Novelist [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

Waikato Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 2805, 5 July 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Novelist [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

A NOVEL By ADELINE SERGEANT, Author of "Jacolri's Wife," &c., &c.

CHAPTER, XXVII.— Ix which (JI.TITORU MAKES UP 11IS

Clifford had been unfortunate. He had tried in vain to induce Kobert Le Breton to part with the diamond, or to allow him to share tlio proceeds of its sale. His creditors wore becoming moro and more pressing. It was with a feeling of desperation that ho had made up his mind to ask Cicely Lorraine to marry him. She had refused— definitely and decidedly refused—to do so. His two hopes of fortune had fled from him ; nothing was left but ruin, or a desperate expedient which might be worse than ruin. Yet Clifford thought that he preferred the desperate measure, for it offered him at least a possibility of succoss. Ho called at the Grange on the day after Lady Menteith's dance, at an hour when he knew that Eleanor was likely to be alone. She received him with her usual coldness. He seemed scarcely conscious of it; ho was unusually grave and reserved. Two or three times the cousins found themselves sitting opposite each other in silence, with not a word to say. Are you not well, Clifford?" said Lady Eleanor at last, when the silence had lasted quite five minutes or more.

She was sitting in a low seat beside the fire, and he was on the opposite side of the hearthrug, leaning back in a cushioned armchair, with a look of extreme weariness. " Well ?" he repeated. " I don't know, I'm sure. I'm ruined, Eleanor." "What Clifford?" " I'm ruinod, that's all. I may have to flv the country in a day or two." Ho raised himself in his chair, but fixed his oyos upon the embors of tho lire, and did not look at her. She Hushed crimson, aud then turned vorypulo. "la that true, Clifford?''

"Truoaa gospel. That is why 1 came down to aeo you this niorniug. I thought that I would tell you, and say good-bye." She did not answer, so presently ho continued in the same train, with his eyes still averted from her face : " If I don't have some unexpected piece of good fortune within the next week or two, it Till be all over with me in England. Practically it's all over with mo now. Thore is no piece of good-fortune possible. So wo may as well consider my exile as an accomplished tact." " But—Cicely' f-—Eleanor could not put her question in plainer terms.

" Cicely has refused me." " You asked her ?" " Yes, and she declined tho honour. lam very glad she did." Lady Eleanor did not ask why. But he proceeded to give his reason. "Because, Eleanor," he said, suddenly turning his tired dark eyes upon her, "because—-asyou know— I never cared for any woman but one; and she is now the wife of Philip Lorraine, the man whom I hate more than any other man on earth." " Oh, hush !" cried Eleanor, rising in-alarm and agitation, and then re-seating herself. "You don't know what you are saying. I cannot listen." " I don't want you to listen ; I have nothing particular to say," he answered, with curious indifference in his tones. " I only wish to tell you once and for all that you may consider yourself avenged. I should have done well to brave bankruptcy and exile with you at my side. I made a mistake.'' •'Clifford "

"You need not go; I will say nothing more," said her cousin, putting out his hand and touching her arm very gently." " I only thought that I would tell this and ask you to be friends with me again. I think you might forgive me for ray folly, Eleanor. lam a broken-down, ruined man; let me hear a word of sympathy and tenderness from my cousin before I say good-bye." His hand had closed on hers; ho was looking at her wistfully, sorrowfully, out of his dark, hollow eyes. Eleanor's heart beat fast; she could not speak. Eor the moment she felt nothing but a conviction that she feared and distrusted Clifford Yargrave. It was possible that she loved him still, but it was hardly possible for her readily to believe his word. "Eleanor," he said, persuasively, (i oau you not forgive me ?" " I cannot trust you," "Of course not. How should you 1 Well, it is my own fault,'' and he drew his hand away. "Then I had better say good-bye. I suppose you will be glad to hear that I shall probably never show my face in Ladywell again." Eleanor burst into tears. " Nell, Nell! don't cry. What does it signify what becomes of a ruined wretch like me ? There was a pause. Eleanor was endeavouring to check her sobs : Clifford wis standing on the hearthrug with his elbow on the mantelpiece. She commanded herself suHiuiently to speak at last.

" Why should you talk in that way ? she said, indignantly. "You are my relation—my cousin. Of course, I do not like to hear of your being ruined. It is painful to ui(!, naturally. Can Philip not help you ?'' Is it likely that I should ask him!' " But I will ask him. lie will do what I want." •' No, Nell, you must not trouble him about me. If you want to do me a service, say that you forgive me for anything in which I may have offended you.'' " There is no need/' slie said, blushing vividly. " I have nothing to forgive." " Are we friends, then V " Certainly."

" And, if ever I ask you to help me, you will do so'!" " Uh. yes, Clifford, I should be glad to help you." lie looked at the sweet face before him--so young, so fair, so innocent, as she lifted it in her eagerness to promise help—and she fancied that he sighed. But after this reconciliation between then he seemed to wish to change the subject. " And when I am gone, Eleanor," he said, " where shall you be ?" What shall you be doing ? May I write to you here sometimes f She had been looking down at her hands, crossed in her lap, with a pale and troubled face ; but at his question the colour mounted to her brow " I shall be here —of course," she answered, tremulously, " until January." " And in January you will be in town V " I don't know. I shall not be here." " Not here, Eleanor ?" " I suppose that nobody knows— nobody understands," she said, turning away her face and beginning to move the rings upon her fingers restlessly up and down ; " I have not told anybody ; yet—and I dare say Philip has not told anybody ; but when we were married, we agreed that—after six months— I should be free to go away if I liked."

" And you mean to go V •'' We made that arrangement," said Eleanor, in a very low voice. " Phil will never let you keep to it, however."

"Oh, yes, he will. He will bo very glad. He—-he—-does not care." And then a sudden tear made ils way clown Lady Eleanor's check, and a little sob rose in her throat.

Clifford looked at her oddly. Was it possible that she had discovered what Carnforth had told him respecting Mrs Le Breton and Mr Lorraine Wo all appearance Philip was a model husband: but it was plain that Eleanor did not believe in his allcction, and Clillbrd could not, if lie would, have reassured her. What he could not understand were these signs of emotion. Was she crying because Philip did not love her '! '•Phil was always a cold-manner-ed, reserved sort of fellow," he said

cautiously. " Cold - hearted, too, some, people used to say." " Then they were very much mistaken !"' ex-claimed Lady Eleanor giving him a flash of her great dark eyes. "He is not cold-hearted at all-"

"His heart must be cold, I think, if you have not warmed it," said Clifford, watching her carefully.

" With i/ou for his wife, a man must be made of stone if he does not find life sweet."

Her lips quivered. " Absurd !" she said petulantly. "Do you think that I am so easy to live with? Philip has not found his life sweet at all, and I'm sure—l'm sure—7 have not, either!"

And then she put her hand over her face, and Clifford knew that she was crying. " Poor Nell," he murmured softly; and he came and stood beside her, wondering whether lie might speak still more affectionately, when a step was suddenly heard in the corridor without, and a hand laid on the handle of the door. Clifford hurriedly drew back. Eleanor sat up and tried to dry her eyes. Philip was coming in.

It was next to impossible that he should not see the traces of Eleanor tears upon her face ; and perhaps some involuntary restraint in Clifford's manner; but he gave no signs of noticing either. He stayed for a few minutes, talking upon trivial subjects, and then contrived to carry Clifford away with him to the gardens, where sonic alterations

were going on, and whence Mr Vargrave found it more convenient to make his way to the Lady well Anns than to return to the Grange. lint before he went he dropped a few words which sent Philip Lorraine back to his wife. ITe found her in the room where they had left her. She had a book in her lap at which she was gazing when he entered ; but he did not think that she had baen reading. He came and stood Reside her, almost exactly were Clifford Yargrave. had stood, and addressed her quietly. : ' Did your cousin say why he was leaving England, Eleanor?'' She did not look up ; but she started ac the question. " I don't suppose he told me more than he told you," she answered, ungraciously. Her cheeks flamed at the evasion of his question, and she felt that Philip's eyes were fixed upon her face. " 1 was only going to say,'' he continued slowly and thoughtfully, " that if money matters have anything to do with his departure, I might lie able to assist him. From something he said I fancied that it might be so.''

"Why should 1/011 help him?" said Eleanor. Her voice was husky, and her eyes were bent upon the rings that she was twisting round her slender finngers. " JIo has no claim on you." "He is my wife's cousin,'' said Philip. Eleanor's throat ached with a dull pain. She would have liked to say to him—'• How good you are ! how kind you are, Philip, after all!" but the words would not conic forth. She sat in pained, unwilling silence, which looked like sullen discontent. Philip looked at her anxiously • for some time lie also did not speak. At last he said :—

"You must do what you can, and let mo know."

" He would not take help," said Lady Eleanor, hoarsely. She did not say " from tjon ; but Philip conjectured what the close of her sentence might have been. "I am sorry for that," he responded gravely ; and then he went out of the room as if, having said his say, he had no more to do in it. There was never a happier boy than Will Kinglake when he received Cicely's hamper. It was brought up into his father's study, where he and Hannah unpacked it with equal satisfaction, while Giles sat at the centre-table, tranquilly smoking and writing, with occasional glances of interest and amusement at the pair.

" Dad," said the boy at last, when Hannah had taken away the hamper and the articles which would be more useful in the kitchen than in her master's study, and the pots of flowering plants were ranged in a row before the boy's eyes, and his fingers were still busy arranging the exotic blossoms that Cicely had sent him, in the few vases that he possessed ; " dad, she must be very good !" " Miss Lorraine ?" Giles smiled and went on writing. " Yes, of course. Isn't she ?" " Wei), I don't know, lad. She is pretty, and kind, and clever. I can't say whether she is good or not. Probably she is." " What made her send mo all these flowers if she wasn't good." " You conceited little beggar, she dicln't send them all to you. Some were meant for me, of course,'said the father, putting out his hand tor a spray of scented verbena, and holding it carelessly to his nostrils. " Sending them to me was just the same thing as sending them to you,'' said Will, contentedly. " Father, can't we do anything for her? Can't we send her anything V " We're not rich folk, Will. We've nothing to send.'' To this Will did not immediately answer ; but by-and-by he got up from his couch and made his way, after his usual weakly and painful fashion, across the room. His father, whose mind was never very far away from him, rose too and J opened the door, asking :---

" Shall I carry you, Will T But Will shook his head. "Go back to your writing, daddy ; I'll be with you again presently. Kinglake smiled and returned to his papers. In five minutes, howover, he pushed them away again, for Will not only re-entered the room, but came with the case of a privileged person to take the pen out of his father's hand, and establish himself on his father's knee.

"Look what I have here, daddy dear. Do you remember what you brought me from Brittany when you went tho year before last. It was a little brown rosary which had cost a few sovs only, but had attracted Kinglake's eyes on account of some quaintness in the carving of the wooden beads. Will held it out to him with a certain prido; and Giles took the child's hand with the beads in it into his own ; he was thinking more of the thinness of the little hand than of the beads, however.

" I should lika to send these to Miss Lorraine, father."

"Wouldyou, Will?" " 1 think she's sure to like them," said Will, weighing ihem thoughtfully in his hand. " I think thcj'Ye awfully pretty. You don't mind my giving them away ?" "Not a bit. But they will bo difficult to pack up if they aro to go by post." " Oh, but they are not to go by post," said Will, sotting his head comfortably against his father's shoulder. "You are to take them to her."

"Do you know what the fare is to Ladywell and back '?'' asked Mr Kingluke, composedly. Will laughed a sweet, birdlike little laugh, feeble though it was.

"You can afford it quite well, dad. You like to go somewhere now and then in an afternoon, and you shall go to Ladywell for me. You promised last week to do the very next thing I asked of you ; well, this is the very-next. And " — raising his voice a little, and lifting one small finger with great animation—" if you don't do what I ask you now, I'll never trust you any more."

" That's an awful threat

"Of course it is, father dear. But if you have time you'li do it, won't you ? I should like to go with you, but 1 suppose I can't do that. But you can take the little chain from mo and a letter, and you will have a nice half-holiday in the count ry, which will be. good for you."

" It isn't good for ine to be without you. I think we'll send the chain by post," said Giles. And yet, before Will was off his knee, ho had promised to do the thing in the way in which the boy directed-—to deliver the beads with his own hands to Miss Lorraine, and to spend cither the following or some future day in the village of Ladywell for that purpose. How little did father and son dream that on this decision and on the choice of the day for Kinglake's visit hung all the future of their lives.

The day on which Kinglake brought the flowers to his boy was Thursday. Clifford Vargravc returned to Ladywell from London on the Friday, and passed a few days quietly in the village. His proposal of marriage made to Cicely in Lady Menteith's conservatory took place upon the Wednesday following. On Thursday he held the conversation with Eleanor Lorraine, in which he declared himself a ruined and desperate man. liuincd and desperate indeed he was, but not altogether in the sense in which he meant his cousin to believe his statement.

lie waited until the close of the short. November day, and then made his way with some caution, as if he preferred not to be seen, to Martin Devcril's cottage. He found the old man busy as usual over his baskets; he was sitting near the fire, and the light of the flame flickered unsteadily over his long brown face. Joel Bray was absent. Clifford knocked at the door and entered, easily enough ; but he was secretly glad to find Deveril alone. Joel Bray offended his fastidious taste.

Deveril did not rise at his entrance. He bent his shaggy eyebrows and looked at Vargrave with distrust. "I've been expecting to hear from you," he said dryly.

"So I thought," returned Clifford, in dulcet tones. " I should have clone myself the honour of calling before now if I had had any good news for you." He stood upright beside the high mantelpiece, and put his foot carelessly on the fender. Deveril still regarded him with a dark and dubious look.

" You mean," he said slowly, " that you can't do what you promised." " I'JxueUy so, my friend." ; ' T'liis man—this acquaintance of yoLii'S---who has my diamond won't give it up?" " Just so." "You've been worsted? You have failed to make him give it up ?' : Clifford smiled. There was something about the situation which he seemed to enjoy. The old man's eyes seemed to have caught a spark from the rod embers of tho lire; they gleamed beneath his ovorhanging brows like live coals as ho hurled his questions ono after another at his visitor, who stood smiling, silent, sinister, upon Doverii's hoarthstono. Upon Clifford's muto assont to the last question tho fire in the old man'*

eyes suddenly wont out. He put his basket-work down upon the floor, folded liis arms, and thrust out his under lip after liis own peculiar fashion. "I'm not sorry," ho muttored, half to himsolf and half to Clifford Vargravo. " The less that I have to do with rogues the bettor. I'll mauago my own affairs without gobetweens." "If you can," said Clifford, still smiling. "But I have not come to tho end of my resources yet." Deveril glanced at hi in with an expression of disliko, but said nothing. " You want your diamond," proceeded tho young man, " and j'ou want to punish the follow who robbed you of it. We can't get hold of tho diamond by fair means ; suppose wo now try foul? " "It seems to me you have tried them already, young man !' : said Martin Deveril, grimly. " Not at all. I keep my hands clean as long as ever I can. I don't liko dirty work. But it seems to me that, in this case, we shall have to soil our fingers a little bit. I suppose you don't mind?"

" What are you driving at, sir ?" Clifford looked at him for a moment with an eye which seemed to pierce like steel into the inner recesses of Martin Deveril's soul. Then he said coolly and calmly. " I have seen the man who robbed you of your diamond, Mr Deveril." " I thought as much." " He is an old acquaintance of mine. He has found out the value of the stone, and is only waiting for the first good opportunity to sell it. But I believe ho will do that without giving me notice.'' "If he sells it," said Deveril, suddenly rising from his chair, " why—good Lord ! the game's up. We've lost our chance." " We have not lost it as long as it remains in his possession. But it will be off to Amsterdam on Monday." " Stop him !" " I can't stop him. Yon might." "If I could see him I should : that's certain.

For answer Clifford uttered a few words in a low voice, which seemed at first to strike Deveril dumb with amaze. Then as Vargrave continued to ■ speak in the same soft, persuasive manner, the old man bent his brows and regarded him with a look of mingled doubt and contempt which would have embarrassed anyone less callous than Clifford Yargrave.

''Do you mean it?" said Devon], suddenly breaking in upon the easy, lluent sentence with rough scorn. " This man's been your friend, and yet you'd sell him ?• You've got no soi't of sense of right and wrong, I presume? You'd sell your soul for money, [ lay, if you got the chance."

'• Certainly J would," 'uiswcred Cli(lord, laughing lightly. " What good is a soul to me ? Money is what I want and money I will have." " Money you shall have," said Martin, shaking his head solemnly, "if you do this thing, young man. I'll not go back upon my word. If through you T get back my diamond you shall have your fair share of the profits. But I wouldn't take the gold of Indies if it was offered to me at the price which you seem anxious to pay for it." " J have offered no price that I am aware of. What price?' - ' said Clifford a little testily.

"Your soul," said Martin Deveril, in a strange and ominous tone. "Bah! It's for your advantage as well as mine."

" That's true. God forgive me ! But I'm doing it for my little girl as well as for myself. And surely a man has a right to his own. You're a scholar, and I am not, sir, but there's a word or two come back to me which perhaps you know the meaning of better than me. ' What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lone his own tsoull" Did you ever think of that f

" I think that you're an old fool," said Clifford savagely. " And if I didn't want to keep well out of the law's clutches, I wouldn't take the trouble to be so cursedly liouest as I've been hitherto, about your diamond." CHAPTER XXVIII. — Cakntobtii's Letter. "I want some help from you," said Clifford Vargrave. It was Carnforth to whom fie spoke— Carnforth, whom Mr Vargra,vo had summoned to the river-bank early on the morning after his interview with Martin Deveril. The day was calm and clear ; Clifford, sitting on a willow stump, fish-ing-rod in hand, looked strangely out of harmony with the peaceful country scene around him. Nobody was in sight; scarcely a sound was to ho heard. The sky was faintly blue, and the rooks were cawing in the leafless trees abovo the swelling upland meadows and the shallow, purling stream that meandered gently through the level fields of tho valley beluw. Tho young man's eyes were a trifle haggard; the lines of his fai'.o foil naturally into an expression of anxiety ;md care when ho was off his guard ; his lips were pale. But when ho spoke ho maintained a cool serenity of manner which evidently imposed upon his co inpauion. Carnforth was more excited, to .all appearance, than was he. Her lips were twitching, her eyes restless ; there was a red spot of colour just above her cheekbone. She answered angrily, "And how do you want me to 1 c'p you now 'f If Miss Ciiely's said no to you, you may bo sure she meavns it. You needn't think she's ouo to change her mind.'' "Every woman chrngea her mini sometimes," said Cliffnd. "If you hid managed matters cleverly, I don t suppose she would have refusenl me." For he had reproached Carnforth with not having upheld hi.i cause, and had

extracted from her an admission that she had quoted his name in order to give point to her accusations of Giles Kinglake. He guessed at once that she had lowered him in Cicely's eyes, and he did not know Cicely well enough to be assured that she had refused him on no such trivial grounds as the report of a malicious speech or two. He was incensed against Carnforth, and disposed to treat her very cavalierly. "What do you want me to do?" said the waiting maid, in a sullen tone. "Something for my own benefit this time. And for yours, too, for it may get Mrs Le Breto.l out of the house. I want you to write a letter to her husband. " " To her husband ! But I don't know where her husband is. And what should I write to him about?'' " I'll tell you that when you begin. I am going to dictate the letter." " When ?" said Cunforth, taken aback by the suddenness of the proceeding. " When ? Now." And to her great surprise lie rose, laid down his fishingrod, opened a little case which stood on the bank beside him, and produced writing materials. " Can you disguise your hand ?" he asked, carelessly, lis he took a sheet of very common paper out of tho case, and opened the iuk-bottle. He expected her to reply in the negative, but, after a moment's pause, she answered, in a dull, sullen voice :— " Yes, lean." "Done it before, I suppose ?" inquired Clifford, lightly, with a swift glance into her crafty, common face. But this time the woman made no reply,

He gave the pen into her hand, together with the sheet of paper, and signed to , her to take her seat upon the willow stump. He himself stood leaning against the trunk of a leafless poplar tree close by, holding the ink-bottle in his band. She looked up at him sourly. " I'll write," she said ; " but I'll not write what I don't choose. If you tell me to say what I don't want to say, I shall stop. "I'll give you five pounds for the letter when written," said Clifford, softly. Her eyes glistened. She was greedy for money. She loved it better than she loved anything, or anybody in the world —except, perhaps, Cicely Lorraine. " Begin then," she said, clutching the pen in her hand, and thrusting it into the ink-bottle with a vicious dig of the steel point against its side. "I'm ready, Mr Vargrave." "Put ho dale,"'advised Mr Vargrave. "Begin in the middle of the page—there, Now write—" This esmes from one that wishes you well and is sorry for you." You've practised this style of writing before, I take it, haven't you ?" For Carnforth had set to work to produce a document which was at oriee crabbed, crooked, and distinct; and he knew that her ordinary hand-writing was of the usual character affected by superior ladies' maids—pointed, slanting, neat, and illegible. Hence his question. " Once or twice," said Carnforth, pursing up her lips. " It's useful." Clifford went on dictating without further comment. "There are things going on at Ladywell Priory which you ought to kuow of. Your wife has tried to keep you away by telling you talcs about a man called Deveril. He is no longer in the village; he sailed for America with the man Bray a few days ago." " What has Deveril got to do with Lc Breton?'' said Carnforth, her curiosity once more aroused. " Go on writing." "Not till 1 know what I am writing this for." Clifford looked at her, bit his lip, and then answered witb unwonted mildness, " Deveril suspected Lo Breton of being the man who once defrauded him iu some business matter, and ho wanted to me>'t him. As long as he was here Lo Breton would not como down to Ladywell." " Is tie gone, then Clifford answered, with a glance at her face—as if wondering how far ho could go— " Yes lie sailed a few days a^o." Carnforth meditated. Sho did not kuow whether ho was speaking the truth or not; but it was hardly worth while to sacrifice fivo pounds for the safety of Mr Lo Breton. She wrote down what ho had dictated, therefore, without further delay. "She tries to keep you away," proceeded Clifford, slowly, "because she does not want you to interfere with her own plans. She has a lover here in Ladywell, and she gets money from him whenever she pleases. Come down to Ladywell at three o'clock 011 Friday afternoon, and you will liud them both in Urate Wood, the lir-wood between Miss Lorraine's park and the road."

"Not far from where old Deveril used to live," murmured Carnforth, as she wrote.

"I heard them arrange the meeting niyselt. Can't you guess who it is? If not, come and see for yourself." "Now sign 'From a Friend," said Clifford. "How much of it is true?" asked Carnforth, " Do you think it will bring him here '!''

"It's all true;" said Clifford, calmly, " except that you heard the appointment made. Yes, it svill bring him here— because he is fond of his wife in his own coarse, rough way ; and lie will make her go back to London with him, She won't be able to refuse when he has such a handle against her. I want Mrs Le Breton out of the way."

" You've got brains enough for two," saiil Carnforth, half-admiringly, halfcontemptuously, "It ain't safe to be. over clever."

And indeed Clifford was ctever, but not quite so clever as he believed himself to be, for his cunningly-devised story did not deceive Louisa Carnforth iu the very least.

" He has some game of his own to play," she said to herself, "and I don't think Deveril has left Ladywell. I'll inquire when I go back." She silently addressed the letter in accordance with Clifford's directions, and as silently received the five sovereigns which he then proceeded to count into her hand. " Much obliged to you," he said, placing the letter in his pocket. "I'll post tins for you as 1 pass through the village, You've done a good stroke of business for yourself ami for me too. Now mind ; you've never written this letter; you don't know anything about the Le Bretons ; you are absolutely ignorant of any reason for his return to Ladywell." "i y (!g —if no harm comes of it." " Harm may come to the Le Bretons. Do you wish to prevent that ? " "No, 1 don't. " Harm will come to nobody else. And if everything turns out as I expect, you shall be « good deal richer in a month or two than you are to-day. "Thank you sir." "And in order to prevent mistakes," said Clifford will) :■ smile, " let me tell you that Mr Martin Deveril has not jronu to America at all. lie is in Ladywell, on tho look out for tlio man who has robbed him of a fortune, Robert Lp JJrutnn." Cariiforth looked at him strangely, and then the corners of her mouth relaxed iu ii "reluctant, sardonic way, very unlike the *mile that this movement was intended to represent. I " You're a deal too clever, Mr Vargravc," she said as she prepared to go.

Clifford regarded this observation in the light of a compliment, but Carnforth had not meant it as such.

Back to tho inn went Clifford, where he wrote a note to Robert Le Breton in his own hand, and in an unusually friendly strain. Ho said nothing in it abour, the diamond, nothing in it about Martin Dovoril. One or two sentences, however, wore meant to convey more to the reader's eye than met the ear.

"I would be on my guard about Lorraine, if I were you," he wrote. "I hear that his marriage does not please him ; lie means to separate from his wife. My pour cousin lias some cause for jealousy, I believe. Lorraine seems to like Ladywell Priory aud its occupants." "If those twjp entirely unconnected letters don't drive Deveril into a rage and bring him down to Lady well, may 1 never more concoct a plan ?'' said Clifford to himself, as he sealed up his epistle. And then he took the trouble to go up to London and post it. Carnforth's letter passed through the Ladywell Postoffice. He was back in Ladywell, however, before the close of the day. He dared not bo absent. Le Breton would receive the two letters either that evening or next morning, and might in his fury set out for Ladywell at once. Clifford knew that he had always been savagely resentful of his wife's indifference to him ; and the insinuations contained in the two letters, together with tho statement that Deveril had left the country, would bring him down to Ladywell at headlong speed. Clifford took upon himself the task of watching the little station at Ladywell. Fortunately for him there were few trains by which anyone could arrive from London ; and Clifford thought it worth while to establish himself in a roadside public-house, from the window of which he could overlook the arrival of all passengers. He did not sleep all night. He had half a dozeii causes for auxiety, each of which would alone have been sufficient to keep him waking. Would the letters take effect ? In what sort of a mood would Le Breton come, if he came at all ? What would be the result of a meeting between him and Martin Deveril ? Would they fly like two bull dogs at each other's throats? And if Le Breton were arrested, would he proceed to implicate Vargrave in his guilt ? And would he, or would he not, have the diamond upon his person ? For, if not, Clifford Vargrave was sure that he would never divulge its hiding-place, although he might be punished for the crime. About this same crime aud its punishment, however, Vargrave had spoken some startling words to Martin Deveril.

" You'll find it a hard matter to prove anything against him, even supposing that you are sure in your own mind that he is the man who robbed you," he had said to Devcrill. " From what you fcull me, I believe that legal proof is impossible, He may prove an alibi — besides, after all, you are only moral)/ sure that it was he who knocked you on the head and stole your diamond. I should secure him myself, if possible, if

I were in your circumstances, and see what you can do by way of threats and promises to make him restore the stone. I wouldn't call in the police at all." But Martin Deveril thought otherwise, and had procured the assistance of a Loudon detective, to whom he confided so much of the story as to lead that functionary to go with him to one of the nearest magistrates and procure a warrant for Le Breton's arrest. Thus armed, Deveril awaited the eventful Friday with confidence and hope.

The Friday that Mr Vargrave's name was, if possible, not to be mentioned in the business, dawned brightly, much to Clifford's satisfaction. So little may sometimes be sufficient to disconcert a well-laid scheme ! Even a shower of rain might damp Le Breton's spirits — there was no saying. It was better, in all respects that the day should he lino and bright. Clifford sat in the dark innparlour watching for Lc Breton as a spider watches for his prey. He had not neglected precautions. He, as well a.'t Deveril, had his emissaries on the alert.

The morning passed, and Lo Breton did not appear. There was a train from London at twenty minutes past two. Clifford, with opera-glass in hand, that he might lose sight of no man, far or near, watched it from the inn as it steamed slowly into the station. He was vexed to feel that his hand trembled as he put up the glass. If Le Breton did not come by this train he would never come at all.

The station was outside the village, which, like many other country villages, straggled over a rather wide extent of ground. The high-road between the station and the village was bordered on one side by a fir plantation known as Brale Wood, through which a narrow footpath led to the grounds of Ladywell Priory. If one did not wish to go to the Priory, but rather to tho village of Ladywell, one had to turn away from the g ite which opened upon tho green vistas of the fragrant little wood and follow the high-road for about a quarter of a mile further. Then the Bralo Road Cotfriges —a row of rather picturesque dwellings, iu one of which Deveril resided—were reached ; and there the village of Lady well began. The train camo in. Of tho passengers onlv one alighted. Clifford's eyes became dim ; his hand trembled so much Uiu 1 ; be was obliged to lay down his glass for a moment, and then to look again. No, ho was uot mistaken. The letters bad douo their work. Robert La Breton bad come to Ladywell. Clifford said a word to his man, Lake, who set off immediately to hasten the steps of Martin Deveril and the detective, as they wore intended to meet Le Breton at the gate of Brale Wood or on the high road.

In two minutes Clifford was outside the public-house, walking in a careless manner towards the station. His start of surprise when he encountered Le Breton was admirable. " What, you here !" he exclaimed. There was not the shadow of a welcome in his tone.

" Yes, I'm here,'' answered Le Breton, sulkily.

"What brings you to Lady well ?" asked Vargravc. "Your letter for one thint?." Then, as Clifford raised his eyebrows interrogatively, Lo Breton broke out with a volley of imprecations and abuse. " What do you mean by saying what you did about Phil Lorraine ? I've heard a great deal too much about him. I'll put a spoke in hia wheel now," " What on earth do you mean, Le Breton '!" " I know what I mean. I know what iin going to do. I've got a horsewhip here, and I mean to give him a thorough good hiding. I've wanted to pay out I'hil Lorraine for many a long day ; I swear I'll do it now. Wheie's Bral; Wood ?" "What should you want Biale Wood for ?" "I'll tell you that later on. I'll have no interference. Where in Brale Wood ? I can't stand prating here all day." " Brale Wood is not far off," said Clifford, with seeming indifference. "I'll turn back with you and show yon the gate that lead? to it. It opens into the grounds of Ladywell Priory, as I suppose you know. Are you going to see your wife ! " " Yes, I am." "How is it you don't know H'-'e Wood? I thought you were >vc!i i.e I ([iiaiuted -with thio part of the tvorld."

"A mau cannot remember the names of places that he hasn't seen for years, can he?" said Lo Breton, savagely. "I wish you would kave me alone ; I don't want to be shown the way. I remember it now."

" All right," said Clifford. "I'm on my way to the village, so I must pass the gate ; but I won't go into the wood if you don't want my company, old tellow. But I wish you would tell me what is the matter."

Le Breton did not require very much pressing. Before long lie had poured into Clifford's ear the whole story of his supposed wrongs, and intimated his resolve of revenging himself on Philip Lorraine. Clifford smiled, and agreed with him pleasantly, but could not forbear to remind him that he had once expressed a desire to avoid meeting with Mr Lorraine.

"I think I've got the whip-hand of him now," Raid Le Breton, with a menacing gesture, "He won't dare to harm me, now that I know what I know. And he'll be unprotected ; he'll have no army of clerks and policemen at his back. I'll pay him out once and for all; and then I'll holt—and take hpr with me." "What, to London?" " No, to Amsterdam. I've taken my berth—and her's too. My traps are at the station." " And the diamond ?" " Hold your tongue about the diamond. Where should I keep it but with the rest of my things ?" But his eye cast a furtive glance at Clifford, and his hand stole involuntarily to his breast. Clifford smiled and said nothing. He knew from tint moment that Le Breton carried the stone about with him. "So you expect to find them both there do you ?" he said, as Ihey paused at the entrance of the wood. '• Well I won't interfere with your pastimes. If it is all true Lorraine deserves a drubbing. I should like to give it to him myself." " They were to meet at 3 o'clock in Brale Wood. What part of the wood, I wonder." "Near the gate and Priory grounds, I should imagine. I would bang about there for a little time, and then, if you don't find thera, striko across the woods towards the lane that leads to Brale Wood Cottages. You are sure not to miss them if you keep your eyes open." "You ate going round by the road P" "Yes. Good-bye." Le Breton was in too fierce a mood to make any answer. He strode away down the path'between the red lirsteins, his heavy boot making no noise on the soft carpet of fir-needles and moss, whilst Clifford looked after him with a cynical smile. He had sent the man to his ruin —he knew it well. At the gate into the Priory grounds he would wait and watch in vain—he would enter the lane that led towards Dcveril'o cottage, and there Dcveril and his trusty helpers would certainly be lying in wait for him. The only thing that disturbed his mind was the wonder why the hostile paity had not appeared on the high rccid or at the gate of the wood, as Clifford had instructed them to do. He was vexed at the delay. If Deveril was not quick about it, Le Breton might slip out of his hands again. And Clifford thought that he had laid his plau so well. Why was Deveril so late ?

The real fact was that Deveril and the detective were not late, but that Le Breton was early. He had como by a train which Clifford had forgotten. Clifford did not go round by the road to Brale Wood Cottages after all. He turned into a field which skirted Hie wiiod, and made his way round it in the direction of the Ladywell Priory grounds. He wanted to bo sufficiently near Lc Breton to be able, if necessary, to supervise his movements now and then, lie looked over his shoulder once to make sure thai, nobody was observing him, am: ho saw that a solitary pedestrian wa« coming down the road from the cl..'ifi»ij at a brink pace. Clifford jumped anon* a ditoh which .separated the Held from the wood, and retired a few steps amongst the trees. Thence, with his spy-glass, li» could watch tho direction that the passerby would take. Suddenly his brow grew hlaek ; a low but furious ejaculation escaped his lipn. He recognised tho man's tall fiiruri', his broad shoulders, bis soft felt bat, and hi-: brown beard; he recognised tho slight, stoop in his gait, and the way of swinging his stick which characteri*' d (Jiles Kinfjleke's manner of point.' along » country road. Why had Kinglake enmidown to Ladywell, and whither was Ingoing ? To visit Cicely ? It was evidently so, for when he reached tho pate he turned out, of th" main road and struck into the frith that, would lead hitn straight to Ltdywell Priory through the wood. Would he meet Le Breton:- If so. Clifford wondered whether they would pass each other peaceably or not. L" Breton was iu a quarrelsome ruoud, but Vargrave bad not much confidence in bis nerve. A disturbance between the two would be an awkward occurrence at this juncture. He slipped noiselessly between the straight, slender stems, keeping close to tho hedge which divided the wood from tho Priory siounds. He lizard and saw nothing either of Le Breton or of (files Kiugslnke. But when he reached th ■ gate into tho grounds he notiep.l that a man was sitting on a log of wood, with his head resting upon his hands, and a basket at his feet, Clifford stepped back for a moment and looked at him. Tho man did not raise his head. Yet so-n----thing in his posture was familiar to Clifford. Where had ho seen that crnuehiii!.' figure, with tattered brown elntlips and ugly crooked-fingered hands before ? A smile—not a pleasant smile this fimo —crossed Vargrave's face. He stood motionless. Should he speak to toe man and lead him from the place P Nay, why should he interfere with the eolit try wayfarer, who was resting after a day of toil? How should Vargrave know anything abi'.ut him ? The man had never even raised bis head.

And yet, as Clifford Vargrrave tnrne! round and stole quietly back to th» h-w»i whenoo he had come, ho was perfectly certain that the man was none other than the half-witted miner, Joel Bray. (To he nmtinitrj.)