BROTHER ROGUE AND BROTHER SAINT

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 18, 6 May 1905, Page 8

BROTHER ROGUE AND BROTHER SAINT

By

TOM GALLON

AixtHor of “ Tatter-ley,” “A Rogue in Love,” etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENTS I.—II. Roger Carvell, a hard hearted aud harder headed provincial banker has two sons, Stephen—the elder, who sticks tu business, and is his father s favourite —and Dick. Un his return from a jaunt to London, his father, largely owing to St phen s interference, disowns his younger son, who seeks consolation at the hands of his sweetheart. Olive Wilmore, but. bung forestalled by his brother, meets with a cool welcome.’ Half mad with disappointment and despair he spends a rollicking night at the club, after which, hardly responsible for his actions, he breaks into his father s house, and rinds the bank keys lying ready to his hands. Steph n is leading a double life; he has already embezzled large sums from his father: is in a quagmire of debt, and is actually at th bank, falsifying the books at the moment Dick enters by means of his father's keys. He sees Dick take a large sum of money from the safe and then return it; sees him fall asleep at his father's desk, aud finally, himself takes the money and the keys. On awakening. Dick concludes that he has taken the' money and hidden it somewhere. In despair h ■ determines to mysteriously disappear. On his return-to the house, Stephcn finds that James Farley, whom he has swindled out of a fortune, is waiting for him. and threat us exposure if he Is not paid to be silent. In a struggle. Stephen accidentally kills the man, and. correctly surmising Dick’s movements, takes the body up to his broth r's room, where he sets fire to the bed. After the fire is subdued, and th • robbery discovered. Stephen protK»unds. to his father, the theory that me I'ft had been committ: d by Dick, who had then returned to the house and met an accidental death. Au inquest is fit hi. at which Stephen is earefu* that his version of the affair is told to the jury. Th • night after the funeral. Stephen is drawn to the grave, where he is terribly start!, d to find himself face to face with Dick, who is anxious to know what it all means. The latter is easily persuaded that it is to his interest to disappear, the more so as he is assured that his sw etheart is glad that he has goue out of her life. The field is then kft clear fo Stephen, who is the point of proposing to Olive, when Mrs Farley, the widow of his victim appears, and demands to know the whereabouts of her husband. Stephen, of « ourse. denies any knowl dee of the man. and is in the act of rudely dismissing Mrs Farley, when he is em '■ " ss I by th? appearance of his aunt Julia Pride, who privately learns later from an old servant. that Dick has been seen alive. Julia Pride departs to inv st! gate the matter, taking with her the wife of the dead man.

CHAPTER VII. GHOSTLY < OMPANY. WHEN Mr. Richard Smith—poor forlorn ghost of a certain dead Richard Carvell—started out into the world, he had one determination firmly fixed in a mind which had never been noted for any great fixi:y of purpose; the determination never again to tread the streets of Market Rimstone, or to look upon the face of anyone ho knew or f • irse, was very admirable so far as it went: but Dick had failed to take into account the weaknesses of human nature in general, and of his own in particular. In the fir«t plat-. . it must be remembered that he wa> in love; and there is no accounting for what a man may do when in tha‘ • mdition. In the second place, it r. be remembered • ’ somewhat hardly treated, and was s ■ of injustice. All thing- considered, it was more difficult to I ave the neighbour hood of Mark-• Rimstone than he had thought. For a day or t wo —and for a night or tu. - he haunted the neighbourhood, going especially to that new-looking hou§«* inhabited by Mrs Wilmore and her daughter. Once, indeed, he caught sight of the girl walking in the ground’, and had a hard matter to keep him-

self from speaking to her. Knowing, however, what disastrous things must follow such a proceeding, he refrained, and crept away again, more unhappy than ever. And then at last one night Dick, seeing the hopelessness of it all. turned his back on Market Rimstone. and faced the world in earnest. "It’s no good Dick,” he said, addressing himself, severely—"this won’t do. You’ve got to begin again: you know you promised that. On the one side is some unknown man in a quiet grave, with your name and your sins for company: on the other side there’s you. with no name at all. save that which you have taken to yourself, and with the sure and certain knowledge that you can't dig up the dead stranger, because by doing it you publish your own shame. You’re a thief. Dick Carvell. and you’ll get the reward of a thief if you try to go back. Be a man; face the world like a man.” Despite the bitterness attendant upon that thought, there was something refreshing in it. in the sense that past mistakes and troubles and responsibilities dropped away from him, and need not be carried into a new life. True, old delights and hopes dropped away, too, but that wasn’t to be avoided. Mr Richard Smith could have nothing in common with Mr Richard Carvell. deceased. Poverty is a great incentive to pedestrianism: Dick walked. He had but a small sum in his pocket, and that small sum had to last him into a very indefinite future. Dick was learning thrift in a hard school: for the first time in his life he looked at a coin not only on both sides, but all round the edges, before spending it. He got cheap beds at little wayside inns for the first night or two after leaving Market Rimstone: and was afoot again early in the morning, with a great determination in his mind that he would, in some mysterious fashion, begin to earn a livelihood before nightfall. He found it difficult—in fact, impossible, to earn anything. He met numbers of busy people in every possible walk of life; but all the gaps were filled, and there was absolutely nothing to be done anywhere, unless he should turn his attention to agricultural pursuits: and his style of dress scarcely favoured that. Moreover, pedestrianism, taken in large doses, did not suit his temperament at all; and he was quite astonished, at the end of a few ■ lays, to find that he was stupidly longing, more than ever, for the dull old town of Market Rimstone. Utterly worn out and dispirited as lie was. he made a resolve to start back again on the morrow; and actually retraced his steps, during the next few days, until he had reached a little town not more •.han twenty miles from Market Rimst.uie. Dick must be forgiven if, even at this time, and with so uncertain a future to face, he took his troubles more lightly than he should have done. That looking at each coin had become a troublesome and a wearisome matter: he told himself that he had no responsibilities. and that he was. above all things, strong and young, and well able to cope with the world, however hardly it might use him. Looking at :he very few coins still remaining to him. he decided that he had enough for a bed and a meal, and something over. He told himself further, that he had done rather well in making his small capital last for so longa time; to morrow might take care of itself; he urged upon himself, somewhat whimsically, that to night he needed mental and

moral refreshment. Casting dull care to the winds—(always an easy matter with Dick) —he decided that he would patronise a certain entertainment then proceeding in the local hall of the town he had reached.

Several large bills outside the hall and on the walls of the town generally, announced the fact of the important production within, A certain Mr and Mrs Orlando Joplin, supported by a London company, were appearing nightly (or to be more strictly acurate, for six nights only) in that stirring drama, "The Forger’s Fate,” described as of heart-searching quality. The public were earnestly advised to seek the early doors, in order to avoid the crush; but whatever crush there had been was gone. Dick sauntered in, and took his seat in a house that was half empty, and followed the fate of Mr Orlando Joplin, in the character of the forger, with more or less attention.

Then it was, of course, that Mr. John Tuff, in the character of a comic clerk, with a huge quill pen behind each ear. and another in his mouth, and a fourth for the purpose of writing with, saw in the audience that figure, as he believed, of a dead man; and was so startled and impressed by it that he forgot the few lines which had been entrusted to him, and played his small part rather worse even than usual.

Dick Carvell. quite unconscious of the sensation he was creating, watched Mr. Orlando Joplin being lured on to crime after crime by the real villain of the piece; saw him concealed behind curtains; and innocently picking up bloodstained knives, and other things of a like nature dropped by the villain, the while he was protected by Mrs. Orlando Joplin, who went about for the most part with a shawl over her head, instead of the regulation hat or bonnet, and spoke long speeches up to the roof of the hall, what time she was not calling down the wrath of Heaven upon the villain. As Mr. Orlando Joplin was a small and meagre man, with a timid manner, and a high voice, and Mrs. Orlando •Toplin was formed on nature's largest plan, and had a remarkably deep voice, tb.e general effect was somewhat grotesque. Indeed. when at last the unfortunate forger died in her arms, with all the stage lights full upon him, it had something of the effect of a very large mother nursing an overgrown baby; especially as Mrs. Joplin, in the stress of her emotion, rocked Mr. Jop

lin to and fro. while delivering her final malediction against the villain, who was afterwards to die in agony in a scene all to himself. \\ hen at last the curtain descended, and the scanty audience strayed out into the street, Dick wondered a little why he had spent the money. He did not know then how far-reaching was to be the effect of that night at the play.

His funds had reached so low an ebb, and he had been so careless regarding the future, that he found to his consternation that the purchase of a bed for the night would mean that his food would have to be reduced for the morrow: and as food was of more importance than a bed, Dick decided that he would do without that latter luxury. As he wandered away from the theatre, he was quite unconscious of the fact that Mr. John Tuff was following him; in fact, he would not have known that gentleman. in all probability, had he met him face to face; for John had only visited his father on rare occasions, and then had not come in contact with Mr. Richard Carvell. Dick strolled on aimlessly enough: fortunately for him. the night was fine, and he was not afraid to face the fact that the skies must shelter him. But as it grew later and later, and the last people out of doors in the little town had drifted to their homes, Dick became aware of this persistent young man who strolled, apparently aimlessly, be-

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hind hiiu. A little restless under the scrutiny of the stranger, Dick turned abruptly and passed him. John Tutt looked up at the skies, as though endeavouring to remember something he had forgotten, and scratched his chin meditatively, and stood still. But when Dick looked back a moment later. John Tuff was coming along steadily after him.

The new Richard Smith was. of course, suspicious of discovery, and he hesitated for a moment what to do. To run would mean that he confessed at one? that he was afraid of an encounter; to meet the man might prove as bad. However, while he hesitated. John Tuff settled the matter for himself and for Dick as well, by moving nervously towards the latter. “You’ll excuse me. sir—but I saw you in the theatre to-night.” he began. “Well, what of that?*’ asked Dick sharply. “There were a few people in the hall, I believe. What do you want?” “T caught sight of you when 1 was doing that funny bit with my head under the lid of the desk,’’ went on John, with a. smile. “That generally gets a laugh, and it was while I was looking round and waitin’ for it. as you might say, that I caught sight of you.” “Perhaps I wasn’t laughing,” said Dick. “If so. I'm sorry,” “It wasn't that exactly.” said John Tuff seriously. “It was because I knew you—and you didn’t ought to be there at all.”

<r Oh, I’d paid my money,” said Dick, with a laugh. “I didn't mean that, sir,” said John. “T meant that you ought not to have been there because—well—because you were dead.'* “I'm afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” replied Dick coldly. “If you wish to know, my name is Smith— Richard Smith.” “The first one’s all right.” said John Tuff, with a nod—“and as for the second, there's such a lot of them knocking about that I suppose they're easy picked up. Now I ask you, sir. as man to man —do you look like Richard Smith?*' “I don’t know’.” replied Dick, with a laugh. “I don’t know how I ought to look at all, I'm sure. What would you like to call myself? I’m always willing to oblige.” “If I had the naming of you. sir,’’ said John, slowly, “I should write you down Richard Carvel I.” “Never heard the name in my life,” said Dick, stoutly. “So that you see, my friend, you would write me down wrongly.”

“Asking your pardon, sir. I should not,” retorted the other. “Come. sir. as man to man—l’ve played a few parts in my time, from holding a banner upwards—and I’m used to it; but you’re playing a part now, Mr Richard Carveil, and it don’t fit you. Why. from what I’ve read about you in the papers, the ghost of 'Amlet would be more your mark-” “I told you just now that I was of an obliging nature,” said Dick, after a moment’s pause. “Supposing I let you christen me Richard Carveil ” ’’Done at the font years ago,” murmured John Tuff as an aside. “ —What is your particular fancy for doing so?’’ “First—because I know you, and have met you in Market Rimstone in your own father’s house; second—because, according to the papers, you’re dead and buried some time back; and third, because you don’t look Richard Smith, and you never will.” Thus Mr John Tuff, in great excitement, and with his round, rather in nocent-looking face glowing with eagerness. Dick laughed boyishly, and shrugged his shoulders. “Good reasons all.” he said, “a ml I should Ih* h fool to deny how just they are. Let us say that .1 am Richard Carveil-—back from the grave—or never having entered it—what then? And more than that—who are you that knows so much about me?” “My father, sir. is Tuff of the house of Carveil.” said the young man. “One of the best fathers that ever lived, though pig 'eaded. and having a rooted objection to the boards. I have seen you, sir. several times, when I have been to Market Rimstone on filial duty intent.”

“And you’ve run me to earth here.” said Dick. “Now, Mr Tuff, the son of your father can be nothing but a gentleman, and I want to appeal to you as a gentleman. For certain reasons 1 may not divulge. I have dropped out of the scheme of life; I am apparently dead and buried and done for, and a certain

Richard Smith (a handy name that no one will quarrel with me fur annexing) has sprung up in my place. Let sleeping dogs—or dead dogs, for the matter of that —lie, Mr Tuff; I’m a dead dog, and that’s all you need know. More than that, l*m a poor dog—without a friend in the world, without a home, without a future. Good-night.” He turned on his heel, and walked rapidly away; John Tuff ran after him. ■“Stop a minute, sir—stop a minute!’’ exclaimed John, eagerly clutching at his anu. “My father's the best of fathers, as I’ve said, though down on play actors, and often and often I've heard him speak of you as ’Master Dick,’ and as one of the best also. Never thought much of your brother, if you’ll excuse me saying it. didn’t father—but you was what might be called a tiptopper. Consequently, I couldn't find it in my conscience to let you go off like this—sort of exit to slow music 'business, and no call afterwards.” All this John Tuff poured out at a great rate, as he ran along beside Dick, who was striding away in a great hurry.

Dick stopped, and looked down at John Tuff; he spoke huskily, because it was not an easy matter to speak at all to this man. the first friendly creature who had spoken to him for a long time. “I might have known you were old Tuff’s son—you couldn’t have spoken so nicely if you hadn't been. But you can’t do me any good; you can’t call me back from the grave into which I have let people thrust me. As I’ve told you. I’m done with; I'm an outsider, with no earthly chance in the race of life. All the same. I’m grateful to you; it’s good to hear a friendly voice.”

“I don’t in the least know, sir, why you've changed your name—unless it should 'appen to be that you’re going in for the profession, where it’s done constantly,” went on John Tuff rapidly. **My own name being fitted for comedy parts, 1 was rather grateful to father for having given it me. in a manner of .-peaking; but that don't concern us now. The only thing is, sir, why be without a home, or friend, if I might make so bold, when here is one to hand? I’m sure if father knew' that I'd ever passed by Master Dick, as he called you, there wouldn't be much chance for me when he comes to arrange about his savings. I’ve got a quiet and humble lodging near by—in the same house, I may say, as the manager and his wife—always a handy thing to keep the ear of the management as it were; and so I makes a rule of taking a top attic, while they spread themselves on the first floor. It’s the only way of getting on in this profession, if you ask me. And if only you’d consent to come home with me, and let me introduce you as a gentleman friend, it might give me that sort of leg up that’d land me straight under the limes for the rest of my life. So you see, sir, it wouldn’t be altogether on your side; 1 should be getting a bit out of it. And Mrs Joplin, a rare believer in blood, too, I can assure you, sir.”

John Tuff had talked hi inself out of breath by this time, and could only gaze expectantly at Dick. Good, easy Dick—• hungering for sympathy and friendship, no matter of what sort—shrugged his shoulders again, slipped his arm through the arm of the gratified Mr. Tuff, and walked off with him. “For to-night at least/’ he said, “Richard Carveil should come back from the grave, to give you his ghostly compan, Mr Tuff.” They walked back together to John Tuff’s lodgings, climbed the stairs to the attic that gentleman had described, and found themselves, to use his expression, “at ’ome all in a minute.” And then John busied about to get something for his new friend to eat and to drink. •J shan’t forget this in a hurry. Tuff’,” said Dick gratefully. “When a man has been out of touch with the world for a week or two, and has scarcely spoken to a human being, except to ask for what he x ants. it’s good to look on the face of a friend.” “I'm sure, Mr Carvel I ” “Not that,” broke in Dick hastily. “Richard Smith—now and always. And to-night is an oasis in the life of Richard Smith; he eats and drinks, and is almost merry; to-morrow he goes back to the obscurity from which you have dragged him.” “Is there no chance of your going back —I mean properly bark, to be the gentleman that mustn’t he mentioned?” asked John Tuff anxiously. You see. I'm a bit startled in a manner of speaking, because it isn’t often you drop the silent tear over the grave of a friend, as it were, as set forth in the newspapers, and the next day, almost, find him drink-

ing your whisky and soda. Though always moat welcome, 1 assure you, alive or dead,” added John hurriedly. “There is no chance of my ever going back at all," said Dick. "As Richard Smith I am making a somewhat weak attempt to face the world and earn * living; but. I’m too respectable-looking to dig. and as to stealing”—Dick's facr» flushed, and he turned away his head—“l shan't do that.” John Tuff remembered certain dark hints in the papers concerning the loss of a sum of money, the mere mention of which was sufficient to take his breath away, and delicately said nothing. At that very moment there came a knock at the door, and a small man thrust in a very large head, and ejaculated in an excited whisper the one word. “Tuff!”

Mr. Tuff hurriedly pulled open the door, and disclosed the figure of Mr. Orlando Joplin in private life, with no tru.ee of the persecuted forger alxmt him. except that he wore the look of dejection which Dick, had noticed as prominent in that character. After a glance at Dick. Mr. Joplin, in a mysterious stage whisper, spoke to John Tuff. “Tuff—Mrs. Joplin, in quite a lady like fashion, is tearing her hair—reciting bits from the Bard in the wrong places, and generally disturbing what you might call the night watches. Mrs. Jop lin is upset.” “Something gone wrong?” asked John Tuff.

“Everything has gone wrong.” exclaimed the little man. still in the same rasping whisper. “Hobson has objected to the cutting of (vrtain lines, although goodness knows he ought to be used to it by this time—and has gone. There isn’t a man to be had in time for tomorrow'. Not a single, solitary man. What’s to lie done?” While the little man excitedly poured out these words. John Tuff looked with raised eyebrows, and a quizzical smile at Dick, who tried politely enough not to hear the conversation. Then suddenly, with a very flushed face. John flung out a hand dramatically towards Mr. Richard Smith, and exclaimed : “There’s your man! What's the matter with him?”

Mr. Joplin looked at Dick a litt’e doubtfully: seeing before him a tall, wellbuilt, handsome young fellow, he scrutirused him carefully, turned and nodded to Tull very rapidly, then also waved a hand towards Dick. “Pray introduce me to your friend,” saici Mr. Joplin, with an air if importance. “An actor friend. I presume?” he added, when the introduction had been duly mad'. “An actor, sir?” broke in John Tuff, la-fore Dick had time to speak. “All the plays that my friend Mr. Richard Smith hasn't played in you might safely swallow’, sir, and they wouldn't hurt you. I daresay you've heard the name. Mr. Richard Smith 'appens to lie resting at the moment; he’s a quick study ami a hard worker. As for his manners on the stage—” “Really, my dear Tuff—” began Dick. “The only thing that's ever been against 'ini, sir. is his modesty." went on Tuff, warming with his subject. “He hasn't made enough of himself, in a manner of speaking. And really if it isn’t the funniest thing in the world," Tv? added. “that he should have looked in tonight, just at the moment when Mr. Hobson takes it into his head to cut 'is lucky.” Ii» this extraordinary fashion Dick suddenly found himself on the fair road to a profession—or. at all events, to the earning of something of an income. Scarcely knowing what was happening, he was dragged downstairs by the excited and jubilant John Tuff and Orlando Joplin: was introduced to Mrs. Joplin (who at once l>egan politely tearing her hair on hearing sounds of their approach), and was received with icy politeness by that lady. She pointed out to him how’ absolutely necessary it was that he should understand that the public clam ourtd to see her in tin? trying role of the forger’s wife, and in a secondary fashion, Mr. Orlando Joplin, the forger; that the author had found it necessary to make a great deal more of the part of (b>‘ villian, originally played by Mr. Hobson, than was at all necessary; ami that, in fact. Mr. Richard Smith, in playing that part, must bear before him always the motto—“ Keep it down!” All of which

pick faithfully aud gratefully promised that he would remember. Then it was that John Tuff, in the pride of his heart, wrote that note to his father which was to have such tremendous consequences attached to it. Only, at the last moment, remembering bis promise to Dick, he merely stated, as we already know, that he had seen Dick in the theatre, and afterwards outside it; but he said nothing concerning Dick’s engagement by the Joplins, or indeed that John himself had held any conversation with the missing man.

Within the next 24 hours events moved rapidly. Mrs. Julia Pride set out for that little town, wherein Dick innocently imagined he was successfully hidd« n, accompanied by the desolate woman she had befriended; going to the theatre, she had the grim satisfaction of watching a man, who ought by all the laws of human nature to have been dead, give a remarkably bad performance of a villainous creature, with an appropriate death scene all to himself in the last act : although be it said that Mrs. Orlando .Joplin, finding her new recruit as wax in her hands, had already arranged a scene for herself, wherein, in spirit form, she haunted his dying moments. and so added a new terror to death itself.

Dick, coming home arm in arm with Mr. John Tuff, was faced by an excited little woman, who had beside her a taller, younger woman: understanding the situation, Dirk turned to fly. but was caught and held in the little old woman's arms. In another moment she would have blurted out his name; but he had his hand close on her lips, and his mouth, at her ear.

“Bichard Smith, as you love me. aunt.’* he whispered. “Long lost—or anything you like: but not the name of the dead. I'll explain everything—but call me Bichard Smith. .Who’s your friend?” Composing herself with some difficultv. Mrs. Julia Pride stepped back, and indicated the young and pretty woman betide her. Dick thought, as he looked at the stranger, how ill and shabby she seemed to be. “This.” said Mrs. Pride, waving a hand towards Dick—“this is the—the son of an old friend of mine—Mr Richard Smith. Dick**.—she pointed to the 'younger woman—“this is a ’friend of mine—Mrs. Farley. We —we are travelling together.” Dick performed the necessary office of introduction to John Tuff, and tiny turned away towards their lodgings. Even as Dick heard Mrs. Pride consulting with John Tuff as to the best place for her and her companion to lodge, he became aware that Mrs. Farley was speaking to him.

“4 have only known Mrs. Pride a very, very short time.” said Esther, in a low’ tone. “I met_her first at Market Rimstone —at the house of a Mr. Carvell.” “What took you to Market Rimstone •—or to Mr.—Mr. Carvell?” asked Dick, striving to steady his voice.

“I hail gone to look for my husband,” she replied. “I traced him there—and no further. Mrs. Pride-.seems to think she ean help >ne to find him.” ■‘Traced him to Carveil’s —and lost him?” asked Dick, stupidly staring at her. “Since he went to that house he has never been seen bv anv living soul,” said Esther. CHAPTER VIII. It must not be supposed for a moment Dick Carvell was a man with a subtle mind. It took him, generally speaking, quite a long time to arrive at any definite conclusion regarding anything: and more than that, his own line of conduct was always so happy-go-lucky and impulsive, that he. found it difficult to follow any proceedings based on more careful calculations than his own. Therefore when, after seeing Mrs Julia Pride and her companion to the hotel where the former lady had engaged rooms. Dick returned to the lodging he shared with John Tuff, he lay awake for quite a long time, trying to figure out what had happened. and how far that remarkable statement made by Esther Farley touched the mvsterv of his own ease.

In his own blundering fashion he looked at the various points of the story so far as he knew them. On Stephen's admission, a certain man—a mere stranger am! a wandering tramp—had gone to the house of old Roger Carvell on the night of Dick's supposed death, had died tl’.eie suddenly, and had been placed by Stephen, for apparently the best possible motives, in the bed which should have been occupied by his brother Richard. No inquiry had hitherto been made concerning this stranger who had taken the place of a man glad enough to obliterate all traces of himself—a circumstance which was not surprising, seeing that innumerable tramps —the mere floating flotsam and jetsam of society—wander up and down the country, homeless and almost nameless. One more or less need not be accounted for. and might certainly never be traced. But. on the other hand, Dick had always been suspicious regarding the intentions of his brother Stephen. He mistrusted the saintly character the elder brother had east about himself: he had a shrewd suspicion that Stephen lived some part of his time in some nether world, of which his own particular little world knew nothing. Above all things, although' he had been grateful enough, on the spur of the moment, to think that Stephen should so adroitly and cleverly have covered up his retreat, he yet wondered what particular motive the elder brother could have had. There had been for years, almost a feud between the two: even on the very day of Dick’s supposed death Stephen had not only sided with his father against the younger son, but had actually made haste to spread the news of Dick’s disgrace in the very

quarter where it would be likely to have the most injurious effect—to wit, Mrs. Wilmore's house. Yet, in the most contradictory fashion. Stephen had afterwards taken the utmost pains to cover up Dick’s crime, at considerable hazard to himself; because suspicion might certainly have fallen upon him in regard to this stranger who had died in the house, and had been practically cremated by Stephen afterwards. One would have thought—or at least so Dick argued—that Stephen would have been only too willing to avail himself of the opportunity of giving Dick another thrust which should put him for ever outside the pale of decent society, and should, above al! things, place a greater gulf than ever between Olive Wihnore and her lover. Curiously enough, although he had thrust Dick aside, he had covered up that crime very completely. Now came the question of motive. Who was the unknown tramp who had got into the house, and died unexpectedly under the most dramatic circumstances, at the right moment when his death would serve Stephen most admirably? Stephen had said he was a tramp —an utterly unknown man: yet here was a woman who had traced a man to that house, and had lost him there: she herself had declared that no living soul had seen her busland from the time that he ha<l arrived at old Roger Carvell’s house. Dick sat up in bed, and stared into the darkness as a horrible thought occurred to him. There had been no time to question the woman, but was it not possible that the man might have had some hold upon Stephen—might have come there iu secret —might have been got rid of in that way. in place of the brother who had absconded? Dick felt a cold sweat of terror breaking out upon him as he thought of all the dreadful things that might have happened at that lonely house on that night of tragedy. Obviously the first thing to be done, for his own satisfaction at least, was to discover from Esther Farley what connection his brother had had with her or her husband. Having spoken but a few words to her, and being also, so fat as she knew, a perfect stranger, with no possible interest in the house of Carvell. Dick felt he could not question her himself; while to reveal to her the fact that he himself was a Carvell would be sufficient to put her on her guard. Under these circumstances he thought it better to appeal to that old lady— Mrs Julia Pride —who had taken so much pains to trace him. and who was, he felt, quite to be relied upon. He went down to the hotel as early as possible. and sought an interview with her. "Now, what you have to understand,

my dear Aunt,” he began, whea they were alone together—■'is’that 1 have no intentioW'pf ever going back, or ever even looking back. Dick Carvell, and his blunders, and his sins of omission and commission, are done with for ever, at the same time, as there were one or two people who rather liked hint, and rather believed in him. I would like if possible to clear his name; 1 would like them to say it was all a mistake, and that he was not so black as he was painted.”

“Diek, one straightforward question,” exclaimed Mrs Julia Pride. "Did you steal four thousand pounds?” Diek wheeled round suddenly, and stared at her. “You're wrong in the figures. Aunt,” he said. "I’ve got a sort of dim impression that I laid my bands on two thousand; I can see myself now,’ sitting at the desk, and counting over twenty of them—hundred pound notes every one—and wondering how many I should take, or whether I should take any at all. After that it's all a blank; until 1 woke up in the grey light of the morning, to find myself baek sit the bank—and the money gone. But I’ll swear it was only two thousand.”

“Stephen says four; he swore that at the inquest.” said Mrs Pride gravely. “And four thousand was missing from the bank.”

“Then someone else has helped themselves in my name,” said Diek, with a laugh. “Why, my dear Aunt, every, one of those notes., seems to be burnt into my brain anil even into my hands. Do you think 1 don't know how many of the brutal things I turned over with these fingers, that 1 should forget so soon? I wish I could remember all that happened that night: I had a sort of dream that 1 meant to put them all back again, and leave the place without taking anything at all. But that's a mistake about the four thousand; I never had that.” .. >

“Well, we won’t argue about it. Diek.” said the old lady. “The only thing is, I see nothing for it but. as you sug-> gest, for you to remain under a cloud for ever. Under a cloud, that is, so far as I am concerned, because I only—'and the Tuffs—know you to be alive; so far as the rest of the world is concerned, you are dead, and your sins are remembered against you.” ' ■ “Which is what I don’t like,” said Diek. “If I could know to-morrow that they spoke of me as having died with clean hands, I’d be content; perhaps someone 1 was fond of then might—— hut there —what’s the good of talking about it ?”

However. Dick did talk about it, meeting with considerable encourage-

tn ent in that direction from Mrs Julia Pridy. Under her sympathetic questioning he even told the story of his love for Olive Wilmore—a poor pitiful story, that was never to come to any proper conclusion, so far as he was concerned. And gradually he came to tell her of the remark Mrs Farley had made concerning the tracing of her husband to the house of the Carveils, and of his disappearance thereafter.

“\ou see. Aunt.” he went on. "I can’t get out of my mind the remembrance of that unfortunate tramp, who. according to mj brother, was burnt in my bed. I’ve ti ied to think it doesn’t concern me; that the man lies there covered up with the caitli from which he sprung, and bearing my name. But all sorts of ideas keep cropping up in my mind: 1 seem to see not this tiamp alone, but the busband of Airs Farley going to the house, and disappearing, too. 1 know it’s absurd, but 1 can’t think that Stephen hid away a complete stranger like that for nothing except to protect me. I don’t want to be uncharitable or unsympathetic. but it’s not like Stephen. Mrs Julia Pride paced about the room for a few moments, studying the pattern of the carpet very carefully, and evidently thinking deeply. At last she looked up at Dick, and spoke in her quick, clear, concise fashion. "There is a mystery, Dick —and I always knew there was one,” she said. ‘‘Whether you stole the money and spent it or not, I don’t know; but it is remarkable that your frank account of what you stole and Stephen’s account of what was lost do not coincide. Moreover, I found this Mrs Farley having an altercation with your brother—telling him that she did not trust him. She admit ted then that she had traced someone to that house, and had lost him; and, in conversation with her on our journey here. 1 discovered that a note, left behind by her husband, suggested that be would reach Market Rimstone on the very night of the fire, furious, to say the least of it. eh?” “Very.” said Dick in a low voice. “Has she got that note; would it tell us anything'.”

. it to me. Dick; I’ll see what can be done.” said Mrs Pride, with a nod. "At all events, for the present you shall remain plain Richard Smith, my boy; if we can call you from the grave in a clean, whole some fashion, we will; if not. you shall remain there. Trust to me, Dick; I’ll do my best in any case. I’ll come down to your lodgings presently, and tell you if I have discovered anything.”

Mrs Julia Pride set to work cautiously. Her guest made her appearance in due. course, and somewhat nervously and hesitatingly seated herself at the table, and began her breakfast. Mrs Pride, having already finished, stood in a manly attitude with her back to the fire, and talked with apparent carelessness to her guest. Gradually she got from her. by delicate questioning, some account of herself and her husband; of their struggles after a bright beginning; of their meeting with Stephen Carvell, and of his promise to make their fortunes for them in a very short space of time. After that, it was the old story of the one side paying everything, in blind confidence, and the other side returning nothing but specious promises; of debts and difficulties looming over them ; of the home of which

they had been so proud melting away before their eyes. The story ended with an account of their lives in a sordid London lodging, with the man striving hard to earn something-that should -give them bread at least. “Then one day. Mrs Pride, as I have told you, he disappeared. He went out quite casually one morning, as he had gone so often, to look for work; and he never came back. I waited and watched and longed; but 1 saw nothing of him. Anil then, some time later, quite unexpectedly, I found he had left a little not > for me. which I had overlooked.” “Have you that note’” asked Mrs Pride quickly. “I' found it only last night,” said Esther Earley, with the tears coming into her eyes. “It was the last thing he ever wrote me, and I was afraid 1 had lost it, or left it behind me in Ixmdon. Instead of that, I found that in my hurry in leaving town 1 had thrust it away in my pocket, among some odd things. Here it is.” She held out a crumpled scrap of paper to Mrs Julia Pride as she spoke. “Written in a hurry, and on the first piece of paper he could catch up,*' was Mrs Pride’s comment, as she looked at it. “You won’t mind my reading it, my dear, will you?” Esther Farley waved a hand towards it. and Julia Pride, with a nod, read it over softly to herself. “My darling wife.

“I am doing the only thing possible —the last thing that is left for me to do. 1 am going to make an appeal to the man who has been the cause of all our troubles and disasters. 1 mean to see him face to face if I can; 1 will wring something out of him, even if I can’t melt his heart by the tale of our sufferings. I can’t believe he’s so bad, but that he will give me some temporary help. 1 go to-day to find Stephen Carvell, at Market Rimstone; I will not leave him until 1 can get something from him. I am desperate, and he shall know it; I have everything to gain, and nothing to lose. This is for your comfort, in case you should feel too anxious about me. When I return, it shall be with good news: in any case I shall come straight back to you, whatever the result of my journey. “Yours in love and life. “James Farley.” “ Tn any case I shall come straight back to you, whatever the result of my Journey,’ ” said Mrs Julia Pride slowly to herself. “That’s conclusive, at any rate; and yet you have never seen him again,- eh?" “Never,” said Esther Farley, shaking her head “It is almost as though Mr Carrell's house had swallowed him up completely.” Mrs Julia Pride decided that it would be well to say nothing regarding her suspicions; in any case, if there was any truth in them, no good purpose would be served by rousing this alreadydistracted woman, and setting her upon the track of Stephen Carvell. Dick had to be thought of, and Dick’s interests; and Mrs Pride determined that for the present at least she would play a lone hand, without even consulting the man most interested in the business.

“It wants a woman for this,” declared Mrs Pride to herself. “A we man with taet and judgment; a woman with no interest in the case, except to see that Justice is done, and that that saintly Stephen Carvell is pulled down from the goodly place he occupies. It’s no use going to Dick; he’s too headstrong, too impulsive; it’s no use going to Stephen, because his policy will be to deity everything, and leave me to prove everything —which 1 can’t. If I could only get Dick to return and face the music; 1 don’t believe that his father would ever prosecute him at all., and we might then find out who is really buried in Dick’s place. I should just love to bring Dick in suddenly—spring him upon them all, as it were, and stir that sleepy old Market Rimstone to its depths. Hut it won't do; I must find someone else with more persuasive powers than 1 possess.” Mrs Julia Pride, being of a naturally sympathetic temperament, decided that there was but one person who could have had any real influence with Dick, and that person was Miss Olive Wilmore. Quite impossible, of course, to mention such a project to Dick, because that excitable young man would in all probability take the earliest opportunity of making his escape, and of becoming lost

again to everybody he knew. Mrs Pride had to act, and to act quickly; she decided to go back to Market Rimstonr that very day. Behold her. then, marching in a determined fashion into that town, wherein the name of Carvell was a power; behold her deciding at the last moment to seek Stephen Carvell. and to *ce it by chance she could not manage to surprise him into something of a confession. She went to her brother’s house, and demanded to see Stephen at once. To Tuff, who had admitted her, she said nothing; she simply put a finger on her lips to command silence. Stephen Carvell came to her within a moment or two. glancing at her somewhat anxout of his narrow eyes. “My dear Aunt, 1 did not hope to see you again,” he said. “Are you still oc the same quest regarding poor Dick?’’ “Not exactly.” said Mrs Pride coolly. "Things have changed since I saw you, Stephen; I’ve news for you. Prepare to receive a shock; I’ve found Dick —alive.” For a moment the man was obviously startled; then, recovering himself, he shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head, pityingly. "My dear Aunt,” he said with a faint smile, “I’m afraid your zeal in regard to poor Dick has upset

you a little. 1 have already told you that the poor fellow’s dead; 1 can show you his grave, if you like/’ “That grave wherein rests a certain unknown tramp, who died in this hotis°, and was burnt in Dick’s bed,’’ retorted Mrs. Prick' coolly. “You see I know all the >tory —and I also know the reason why Dick keeps out of the way.” “You’re charmingly frank,’’ said Stephen. “and you think you know a great deal. Doesn't it occur to you that you will find it rather hard to make people bclifye that the evidence of my poor brother's drath —the verdict giver by a coroner's jury—the very grave itself in which h< lies, are all to be controverted by th? fir t idle story put togethe r by a gossip ing woman? - Excuse my brutality, but that’s what it amounts to. You hav? fe«cn my brother Dick, you tell me; why lies he allowpd himself to be declared to Im dead—why does he keep in hid-

“He has a reason/’ said Mrs. Pride. •‘You know what that reason is; you know that hr is accused of stealing a *arg<‘ sum of money, and that his supposes! d.»ath has covered that up.” “Four thousand pounds is certainly rather- a large sum/’ said Stephen meditatively. “Two thousand is the amount he itates,” exclaimed Mrs. Pride. “Naturally, he would put it at the lowest figun?,” said Stephen. “I am. of course, assuming for one absurd moment, that what yoi. say is true; that my brother has, in some fashion or other, cheated death, and got another to take his place. Such things have been don?, 1 admit; but I rather think you have been imposed upon, my dear Aunt/* “I'll show you whether I have or not,” cried Mrs. Pride. “I’ll bring Dick back here, and confront you and all Market Rimstone. and let tlu?m know the fraud tl at has been practised/’ St (‘phen Carveil. with his hands clasp ed belli nd him. leaned forward until his white fa<? almost touched that of the old woman: then he whispered: “And do you think he'll be fool enough to come?” he asked. “Think of the charges that could be brought against him. in the impossible event of his appearing alive before those who knew him. Robbery for one; we have the proof of that. For the other, a certain man lying in the grave under his name

—a man found his bed. dead—a man to be accounted Tor. Richard Carve 11. night-bird.’ and in Hie -habit of creeping in and out of the hotrse at all is "know n to have been at the batik that night, when all Market Rimstone was sleeping: know n to have got th keys out of the house, from which he had been expelhd. Who is the man—blackened and unrecognised—found in his bed?” Stephen leered at her with a triumphant smile.

“James Farley!” she fired back at him ou the instant.

The shot w,-nt straight to its mark. Stephen drew away from her, hurriedly glancing all round about him, as though to be sure that the name had not been overheard; for a moment, Julia Pride thought he meant to attack her. It took him a moment or two to recover anything like his self-possession; then he tried to carry the thing off with something of bluster.

“1 never I ward the name in my life,'” he said. “1 think I can understand what the situation is, my dear Aunt; you have l>eeii poking and prying about in business which does not concern you; you have performed that marvellous feat, of putting two and two together, and have made something more than four of the result.’’ “Whatever 1 have done has been with your assistance, my dear nephew,” retorted the old lady. “You introduced me to the wife of James Farley in this very house; sb,- has been my companion since then. 1 have been making inquiries; am in the confidence of Diek, who is, as you know, alive.”

“I’ioduce him,” said Stephen with a grin. "Bring the dog here, and let him tell his own story.” “You know 1 ean’t do that,” said Mrs. Pride. "But I'll find a means yet to expose you; I’ll find a means yet to prove who the man was who died in Dick’s place.”

"My dear Aunt, you are playing a game which can have but one result; disaster for yourself, and for those whose cause you espouse. Believe me, I am much too strong, and too securely set in my place here to be shaken by any threats from you or from anyone else. Do your worst, Mrs Pride, and joy go wit h you! ”

Failure in that quarter oply made Julia Pride the more determined to carry out her purpose. She set out at once for the home of the Wihnores; and was fortunate in finding Olive alone, it took her a matter of two minutes to explain who she was, and what was her connection with the dead man; it took her another two minutes to break, with what gentleness was in -her, the astounding news to the girl. To Olive’s credit be it put that she did not faint, nor scream: 'she' simply listened.'with hands clasped and eyes fixed on the face of Mrs Pride, to every word that’ lady had to say; J - “So you see what it means is? this, my dear,” said Mrs Pride in conclusion. “Dick has been foully wronged, of that I am sure; the world believes him dead; it is for you to bring him to life again. I -can’t persuade him, but you can.” “It seems all so wild and strange,” said Olive. “And yet I ean understand

why he so willingly allowed it to be believed that he was dead. But about the lost money?” “My dear, that can be found and stopped. if it ever got into circulation at all,” urged Mrs Pride. “Don’t you see that what has kept everyone from moving in the matter was the belief that, in all probability, this money was burnt, when the supposed Riehard Caryell perished; whereas, if Dick took it (which 1 don’t believe for a moment) it got into other hands that night, and ean be traced and restored. It all rests in your hands; get Diek to come back here, and we’ll fight his battles for him, and clear him, in one way or another.” Olive agreed to come at once; fired by the extraordinary enthusiasm of Mrs Pride —swept off her feet as it were, by the glorious possibility of meeting again the man she hail believed to be dead—■ she was ready to throw everything to the winds, and to go in search of him. Realising, however, that she would meet with the strongest possible opposition if she stayed to consult her mother, she resolved to set out before that lady’s return. Urged by Mrs Pride to lose no time, she wrote a note, explaining to her mother that she had been called away on business that admitted of no delay: that she was in safe hands; and that she would write giving full details of her extraordinary reasons for thus running away, so soon as she reached her destination. It was dark when they reached the station at Market Rimstone, in time for the last train that eould carry them to where Diek was. Mrs Pride took the tickets, feeling very lighthearted about the success of the whole business.' She might not have felt quite so light-hearted had she observed a man who was sauntering restlessly about the station, and drew quickly out of sight an seeing her and her companion. That man was Stephen Carveil. As a matter of fact he had come to the station, had haunted it for hours indeed, for the express purpose of seeing his aunt. He felt sure that she would be returning to Dick, and he had made up his mind that he would, if pos-

Bible, shadow her, in order to see wher< she went, and what persons she met. Di« astonishment may be imagined when he saw Olive Wilmore; and recognised in a moment the fact that she had been drawn into the game the determined old woman was playing. The thing was more serious than he had thought; he made up his mind to see it through.

So that when the train steamed out of the station carrying two expectant eager women in search of the missing man. it carried also Stephen Carvel!, determined not to lose sight of them. (To be Continued.)