Serial Story. THE DISTRESSES OF DAPHNE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue II, 14 July 1900, Page 52

Serial Story. THE DISTRESSES OF DAPHNE.

By

W. E. NORRIS

(Author of “My Friend Jim,” “Major and Minor,” etc.)

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENT I.—At a great ball In Dresden, Daphne Hamilton displeases her mother by dancing three omes with Otto von Kahlenberg, the handsomest man in the room. He has been introduced by Captain Clough, the recipient of Mrs Hamilton’s complaints, himself a dose friend of Daphne’s and io tell the truth, her would-be lover. Mrs Hamilton guesses Clough’s wishes and Is tneretore most perplexed at the apparent help he gives to von Kahlenberg in tne latter s obvious pursuit of her daughter. ® ® ® CHAPTER 111. IMPOTENCE. "Three cheers," cried Airs Perkins, with boisterous cordiality. “1 was just saying’ to my girls, 'Now you may depend upon it the Hamiltons will l urn up this morning,’ and here you are, sure enough. And how are you both?” Airs Hamilton suffered her hand to be gripped and murmured "How do you do?’’ resignedly. It is difficult to say why we all find it so offensive to be described as "the So-and-Sos” to our faces, considering that we invariably speak of our acquaintances in that way behind their backs; but poor old Perkins would have been offensive in any ease—as offensive as she was apparently unavoidable. "Aou’ll have to fall into line,” the good woman went on, quite unconscious of having given umbrage, “with all these thousands of water drinkers. We should never get to the springs at all if we didn’t form a cue and wait our turn.” Three parallel cues of the patient Curgaste were, advancing, step by step, towards the Kreuzbrunn that crisp, sunny morning, while the band in the neighbouring kiosk played operatic selections to cheer them on their way. At Alarienbad, as at all such places, the day begins early, and although the clocks had just struck seven everybody was out and about. Natives of the country, for the most part—some yellow complexioned, some preternaturally obese —with a sprinkling of Russians, Britons, and other aliens discernible here and there in the throng; upon the whole not a particularly attractive crowd, but then who or what can look attractive at seven o’clock in the morning? Well, the blue hills, perhaps, and the dark pine woods, and the bright, white houses in the foreground. Mrs Hamilton’s eyes sough’t these, while, jher ears gave scant attention to the volubility of her fat friend, at whose heels she plodded slowly onwards, glass in hand. Her daughter had been led away by Minnie and Rosie, who presumably stood in no need of the healing waters. She herself must perforce submit for another five minutes or more to the company and conversation of Airs Perkins: but it was not, she thought, incumbent upon her to answer categorically the questions which were fired off at her every now and again, or to give a detailed narrative of her movements since her departure from Dresden. three months back. "Oh. we have been travelling about,” she made compendious reply and then relapsed into silence. Presently, however, it occurred to her to put a question on her own account a question couched in accents of mild remonstrance. "What could have made you expect to see us here this morning? We only arrived last night.” "Ah," returned Mrs Perkins, with an arch glance over a massive shoulder, "a little bird whispered to me that you were not far off.” .lack was already at Marienbad then. Well, that was a relief; the more so because, as his tiresome habit was, hr had omitted to acknowledge epistolary reminders.

“I flatter myself.” Afrs Perkins resumed Complacently, “that I am rather a good hand nt putting two and two together, and when a certain person atqieared upon the scene the day before yesterday, full of anxiety for news of you. I thought ‘Now we are getting warm; now we may look forward to meeting dear Mrs Hamilton "•’ain nt anv moment.’ fn point of filet. I took the liberty of promising

him as much. He seemed so delighted and so grateful, poor fellow.” ‘•lndeed?” said Mrs Hamilton distantly. “He can scarcely have been surprised, though, for I wrote some time ago to tell him that we should be here about the middle of the month.” Mrs Perkins at any rate was surprised. "Oh!” she ejaculated, with rounded mouth and eyes, “you are in correspondence with him? Dear me! —I didn’t know.” There was no reason on earth why Mrs Hamilton should not correspond with Jack Clough, whom she had known intimately from his childhomi; but she did not feel called upon to furnish this inquisitive stranger with explanations. She was enabled, immediately after reaching the Kreuzbrunn, with its ministering maidens, to slip away from Mrs Perkins, who was accosted at that moment by some Heaven-sent deliverer, and as she stood outside in the sunshine, sipping her rather nauseous draught and gazing down at the parti-coloured assemblage of promenaders in the long alley, she thought to herself, “Delighted and grateful! Well, if he looked like that! —but I can hardly imagine that he did. It is never •lack’s way to exhibit his feelings. Sometimes one almost doubts whether he has any.” That doubt seemed, to say the least of it. justifiable a few seconds later when, turning round at the sound of Daphne’s voice, she found herself confronted not only by Jack (who did not look like anything—not even like the traitor that he was), but by a radiant, young man who bowed low and hoped Mrs Hamilton had not forgotten him. As a matter of fact, Mrs Hamilton had very nearly forgotten Count von Kahlenhurg; his name had never been mentioned between her and her daughter during their recent, pleasant wanderings, nor had she thought again about, his threatened descent upon Marienbad. But at the sight of him her original, instinctive dislike for the man awoke afresh, doubly ■stimulated by the swift conviction that he was Mrs Perkin’s “little bird,” ami that Jack Clough must have guided him to his present place of sojourn. She had to give him her hand and tell him. with frigid eivilty. that she quite well remembered his excellent histrionic performance at Dresden: what she. was altogether powerless r,o bring about was the discouragement and discomfiture which it was her intention to inflict upon him. He walked along the shady promenade between her and her daughter, conversing with the easy, fluent garruliyt of one who does not doubt his welcome, and she was fain to admit that he could talk pleasantly and amusingly enough. He had many acquaintances, native. and foreign, amongst the. water-drinkers: he told his companions who they all were, and related anecdotes respecting some of them which moved Daphne to ready, girlish laughter, and even extorted the tribute of an occasional smile from the reluctant Mrs Hamilton. His English was perfect ; hut then, as he incidentally mentioned, he had lived a good deal in England and delighted in English life. Upon the whole, an amiable, well-bred, well-mannered young man; only— there was that distpiietihg, insistent resemblance of his to a dead man who had been young once upon a time, but never amiable, never wellbred nor well-mannered.

By the advice of local physicians a glass of Kreuzbrunn water usually alternates with one from the Ferdiiianilsbrunu, which latter spring is situated at the opposite extremity of the broad gravelled walk. Arrived at this destination. Mrs Hamilton effected a change of partners, withdrew Captain Clough from the assiduous attentions of Miss Minnie Perkins. and. on resuming her obligatory march, with the younger divi-

siou well ahead, fell upon him tooth and nail. “Jack, this is too abominable of you! When I so particularly told you that I did not want to see anymore of your theatrical friend.” “Quite so; but the difficulty consisted in his having- particularly told me that he did want to see more of you. One can’t hope to please everybody.” “And do you suppose that you will get out of the difficulty by pleasing nobody? I needn’t tell you that you don’t please me, and I ean’t see what chance there is of your ultimatelypleasing him; for I beg to assure you once for all, that nothing would induce me even to contemplate a son-in-law of that nationality.” “Oh, a son-in-law!—your thoughts travel at that pace!” “Not any- faster than yours. Come •lack!—you must acknowledge that you have thought of that possibility.” “Well, one contemplates possibilities, of course; but one doesn’t mistake them for certainties. Likewise, one endeavours, as I hinted ji.vt now, to pleaise, somebody, and I flatter myself that I have at least pleased Daphne. Whether Otto von Kahlenburg will please her to the extent that you fear remains to be seen; but I can imagine nothing wiser than giving him the opportunity. We all know what familiarity sometimes breeds.” “Ah!—but are you really so clever as all that?” “Perhaps I am not so stupid as to let them sigh for one another apart. Moreover, he is constantly in London: you couldn’t, in any case, have prevented him from looking you up, if he were bent upon looking you up.” “But she hasn’t been sighing at all!” “So much the better.” “Yes; only why not have left well alone? Daphne, I really believe, has been thinking of nothing but music all

this time. The operas that we have listened to! —and the symphonies and the recitals! The very memory gives me a headache; though of course I was glad that she should have so much enjoyment. Well, I trust, at all events, that your friend is not musical.” “I can’t say for certain; but naturally he will pretend to be. Who knows whether that pretence may not work his undoing? Meanwhile, let us not worry. We are impotent, or almost -so, remember, and what is to be will be.” Mrs Hamilton, albeit no fatalist, was well aware of her impotence in certain directions. The desire of her heart was that Jack Clough and her daughter should fancy one another; but she could not make' them do that, and she was pretty sure that, so far as he was concerned, efforts were needless. It only remained to hope that he was the wily diplomatist he appeared to set up for’being, and to let Daphne discover for herself what a very ordinary pelsonage this young von Kahlenburg was. Unfortunately, such discoveries are not always made by those best situated for making them, nor can the most ordinary young man alive be considered safe from idealisation in the eyes of this or that maiden. Only a few days were required to convince the distressed and apprehensive Mrs Hamilton that her daughter was as liable as another to suceumb to the attractions of the commonplace. A cornel' countenance, a simple, manly bearing, a flattering mixture of deference aud profound admiration —these attributes, however small their intrinsic worth, have suffered from time immemorial to captivate feminine hearts. And what countervailing measures can be adopted in a place like Marienbad, where everybody necessarily meets everybody else” half a dozen times between sunrise and sunset? Count Otto met Miss Daphne daily when the dew was still on the grass, met her again at the Waldquelle, whither her mother was bound to repair at half-past eleven, lunched in her company towards midday (for restaurants are open to all the world), attended her on long walks through the pine-forests during the afternoon, and partook by her side of the late dinner which, though contrary to rule, the doctor had sanctioned as a concession to British custom. It is true that on these occasions the presence of Mrs Hamilton and Captain Clough, not to speak of the doggedly determined Perkins family, gave Tittle or no opportunity for solitary intercourse; yet progress was made and encouragement was unquestionably vouchsafed. “Mark my words,” said Mrs Perkins solemnly to her daughter; “all this will end in at least one engagement.” Minnie simpered, lowered her eyelids, and wondered aloud what mamma could mean by more than one. Mrs Hamilton and Captain Clough could have told her. had they thought it worth while, but in truth neither of them had much attention to spare for absurd side-issues. CHAPTER IV. RESIGNATION. Jack Clough was an oldish man for his years. He was conscious of this, and of the disabilities entailed upon him thereby; but even if he had not recognised the humiliating fact of his having already, in Daphne’s estimation, reached the confines of middle age, he would still have had common sense enough to perceive that the girl had never so much as thought of him in the light of a suitor for her hand. A certain natural refinement and scrupulousness had restrained Mrs. Hamilton (to whom he was duly' grateful) from thus representing him to her daughter, and his secret, so far as he could see, was likely to be kept till the. end of the chapter. That, under these circumstances, he should have been more anxious for Daphne’s happiness than his own, and willing to promote the former at the expense of the latter, may seem to prove conclusively that he could not in reality have been very deeply in love: but human emotions have the strangest complications and developments. Certain, at all events, it is that he received with patience the confidences of Count Otto, who poured these into his ears nt great length every evening. The young man was inclined to be sanguine. Respecting his relations with the object of his passion he was modestly reticent; Clough, having eyes to see, could judge for himself whether they were progressing favourably or not. But from the outset he

had realised the importance of overcoming Mrs. Hamilton’s undisguised hostility, and his strenuous exertions to that end were beginning, he believed, to bear fruit. “She has the air,” he said, “of becoming resigned. Oh, as for liking me, no!—she does not like me. But 1 have observed that of late she has ceased to stare at me, as if she suspected me of being a chevalier d’industrie, which is so much gained. I think also that in the last resort she will not have the heart to oppose her daughter, whom she loves —as who would not! "You may take that for certain,” said Clough quietly. "Well. I hope I may. Although it is evident that she has plans for her daughter’s future which I am sure your sober old head has never divined. Happily, they have no better pros pect of success than the plans of our excellent Mrs. Perkins and Miss Minnie, with whom, my dear friend, you should walk more warily. You walk with her too much— oh. but indeed too much! —and in the moonlight, too, vou old rascal!”

A jocose poke in the ribs emphasised this accusation, to which the other responded: “I can lay my hand on the place where my heart ought to be, and swear that 1 would never walk with Miss Peeking under moon or sun if I could help it; but it seems necessary that I she it Id walk with somebody, and the delicacy of Mrs. Perkins and Rosie, combined with your recent tactics, leaves me only one available partner.” Von Kahlenburg laughed. “Cheer up, old man!” said he, consolingly, “you shall have a holiday—two or three holidays if you like. I have made all arrangements now with my uncle's forester, and you have only to fix your own date.” He had made all arrangements for the promised shooting expedition, save that he himself (for obvious reasons) proposed to take no part in it. His English friend, however, being no longer indispensable at Marienbad, could be granted leave of absence and provided with company in the shape of sundry noble sportsmen from Vienna. to whom Captain Clough was in due course presented. With these cheery and affable comrades the superfluous one enjoyed some very fair . port in the adjacent pine forests bringing down his share of driven roe deer and returning at the end of three days with a mixed bag, a sunburnt nose and a new narrow-brimmed hat. the gift of one of the party, which was adorned at the back by the beard of a chamois, and on the side by a blackcock’s tail feathers. Then it was that the reality of Mrs. Hamilton’s resignation was made manifest to him. She had not yet given in; but she was giving in. and almost admitted that she was. “How am I to fight against fate sin-gle-handed?” she plaintively asked. “Your desertion of me amounts to acquiescence in my defeat.” “No number of helping hands would have enabled you to conquer fate.” he sensibly returned; “as I told you the first day, what is to be will be.” “Yes, I remember your saying so—true, if rather depressing. But the truth generally is depressing, isn’t it? You mentioned at the same time that he was either musical or would pretend to be, which has turned out to be likewise true.” “And likewise depressing?”

“Oh, not to Daphne. Between ourselves, I confess that the prospect of :: cross-country journey back to Bayreuth for the sake of seeing “Parsifal’ a third time is rather depressing to me; but since they are both bent upon it, and since the doctor says that there will be no harm in my interrupting my ‘cure’ for a couple of days. . . I suppose you wouldn’t be persuaded to come with us? The Perkins trio, 1 may tell you. will not be included in our party." Possibly dread of being abandoned, alone and unprotected, to Minnie Perkins for forty-eight hours may have moved him to assent; but it was more likely that he was influenced by an appeal from Daphne, who joined him and her mother at this moment, ami to whose requests he never knew how to turn a deaf ear. Her motives for desiring his society at ami on the journey to Bayreuth were as evident as they were personally unflattering: yet he took no offence. Without figure of speech, he counted it. a privilege to serve her.

To educated and discriminating persons the privilege of witnessing a performance which can only be witnessed in a sleepy town of Upper Franconia

is doubtless a high one and worth the high price whieh tickets for the same command. when purchased at the last moment; but Captain Clough’s love for music did not extend much beyond appreciation of melody: so that the first act of “Parsifal,” which stirred the lady who sat on his right hand to visible enthusiasm ami seemed to satisfy the soul of her on his left, ended by boring him more than a little. He recognised, indeed, the marvellous beauty of certain orchestral passages, admired (with a few mental reservations) the skilful stage management, and was impressed—as everybody, on visiting that unique playhouse for the first time, must be—by the breathless silence and attention of the vast audience. But that interminable recitative was more than he eould stand. “I can’t for the life of me,” he whispered to Mrs Hamilton, who occupied the place on his left, “see what music has to do with the monotonous noise produced by a couple of personages, standing there and shouting at one another till all’s blue!” Mrs Hamilton, with a slight smile, laid her finger upon her lips and glanced meaningly at Daphne. Well, he could contentedly imitate her there, at all events; he could derive a great deal of pleasure from watching Daphue, if he was no longer able to concentrate his faculties upon stage or orchestra. She was in truth worth looking at, with her parted lips, her

luminous eyes, her incomparable profile- and so young von Kahlenburg. who was seated beyond her. apjieared to think. His ingenuous profile (comparable to half a hundred others) expressed a homage and admiration which were probably not offered to the deceased composer, although he was ready with an intelligent nod as often as his fair neighbour, touched by some vocal or instrumental effect, turned her face towards him for a moment. A bit of a humbug he may have been, a less ardent worshipper of Wagner than of Daphne Hamilton, no doubt; yet he was at least capable of entering into her feelings, whether he shared them or not. Very plain it was to the unobserved observer that they understood one another, those two. and what more would you have? “Eor my own part.” he thought to himself, with a rueful, inaudible laugh. “I could do with rather less." Hut he was willing in his stoical, philosophical fashion to endure what, as he was now convinced, could not be cured. When the curtain had fallen and the strangely silent audience had quitted the theatre to emerge upon the sunny hill-top where it stands. Daphne, with the last echoes of the “Gralsmotiv” still ringing in her ears, turned and asked, “Well, are you not glad you came?” "’Oh. yes, I’m glad.” he answered; “one is always glad to increase one’s stock of knowledge. 1 was more or

1 am very unhappy. I have got nobody to take my side. They are all against me, and 1 think 1 shall die it I can’t get somebody to be my friend. It came to me in the middle of the night that I had au Uncle Jim, and now I’ve come to you. If you can’t help me nobody can,” and the tears started to Connie’s eyes, whilst her sensitive lips began to quiver. A great many different emotions had passed in quick succession over the rugged features of the big man, who looked every whit like some typical adventurer from the wilds of the desert. Not that his outer man was rough or uncared for, but because he was possessed of that peculiar farseeing gaze, unfettered freedom of gesture and movement, and deep, sonorous voice that so often distinguishes the man of travel and action . He looked the very embodiment of strength and resolution. Connie felt that he would indeed be a tower of strength if she could place herself beneath his protection. "Then, did nobody send you here, my dear? It was your own thought to come?” "Nobod v would dare to send me. said Connie. “Father says you won’t have anything to do with him, and of course he is vexed about it. And* liesides 1 want you to take sides with me against them. They wouldn’t have sent me for that. It just eame into my own head when I was wondering and wondering what I could do. It seemed just the one thing left—the forlorn hope.” "Then sit down there and tell me all about it, and we’ll see what can be done. Bless me, child, how like you are to that portrait of my mother when she was a girl, the one that has gone all over the world with me.” He drew from his breast-pocket a little miniature in a well-worn case, and opened it. As he bid Connie tell her tale he sat looking from the delicate pictured face in his hand to the flower-like face of the girl before him. "It doesn’t sound much to tell,” said Connie, “but it's just everything to me. I met Leonard last autumn in a country house. We were so happy, ami father seemed friendly too. It was just before he turned sides In politics, and things were so much nicer then. Leonard isn’t rich, but he isn't very poor. I don’t care a bit about being rich. We made such nice plans. Then the winter came, and all this fuss about politics, and when we came to town, and I came out and went every where, I scarcely ever saw Leonard, and they won’t have anything to do with him, and they want me to marry- a horrid baronet— Sir Andrew Fox. I hate him. I think he's a horrid man. But Margaret, my sister, married somebody she did not much care for at first, and now they’re very happy; and so they are all determined that I shall do the same. I’ve nobody to help me, Uncle Jim, and you don't know how hard it is for a girl to make a tight all alone with everything against her.” And again the brght tear drops welled up and nearly rolled over. "There, there, my dear, don’t cry about it. We’ll see what can be done. I've heard of this Fox fellow, and 1 don’t think much of him. Who’s the other? Who’s Leonard? Tell me all you know of him.” "His name is Leonard Carrington. He's had a rather sad history in some ways. He’s an only child. His mother lived till about three years ago, but he doesn't know about his father. It was very sad about that. He was led into some money scrape by other men, and when the trouble came he was left to bear the blame. It turned him against his old life, and he went off to Africa to make his fortune. His wife and little Leonard went to live with her relations, and an uncle left them a little fortune, jus' enough to be comfortable upon, anu Leonard got a secretaryship when he had left college and was old enough. But the father never came back. They think he must be dead now. He used to write and say how he was getting on. but they' could never write to him. He had dropped his name, and he said in the mining camp he hadn’t got a real name. They just called him Blooming Bill, and that was all—” Connie stopped short, for her uncle bad liounded suddenly to his feet and bad taken too great strides towards the window, which he flung wide open as though he felt the need of air. "What did you say his camp name was?” he asked, wheeling round again after a brief interval. “Blooming Bill,” answered Connie,

wonderingly. "He never knew why they had fixed upon that; hut -oh, uncle, what is it?”' •‘Can you give me young ('errington’s address?” asked the uncle, whoso face was working oddly, as though his mind were in some indescribable ferment. Connie was able to supply that amount of information, and her uncle made a note, and then put his hand on her shoulders and looked earnestly into her faee. “If Leonard had been a rich man would they have refused him for a son-in-law?” “I don’t exactly know how rich he would have to be,” answered Connie, with naive and unconscious cynicism; “but I don’t think it’s really because of his father or his politics. I think it’s because he isn’t rich and Sir Andrew is. Money always seems to make such a lot of difference. But Leonard and I don’t think it matters a. bit. We should like being poor. “Now go home, little niece,” said Uncle Jim, “and don’t say a word about this visit. I’ll help you out of this hobble. You just wait and see!” It was with a joyful heart that Connie drove back, first to her sister’s and then home. She and Margaret were alike puzzled by their uncle’s excitement at hearing of Leonard’s father; but it was no use speculating, and they were forced to abide the issue with what patience they could. Three nights later Lord and Lady Vanstone dined with the Drummonds: and in the evening, when Connie had gone out upon the balcony the father drew his chair to Margaret’s side and drew out a letter. “I want to consult you. Margaret. I have had a curious letter from my brother Jim. He tells me he has seen Connie somewhere, and her extraordinary likeness to our mother in her youth has touched him, it seems. He really appears interested in her; but the odd part of it is that he speaks of having a husband in prospect for her. the only son of a man who was his ‘chum’ out in Africa, a.nd who left him trustee anti executor of a big fortune to be made over to this son. My brother Jim has an idea of bringing the two young people together, and trying to get up a match between them; and he distinctly implies, as you will see, that he would be ready in that case to look upon Connie as his heiress. Of course for a consider ation like that one would do much. What do you say to the idea?” Margaret read the letter and answered briskly. “Invite Uncle Jim and his friend to dinner on the first opportunity, and ask us to meet them. Connie hates Sir Andrew Fox, and to escape from him she might be willing to look favourably on Uncle Jim’s candidate; amt she is pretty enough to bewitch any man who sees her under favourable circumstances; and in any case don’t fail to respond cordially to any overture from Uncle Jim!” A few days more and all was arranged. Mrs Drunimon had been deputed to tell Connie that if she reallydisliked Sir Andrew, she should not be pressed beyond a certain point; but that she must not he too capricious and exacting—and in faet—well Mrs Drummond was not quite explicit, but somehow Connie was left with shilling eyes and a heating heart. Uncle Jim was coming to dinner; He was. going to bring somebody with him. Her heart beat so fast that she thought it better not to talk. She only promised with unwonted meekness to make herself look “nice.” She was more than nice; she was exquisitely lovely in her flowing white draperies as she stood in the lamp light waiting for the half expected announcement of the butler. “Mr Janies Drummond—Mr Carrington.” They were face to faee once more, holding hands for a brief second; eyes speaking in a fashion that the lips would never have dared to do. They went down to dinner together. That had been arranged beforehand. Uncle Jim had kissed her, and she heard his big' laugh as he hail introduced Ix-on-ard afresh as the son of an old African ehum of his. But she was too happy, too bewildered, too excited to take anything in save the fact that Leonard was there, and that her friends were smiling instead of scowling upon him now.

"Most extraordinary thing. Tom." said the traveller when the ladies had left, the room. “One of those strange coincidences one rends of in fiction Poor Carrington and I shared a claim

and worked lor years together; but he mper told me his naiue. He gometiftles dropped a bit altout his past; lot* never slipped the name out. When at last he was dying he gave me a wallet of papers, and said I should find everything there, and he entrusted all his fortune to me for his wife and son. It was a. fairish lump sum then; we had of late been lucky, and he had spoken sometimes of realising and going home. But he died, poor fellow; and when I opened the wallet to carry out his instructions, why the papers were nothing but soft pulp. They fell to pieces at a touch. He must have got them wet without knowing it, and there was I with his money and no way of finding out to whom to hand it over.” "A difficult trust in all conscience. What did Von do?” “I just hided my time at first; things were very brisk up at the camp then. I used the money with my own cautiously, in increasing the claim. We were partners still. Luck followed me. 1 made my pile, and increased his. When I cleared out at last and looked into things I found I had between sixty and seventy thousand to hand over to Blooming Bill’s unknown son. But how on earth I was to set about the task 1 didn’t know. To advertise or proclaim the thing aloud would be to have a- score of rascals turning up daily claiming to be Blooming Bill's son; and how was I to know? "Well. I just put the money out at interest and hided my time. I won’t tell you what I did do, because nothing came of my abortive endeavours. Then when 1 was about thinking the whole show would have-to go to Government to l>e dealt with, what happens but that little girl of yours comes to Uncle Jim to be helped out of a difficulty, and puts the clue slick into ray hands. She can produce the man who

cun produce the letters 1 used to see poor Carrington write, mid who tells his wife anti boy in them how he is only known in the mining camp as 'Blooming Bill.' If that's not evidence enough for lawyers it’s good enough for me. Young Carrington is worth the fortune I've named to you liesidea his mother's money and his wits. And I've taken a. fancy to that little girl of yours, and if you'll give her to C-ai—-rington. who'll keep her a good Tory all her life, why she shan't be married without a bit of a dowry from her old uncle, and may look for something more when he goes!” Leonard and Connie were out on the balcony together la-fore the brothers eanie in. When the young couple did appear it was to find the whole room smiling at their appearance. “O, Uncle Jim, you are a real darling!" whispered Connie as she kissed him farewell, "it seemed such a desperate measure to throw myself on your protection: but just think what has come of it!”