatured to have such a thought—she looked meretricious. If she were " made up," the process defied Mary Greenleafs inexperienced eyes; but surely never was humaai skin so flawlessly white; and such golden-red hair with dark eyes and eyebrows must be almost unique. " Great Scott, I thought she meant to spend the morning with us by the way she stuck!" Smith broke out viciously at last. "I realise, now I've seen you two together, that she's not the ideal chaperon. But any port in a storm. We needed so port last night, and she was the only one available." "I'm afraid she realised that you weren't making hei welcome," Mary smiled. "You weren't very nice to her this morning, were you?" " I was as nice as she deserved," the man excused himself. " But she was good to me last night." "She owes it to me to bo good. It's a debt I've a right to expect her to pay, that's all, and I'm not sure she's paying it generously enough. You needn't be too grateful, dear." "Perhaps, as she's known you some time, she feels you're sacrificing yourself to marry a strange girl in such a hurry," Mary defended the countess. " I don't blame her!" /

" She's sharp enough to see that I'm in great luck," said Smith. " But I suppose there's always a dash of the cat in a woman of her race. Some women want all the limelight turned on themselves, and grudge sparing any for a younger and prettier one." Mary laughed. "Prettier! Why, she's a great beauty, and I " "Wait till I introduce you to Mrs Nelson Smith, who's going to be one of the best-dressed, best-looking young women in London, and you'll bo sorry for the poor old Countess de Saiitiago! But meanwhile don't let her ' pump' you about yourself, or about what happened last night at Mrs Ellsworth's. It's not her business. Don't confide in her any moro than you need, and if she pretends to confide in you, understand that it will be for a purpose. The countess is no ingenue! But enough about her. She shan't spoil our first breakfast together, even by reminding me of the gloomy meals I used sometimes to eat with her when we happened to find ourselves in each other's society on board the Monarchic. I was feeling a bit down on my luck then, and she wasn't the one to cheer me up. But things are different now. Have you noticed, by the way, that she had a nickname for me?" "Yes," Mary admitted. " She called you ' Don.' " "I only refer to it, because I want you to have a special name of your own for me, and I don't want it to be that one. It can't be Nelson, because—• well, I can never be at home as Nelson, with the girl I love best-—the one who knows how I came to call myself that. Will you make up a name for me, which no one else shall ever use, and besin to get used to it to-day? I'd like it if you could." " .May 1 call you ' Knight'?" Mary asked, shyly. "I've named you my knight already in my mind and—and heart, so it would como easy." Ho looked at her with rather a beautiful look—clear, and somewhat wistful, even remorseful. " It's too noble a nickname for me," he said. " Still, if you like it, it shall bo. Maybe ifc will make me good. Jove! It would take something strong to do that! But who knows? From now on I'm your ' Knight.' You needn't wrestle with

' Nelson,' except when we're with strangers. And —look here ! I've another favour to ask. Better get them .nil over with at once —the big ones that aro harcl to grant. You reminded ino last night that we wouldn't be legally married if I didn't use my own name. Til at may he true. 3 can't very well make inquiries. But just in ease it 33, I'm giving my real name and shall sign it iif the register. That's why our marriage must be quickly performed in a quiet place. I .shall he in church, because I know you wouldn't feel married if it wasn't, but it must he in a church where nobody we're likely to meet ever goes; and the parson iiuixt b» 0110 v>e won't stand a chance of knocking up against later. Managed j the way I shall manage it, there'll b-> no difficulty. Mr and Mrs Blank will walk out of the vestry after they've ! signed their names, and—lose themselves. No reason why they should ever he associated with Mr and Mrs Nelson Smith. Do yon mind all these queer complications?" "Not if thev're necessary to save you from danger," the girl answered. "By Jove, you're a trump if ever thero was one! But T haven't come to the big favour yet. Now for it! "When I write my real name in tbo register, T don't want you to look at it. Is that tho ono thing too much?" Mary tried not to flinch under his eager eyes. Yet—he had put b<?r to a severe test. Ivast night, when he said that it would be better for her not to know his name, in order_ to have no self-consciousness to hid© it if it were spoken before her, she had quietly agreed. But there had been the widest difference between then and now. At that time they N hnd been strangers flung together by a tidal wave of fate which, it seemed, might tear them apart at any instant. In a few hours all was changed. They belonged to each other, never to be separated. This man's namo would be her name, yet lie wished her to be ignorant of it. If the girl had not thought of Mm truly as her knight, if. she had not been desperately determined to _ trust him, the " big favour" would indeed have been too big. '"No; it's not too'much." she said slowly. " ft'fc only part of the trust I've promised to —my knight." He gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you —and my lucky star for the glorious prize you are!" he exclaimed. Some men would have offered their thanks to God or to heaven. Mary noticed that he praised his "star." This was one of many disquieting tilings, large and small, for she had been brought up to be a religious girl, and was mentally on her knees before God in gratitude for the wonderful happiness which illuminated her grey life. She could not bear to think that perhaps God was nothing to the man who had become everything to her. She wanted to shut her eyes and thoughts to all that was strange in 'him, but it was as difficult as for Psyche to resist lighting the lantern for a peep at her mysterious husband in his sleep. For instance, there ■was the Countess de Santiago's rather venomous reference to their association on board the Monarchic, which Knight had refrainod from mentioning. He had spoken of it after the countess had gone, to be sure, but briefly, and evidently only because it Would have seemed odd if he had not done so. It had struck Mary that his annoyance with the beautiful lady was definitely connected! with that sharp little " dig" of hers, and she could hot quite sweet) her mind clear of curiosity. The moment the Monarchic's name _ was brought up she remembered reading a newspaper paragraph about the last vOyago of that great new ship from New York to, Liverpool.. Fortunately or unfortunately her recollection, of the paragraph itself was nebulous, for when she read news aloud to her mistress, she permitted her mind to wander unless the subject happened to De personally interesting. She tried to keep up a vaguely intelligent knowledge of world-politics, but small events and blatant, sensations such as ''murders, burglaries and "Society" divorces she quickly erased from her brain. Something dramatic had occurred on the Monarchic. Her subsconscious self recalled that, but no'xnore. But it was less than a month ago had read the .paragraph, thereforenh© sensation, whatever it was, must have happened when Knight and the Countess de Santiago were on board, coming to England} and she could easily learn what it was by inquiring. Not for the ;world, however, would she question'lher lover, to whom the subject of the trip wag evidently distasteful; and still less would,she ask the countess "behind his back."

There was another way in which she could find out, a sly little voice seemed to whisper in Mary's ear. She coukl get old numbers of the "Morning Post," which was the only newspaper that entered Mrs Ellsworth's house, and search for the paragraph. But ehe was ashamed of herself for letting ssuch a thought enter her head. Of course, she would not be guilty of a trick so mean. She would not try to unearth one single fact concerning her Knight—his name, his past, or any circumstances surrounding him, even though by stret-ching out her hand she could reach the key to his secret.

He talked of things which at another time would have palpitated with interest—their wedding, their honeymoon, their homecoming, and Mary responded appropriately without betraying absentmindedness. It was the best she could do, until the effects of the " biggest favour " and the doubts it raised were blurred by new sensations.' She would not have been a normal woman if the shopping excursion planned by "Knight" had not swept her off her feet., The man with Fortunatus's purse seemed.bent on trying to empty it—■ temporarily—for her benefit. If she had been sent out alone to buy everything she had ever wanted, with no regard to expense, Mary Greenleaf would not have spent a fifth of the sums he recklessly flung away on evening gowns, street gowns, boudoir gowns, liats, high-heeled paste-buckled slippers, a goldntted dressing bag, an ermine wrap, a fur-lined motor coa.t? and more saede gloves and silk stockings than could be used (it seemed to the girl) in the next ten years. He begged for the privilege of '' helping choose," not because he didn't trust her taste, but because he feared she might be economical; and during the whole day in Bond Street, Regent Street, Oxford Street and Knightsbridge she was given cnly a hour to herself.

They dined together, but not at the Savoy. The Countess's name was not mentioned, yet Mary guessed it was because or her that Knight suggested an Italian restaurant, When ho left her at last at the door of her own hotel, everything was settled for the wedding day and after. Knight was to produce two friends, both men, to one of whom must fall the fatherly duty of giving the bride away. Ho suggested their both calling upon her in tho morning, while he was with hor at the Savoy, in order that they might not meet as strangers at the church, and the girl thought this a wise idea. As for the honeymoon, Knight confessed to knowing little of England, outsido London, and asked Mary if sho had a choioe. Would she like to have a week or so in some warm county like Devonshire or Cornwall, or would she enjoy a trip to Paris or the Riviera. It was all one to him, he assured her; only ho had set his heart on getting back to London soon, finding a house, and beginning life as they meant to live it. Mary chose Devonshire, her native county. Sho said she would like to show it to Knight. '' I think you'll love it," she told him. " W© might sfray at several places I used to adore when I was a child. And if wo go to Sidmouth, maybe you'll have a glimpse of those unknown cousins of mine you wero talking about, the AnnesleySetons. I believe thoy have a place near by, called Vallcv House, but 1 don't know whether they livo there or let it." "We'll go to Sidmouth," ho said. Next morning at eleven o'clock, when Mary had been up for two hours packing her new things, sho was in-

formed that Mr Nelson Smith had aJ> ■' rived % I " We've got a clear half-hour to-; gether," he said. "Then Dr Torrance and the Marchese di Morello may iur» up at any minute. Torrance is an eW dcrly man, a decent sort of chap, an<J deadly respectable. He'll do the- heavy, fatheiy act well enough. Paoli di Morello js an Italian. I don't care fofc him much, I admit; but the trouble* some business about my name is a han« dicap. I can trust these men. And at least they won't put you to You can judge them when tTTey come, so enough about them for tho present! This is my excuse for being here;"', and he put into Mary's hand a ovel-shaped' parcel." "My wed din g ; gift to my bride," he added, in a dificr.. cut and softer tone. "Open it, t'.VW.t." \ it was a jeweller's parcel. She pressed a tiny knob, and the cwcn, flew up to show of pearls whicV made her gasp. V "For tho Princess, from Slei* Knight," she said. "And hera"—i he took from an inner pccket of ids' coal a band of gold set with a white diamond—" is your •ring. Every girl must liave one, you. know, even if her engagement is the, shortest on record. _ rve the wedding, ring, too. But it isn't time for that 1 yet. A good-sized diamond's the <jb-) nous sort of thing; advertises itself for'what it is, and that's what we want. : You'll wear it. as much as to say, ' T; was engaged like everybody else.' But' if there wasn't a reason against it,; this is what I should like to put or* your finger." As he spoke, he hid the spark of light) in his other hand, and from the pocket whence it had come produced another.' ring. j IF she had not seen _ this,. Mary would have exclaimed against the word " obvious" for the splendid brilliant as big as a small pea which Knight put aside so carelessly. But the extraord'i- 1 nary contrast between the handsome modern ring with its fine " solitaire" 1 diamond, and the wonderful rival he I gave it, silenced her. She knew with-; out telling that this secoijEl ring was & rare as well as beautiful antique. It j looked worthy, she thought, of a real : princess. Even the gold was different ) from other gold, the little that could; 'be seen, for the square-cut stone o£ pale scintillating blue was surrounded 1 by a frame of tiny brilliants encrusting i the hand.

"A sapphire 1" Mary exclaimed. "My favourite stone. Yet I never s&wV a sapphire like it before. It's wonder-i ful—brighter than a diamond." "It is a diamond," said Knight. " A' blue diamond, -and considered rather a remarkable one. It's what your friend, Ruthven Smith, wouTdcall a ' museum piece,' if you flowed it to him. Bui you mustn't. He'd 1 more heaven and t eairth to get. it if you did. « Nobody' must see it but yon and me. 11 wouldn't be safe. It's too valuable. And if you were known to have . it, you'd bo in danger from all the jewel thieves in Eur op® and America. Yoit wouldn't like that, would youP" j "No, if Would bs Hbrrfblel" Mary, shuddered. "But what a. ,pity it: must be hidden. Is it yoursP"- " It's vours at present," said Knight, 1 " if you'll keep it to yourself, and' lookj at it only when you and I axe alone to-' * gether. I can't give it cisely, to have ana to holdtxill deatli do you 'part (as I shall you mysel& in a few more hours), because this ring< is moi'e a trust than a . possession;:. Something may happen which will force 1 me to ask you- for it. But then, again t it may not. And anyhow, I want your, tt> hasre the ring until that time come. I've bought a thin gold, chain, and you| can hang it round your-iieclr, unless—almost think you're inclined to re»l fuse?" • . Another mystery I But the bine mond in its scintillating frame wad so, beautiful, So alluring, that Mary could not make up her mind to refuse. _ She knew that she would have : more joy in peeping surreptitiously at the _ secret ■ blue diamond sometimes, than in seeing the "obvious" white one on her finger every day and hour.. Iccatn > t give it up! she said, laughing nervously. "But Ido hops) it isn't one of those dreadful historia. stones 'which have had murders and a'l | sorts of crimes committed far it, Jike jewele. one reads of. lienouldli hate anything that came to m© froni* you, to bring bad luck." A '.•»

"So should; 1 hate it. If there s an#, bad luck comi&g, I want it all myself," Knight said gravely. He pulled from his pocket the^thfrv) fold chain on wliich He meant it to ang. He was 1 eisurely threading the' ring upoii this when two men looked in y at the door of the reading-room. One of the pair was r of'morphan the middle * age. . He was&tall, tmn, and slightly/ stooping. His respectable clpthes, see ned too loose for. him. His hair. and straggling beard were grey, 'con--trastingwith the sallow darkness of his t skin. He wore-gold-rimmed spectacles and peered through them as if they ' were not strong enough for Ms failing sight. The other man was much ( younger. He, too, was dark and sallow, out his very close-cut hair was' blaok. He might be a Spaniard-or an i Italian. ' . 1 Mary had certainly not seen him be- i fore. She told herself this twice over. , And yot—she was frightened. _ There 1 was something familiar about him, unpleasantly familiar. It must be only, y her ' foolish imagination which took t alarm at everything I But with fingers suddenly grown. cold, she, oovered up the blue diamond. (To be continued.)