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

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue XXIII, 8 December 1900, Page 1053

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 Toile," “ A Million of Money,” etc., etc. COPYRIGHT.

PART lI.—THE NARRATIVE OF SYBIL GRANT.

CHAPTER XV. UNMASKED. It sometimes seems to me that we are almost entirely the creatures of our surrounding circumstances. 1 know it is so with me. One would have supposed that after my return to the Castle my days would have been heavy with anxiety—that 1 w’ould have Jived in continual dread of discovery, suspecting a covert meaning in everything Mr. Mitchell or Mr. Durant said to me, and watching for any word that might throw light on the darkness that surrounded my past. But it was not so. Incredible as it may appear, I all but forgot that 1 was a half-detected imposter, a guest at the Castle under false pretences. I forgot that Mr. Durant was my enemy—nothing, indeed, could less resemble an enemy’s behaviour than his to me. I struck up a kind of friendship with the Honourable Marjory Keith and her brother, and lived as my neighbours did, taking each day's pleasure as it came, seldom troubling myself to remember that these sunshiny days would not last for ever. I think I "must have been under a kind of spell at that time. It was now the middle of August, and little else was thought of or talked of than “the shooting.” Our party was frequently increased by one or two young men from Glasgow’ or London, business friends of the laird's. I understood. They stayed, as a rule, but a day or two, and somehow their coming and going seemed to draw’ the house party, the little group of permanent guests, closer together. We seemed almost like members of the same family, compared with those birds of passage. Our days were spent very much in the same way, but- we did not tire. of them. In the mornings Miss Keith and I generally went sketching, while t-he men set out for the hills, and Miss Dalrymple betook herself to the piano —only to be called away every few minutes for a consultation with Mrs. McPhail, who was acting housekeeper. Sometimes the men of the party came home to lunch —more often they did not return till the evening. Then, after dinner, we had. billiards, or pool, and music; sometimes, to tell the truth, a little poker. One morning after the men had taken their departure I went into the music-room for a song I had promised to show to Miss Keith, and there I found Miss Dalrymple alone, and in tears.

It was impossible to pretend that 1 had not seen her. She lifted her red, tear-stained face and looked at me. only to turn it away again. “Miss Dalrymple, is anything the matter? Can I help you in any way?" 1 said as gently as I could. To my surprise she put out her hand and thrust me awav from her. “Go away! I wish you would go away! Haven’t you done mischief enough?” Then came another burst of sobs. I stood stock still, too much astonished to say a word. At last I stammered out something to the effect that I was quite ignorant of what I had done to displease or injure her, and that if she would only tell me what it was I w’ould do my best to put things right. For some time she would not listen to me; but when J had repeated my words she seemed to lose patience, and, dropping her hands from her face, she looked at me with reproach in her tear-filled eyes. “Were we not happy enough before you came?” she demanded. “Why should you eome to spoil our lives ? At length a light began to dawn upon me. I could have laughed aloud. She thought that I was taking her

place with Mr. Durant! She was jealous of me! “Miss Dalrymple, I assure you you are mistaken,” 1 said, as earnestly as I could. But she paid no attention to me. “Wasn’t Mr. Ronald Keith enough for you?” “Mr. Ronald Keith!” I repeated stupidly, but I knew that the tell-tale blush was mounting tq my cheeks. “Yes; Mr. Ronald Keith. Can you deny that he is always following you about, always trying to find you if you are out of the way? You are welcome to his attentions for anything I care—only, if I were you I would take care that he is not . It’s none of my business.” She broke off suddenly, and rose to leave the room. But 1 caught her by the dress and forced her to listen to me. I was careful not to refer to Mr Durant by name, but I told her that whether Mr. Keith continued to pay me attention or not—whether he was serious or not —I cared nothing for the homage of anyone else. This was not only true, but something more than the truth. Of course I would not have said it if I had not been anxious to clear myself in Miss Dalrymple’s eyes. After that I did notice that once or twice Mr Durant appeared at my side when I could have dispensed with his presence, and I began to wonder whether there was anything in Miss Dalrymple's hints. However, she said no ipore, and as her manner to me was just the same as it had always been I forgot her little outburst of jealousy. The cloud seemed to have passed away. There was not a. shadow on my path. I gave myself up to the enjoyment of the summer days, and in spite of all I was happy. The bolt fell on me out of a. clear sky without a moment’s warning. It was a glorious day towards the end of the month. The hills were glowing in their purple beauty, and through the morning mist the lake and the woods surrounding it showed like a scene in dreamland. The day was so lovely that it was arranged that Miss Keith and Miss Marjory Keith, with Miss Dalrymple and myself, should climb to the top of one of the nearer hiils, and there meet the men of the party, taking lunch together, as we had done once or twice before.

The programme was carried out. Luncheon was duly discussed, and when the meal was over we lay about on the heather, chatting, or lazily dozing in the shade of a boulder. The men had declared with one voice that it was too hot to do any irtore tramping over the moors that day. I was sitting a little apart from the others, making believe to sketch a spray of heather bell. Marjory Keith and Mr Durant came anti sa't- d.twn close by. By and by Miss Keith got up and strolled away. Mr Durant was lying on his hack, blowing rings of cigarette smoke into the warm air. Now and then we exchanged a remark, but for the most part we were silent, “Don’t you think the view of the loch is better here than it is down at the Castle?” I said. “I quite agree with'you, Miss Grant. By the way, is that your name?” For a moment my heart seemed to stand still and a chill crept down my back in spite of the hot sun; but in a second or two I had recovered myself. “Of course, that is my name. What do you mean?” I flatter myself that no one could have guessed from my tone or my manner the state of fright I was in. I fancied even that my ;tormentor glanced at me with admiring notice

of my self-command before he answered: “Well, you see, we all took you for Miss Grant of Scarton. She is the oniy Miss Grant known to Mr Mitchell, and 1 happen to be awaie that he certainly believes you to be Miss Sidney Grant, of Scarton, Cumberland. “You are making a mistake—-a very natural one,” I said, coldly. “Miss Grant, of Searton, is my sister.” The relaxed figure, stretched luxuriously on the thick carpet of heather, became suddenly’ rigid. The cigarette, held an inch or two away from the smiling lips, that instant became motionless. I fancied 1 heard the words “1 thought so" breathed softly from underneath the silky moustache.

“I think I have heard it said that Miss Grant, of Scarton, has no sister. Her only sister died in infancy." "That is not the fact," I said, hotly. “And in any ease, Mr Durant, I fail to see what business it is of yours."

“Quite true Miss—we may say Grant for the present. I accept your rebuke. Mr Mitchell is really the only person who can claim a right to be interested in your identity. 1 wonder what he will have to say’ to it. Mitchell!” he called out, and seeing that he had arrested the laird’s attention he rose and lasily strolled over in his direction. A sudden pain gripped me in the region of the heart. 1 felt as if I were about to faint, but 1 kept my eyes steadily fixer! on the cardboard before me, and my fingers moved mechanically with the pencil. What I w’as thinking at that moment I do not knbw. I doubt w’hether I was capable of thinking at all; but the fresh breeze blew none the less sweetly on my burning face, the grasshoppers went on making summer in the grass, the bees hummed in the heather, and a big mottled spider ran out from his refuge under the grey stone and began to repair his web. which I had broken. I looked round. The two men had separated, and Mi' Durant was coming back to me. Then I began to wonder what would happen. Would Mr Mitchell let me go away quietly, or would he expose me to the contempt and ridicule of the Keiths? What would they say, what would Ronald think of me? “You are very diligent, Miss Grant. Upon my word I admire your coolness —on such a hot day too. But I can’t say that I think .your heather bell is very like the original.” “What does Mr Mitchel! say?” I asked sharply, without looking up. “He says we had better shoot over Little Glen Finnart to-morrow morning.” “What did he say about me?” “About you? Nothing. I don’t think your name was mentioned.” So he had been wantonly tormenting me. as a cruel boy wili torment some small creature before he kills it. How 1 hated that man at that moment! I was even a little afraid of myself, mv hatred was so perfect, so whole-souled. 1 don’t know what I might have actually' done, but I felt as if I could have killed him. “When do .von mean to tell Mr Mitchell that I am not, in your opinion, the person I have represented myself to be?” I asked, still without looking up at him. “I don’t know; I haven’t made up my mind on the subject.” He stood just behind me, a little to one side, looking over my shoulder at the sketch on which my fingers were still busy. “What business is it of yours? Why do you meddle in my affairs at all?” I asked quietly. “Well, you know. Mr Mitchell is my friend. One doesn't like to see one’s friends —imposed upon.”

1 was silent, digesting the insult. But was it an insult? Had I any right to call it an insult? Was it not true? “How did you discover that 1 am not Miss Grant of Scarton?” He laughed. “Easily enough. I wrote first to the school-mistress; hut she didn't take the trouble to answer me, so 1 wrote to a lawyer at Carlisle, and got him to send out a man to make inquiries. 1 found out that the real Miss Grant was at Scarton. and has been there for the last six months.” “Y ou seem to have taken a great deal of trouble on my account." “Not at all. A pleasure, I assure you.” I will not deny that 1 was frightened. I was to a certain extent in the man's power, and I knew that he could have me ignominiously expelled from the Castle at a moment’s notice. But I hated him much more than I feared him, I had no doubt about that. “Poor Miss Dalrymple!” I caught myself thinking, “to make an idol of a creature like this!” “Come, Miss Grant, suppose we stop squabbling ami talk the matter over .in a friendly way.” He stretched himself along at my side, and though I shrank from him in my heart I had not the courage to allow the loathing I felt for him to appear. “Whether you are Miss Grant's sister or not matters nothing to me. and I can't see that it matters very much to you in the present instance. Y'ou are certainly not the girl you have been pretending to be. and that should be enough for Mitchell, and enough for most people. I should think. But I have no wish to press hardly on you.” To this I made no answer. “Y'ou know. I think it was awfully plucky of you to come here and beard the lion in his den—under‘another name too.” He laughed softly to himself. “By .love! not one woman in ten thousand could have done it.” Still I made no reply. I knew that he was staring at me. though I kept my eyes sedulously’ fixed on the sketch of the bit of heather. “Who was that foreigner I saw you with when you first came here?” he asked sharpjy. “A friend of mine." "Not one you have any reason to be proud of. 1 should imagine. If I am not mistaken, he is a man 1 once saw tried in Italy on a charge of being accomplice to a murderer. Seems to me the less you have to do with him the better.” I was silent. •‘Was it by his advice you came here?” “No; the idea was entirely my own.” "But he has been helping you, I suppose?” “Yes. he has been a kind friend to me.” Again that soft, hateful smile. “Tell you what. Miss Grant—” and he threw himself baek on the heather, and looked at me lazily out of halfelosed eyes—“how should you like to have me as a partner instead of that Italian fellow? I fancy 1 could be a good deal more useful to yon than he.” I dropped my hands in my lap and sat staring at him in open astonishment. “What do you mean?” I breathed half unconsciously. "Mean? Just what I have said. Y'ou want to find out certain things about your father, and so on. but it is evident that you cannot do much by’ yourself. Now I could be of immense use to you. I know’ Mitchell down to the ground, and could easily get from him all you want to know.” 1 drew up my knees. I remember, looking the man straight in the face. "Why do you make me this offer?” I said.

“Why? Because 1 admire you immensely. and would do anything I could to forward your interests.” “Was it to forward my interests that you laid a trap for me the other day thro.ugh Miss Dalrymple?" He laughed easily. "That was when I wanted to find you out; but now that I know all about you 1 want to be your friendIs it a bargain?” 1 was still confused, bewildered, by the man's offers of help. What could be his motive? Was he really disposed to be my friend, or was this merely a trick—an attempt to gain my confidence and frustrate m.v plans? Most likely it was the latter. 1 felt—-1 knew —that I could not trust him. But I felt at the same time that

it wan absolutely necessary to allow him to think that 1 did trust him. 1 rose slowly to my feet, and he did the same. When he put out his hand to help me 1 did not reject it.

“Mr Durant," 1 said deliberately, “I am not in a position to refuse your help, or the help of anyone. Indeed, 1 shall be grateful for it; you know already that I want—l want to learn whether—” 1 was about to say, "whether I am really Mr Grant's daughter,” but I saw it would not do to let him see that I was in ignorance on this point. I went on with hardly a perceptible break, —“whether I have any relations living besides my sister, and who they are- And besides, I want’ to know why Mr Mitchell has hidden me away from the world all these years, pretending that I was dead. But is it not time that we were going back to the others? They will wonder what has become of us."

CHAPTER XVI. IN SUSPENSE. We walked home together, and I laughed and chatted like the rest. The very effort to appear as usual helped me to forget my anxiety. But when 1 went up to my own room to dress for dinner I almost broke down. Would Mr Durant lx*tray my wretched secret, or was he sincere in his offers of help? In any case 1 felt that to live in the power of a man like Durant, cold, cunning. and 1 feared cruel, was absolutely intolerable. After dinner that evening my host and Durant walked up ami down together on the teraree below the Castle, smoking, for the greater part of an hour. What would 1 not have given to liable to overhear their conversation? I felt certain that they were discussing me, for I had never seen them hold a private 'conversation together before. And somehow the idea had got into my head that these two were in league with each other, and that the offer of friendship and help which Air Durant had made to me was nothing but a snare to enable him to learn my plans and baffle them. When Mr Mitchell and his companion came indoors they did not separate, as I expected they would have done, but went together to Mr Mitchell’s study.

This room was a small one. It lay at the back of the Castle, and it communicated with a room used as a sort of book lumber-room, where all the rubbish of old magazines, old music, ami volumes that were not handsome enough to be allowed a place on the library shelves were kept. The longing to know what these two men were saying to one another grew upon me till it became a positive pain, ami 1 began to think whether it was quite impossible for me to gratify mv desire. Suppose 1 went into the bookroom. and very gently! opened the door between the two rooms, might they not be so engrossed in their conversation that they would not notice the slight noise made in opening the door? Was it not worth trying? Of course detection would mean exposure —ruin. But was I not exposed, ruined, already? Was it any mpre than a question of time when my shame would be made public? I rose from the corner in the drawingroom where I had been sitting, and crossed the hall. As 1 did so the sound of merry voices and laughter Vame tp me from the billiard-room. I was safe from the visitors nt any rate. 1 said to myself. The book room was quite empty. In the gathering dusk I could just see the piles of old newspapers and yellow backed novels that littered the floor. Avoiding them. I stole up to the door that led to the study, and listened. Not even the sound of voices could be heard. I had my hand on the handle of the door, when a voice behind me said: “You musn’t go in ther.'. Miss Grant. Mr Mitchell and Mr Durant are engaged. and they don't want to be disturbed." It was Miss Dalrymple. 1 could see her tall figure in black outlined against the window behind her. “Oh. 1 didn't know," I answered, stepping back immediately. Luckily, the twilight hid my confusion. Mi s Dalrymple noticed nothing of it. “I don't know what made me behave so foolishly the other day. Miss Grant." she blurted out. "As if I had any right to interfere between you and Mr Durant!” 1 was amazed, and at the same time

touched by the humility of her tone. “Dear Miss Dalrymple.” I said, taking her unresisting hand, and leading her to the window seat, "please don't think of making any apology, to me. You said nothing that required an apology. And as for Mr Durant. I assure ydu ” "Oh, Miss Grant, don't deny it! Everyone sees how much he thinks of you. Miss Marjory was saying only yesterday that she was so glad of it ” She stopped suddenly, and 1 knew very well the reason why Miss Keith was pleased that I should have some one besides her brother to talk to me. 1 saw that nothi g I could' say was likely to reassure the poor jealous creature at my side, but I did say, as earnestly as I could, “1 can only speak for myself. Miss Dalrymple, but I declare that 1 have not the smallest feeling for Mr Durant, of the kind you mean. lam not in love with him, nor at all likely to be, and I don’t believe for a moment that he is in love with me.”

“Oh, Miss Grant, didn’t you and he spend the greater part of the afternoon together?” “Not the greater part of the afternoon. and our conversation, if you could have overheard it, was something very different from love-making, I assure you.” The only answer to this was a sigh. Was there nothing I could say that would drive this absurd notion out of the good woman’s head? *l*or one thing,’ I said, “I have no money, and Mr Durant is not a wealthy man. I understand. Artists never are. He is certain to wish to marry money——” "Indeed you are quite mistaken. Miss Grant. cried my compan'on. "Air Durant is very fond of art. and he likes to be taken for a professional artist, but he does not need to make money by his paintings or his music. He is what they call a financier. I have heard my unele say that he is the cleverest financier he knows. He could make piles of money if he liked. And he does not care to marry a rich woman—he told me so himself.”

Miss Dalrymple’s voice quavered a little as she spoke these la,st words, and impulsively I put out my hand to her in the darkness as we sat side bv side, and took her hand in mine. For answer she threw her other arm round niy neck, and began crying, not noisily, but in a. quiet, resigned fashion that was to me far more fondling. I could no longer affect not to know her secret, but I could say nothing to comfort her. What would have been the use of saving that I believed the man she loved to be false ami unscrupulous? 1 thought I could hear the scoundrel's soft voice as he assured the middle-aged uglv niece of the rich man that he could make as much money as he chose, and would not be influenced by any money considerations in his choice of a' wife. He would have her believe that he sought her for herself alone. We left the room together, and I saw no more of Mr Mitchell that night. I had retired to my room, and was preparing to undress, when a tap came to my door. I opened it, and found one of the servants, who put a note into my hand and went off without a word. The note was from Mr Durant. '

“I leave to-morrow morning for the south, and it is not likely that I will return to Inveroran for some weeks, or it may be months. There will be no opportunity to say a word to you in private in the morning. May I ask you to meet me to-night for a few moments in the library? There are some things 1 must say to you before 1 go--something to tell you which it is imperative that you should know. When the stable clock strikes, twelve 1 shall be in the library, and there is little chance of our being disturbed •it that hour. Do not fail to come.—T..D.” That was the message. I felt that I did not dare to disobey the summons. I was in the man's power, and he knew it. And at the same time I was naturally curious to know what it was he meant tn tell me. f waited till the clock over the stables had chimed the hour of midnight. and then left my room, taking care to dose and lock my door behind me. and softly crept downstairs. It was nearly full moon, ami a ghostly light streaming through the window on the stairs .filled the hall. The library door was ajar. I entered, and Durant came forward to meet me.

But for the moonlight the room was in darkness. "Thank you for coming," he said, speaking in a respectful but rapid way, as if he knew that the time was short. “1 shall not keep you long. And first —have you thought over what I said to you this afternoon? Are you going to lie my friend? Are you prepared to confide in me?” 1 had already prepared my answer to this question. It was plain that I must purchase the man’s silence, and I told him I was ready to answer any question he wished to put to me. “That is well —you will not regret it. And now tell me what letters—papers of any kind —you have that belonged to your father?” “I have not a scrap—not a single line.” He started. "Then how do you know that you are Grant’s daughter?” he asked, sharply. “Only from my likeness to Sidney Grant, and from the fact that I recognised Air AfcPhail as the man who used to visit at the house where I was kept when I was a child.” “Pooh! That goes Tor nothing. I mean, it may be enough to make you and me believe that you are Sidney Grant’s sister," but as evidence it is simply worthless.” He left me standing there by myself and walked the length of the room and back again. “How was it that Mrs McPhail did not recognise you?” he asked, sharply. “She was not the woman I lived with in London.” "Oh! Yet I never heard that the man had been married before. I wonder whether he had a sister. What was the name of the woman you stayed with?” "Mrs Martin.” "She may have been a relation of AlePhail’s. Or she may not. It is quite possible that Grant’s second child may really have died, and that you are somebody else’s child. Th# whole thing may prove a mare’s nest.” I was silent, but no word that fell from his lips escaped me. “Tell me where you went after you left this Airs Martin.” I told him. adding, “But if you want information on any of these points, why not ask one who can probably tell you all you want to know?”

■‘And who is that?” “Air. Alitchell. You are on frittndly terms with him, are you not?” He smiled queerly, and answered, speaking slowly, as if weighing his words, “We are on friendly terms, it is true; but his interests and mine are not identical in this matter.” “Or AlcPhail." "Surely you are aware that AfcPhail is Mitchell's ally, as well as his factor. Ideally—is it worth while?" 1 heard him mutter to himself. “The strange thing is that Air. Alitchell should have been at such pains to efface roe,” said I. “Yes; that is the one thing that makes me hope that we are on the right track.” “On the right track —where?” He looked at me queerly, as though he knew that I was not as simple as I looked. “Our goal is to clear up the mystery of your life, is it not?” he answered lightly. “And now I must tell you that I am going to make some inquiries in London. I shall be away some time, if, as I imagine, I have to go to Australia.” “To Australia!” “Yes. Are you sorry to hear it?” This was said in a tone I did not like at all. I thought it was best to make no direct reply. “What I meant was that it is scarcely likely that we should meet again, in that case. Long before that the truth must come out. Mr. Mitchell must learn somehow that 1 am not Sidney — “But he must not! He must not be allowed to have the smallest suspicion. That is essential.” “But he may come to know it. I may make a slip in talking to him at any time. He may write to Airs Leadbitter, and in that event, of course. I I must leave the Castle, and give up the hope of learning anything more. There seems to be nothing worth learning. It would have been better for me if I had stayed in Italy.” “Don’t say that yet, Aliss Grant. Trust in me. and I will see that justice is done you. You have someone to tight for you now.” A shudder passed through me as 1 heard these words. The man inspired me with an unconquerable aversion. In my heart I felt that T wanted no such champion. That Louis Durant

was the man to take up the cause of a persecuted or wronged person from disinterested motives 1 did not l»e--lieve. “And if 1 am driven from the Castle 1 began. “In that case write to this address,” he scribbled an address on the leaf of his pocket-book and handed it to me; “and you will find that 1 have made provision for you in the meantime, till my return. I think that is all. Are you quite sure you have no paper or letters of your father’s?” “None.” “You never heard of his having made a will?” “Never.” “You never heard Airs. Martin speak of the terms on which she and Mr Mitchell stood? Think, now.” “If I heard anything of that kind I certainly don’t remember it. I didn’t even know Mr. Mitchell’s name till shortly before I came here.” I stopped, thinking that perhaps I had said too much. “You think that perhaps Mr. Alitchell and my father were partners. or something of that kind?” I added. “That is exactly what I should like to find out.” he said with a smile. “I must go now —but you have not yet told me what you said it was important that I should know,” I said, with my hand on the door. “Do you call it nothing that I am going to Australia on your account?” he asked lightly. “Alany girls would think that some slight service, but you seem to regard it as nothing.” I felt quite convinced that if Air. Durant was indeed about to go to Australia it was for his own sake, not for mine; but I said gravely, “You must not think me ungrateful, Mr. Durant. That is not one of my faults. 1 am more than grateful for any service done to me.” I felt that 1 spoke, as I felt, very coldly. But what more could I say? What reward could 1 promise him? But Air. Durant relieved me of my embarrassment. He lifted my hand to his lips, and with a smiling face bade me good-bye. (To be continued.)