CHAPTER VII.

Tuapeka Times, Volume 26, Issue 157, 26 January 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

CHAPTER VII.

AX THE CHATEAU. The winter was well over, yel Lord Strathspey and his family lingered down ia Provence. The countess had not regained her strength as was expected, and "Doctor Renfrew had been forced to cross Hie Channel on several occasions, for Lady Strathspey had faith in the blunt old Scotchman, and insisted that he should come. There was talk of prolonged travel — a summer in Switzerland, and the following winter in Rome, but no thought of returning to the Towers. And despite the expressed conviction and presentiments of the countess, her attendant —or companion rather, for Judith was such a bright, capable girl, so genteel ahd sprightly, that it waslmpossible to regard her in the light of a servant — o tidings had come oi'the stolen baby. The police had worked to their ! utmost, and once or twice they were sure they had struck the trail : but the hue and and cry soon subsided, and it all amounted to nothing. Not the slightest clue could be obtained.

It preyed upon the mind of the countess, and caused her ill health and low spirit?. As the days wore on and no news came, her hope and strength alike failed her; her cheeks prew thin and white, her sweet blue eyes inexpressibly sad. Ldrd Strathspey forgot h s anxiety and disappointment iv regard to his child in ihs fear for the wife he loved so well, lie forbade the subject mentioned in her p esence. The child was dead, of course, iie said, and he must try to forget all about ifc. °

He throw opc-n the chateau, and filled it with gay company from London and Paris, lie gave dinners and balls, and did everything that could possibly amuse his wife and divert her mind from the one thing over which it continally brooded But his efforts failed, for when the winter was over, and the lahny spring winds began to blow, iind ihe sunlight lay warm and bright in the valleys of the Rhone instead of being restored to health, Lady S'rathspey lay upon her couch, one-half the clay, weak and listless and languid But little Marguerite, or Lad/Peari, ;>s every one called her, grew and thrived in the most marvellous manner ; and was the prettiest and sprightliest baba that ever existed. Her mother idolised her and so did her father, and yet she could not inherit his vast wealth, or bear his noble name! It must pa3s iuto other hands, and the name of Strathspey must die and be forgotten. One morning toward the tho latter part of May, Judith was surprised by being summoned to her lady's chamber at an unusually early hour. The countess was not accustomed to rise early, aud the sun was only fairly up. Judith hurried to obey the call, trembling wilh fear lest her mistress should be ill. She found her sitting up in bed, robed in her dainty night garments, her golden n.r.r streaming round her like a bright, cl Hid, her blue eyes wide wilh excitement, " Oh, Judith !" she cried, the instant the girl had entered ; "oh, Judith, Judith, I have dreamed the very same thing !"

"Dreamed the same thing! I don't understand you, my lady !' ° 1 "Why the same dream as you dreamed, Judith !'' cried the countess, trembling like a leaf with excitement. " Over and ' over again I have dreamed it through tho f livelong night. I was away up anTid the ( mountain peaks, and there "in the green I valley between, was the little farm-house, the old wife within, her table spread . out and laid with pewter platters that . shone like siver. I can see it all, even ' now, Judith, as plainly as I see you." < "And what else, my lady ?" said Judith, • eagerly. •

" Why, the self-same thing— the old . man fretting 0~. er the loss of his goat. ( And then we went in search of her, and . away up on the summit of a bald bald ' cliff we found her, with the little baby ( cuddled up between her feet. I caught ,' it up, and, Judith, it was my own baby — my own little baby — and I knew it in an j instant, and caught it up with a cry of ■» joy, and that awoke me. Judith, why '"1 have I siad this dream ? What does ifc ■■ * mean ?" < "It must mean that the child is there, "; my lady," replied Judith, solemnly. "It I i« very strange we should both dream the \ e'ame thing." £-*■ " Too straDge, Judith, not to have 8om«

important significance. My child must be there, and we must go and find him." " But where are we to go, my lady V Did you dream where the place is to be found ?" The countess looked sorely puzzled. "Why, no," she said ; "I did not think of that. Did you dream where it was ?" "No, my lady. I only know it is a valley between two mountains, with a lake or pond in the foreground. " " Well, we must try and find out somehow," said the countess, as she gathered up her golden tresses and prepared to arise ; " for I shall go there if it takes me my life-time. lam sure that my child is there ; and this dream has been sent us by Heaven. It could not be otherwise, Judith. Oh, you can't think how vivid, how strangely life-like and real it all was !" " Yes, my lady ; I know just how it was with me, and I have believed ever since that the baby was there." "Audi dreamed the same thing so often — a dozen times at least through the night. I would awake and start up, aud assure myself that it was only a dream, but the moment I closed my eyes, there ifc was again — the little farmhouse, the old couple, and the bald mountain cliff, and the milch goat, with my little babe between her feet. I can even remember, it was so vivid, that when I kissed his little mouth, in my rapture, it was warm and wet with the milk he had just sucked. Oh, my darling, my lost baby !" She buried her face in her hands and burst iuto hysterical sobbing. " And when I told Lord Strathspey," she continued, in a tone of reproach, " he seemed to make light of it, and said it whs merely a reproduction of your dream in my mind, because I had thought so much of it ; and he felt sure it would amount to nothing." " His Lordship has been disappointed so often he is getting hopeless," said Judith, soothingly, as she gathered up the gleaming, golden hair that streamed around the countess' shoulders; "and men. yon know, my lady, are never credulous about dreams and such things like women arc. But don't you fret — it will all come out right in the end. We shall be travel- 1 ling this summer, and who knows but we may chance upon the spot ! If heaven has sent us the dream, we may trust to Providence to guide us to the right place. " "Oh, your dear, comforting soul!" cried the countess, throwing her arms impulsively about the girl's neck. " What should Ido without you ? I really think you are one of the truest friends I have j in the world !"' j "Indeed, my lady," replied the girl, with emotion, " there's uothing I would not bi willing lo do for 3-011 !" "I believe you, my good Judith," replied the countess, "and I shall rely on you to help mo unravel tho terrible mystery. Judith," she added, "have you ever wondered what secret enemy has done us this cruel wrong ? In Heaven's name, Judith, who in all the world can bear such malice against me or my husband ?" The girl flushed slightly and averted her eyes. "Time will bring it all to light, my lady, " sb e answered, evasively. ' ' Meanwhile all you can do is to wait and trust to Heaven." "But I cannot. I must work — I must find my child. The heir to Strathspey Towers must be found !"