Serial Story. (PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) A DAUGHTER OF MIDIAN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue XVII, 27 October 1900, Page 764

Serial Story. (PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) A DAUGHTER OF MIDIAN.

By

JOHN K. LEYS.

Author of "A Sore Temptation,” “The Thumb-print.” “The Broken Fetter,” “ In the Toils,” “ A Million of Money,” etc., etc. COPYRIGHT.

PART I. THE LADY’S QUEST.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS T. & ll.—Professor Zucattl, an Italian palmist. Is consulted by a lady, Miss Grant, as to an undertaking on which she is about to embark. He has met her previously at a garden party at Spezzia. He consults her hand ana tells her that her future is fraught with great danger, and in a magic crystal she sees a murder enacted, and a man thrown over a precipice, and a person representing herself standing near. She promises to consult him again. After she has left, a couple of Sisters of Beth any take refuge in his doorway from a thunderstorm, and he assists them In their charity. After they have left he remembers that he will write to his old friend, and sits down and writes for two hours.

CHAPTER ID. THE ITALIAN’S LETTER. My Friend, — A strange thing has happened to me —two strange things, in fact—the first unexpected, new, and delightful, surpassing my most sanguine expectations; the second inexplicable, menacing, and to me terrifying. A on, who know all the secrets of my heart, are aware of the impression made upon me by the English lady whom 1 met at Spezzia. last summer. You know that the mere sound of her (voice had power to move me like a Ispell, that, in one word, she bewitched !nie. You know that I went to Paris, to Baden, to Vienna, in the faint hope that I might gain a clue by which I (might follow her, and you know that (although I succeeded in gleaning some (details of her past life I quite failed to trace her. Judge then of my surprise and delight when this day, within the Jast hour, she visited me in my house here in London of her own aecord! Mr principal object in coming to England was that I might come upon fomeone who knew her. for as her flame is English it seemed certain that the must have English friends or relations. How this may be I do not yet know, but I began to practise my old trade of a palmist for my support, never dreaming that it would in less than six months bring her to my door. Vet so it has been. She came to consult me about some Enterprise she had on hand. How can 1 describe, my dear Riotti, the feelings 1 experienced as she laid her hand in mine, that white hand which T would give my soul to call my own. I was far too much agitated to use even what T know of her past history to make her believe that T could foretell her future, as I have done to many another. All I could do was to give, her a vague warning of a disaster—it is always a safe thing to do, for if the bad fortune conies, why, it was predieted—if not. it was averted by the timelv warning. But now I must tell you of the' second thing that happened. I was still trying to think of some way of inducing Miss Grant to call agajn. or some excuse for asking for her address, when she noticed the crystal on my table and took it into her head to try its supposed magical |<owers. T was in a manner forced to deceive hei, for it was a unique opportunity of impressing her with my power and gaining influence with her. And fortunately the means of doing so were ready to my hand. As you may not be acquainted with the trick of the magic crystal I will explain to you the method by which it is made to serve my purpose of impressing the credulous. The crystal is immovably fixed in the centre of a small pedestal. The pedestal which supports the table is hollow, and a tube communicates with a room on the floor below, in which I have stationed an assistant with an apparatus like that by which pictures known as dissolving views are shown to the public, and a number of slides.

By means of a spring roller the assistant has it in his power to stretch at the proper moment a fine linen screen across the under surface of the crystal. The room is, of course, darkened.• and after a short time a faint ray of light is thbown up from below. The burning of a pineh of powder in the track of this ray is enough to cause a cloudy appearance in the crystal, and when this has cleared away the first picture is seen reflected from below, as in the case of a dissolving view, the small linen screen acting as a transparency. Everything, as you will see, depends on the views which may be selected: and here there is room for a display of my ingenuity and my knowledge of human nature. I have hundreds of slides, some of which contain scenes such as those which are used to illustrate cheap stories—scenes which represent events which are tolerably sure to have occurred in the life of every human being. In a shelf of a bookease in the room containing the crystal is a series of small knobs, numbered, and connected with pointers upon a scale in the room below. I make pretence of consulting a work on astrology or magic. The book is in reality a numbered list of the slides in the case below. Having selected the slides which I think appropriate I press the knobs giving the proper numbers when replacing the volume on the shelf. As a rule T can form a pretty accurate guess about some scene in the past life of my client from her replies to my remarks while T read the lines in her palm, and if I have an appropriate scene in stock I show it. and then show another illustrating some one of the events which 1 have foretold as likely to happen in the future.

But of course about this method there is a good deal of uncertainty; and when I hdve an important client I proceed more cautiously. 1 affect to learn from my authority on astrology that it is not a propitious day for consulting the oracle, and that it would be more satisfactory to fix another day. In nine cases out of ten my client (who is generally a lady) believes that this is a mere device for extracting a fresh fee, and in this belief I am content to leave her. But if 1 have not already ascertained her name a smart lad in my employ follows her home; and when I have once identified my customer the rest is easy. My assistant, who is a young man of many experiences, goes to the house, and, having waited till the lady has gone out, bribes one of the servants to allow him to take a rough sketch of a sideboard or a cabinet in one of the principal rooms. While doing this he takes a snap photograph of the room by means of a kodak concealed about his person, and from this photograph (or a sketch if a photograph cannot be had.) I make a picture which depicts a place familiar to my client, so that she has no difficulty in recognising it. As a rule the lady is so amazed at the accuracy of the representation, that she pays small attention to the figures in the scene, and accepts the second picture as a veritable representation of the unseen. Of course, if I can ascertain that any one of the principal events in the past life of my client has been transacted in a public place, such as a street, a wood, a pier, a church, or a theatre, it is much easier to obtain a photograph from which a good slide may be manufactured; ami if a scene already known to the lady is used for the second slide, she is still more deeply impressed. Such is my plan of operations; and so long as men and women are what they are, vain, egotistical, and credulous about what they cannot explain,

such means will be successful in drawing money out of well-filled purses. Y’ou will now be able to understand the significance of what I have to tell you. Soon after my meeting with Miss Grant, on the very next day, in fact. I made a drawing- of the villa and garden which had been the scene of the happiest day I had ever known, intending it simply as a souvenir. Afterwards I painted a slide from it, and you may imagine the effect on the lady's mind when she saw before her eyes a faithful representation of the spot where we had already met! And now comes the strange part of my experience. Aou were far away from Italy in the year 1889, so it is possible that you may never have heard the name of Tito Carecci. He was a Sicilian, and a bad man, and he came to a bad end. At that time I was practicing my profession in Palermo, and he came to consult me about an affair he had in hand. It was not long before I discovered that it was a love affair, and that he had a rival. Later I found that this rival’s name was Signini.

Carecci was like all Sicilians, cruel, treacherous, and revengeful. I saw that he meditated foul play, and I did my best, as I thought, to dissuade him from giving way to his passion. The girl favoured Signini, and Tito was mad with baffled desire and envy. He demanded to be shown his future in the crystal, and I prepared two scenes which I thought would have the effect of terrifying him and making him abandon the designs which I knew he was harbouring. The first scene represented a murder. It showed a precipice, and a man lying at the foot of it. He had evidently been pushed over the edge by an enemy, whose head could be seen at the top of the eliff as he peered down to make sure that his victim had been killed outright. In the foreground of the picture was the figure of a woman, and I intended that he should understand by this that there would be a witness to his crime. In the next scene I depicted a trial in a court of law, he himself being the prisoner. But this picture Carecci never saw. When he saw the shadow of the erime he had meditated stealing out of the mist, as it were, in the depths of the mysterious crystal, he uttered a cry and rushed out of the hp use. What I had foolishly intended as a salutary warning he took to be a proprecy which he was fated to fulfil. The very next night Carecci waylaid his rival as he was returning from a visit to his betrothed, and actually murdered him by throwing him over a cliff, exactly as I had made him do in the picture. I knew I was playing with edged tools,’ but I never anticipated such a result. The crime could not remain hidden, and Carecci was suspected from the first, as the enmity between him and the murdered man was well known. Strangely enough, a peasant woman, returning from her work in the field, had seen something of the crime, and Careeci was arrested.

No sooner did the villain find himself in prison than he denounced me to the police as the instigator of his crime! You know what this would mean in Sicily. 1 was arrested; and in order to save myself I was forced to disclose my plan of working to the police, and give up the scenes I had painted. This did not satisfy them, however; and in order to satisfy the public conscience, or the bloodthirsty instincts of an ignorant and superstitious people, I was put on my trial and actually condemned to death.

The judges, however, knew that I was innocent, and I have no doubt that they exerted themselves to procure a pardon for me. I escaped the scaffold, and after a few months was conveyed to Rome and there liberated. My goods were restored to me, and bv some oversight the apparatus which 1 had used .to delude the public was not confiscated, as 1 suppose it ought to have been, though most of the glass slides were broken. I was told that the unlucky pictures which had brought all this trouble on me had been destroyed by the police. You can imagine what I felt when, the crystal being cleared for the second picture, I looked over the lady's shoulder, and saw this accursed murder scene, which had so nearly brought me to the scaffold! My heart stood still. I felt like a man bewitched. I could not answer when Miss Grant spoke to me. A dread that some might eall superstitious seized my very heart-strings. I had been told that the unlucky picture was crushed into powder. How did it come to be there? Either it must have been spared and restored to me by some accident, or a duplicate of the picture, a first attempt which I had rejected as being inferior in workmanship, had in some way got mixed up with my regular series, and my assistant, generally the most careful of men, must have made a mistake with the numbers. However the mistake occurred, the picture was there, before my eyes, with all its memories of danger and of terror! As I gazed at it I stood once more before the judge, being tried for my life, knowing that an excited crowd outside the court-house was clamouring for my blood. I lay again in the narrow, ill-smelling prison cell, where I woke each morning thinking that that day would be my last. That picture had already been a prophet of evil to me. What did its re-appearance at that moment foretell? That it meant something 1 am convinced. Was it meant for a warning, a warning by which 1 may profit, or was it a portent of an implacable, inevitable fate? If the former. what steps can 1 take to avert the threatened evil? T should tell you that before she left me Miss Grant hinted that if I ehose I might join with her in the scheme she has on foot. It appears she thinks I can render her assistance in some way. Of course, if anyone had told me yesterday that such an offer would be made to me. 1 should have been transported with delight. Even now I cannot contain myself when I think of what this may mean. And yet, after such a warning, would it not be madness to accept Miss Grant’s proposal? Is it not clearly foreshadowed that her connection with me can bring us nothing but disaster? Is it fated that I am to meet and slay a rival? Or, is the mysterious appearance of the picture a token that if I go on with the enterprise into which the lady would lead me I am to fall by the hand of an assassin? I cannot tell. To-morrow Miss Grant is to visit me again, and confide in me more fully. She is to tell me the part she desires me to play. And then I must make up my mind. I must choose whether I am to obey the omen, or rush forward upon my fate.

CHAPTER IV. MISS GRANT’S STORY. For the rest of that day Signor Zueatti was in a fever of anxiety. Miss Grant had not absolutely promised that she would come to see him on the morrow. She would come, she had said, if she made up her mind to confide in him. There was no reason why she should do this, except that she hoped he might be able to help her in some scheme she had on foot. If only she would give him the chance! It had been on the tip of his tongue to say to her that she would find him capable, resourceful, and not overburdened with scruples; for something in the lady’s manner had assured him that it was not any ordinary assistance that she required of him. But he had feared to say too much —feared above all to insult her by assuming that her scheme was not perfectly straightforward. No, he told himself a hundred times that night, he eould do nothing but await her decision. To his surprise and delight he saw

Miss Grant drive up to his door the next day before noon. He ordered her to be shown into a small room on the ground floor, and she had scarcely seated herself when the -door opened and the Italian stood before her. It struck her at the moment that he looked a younger man by some years than she had supposed. His face was bright with hope. “I have lost no time in making up my mind, you see," said she, giving him her hand. "I thought it well over last night, and I came to the conclusion that since you are so kind as to offer me your help 1 would be a fool not to take advantage of it. But you —are you quite sure that you are willing to give a friendless woman your time and your labour without fee or reward?" “I can only repeat what I said yesterday. madam." said the Italian, keeping his eyes east down that she might not see the joy he felt, “that 1 will acept it as a high honour to be allowed to serve you. And the only reward I seek is the knowledge that I have been of use to you." The lady laughed. “It is easy to see that you are not an Englishman.” she said. “No Englishman could have said that so prettily. But 1 have had such things said to me before now, and ” A faint sigh ended the sentence. “If you ean trust me. madam, 1 will be true to you,” said the Italian; and the lady held out her hand to him in silence.’ When she next spoke there was a tremor in her full rich voice that told something of the effort it cost her to unveil her secret. “I am a homeless, friendless woman, and if I were to say penniless, I would be saying little more than the truth. And that is not the worst —not the worst for me, at all events —I am nameless. If you were to ask me who my father and mother were. I could not tell you. If you were to ask me whether they were English or foreigners. I could not say. If you were to inquire when I was born. 1 eould only answer you by a guess. If you asked where. I could only say that to the best of my belief I was born in some foreign country. I am so friendless, that if you were to shoot or stab me here, at this moment, you could do so with perfect impunity. If you eould only get rid of my poor body, no one would ever trouble you with an inquiry. The things I have left at my hotel would be sold by and by to pay my bill, and there would be the end.” 'the Professor was more than surprised. He had fancied Miss Grant to be at least well to do—the society he had met her in the year before justified him in supposing that. But he allowed no word or look of astonishment to escape him. and sat perfectly still, waiting for her to say more. “My earliest memory is of being in a ship at sea,” she said, after a long pause; “and that is my only reason for thinking that I was not born in this country. I remember playing about the deck, am! being petted by the passengers. To me, of course, the ship seemed immense, but I am inclined to think that it was not a large vessel- The woman who took care of me was not my mother. That much I am sure of. I never was taught to call anyone mother. She was called Mrs Martin. Whether that was her real name oi- not I do not know. Whether sne was a relation of mine, or only paid to look after me, I cannot tell. We lived in a poor mean house in Brixton. After a time a man came to stay with us, who, I believe, was the woman's husband, perhaps her brother. He was a big strong fellow, with a rough beard of coarse red hair, and I was afraid of him. I ean scarcely tell why I was afraid of him, for he took very little notice of me, and never struck or illused me, but I was never easy—l remember that well—when he happened to be in the house. "1 believe I must have been about six years old when I was sent to u school in Holloway. I never saw the house in Brixton again. I was a boarder at the school, and I lived ttierc. spring, summer, autumn and winter, schooldays and holidays, for twelve long weary years. "One day, when 1 must have been eighteen or nineteen years old, an elderly gentleman came to see me. The schoolmistress—or principal, as she called herself—called him Mr Gregory. and was very deferential to him. I umk rstood from tills that it was through his hands that the money had come to pay my school bills. He told

me that I was now a woman, and that in a very short time I must support myself, and asked whether I had a special bent in any direction. 1 told him that I wished to study music, as my music masters had held out hopes that I might be a great singer some day. He said he would take a note of my desire, a lid went away. “I longed to ask him to tell me something about myself my parentage, my friends, and prospects- but I was then a shy unformed girl, who had scarcely done so much as cross the street to post a letter on her own responsibility. And I felt certain at the time, from his stiff, reserved manner. that to make any appeal of that kind w«-uld be simply to distress myself, and expose myself to a rebuff witliciit any result. He looked like a man who could keep a secret, and who meant to do it. Young as 1 was. inexperienced as 1 was, I could see that. “However, the i interview was not fruitless. I began to take lessons from a good master, and the following year 1 was sen’ to Milan to complete my education. 1 never returned to England—nc.t until this week. I hud a fine voice and studied hard, and very soon I was able to give lessons. Then 1 got an engagement at a concert, and went

on the operatie stage. All this time I did not make a single real friend. I had plenty of acquaintances, but no friends who eared for me. For the first two years I received a post-office order every month for my expenses, but at the end of the first year I had a short, curt note from Mr Gregory, giving me notice that at the end of the following year the supply of money would come to an end. And he was as good as his word. Not another lira was sent to me. and I asked for none. "But you may be sure I wrote denial ding to know something of my birth, asking who his client was, and similar questions. I wrote many times. To the first of these letters I had a formal reply, to the effect that Mr Gregory had no information to give me—he had made certain payments for me in the course of his profession, and there his interest In the matter ended, ami he remained my obedient servant. A. M. Gregory. All my letters after that remained unanswered. "It may be that I would have ceased to trouble myself about the mystery of my birth (for there is little use in knocking one's head against a stone wall), but for a misfortune that befel me this spring. 1 caught a bad cold, and it turned to inflammation of the lungs. When I recovered I found that

my voice, though not absolutely ruined, was much injured, and—what was even worse—so uncertain that I could no longer rely upon it as a means of livelihood. “I well remember the day that ’the doctor gave his verdict. It was a bright spring day, and the myrtle blossoms were peeping through my lattice. He was very kind, but he said quite decisively that although I might sing a little in private, and even think my voice as |>owerfiil as ever. T would never be aide to go on the stage again. If I did the strain would cause my voice to break utterly. When he left me 1 lay a long time by the open window, blind and deaf, so far as the outer world was concerned. No shipwrecked sailor ever felt more loner*, more alrandoned, than I did at that hour. And before 1 rose from the couch I had made up my mind that as soon as 1 could get a little money together—for my illness had eaten U| , nearly all my savings—l would go tv England, ami. by fair means or bv fold. ]H-netrate the secret of my birth.

“It was not that 1 wished or ex|>ected that my relations would provide for me. I feel sure that I shall always l>e able to support myself by giving singing lessons. But I was seized—not for the first time—with a passionate desire to know my own kith and kin—to have some link with the rest of the human race. It seems to me that I have a right to a place—some place—in the family of mankind. What father has a right to make his child an outcast? Why should I be condemned to lie a creature apart, a< though I were under a curse? Why should 1 submit to being deprived of all ties of kindred, of natural human rights, because 1 have an unnatural father?

“These reasons may perhaps not sound very good to you. All I can say is that if you were in my place—if you were a woman, friendless, lonely and poor, you would think them very sound arguments indeed. At any rate. I carried out my resolution so far a» coming to England was concerned. I am here; and now the question confronts me—What shall I do? What is my next step to be? Since I arrived in London I have tried in vain to find the street in Brixton where I lived when I was a child. And I am convinced that if I did find it. it would be useless labour. Both Mrs Martin and her husband must have died or left the neighbourhood long ago.

“There seems to be nothing else to do but to fall back upon Mr Gregory, and I have left that to the last because something tells me that he will be as olxstinate to me when I make my demand face to face with him as he was when I wrote to him from Italy. I feel powerless to pierce the shield of professional confidence behind which he shelters himself. I am certain that if I were to go to him. simply demanding that he should tell me something about my parentage, i might cajole and threaten him by the hour without the smallest effect —if he did not send for a policeman to turn me out. I must have help. I must have a man's help. 1 want some reason. some good and sound reason apart from any sentiment of justice, to show why he should make an effort to get his client to declare himself. Or. failing that. I must light upon stratagem for getting at the secret, and I cannot do that bv mvself.”

“Then you would like me to go with you to this lawyer to speak on your Indialf?” interrupted the Italian. “Hardly that.” said the lady, with a smile. "1 fancy I can speak for myself tolerably well. What I want is a reason—a man’s reason—a reason that will appeal to a man like Gregory, and make him think it reasonable that he should at least communicate wit his client.” I'he Italian sat considering f»r a minute or two. At length he rose, ami c rosing the room sat down at a writing table and Ivegan to write rapidlv.

When hr had finished he took the >heet of thin foreign notepaper, and handed it to Miss Grant, who-read it. then looking up she laughed, blushing. and handed it l>ack to her companion. “I had better make a translation of i f into English.” said the lady; ami sitting down at the writing table in her turn, she wrote to Signor Ziicntti's dictation —

“Villa Francoui, Ajoccia, Italy. July 3rd, 18—. “My Dear Madam, “in reply to your letter of the :M)th ult., 1 beg you in the first place to accept my sincere condolences on the lamentable effect of your illness, which, it appears, will rob the operatic stage of an artist so celebrated, so justly admired as yourself. “1 have considered your application for the post of governess to my four daughters; and 1 have to say that on the understanding that you will teach them French and English as well as music. 1 will be happy to retain your services at the salary you name. There is. however, one condition which 1 trust you will pardon me for insisting on. 1 believe firmly in the great doctrine of heredity; and however much 1 may esteem you personally, it would be impossible for me co admit, as a member of my household, any one whose parents or grandparents exhibited any abnormal or eccentric tendencies. 1 feel myself bound to exercise special care in this direction since, as you are no doubt aware, my daughters have had the misfortune to lose their mother, and they will be wholly under your care. I beg. therefore, that you will furnish me with the names and addresses of two |>ersons of good repute who jiersonally knew your parents —if possible your parents and grandparents —and can testify to their good qualities, physical, moral, ami intellectual. As I understand that it will be necessary for you to write to England for these certificates. I am willing to allow the vacant post in my household to remain unfilled for the term of one month from this date. *T remain, yours. “Count Leonardo Capelli di Marcio. “P.S. —I omitted to mention that in the event of our being so fortunate as to secure your services, it will Ik* necessary for you. since you will become a permanent member of my household, to comply with the provisions of the law enacted this year concerning aliens resident in Italy. You will be required to furnish the necessary proof of identification by producing the certificate of your birth, attested before a magistrate of the country where the birth took place. I mention this now in order that you may be spared the trouble of making the necessary inquiries at a later date, when possibly you might incur penalties by reason of the difficulty of satisfying our legal requirements at short notice.”

“How will that do?” asked the Italian, with a smile. “Beautifully I” cried 4he lady. “1 am sure nothing could be better. Mr Gregory will surely at least tell me where I was born. How clever of you to think of it! And what a good thing it was for me that I thought of asking you to help me!” No scruple as to the falsehoods which the letter contained seemed to trouble either the lady or the Professor. They understood one another from the first. The Italian scientifically pressed the letter so as to give it the appearance of having passed through the post, and then handed it back, saying simply: “If you are asked for the envelope, you have only to say that it never occurred to you to keep it.” Miss Grant then took her leave, after promising to let her confederate know whether the letter had proved useful or not. (To be Continued.)