UNTO SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 7, 18 August 1906, Page 21

UNTO SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN

Or, THE FLOWER OF THE PENINSULA

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

By

Lily Froude

CHAPTER XXV. ItAIKKII. POOR Duncan Keith little knew that from the day of Aimee’a disappearance until his parting with Valerie Day at the boatsheds his movements had been closely watched and duly reported to bir Branden. When the latter gentleman's plana were matured for decoying Aimee away from Iter home, he arranged that his valet should disguise himself as n minister of religion and bring her into the city, while lie would borrow the key. of a small suburban church on the pretext of looking through it. and there await her. He had told her that lie would send a minister for her on a certain day, and she was to meet him and come direct to the church to lie inarried. Poor Aimee kept her promise, and met Sandy McPherson, who wore a white wig and frock coat, thus presenting to her unpractised eye the appearance of a venerable Presbyterian minister. When they- arrived at the ehureh, Sandy brought her up.to the communion rail, on which sat Sir Branden, dangling his legs in an irreverent manner. He got on to his feet and kissed Aimee, as he said to his valet: “I thought you were never coming, MePb—ah, I mean Air. Brown.” "1 was as quick as possible, sir.” “Well, proceed with business at once, please," and, taking Aimee by the hand, Sir Branden waited for his servant to begin the farce which was to ruin a pure and innocent child. After reading a line or two out of a prayer book, Sandy said to Sir Branden: “Wilt have this woman to be thy Wedded wife?” "Yes, of course I will.” he answered, and Aimee smiled up at him in such a sweet, shy way, that he felt the first Jiang of remorse at his treachery. Then Sandy turned to .-dmee with the question: "Wilt thou have this mail io lie thy wedded husband?" "Yes, please,” answered the sweet As has been shown in a previous chapter, Aimee was absolutely ignorant of the marriage service, or anything j>ertaining thereto, and had Sandy McPherson read a chapter from Genesis, an® then told her that she was marviid, she would have believed him; she had no doubts, for she knew no evil, and she loved the man Who stood by her side. It was therefore uot fo lie wondered nt that she made the reply she did when Handy put the all-important question to her. Her answer would have lieen ludicrous had it not been so pathetic. V lien Sir Branden slipped a tiny ring on Aimce.'s finger, Sandy pronounced them man and wife. After they left the church. Sir Branden took Aimee to a small shop in Colomlio-strect, and jmrehased a. few modern clothes for her. before taking her to the hotel vyhere he had engaged rooms for Mr. ami Airs, Branden. He. had filled her head with false promises as to the future. 'Having told her that her grandfather was to live With them in a much better home than he hail ever lived in liefore, it was no Ponder that the tender-hearted little girl found many excuses for her grand* fcHher’B dislike for Sir Branden. She

told herself that one reason was his fear of losing her, and then he did not like gentlemen, and Sir Branden was one. But how' surprised he would be when he found that instead of a Imd man Sir Branden was a very good one, “and oh, so good to me!” she exclaimed to herself in an ecstasy of delight. Aimee could not endure the feeling of gloves on her hands, but she bore the misery for Sir Branden’s sake, for he had impressed upon her the fact that site, must never appear out of d«»<»rs without them. Very tenderly she laid away her old Tam-o’shanter cap, tartan frock, and buckled shoes, which she had thought so grand, but which Sir Branden now told her were too thick and heavy for his wife to wear. ‘•You may throw those old things away, my dear,” he said. ‘•'Oh, please, let me keep ’em, for dear Granddad bought ’em for me hissedf, an’ the shoes was a lot of money, an’ Granddad skimped hisself to •buy ’em—l know he did.” “Did he tell you so, Aimee?” “No, but somehow 1 always knew he did, ’cos he loved me so.” “Very well, tie them in a parcel and put them away. You will never wear them again, my love.” Would she not? Time would tell. When old Duncan left Valerie at the foot-bridge, he made his way slowly to the police station to lay information against Sir Branden Langstone for the abduction of Aimee, but, on arriving there, found it was too late to proceed with matters until the next day, and this was the news which Sandy McPherson had communicated to his master before Aimee awoke on that nevcr-to-lK*-forgot.ten day that blighted her young life, and from which she never really recovered. In the meantime the police had easily discovered where Sir Branden and Aimee were staying, and came to inform Duncan of the fact, and he, ever thoughtful and jealous of the girl’s good name, decided to defer the arrest until his own efforts had failed in getting possession of his grandchild. Tie shuddered at the thought of causing her fair name to be a byword for ever in Christchurch, and mentally pictured the little ewe lamb standing day after day in a police court, gaped at by all the city roughs, not to mention the Haring headings in the daily papers. These thoughts were agonising, and great lannis of sweat broke out on his brow as he lay tossing on his sleepless couch. Soon after day broke he was up aml on his way to the Ferry road. By the time he had reached laitimer square he felt dizzy and faint, having had no breakfast, and little to eat the day before, so be sat down and fell asleep. W hen he awoke the sun was high in the heavens, and he reproached himself bitterly for this waste of time, and, rising, walked with difficulty until he reached Ike hotel. His excitement was pitiable at the prospect of seeing Aimee again, and before entering he leaned heavily against the door post in order to gain a little composure. After a few minutes he entered and inquired for Mr. Branden (the police had told him that was the name by which Sir Branden was known there). “They’ve just gone a few minute* ago,” said the landlady.

“(tanged where? 'fell me quick, wummin; quick. I say!” “If you come here calling your betters •Woman.’ you had Indter dear. Woman, indeed!” “I beg your pardon, mem. I see ye ain’t a wummin. but at fust I took ye fur ain. But, tell me fur the love o’ God, where they be ganged ta.” “I’m not a woman, aren’t I? Be off out of this, you insulting old beggar; you don’t suppose I’m a man, do you?” “Lord save us. are ye daft ? I dinna jist ken what ye air. mom. but be charitable an’ tell me where they Im* ganged ta, lady, fur the wet* bit lassie was ma ain granddaughter as was stole fra her aiild granddad, an’ ye’re losin’ precious time in hagglin'.” Airs. Butt’s curiosity being whetted, she now showed a well-feigned sympathy which deceived the simple old man as she said: “Dear me, is slh* really? I always thought there was a mystery there. Site was too —ah!—too simple and imioceiitlike for a town-bred girl, ami so different to her husband. Just come away in ami have a whisky, for you look perished with cold and tired out.” “Aly bairn’s no’ town-bred, mem, and 1 want na whisky, t banket*. But if ye’ll tell me kindly at ainco where they Im* ganged. I’d be thankfu’ ta ye.” “Well, Mr. Branden’s servant told me that, they were going to Salt Water Creek to see a friend, ami would likely stay some weeks before returning to the “Di<l—did she look well, lady, an* did she toll yr anything about horsel’?” “No. She always avoided me, but something queer happened this very morning. As to looking well, she was ♦he picture of health ami beauty.” “What happened -this morning, mem, might I inquire?” “Mr. Branden went out rather earlier than usual, ami left his wife asleep. It. was quite late when she rang for breakfast. ami Eliza answered the bell. Mrs. Bramlen asked for some particular sort of scones. made on a griddle, she said. Well, Eliza couldn’t make them, ami she sent for me. and appeared so distressed when I told her that I hadn't time to make them. She said her dear granddad was coming to breakfast, and that she must have his favourite scones, and some whitebait. . Just then she started up with such a cry of gladness as we heard footsteps on the stairs, but when Mr. Branden came in alone she sank down on the sofa, ami he very rudely told me to go downstairs, and with that In* shut the door and locked it. Then I heard his wife cry out in such a sad. gasping way. ‘Where is Granddad. Bruce?' and then he said. ‘My poor child!’ After that there was a silence, and I think she must have fainted or something, for I heard a sen Mr. When sue spoke again she sort of moaned, ami called for you, or I suppose it was yon, as you say you are her grandfather.” “An’ did—did—she tell yr why 1 didna’ room ta break fas’?” • “No. I did not see her again until she stepp'd into the cab at lhe door* ’I heir going was very sudden. Your granddaughter was lieaut ifully dressed in a real sealskin jacket ami lovely grey c loth travelling dress, and earlier in the day she had on a dark him* silk, in honour of you coming. I suppose. Aly word, it’s fine dresses she’s got, old man, and

lu*r husband just, dotes on her. Voflt ought to be proud of such a grandsonlaw. “Did she tell ye where the marriage tuck place, mem. an’ who married ’em?’* “No, her husband kept guard over her too well for that for any such confi« deuces, lie used io always send me out if 1 happened to look in to say, ‘How. do you do.’ I don’t like them arista-* erats: they think everybody is dirt but themselves.” “Did she seem to go with him willin* like, lady t” “Oh dear, yes. Why shouldn't she? She was awfully fond of him—a blind man could see that.” “flow lang hrv' they been here, mem, stayin’ with you?” “Exactly a month, and 1 only wish you had come to breakfast and seen how lovely that child did look, for she’s no* thing else; in fact, a great deal more innocent than some, children.” “Aye, she’s that. Well, mem, goodday ta ye, an’ thank ye kindly fur yer civility. I must gang back ta the (‘reek, as it’s me they’ be ganged ta see, and there’s na ain there 'cept a boy.” “1 hope all is right, and that Mr. Bramlen has really married her. I thought you seemed to doubt that lie had.” “They're married safe enough, mem, thank’eo. Come, Dodger. Good-day, again, mem.” When Duncan returned Io his huinbie lodgings at Sydenham, the poorest district in Christchurch. he went into his little room, and sinking into an old armchair, buried his face* in'his hands, and thus he sat motionless for two hours, where his landlady found him after knocking and calling in vain. She shook him a good deal, and after a hit he looked up and smiled faintly as he wearily pushed his tangled grey hair from his brow'. lie presented such a forlorn appearance that the woman's heart was touched, amt she brought to his side a little table, on which she placed a basin of beef tea, into which she broke some dry toast. “Come, now, Mr. Keith, just you straighten up and drink every drop of this ln*ef tea. Why, man, you look lit to die!” Ih* drank it as though in a dream, lull w hen he had finished it *felt better, and informed his landlady that he must start immediately for home, as bis granddaughter would be then* awaiting him. He did not know what to think. One minute he hoped for the lx*st, ami felt inclined to believe that Langstonq

bad really repented and agreed to take 'Aimee home to the grandfather whom ehe so slearly loved. The next minute he remembered the man's bad reputation, and what .Mrs. Butt had told him about hearing Aimee moaning and calling for him. And what awful lie had the villain perpetrated that she had expected him to breakfast.

"I can see it a’,” he said to himself. "He's baited her wi’ tellin’ her he’d bring meta her, an’ when she found 1 hadn't eobm he finds anither lie as would fit in. Aye, what’ll 1 do? What’ll 1 do the noo? (tod spare an’ keep the 3vee thing innersent, fur she eould never lie anything else so lang’s she thinks she’s his wife, an’ I’ll spare her good naine even ef I hav’ ta tell lies, too. Clod forgie me!” His money was not too plentiful, so he walked all the way back to Salt (Water (’nek, which was about 25 miles from the city. He was nearly four days doing it, sleeping under haystacks at night, and eating dry bread and cheese for his meals, with an occasional cup of Water when he came.to a farm-house. There was one thing he had taken great care of since he lost his grand; daughter, and that was her birds. And as he now approached his lonely 7 and desolate home his first thought was for them, and how pleased Aimee would lie if she were there to find them just the Same, and her pretty Howers all blooming. Then Duncan began to feel uneasy 7 about them, in ease the boy 7 whom he had left in charge had neglected to attend to them; and then he thought of the long time he h id been away looking for the child that was so dear to him. When he entered the gate of his once bright house, he saw the bird-cage hanging on its hook in the sunshine. lie stepped over and looked in. They were dead. The boy had forgotten to take them in the night before, and they were frozen to death. The Howers, too, were dead; the fowls had got in and scratched them up. lie looked round for the pony, but eould not see it. He knew that Aimee was not there. He had no need to enter the house, so sat down on the •tench ueneath the bird-cage. He was so terribly tired. Mary Ann, looking thin and hungry 7, crept to his side, and

rubbed herself against him in token of welcome, which -familiarity Dodger immediately resented by snapping at her, and for this indignity ehe retaliated by scratching his face. Dodger retired rather crestfallen, ami, as a means of avenging himself on something, chased the fowls out of the flower garden, then, returning, lay down at his master's feet and mournfully watched him as Dunean sat with dosed eyes and hands clas|>ed on the top of his stick.. He sat thus a long time, until the boy came round the corner of the cottage singing: ■'When all the world is young, lad, 1 And all the trees are green, And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen, Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.” He stopped short as he eaught sight of Duncan, and stared open-mouthed. When he nad sufficiently 7 recoverd from his surprise, he gasped out: “Mr. Keith, har yez asleep! And w’en did yez come back!” In a far-off drowsy way Dunean heard the boy singing, and he thought of a few sad lines which lie had once learnt, and which he thought eould be applied to the present state of things, and he unconsciously repeated them aloud — “All my roses are dead in mv garden; What, shall 1 do? Winds in the night, without pity or pardon, Came there and slew. All my song birds are dead in their bushes; Woe for such things! Robins and linnets and blackbirds, and .. thrushes, Dead, with stiff wings. Oh, my garden, rilled and flowerless, Waste now and drear; Oh, my garden, barren and flowerless, Through all the year. Oh, my dead birds, each in his nest there

So eold and stark; , » What was the horrible death that pressed there When skies were dark.” He finished repealing Hie linos--as the boy spoke, and slowly straightemdshimself and asked the boy if anybody hadbeen there inquiring for him. “Not a livin’ soiH,” answered the boy. “Did ye attend ta the birds, an’ the bit garden, as I hade ye?” “It ain’t my. fault if the birds died; I don’t- understand birds, and I took hall sorts o’ care of ’em, but they died for hall that; and as for the garding, the fowlds got fly in’ over and scratched hup everythiuk.” •- . “Git oot o’ ma sight, y 7 e lyin’ young good-for-nothing. Didna’ I pay 7 ye handsome ta keep them-birds alive? Git oot o’ this at once, ye dolt; ye’ll find nae mare jobs here.” The boy slunk off, helped from the premises by Dodger, who sympathised with his master’s feelings, and easily detected his anger towards .the boy who had proved himself sb unfaithful to his trust. Poor Dodger sorely missed his girl playmate and the races they used to run round the paddbeks, Aimee on her little pony laughing and’ calling to him as he tore after her and tried to catch her feet to pull her off. Now he moped all day, or walked sedately with Duncan on his rounds, or lay at his feet and sorrowed with him for the loss of their mutual joy. ' ... Two days later Dunean appeared at Valerie Day’s home, spent, worn, and half famished, hence his forlorn condition, which had ' aroused her pity and made her wish to help him. - He knew that Aimee and her betrayer had by this time reached Sydney, as it was now six day’s' since the police had informed him that Sir Branden had taken tickets for that colony, and, being poor, ignorant and friendless, he realised the hopelessness of getting possession of her again. He knew 7 also that the time would 'soon come for Sir Branden to grow tired of Aimee and her claim' on him. Then she might return to her old home, and the old granddad,' who would be'ever on the watch for her, to welcome back his erring child.

When Dunean told Valerie Day-a Iffl it was to save Aiinee’s. good name fron* censure. He would' never" be "the -first to defame his own flesh and blood, what« ever others might do, so when he told Valerie that he had seen Aimee before! she went to Sydney,,.and that Sir Brandon’s former .wife was dead, and Aimed was married to him, -he breathed a prayer for forgiveness. “For my bairn's sake, O Lord, forgive me,” he said, and had hardly whispered the words' before h* fell to the floor struck with paralysis* and it was not until Valerie Day had readied Auckland that h< left. the host pital where Frank Day had taken him! A few kindly disposed ladies subscribed twenty. pounds for him, and with that sum he set out once more for his lonely, desolate home. CHAPTER XXVI. Desolation. On the night of 10th .Tune, in the year 1880, the inhabitants of Auckland wer< awakened from their sleep by sounds which shook the earth as of cannon roaring, accompanied by a glare of light such as had never been seen • before or since in the annals of New Zealand history. What awful calamity was taking place they knew not. Many thought the Russians had come, and were bombarding the town of Onehunga, bn the west? side of the Island, for at that time there was a mild Russian scare, and all the eligible youths of the colony were enrolling as volunteers for their country’s service. Hither and thither the peoplq ran in wild confusion, only half dressed; and otners still in their night garments! and as the roar and light increased; others again thought that the Judgment Day had dawned at last, and fell ort their knees praying, to. God to have mercy on them. ..And thus matters remained until morning, when the awful tidings burst upon the populace that; mighty Nature was waging wpr in thq vicinity of Rotorua, and Mount Tarawera had devastated the country for miles around by emitting forth volume* of lava. __ . As from day to day the harrowing da-

Cails ware unfolded# the history of that Might became more more enthralling, and deeply impressed- who heard it grith the- awful - nature of the disaster Which had happened.''' The scantiness of the jiopulatiolt in that district had presented any such loss of life as would tutve been inevitable had there been thielily |>eopled towns in the neighbourhood;" but even as it was the scenes were k Uoo agonising for tears."’,. Thrilling tales were told of Ute (light of the inhabitants through blinding dust, hot mud, and' steam, and of the noble heroism shown in ’ the hour of danger by Jrfaori and European alike. Sir Branden Langstone and Aimee had been staying at the Rotomahana Hotel for some days, when they were startled from their sleep by the earth shaking violently, and, springing out of lied, Sir Branden parted the curtains and looked put. What he saw was a small cloud Ai the mountain, with flashes of great brilliancy. “Get up, Mr. Branden; there is something wrong. lam afraid we are going to have an earthquake or an eruption. I and the others in the house are going over to the old mission station to see What is the matter, and 1 think you and Mrs. Branden'had better come, too.” It was the proprietor who spoke, and Sir Branden hurriedly replied that they would join him in a few minutes. When All the boarders, accompanied by the proprietor, gained the Mission station, they saw a sight they would never in their lives forget. Apparently the mountain had three craters, the flames were shooting up fully a thousand feet high, and there appeared io be a continuous shower of balls of fire for miles around. Aimee (flung to her husband’s arm, and nearly fainted with terror, as the earth continued to shake. As a storm was threatening, the party made their way back to the hotel, but had hardly reached it when what seemed to be heavy hail stones came pouring on the roof for about half an hour, the earth shaking continuously from the time it first started. This was succeeded by heavy Monee, fire-balls, and mud lava falling Sifter the manner of rain. The weight jof all this began to tell upon the roof, yind a part of the back of the house gave way with a terrible crash. Later on, between four and five o’clock,, the roof crashed in, and the whole of the upper Morey collapsed, the debris falling into the. rooms, below. x . Sir Branden caught Aimemjup ini jnis arms, and ran as fast as the falling mud and Atones would allow, to a part of the house which had only recently been built, >nd which he thought would stand the longest, the others following. Just then an awful crash, as if thousands of tons - of-atone were falling, and down came the balcony. Their position was now so hopeless that one of the boarders, a young English tourist, proposed that they should engage in prayer, remarking at the same time that he would soon be in the presence of his God. Everybody acquiesced, and joined fervently in the prayer, silently clasping hands when they rose from their knees. The proprietor then suggested that they should all try to save themselves if possible, and as certain death awaited them there, they forthwith made for the first Maori whare they saw standing. A terrific gale Was by that time blowing, and, to save themselves from the incessantly falling hot stones and mud, the poor fugitives wrapped- their heads and slioulBers in whatever they could find in the .way of shawls or caps, or anything similar. . Sir Branden Langstone snatched up a table cover and wrapped it around tAinv-e, completely covering her, then he followed the others with her in his arms.

How he wished at that moment that tie could undo his diabolical work, and that Aimee was safe in her grandfather’s home, and he, like many of the others, ■ thought this fearful night's work was the result of an outraged Deity whom he had so long denied and sinned against. Not knowing the moment that he would be swept into eternity, he became unnerved, and a terror seized him which made his limbs shake under him, ■nd he nearly let Aimee fall as he tr i filled at every step. “Simee, darling," he said, “how do y i,u . feel? Cheer up, my pet; things may imt .be so bad, and we may yet escape.” wl *s no answer from the inanimare.form in his arms, for a stone had her on the temple and rendered ■‘erjnsensible, in spite of his care for "*r-~His own face and head were burnt „ ftcia t < ' ,, ed and bleeding from the were hurled with such force in their faces. The darkness had beeome so dense, so biaek, in fact, that it . was only by instinct that he found his

way along the track on which the others had preceded him. He pressed the unconscious figure ..to his heart and staggered on. Would he never get to the hut? And where, were the rest of the party? He asked himself these, questions with a despairing sigh, and began to think that he had lost the track in the inky darkness. He shouted, but was unanswered except by the (>elting stones. Presently he -stumbled against a wall, and he felt his way round to the other side, where he could get a little shelter from the lava, and sitting down with Aimee in his arms, awaited death in whatever form it might come. He tried to pray, but found that he had forgotten the prayers which he had learnt when a child, and tried to extemporise one, but could not succeed: so he sat motionless for some time thinking of his sinful life. "‘Aye, it’s the last day, and the pit has opened ta swallow us up, and it’s mysel’ will be one o’ the imps o’ darkness for all ma sins, fur I see the Devil’s coining fur me—l see him .yonder crouchin’ by the wall. Oh, it’s a terrable, terrable end fur a McPherson to eoom to.” “Is that you, McPherson?” called Sir Branden, who had heard his servant’s voice anti recognised it. “Oh, Lord, save me from the Evil One, and I’ll never steal any more wee bairns for the master.” This was said in an agitated whisper, for he did not recognise his master’s voice on account of a hoarseness through a cold which Branden had caught. “McPherson, don’t you hear me? Come here at once.” “If ye please, your highness. I’m not the mon ye are wanting.” “Aren’t you McPherson? Come, here, Sandy.” “I’m coming, sir; I’m coming: ye ken I’ve always ola-yed ye, and served ye well your Majesty, anti I’d feel obliged if ye’d spare me a bit longer above ground before I gang to hell, not but what it’s a grand place in winter, with all the wee imps friskin’ about.” “Sandy, old man, don’t you know your master?” said Branden kindly, as he came nearer. Come, come, I’m not the devil; at least, I may be one, but I’m not the Prince of Evil that you take me for. Poor fellow, don’t give up hope yet, although God knows there’s little to hope for by the appearance of things.” Sandy’s teeth were chattering with terror, and his eyeballs were rolling like a maniac’s. Thg. mau was evidently, on the'.verge: of Annuity. a less awful tinie Branden might have laughed, but that was no time to see comedy when so much tragedy was being enacted around, and perhaps the crack of doom at hand, so he said kindly: “Are you hurt at all, McPherson?" “Oh, thank the Lord! Thank the Lord! Is it you, sir. Aye. I’m hurt sure enough—me arm’s broke. But-how is the young lady, and is she saved from harm ?” “No, Sandy, she is unconscious through, a stone hitting her poor little face. I am sorry your arm is broken; sit down here close to me against the wall: we might as well wait here for death as anywhere. Besides, we are lost. Have you any idea how far we are from the trfack to Sophia's whare? That’s where the others are. or that is where they started for. God knows where they are now.”: • • • ; “I don’t know, sir, where we are. I never woke till my bed and mysel’ fell through the floor, so I jist: snatched up this overcoat and put it on over my pyjamas, and fled out o’ the evil place, and thought I was going down to the pit jist when ye called oot.” After this the men sat silent, each occupied with his own thoughts. Never had Branden welcomed a human face as

he did that of his servant, and his com panionship was sweeter than any he had ever known; in that awful place, with death staring at one, who would not have felt as he did’ At last Branden broke the silence by exclaiming: “Oh, God help us! I can’t bear this much longer. Oh. for daylight!” As if in answer to his cry for help, a brilliant fire ball suddenly lighted the place, ami, alighting on a where, set it on fire. By this light he uncovered Ainiee’s face, and was shocked to see it .covered with blood; the sharp stone had cut deep, and he was in despair. “Oh, McPherson, if i only had a little water, what would I not give.” “There’s something wet here, sir, but it’s hot. Great snakes, we're sitting on the top of a cauldron, air!” ■*‘Of course we are': the whole place is a mass of hot springs. Sit still, Sandy; we may go further and fare worse,” and, dipping his handkerchief into the hot spring that had a moment before shot up beside them, although it was preg-

nant with sulphur. it enabled him to cleanse Aimee’s face. This done, he found the cut was not so deep as he had at first anticipated, so he tied the bandage round her head and covered her up again. He did not try to revive her. and thought u kinder to let death seize her while she lay unconscious of its near approach than to awaken her to face its horrors. CHAPTER XXVIf. Buried Alive. The whole atmosphere was full of a suffocating stench of sulphurous gases, and through the inky darkness no ray of light was yet discernible, except the lightning Hashes. Hot springs had broken out everywhere, and were causing fresh impediments to the esca|ie of the poor, homeless fugitives of Rotorua. A cry as of some soul in agony rang out on tjhe thick blackness of the night, and Sir Branden heard a Maori wailing for his dead wife and children. Perhaps the very wall he was sitting by had l>een the poor creature's home a few' hours before. And so the night wore on. Sir Branden thought of the eruption of Vesuvius nearly seventeen centuries before, and of the disinterred city of Pompeii, ami he wondered in a dazed sort of way if he, with Aimee on his knees, would l>e dug out in years to come, and if their skeletons would be in as good a condition as those that were found in the buried city of Pompeii. He was numb with his long vigil and cramped position, ami Aimee’s weight, and his servant's voice breaking his train of thought, he roused himself to listen to his grumoling. ‘’Don't ye think, sir, that the smell out o’ the pit is getting stronger, and that the end o' the world is at hand? It can’t be fur oil* now; and ain’t it awful the lot o’ sins ye’ve made me commit for ye that I’d never thought o’ if ye hadn’t put it into ma head. Oh, mercy! mercy! Think o' a McPherson goin’ to hell all through you, sir. I was always a good Presbyterian till ye turned me into evil ways, fur a poor servant has to obey his master, ye ken, sir, and perhaps the Lord will mind that I was only the poor victim o’ yer evil example, and that 1 no willingly sinned against Him.” “We. may soon lie face to face with our Maker, Sandy, and if I were you 1 would not be -oich a time-seuyer. xA couple of hours -ago you were -trying to curry favour with the King of Evil just because you thought he was at hand to take you to hell. Be honest, man, if you can. I am quite willing to take all the punishment for my share of sin, but man must answer for himself, you know.” “Ye are willin’ to go into outer darkness fur ever and ever, sir?” “Well, no. I should have said 1 fully realise that I must bear the punishment, unless God forgives me Indore I die.” “It’s hard. sir. that I should be punished for your sins.” . “But you won't—only for your own.” . t was not so bail till I met you, sir, and now ye “have ruined mV chance o’ salvation—the young leddy in yer arms is a livin’ witness to the fact.” “You were a willing victim in all ye did for me; you would sell your soul for gold, Sandy; you sold it to the devil long before I ever saw you. I don’t want to be cruel, and this is no time for upbraiding, so get on your knees and pray for yourself while there is yet time. Better to occupy yourself that way than to rail at me during the few hours or minutes you may have left to you.” “I’ve been praying fur hours, and the more I pray the closer hell seems to come, ami—yah ! ” “Whatever is the matter? Can’t you be quiet? L am trying to pray myself. Why. what is the matter?” ami, peering dose to his servant. Sir Branden tried to make out the cause of his sudden exclamation. But the unfortunate Samty could give no explanation, for the fact was a huge lump of hot mud had shot into the

envity Nature intended for his mouth, and stoppeej it qp for the. lime being. But Branden knew what the matter was from the strange sounds he emitted every now and then, and he saw no huHiour in it. lie was too dejected on his own and Aimee’s account to think of anything else, and he felt annoyed with vae man for his continual grumbling under such awful conditions. So he only said: “I wish you would strike a match if you have one, and see what time it is. I feel sure the wind is not so strong as it was.” Sandy found a box of matches in his overcoat, and struck one. “I haven’t my watch, sir; it's gone down to (he pit with my other things." “Here is mine: I can't open it, though, my hands are numb with holding—my wife.” He felt at that moment that it would be sacrilege to call her by any other name. “it's just a quarter to four, sir." “Thank God! hi two hours it will lie light—that is, if the sun ever rises again." “It won't, sir. It's set for the last time, and the judgment has overlook u*: and from what I’ve seen since we came to this awful place it's a wonder the w'rath to eoine didn’t conic sooner. Them Maoris is that shameless, and the white men encourage 'em in their vices ” “That will do! That will do! Remember your own sins, and shut up: other peoples' don't concern you just now —if the end of the world is at hand, as you believe it to be.’’ At this moment the wind suddenly dropped, but the smoke, became deeper, and the mountain belched forth thick ami heavy showers of ashes, which fell continuously, and then all ho|>c died out of the breasts of the homeless inhabitants who had escaped death so far. and were sheltering where they could, many of their loved ones being already buried alive. Branden laid Aimee on the grount close into the wall, and started to grop about for anything he could find to make a covering for her. He had been an atheist for years, and hail scoffed at the existence of a God, but, impel led by fear, he now fell on his knees ami implored the Almighty to have mercy on him, and that if spared he would lead a different life and try to-repair some of his wrong-doing. His hand touched something, which proved to bo some Maori mats which had hung, ■upun the wills iif the wlyke. but were now lying in a heap at its base. He gathered them up, and crept back to Aimee’s si<|e, where he found McPherson with. his overcoat spread out to shelter her from the cruel hot ashes which were coming thicker than ever. In his heart Sandy had always reverenced Aimee for her innocence’ and lieauty, and. most of all, because shew'iis Scotch. His clannish nature longed.to help her. but as yet he had seen no occasion so long ns she seemed happy. Had his master shown her any unkindjiess, then* is no telling what Sandy would have done. But his greed tor gold was a passion, ami overcame every otherjeeling. I .lad it not been so he would..long ago have helped instead of hindc.Pecl Duncan in getting possession of. liis grandchild again. In a casual had Iteconte acquainted with the old man (Duncan, of course*, being ignorant of the* fact that Sandy wa* Sir Branden’s servant), and consequently liad, more* or less, gained his confidence* respecting his movements, and had betrayed him to his master, thus giving Sir Branden the advantage* of being in a position to easily frustrate* any al tempt on the* old man's part to find his grandchild. McPherson would also, for a consideration from Sir Branden, throw Duncan off tin* scent, and would send him cm a long and fruitless journey, by telling him that he* had seen a girt exactly like* Aimee walking with a young man at Belfast, or Kaiapoi. or Templeton; in fact, anywhere that would take poor Duncan out of town for a day or two. Between his wish to help his countryman and his love for gold his clannish nature* was torn with conflict-

fng eiiH»tionM. One day the sight of Aiiiiif’s sweet fa<*e and trusting, credulous nature, and her grandfather’s forlorn and m retched appearance, seeking her far and near, made him decide to help them. Sir Branden knew his man only too well. ami. suspecting Rome weakness of the sort, would leave his purge lying about, which Sandy won hl promptly annex with the most unblushing effrontery. Then Sir Branden would charge him with stealing it, ami demand that he should either return it in a. B|>eeitied time or go to prison. Once jtossesaed of gold, Sandy would as s«m»ii have parted with a limb or an eye. His master knew this, ami generally managed to settle the matter to their mutual satisfaction by. allowing him to keep it. on the condition that he served aim faithfully. “For, mind you. McPherson,” he would my, "directly I find you deceiving me about Mrs. Branden or old Keith 1 will dismiss you without a character, and you will have to pay for y< ur own board and lodging ami your passage back to Scotland, if you ever want to see your relations again.” This threat so deeply impressed Sandy that for necks after he would la* impervious to the gaze of Aimer’s large, wistful eyes ami Duncan’s terrible grief. Therefore, it was no surprise to Sir Branden to find Sandy protecting her from the hot ashes on that never-to-be-forgotten night. On hearing his master approach he slunk back to his old place by the wall, as he mumbled in an apologetic voice: “I thought maybe ye’d not be able to get back, sir, so I was jist keep’n’ the worst u’ the hot stuff off the youn*» Jeddy ” "Great Ca*sar. man. don’t apologise for doing a humane action. It was good Di' you, Sandy—she’s not come to yet, has •he ?” "I dinna keii 3 sir.” he answered in a doleful tone. By this time both men had made up their minds that their lives must be jßacrificed. and were now waiting as best they could for the end. They were almost paralysed with fear, but said little to each other on the subject. Sir Branden, after covering Aimee with the mats in such a way as to enable her to breathe, stood with his back against the wall, and a mat over his own head, to await his fate. No word had been spoken for about an hour, when Branden said: “ McPherson!” •‘Yes, sir.” •‘Are ye standing up?’* ‘‘Yes, sir; the ashes and stuff is up to jny knees now.” "Yes. 1 know. I have been standing some time with my j>oor girl in my arms, but cannot hold up any longer—iny arms rd* giving way.” "I'd lie glad to help ye, sir. if ye’ll trust me with her till yer arms is rested; my own are aching for something to do —mavbe ve’ll want all ver strength at the last, sir.” ’’Very well, Sandy, here she is—be careful and don’t hurt her. Gently now! Have you. got her safely?” ‘‘Yes, sir, she’s right now, ami comfortable.” ’’Keep working your feet up and down. McPherson, to keep the earth loose,’ so as not t<> get wedged in too tight.” r . CHAPTER XXVIII. At six o’clock there apjteared a thin blue line on the northern horizon, and gradually surrounding objects became visible beneath the jet black canopy. Still that awful black pillar rose from Tara,wvra. but the sulphurous gases had become less oppressive, and the j>eople who were alive Iwgan to breathe more freely. As the daylight increased the thunder •bated, and the sky l>ecame comparatively clear, except in the vicinity of Tarawera, where the inky pillar still elevated itself. Then, indeed, such a scene of desolation was presented to the gaze as no one who saw it could ever expect to again witness. For a hundred square miles the country was covered with white ashes ami a fine dust like pumice. \t Taheke it lay four inches deep on the ground, and at Te Xgae it was nine inches. The pretty Titokihu bush was completely destroyed, ami eov* cred with three feet of volcanic debris, and trees 150 feet in height were font from the ground. their roots lying alanit tei feet high. AH vegetation was covered up. ami not a leaf was to lx* seen anywhere. At nine o'clock darkness •gain set hl, ami spread like a pall over the heavens, remaining until ten. when it slowly cleared, ami all flanger for the time was supposed to be over

The work of digging for the Iwalies of the victims who had been buried alive was then started, ami the Government had sent out men to clear the roads. The work was attended with great difficulty, the fallen trees Iteing banked up five feet deep, none of them lieing less than nine f<»et in diameter. After digging for some time, a woman was found sitting on a chair with a dead child on either side of her. They unfastened the shawl which her head was covered with, and told her gently and kindly that her children wen* dead, their poor little faces showing too plainly what they had suffered. The next discovery was made by the Maoris, who had Iwen diligently working for hours, and had found ten hiemliers of their trilx* in the various buried wliares. One old Maori over one hundred years of age was dug out alive, having waited patiently with his elbows on his knees until his deliverance came, ami when the ashes were thoroughly scraped off him he rose, shook, tin* dust from his person, and. without so much as a look or word of thanks to his deliverers. walked away and had a good feed. One extremely sad case was that of a Maori who, with his wife ami little ones, was obliged to take refuge in the chief’s house.’ This, however, soon began to give way, and they then went to their own whare. where they prayed to God. After a while the roof fell in, and. to save the life of his boy, he wrapped him in a shawl and knelt over him, so that the child should not receive any hurt from the falling stones and lava. But these drifted so quickly round his body that the little one was soon covered, ami Mohi had to keep throwing it aside with one arm to keep it away. By this time his back was heajwd with lava, but he made a great effort to throw it off. and, succeeding, took up his child in his arms ami called to his wife to lx* quick and follow him. But there was no answer from Mary, for she had died silently by his side in her effort to save their other little one. She was in a sitting posture when they dug her out, with her arms extended over the babe. As the Maori stood gazing on his dead loved ones, it would have moved a heart of stone to ■ witness iris dry-eyed, silent grief, too deep for tears. And this was only one of many such incidents of the Maoris’ devotion to their loved ones. Proeectling wearijv' over the. ground, ' the search party listened for any sounds which might proceed from beneath them. ‘ SuddenK they heard a sound like a smothered scream at a spot near what : had once lw*eii the track, but was now covered nearly a foot deep with volcanic debris. They soon lx*gan to dig with care and rapidity, and were rewarded by seeing a hand wrapped in a shawl. This they quickly unfastened, and beheld the white, horror-stricken face of a voting girl. "By Jove! It’s Mrs. Branden. Is your husband with you, mam?” said one of the men in a voice that shook with emotion. But Aimee neither moved nor spoke, and although she could not free her * hands she made no effort to do so, but only stared with wild eyes as though Iwreft of her senses. Meanwhile the men proceeded with their hands to sera|x* away the stones ami mud that so cruelly pressed upon those beneath. A foot <le<*[x*r revealed the heads of the two men, with their faces buried in the girl’s clothes. Then they lifted Aimee out ami laid her on the ground. She was stiff, ami could not move, her limbs, ami her |xx>r head throbbed and ached from the cut on her temple which she had received the night lx* fore. When she . saw the heads of the two men projecting t from the earth, she gave one frightful, agonised scream, ami sank once more into oblivion. Kind, willing hands were ready to minister to her, and she was carried away to a whare some distance from the scene of her awful ex|x*rience. while the men continued their work of rescue. After much difficulty they manage<l at last to get Sir Branden ami Sandy out. and found that their hands sjnd necks were badly burnt. They were both unconscious, and were carried on litters to the -ame hut to which Aimee had lx*en taken. As the men proceeded with their sad burdens, one of. them noticed a child’s foot projecting out of the grouml, and a little further on a crying ami a scraping noise was heard from some burietl whare. After dejxtsiting their Imrdens in the whare, they inime<liatrly set to woiSc to get tin* child out w I rose jxx>r little foot hx>k<*d so terribly heart-breaking. No one ex|x*cte<l that it would lx* alive, yet it ap|x*ah*<l to them more than the cries of the others underground, who \v«*w tearing and xcraping for dear life.

At this point another sean-h party walked past lw*aring the young English tourist. "Where did you find him?” inquired one of the men who was digging the child out. "I’nder the verandah of the hotel. It fell on him ami crashed him; it is still burning. We saw three of his lingers sticking out of the mud when we lifted it up. Poor fellow, he is in a fearful state, and quite dead.” "lie was ready to go, if anyone was. I could tell that last night when lie was praying.” All day the sad work continued of digging out the dead, and those pitiful scenes will never be forgotten by those who saw them. The beautiful village of Wairoa had lassime a desolate plain of mud. with here and there the skeleton of a tree eoated with lava, and the settlement of Te Ariki, with forty Maoris and their ehief Rangihena, the remains of a onee powerful race, had disapjteared. Hie beautiful, W’orld-famed Pink and White Terraces were entirely gone, and the whole space occupied by Rotomahana was one seething mass of great volcanoes terrible to witness. CHAPTER XXIX. Sir Branden T.angstone's and his servant’s repenta nee for their sins had been sincere enough while the danger lasted, and when the thought that their last hour had come, when they would have to appear before the God whom one had denied and the other had despised so long. But now that they wen* far removed from the scene of their horrible experience they appeared to have forgotten that they had prayed to God for deliverance from the evils of that terrible night when they had been buried alive. On recovering from their injuries Sir Branden hail ivturned to the city and taken a furnished house at Epsom, where he intended remaining for a few weeks. He was still very much in love with Aimee. and not a little troubled at a certain indefinable something that was missing in her face. She was just as loving, just as lively and innocently amusing as before he had broken to her the news of hey grandfather’s death, and yet—what was it that was absent? He asked himself this question twenty times a day, but could find no satisfactory answer to it. One day Sir Branden was smoking on the lawn, and Aimee was lying at his feet turning over the leaves of a picture book that Sir Branden had bought for her. She still retained her love for picture books, although she had tired of learning lessons and writing copies, and since their arrival in Auckland Sir Branden had not insisted on the continuance of these (to her) obnoxious studies. Presently she turned a leaf which displayed to view a pretty Highland lassie minding sheep, with a collie dog at her side. Aimee looked long and earnestly at the picture, while tears slowly gathered in her eyes, then a sob caught her breath. Sir Branden looked quickly down at the little figure, and inquired the cause of her distress. One word alone burst from her aching heart tnrough her trembling lips: "Granddad! Oh, my Granddad!” It was the first time she had mentioned his name since they had left Christchurch, and Sir Branden was congratulating himself that she had got over her loss better than he had dared to hope, and when his eye caught the picture he frowned with displeasure. “My dear child, do you miss him so much yet ? 1 thought you were getting over it. Come here to me.” Aimee obeyed, and Branden took her on his knee and soothed her with caresses. After a little she calmed down, and then rather shocked him by bursting into a laugh. It was not seemly, and he felt for the first time disgusted with her. "Bruce, I’ve just thought of something funny.” "Well, what is it?” he asked. "You’ve never told me why you make me call you Bruce, and your name’s Sir Branden langstone, an’ I ought to be Mrs. Sir Branden Langstone. Oughtn't I. Bruce?” Sir Branden laughed, and resumed his cigar, which he had temporarily discarded. "Bidn’t T, love? Well. I’ll tell you now. My second name is Brue«s as 1 think 1 told you onee liefore, and when you and I got married 1 ehanged it to Mr. Bramlen instead of Sir B. langsfmie. It’s shorter, deal', and not so grand. You see, 1 don’t like being sinned ■’at,

•nd I know that you like what I like — don't you I” -Oh, yes, and Bruce is Scotch, too, an • king’s name—‘King Bruce of Scotland flung hisself -Ahnee. don't‘say ‘hwaelf.* I have told you so often, dear, not to say that •—say ‘himself/” •• ‘Himself down jn a lonely’ mood to ” “Yes. dear, I know, the poem, but instead of repeating that one 1 want you to stand over there and recite the one J taught you. Now then, are you ready?” ’•Bruce, I’ll say that after 1 ask you something. It's"another thing you never told me, an’ I might forget if 1 don't ask you now.” -Well, ask away. What is it?” “You told me'long ago, on Port Hills, that your name was Mr. Crupp, an’ when 1 tokl Granddad he said it wasn't, ami that Mr. C’rupp never had no cousin. *’ “Well, my dear, perhaps he hasn't. The reason I said so, or allowed you to think so, was because I thought my grand name would frighten you. so I tokl a fib, my j>et, because 1 loved you, and could not endure the thought of never seeing you’ again. I’ll admit it was wrong to fib, but you will forgive jm , won't you ?” “Oh. yes, but what’s a lib, Bruce?” “Bless me, don't you know? Didn't your—but never mind. A fib is a lie, my dear. When ladies tell a lie they call it a fib." -Oh! Is ‘fib* Scotch or French'.’’ “It is English. Now for your recitation.’’ Aimee stood back a few paves, and recited most beautifully Grey's Elegy. As has been said before, her voice was a very sweet one, and so alluring that Sir Branden was completely carried away as the beautiful words fell from her lips. He had been quick to note that Aimee excelled in her one gift, and had encouraged her in it by teaching her elocution and several of the best jioeiiis. When she came to the fourteenth Verse: “Full many’ a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear, Full many a flower is born to blush uimn. And waste its sweetness on the desert air.” Sir Branden, who had been watching her with an impassioned look, turned away’ ami sighed. Remorse was again gnawing at his heart,- but it was less fierce than on previous occasions. He wished that he had no wife, and that he were free to marry’ Aimee. As she finished her levitation a carriage passed containing three ladies and two gentlemen. “Ba Jove!” exclaimed the younger of the two men, “I say, now, if that isn't Branden on that lawn I’ll ” “What will you do, Babbs?” inquired a curly’ -head from the depths of the carriage rug. “Oh, you'll see. 1 didn't know you were there, you've Wen so quiet—been up to any mischief, Claude?” “No. I’ye been asleep,’’ and Claude sat up with a smile on his face that embraced all those- he loved. “Where is Sir Branden?” exclaimed the three ladies in chorus. “Why, in that garden there, with a doomed pretty’ girV—suppose he's paying a visit to tlie people of the house.” By this time the carriage had passed the bouse, ami Toby’ Babbington (for it was he) asked permission to stop the carriage ami run back; but when he reached the gate he found it locked, and the lawn deserted. He called and rattled the gate, but for all the effect it had the house might have been empty, so ioby made up his mind to climb over the gate. Branden had recognised his brother-in-law and Valerie Day in the carriage, and, quick as thought, had lifted Aimee up -in his arms ami fled into the house with belt, ami, after locking all the doors, threw himself on a couvh ami awaited further events. “What did you do that for, BrUce?” asked Aimee. “I thought T saw a man who once threatened to shoot me.” Oh, Bruce, not kill you? You don't think he will kill us, do you?” she asked breathlessly, as she wound her arms round his neck ami pressed her soft lips to his. 1 don t know, pet. Sometimes men mte each other without a cause; anyway, he w'ill soon go away’. If he gets in we won’t open the door—Gad! There he wat it now! Hush!” Branden was more surprised at the appearance of Toby than he had ever ‘ 1 ’ anything in his life, and he coukl not account for his being in the

company of Valerie Day. He knew she was in Auckland, for he had caught sight of her on the boat as they landed, ami he had also seen her at breakfast in the saloon, although she was unaware of his presence on board. Having neither written nor received letters from his people for some months, he was ignorant of their movements, ami his surprise and annoyance would be considerable when he found that his wife was nearing the shores of New Zealand. W hen Toby’ got tired of knocking ami ringing at the door, he went away, but a close observer might have noticed a look of obstinate determination on his weak face as he walked backwards towards the gate, keeping his eyes fixed on the windows. When he had finally’ disappeared over the gate, Sir Branden said to Aimee: “My head aches, dear, and 1 think, if you will not feel lonely, 1 will take a run up Mount Eden. 1 won’t i»e long away, little one,” and, catching up his hat hurriedly, left the house, leaving poor Aimee wringing her hands in terror lest he should la* shot or done to death in some horrible manner. J'oby was only’ a few steps ahead of him when Im gained the road, ami, on hearing his name called nut, turned in surprise, ami confronted Branden. “Ba Jove! It is you, then?” “Of course it's me. But what in creation's name brought you out to New Zealand—and when did you come?” “One question at a time, me Imy. The pater sent me out to find some brains, ami instead I've found a mystery. Who’s the pretty little girl 1 saw you with. Branden—anything Linda would object to. eh?” “Don’t l>e an ass, Toby; it’s only the landlady’s chi hl.” “Ifm! And what did you both bolt for the minute you saw me?” “We didn’t. 1 was not aware that you saw us. ami was just going for a smoke round the garden, and from a distance J saw you climb over the gate, ami hurried up, as you see. Does the explanation satisfy you—l suppose it was you 1 heard hammering at the door. The old woman is deaf, and the girl would run a mile from a stranger—she’s awfully shy.” “Especially with you, my boy. Ha! ha! Well, I've a letter here for you from Linda, ami I expect the news is pretty stale by now, as I did not know’ whei;e to find you. You’ll soon have the pleasure of Linda's company, anyway, and she will give you all the news.” “Linda!" exclaimed Branden in alarm. “You don't mean that she is coming out hero—to Auckland?” “That's it, old man. She left Home three weeks ago—wasn't well, ami wanted a change; doctor ordered it. don’t you know. I say, Branden. you’re a l»east not to write to her; you know she is fond of you, although you are such a—a ” “Oh. give me amt my iniquities a rest, for goodness’ sake. She knew I wasn’t an angel when she married mo, ami I’m no worse now than I was then.” “You are no lietter. either—drat you! I wish anyone’s sister but mine was your wife.” “Well, we need not quarrel over it now. Where are you staying, Toby? Ami are those ladies waiting for you in that carriage?” “Yes. You had better come and l>e introduced. Arthur Marlow is an old friend of ours, and his wife has asked Linda to stay with them.” “Ami where do I come in?” “Where you’ve been the last few months,” answered Toby with a baleful gleam in his eyes. “Come on, are you going to stand here all day?” “One minute. Who is that lady with the violets in her hat?” Mrs. Day—Mrs. Marlow's sister. They are all sisters. Are you coming?” “No, not just now. I'll come and see you to-night about Linda. Where did you say you were staying?” “At the Pier Hotel. I’ll expect you at eight.” “All right. Ta la ” “Hang you!” muttered Toby to liiniself. as he turned away. I'll find out your little game, me boy—never fear.” CHAPTER XXX. Sir Branden slowly retraced his steps, ami, turning to the right, aacendetl the rugged end of the mountain, preferring it tn the carriage drive at the other end After gaining the top, he made his way down the crater, ami. throwing himself down, opened his wife's letter, ami read it with knitted brows. The few cattle grazing about looked at him with sleepy indifference, and a couple of rabbits

truttlrd past iu uffrigltt as he rustled the pa[>er, and then- tore it into fragments and threw it- to the winds. He respected, but did not love, his wife, for her large fortune alone had been his sole object in asking her to marry him. laidy was a tall, plain woman, with a Homan nose and eyes of that greenish colour generally described as cat’s eyes; but she had a kind, graceful manner, which atoned for her plain face. She was greatly loved by her old father, whose favourite she had always la-eii, and at whose death she would benefit to the extent of £50,000, besides the large fortune she was already mistress of. l.inda Babbington had for several years transacted her- father's business, and relieved him of all those 'petty worries inseparable from a large estate, and which cannot be entrusted to a servant, for this he was accordingly grateful, more especially as he knew her to bo entirely inde|>endeiit of him iu a monetary sense. Linda fully' appreciated his love, and clung to him. for she knew that he and Toby were the only creatures on earth wiio really loved her, and she did not despise her brother for his weaker intellect, but rather loved him the more on that account. > Having long loved Sir Branden I.ang•tone, she buried Ute secret in her own heart, never dreaming that one so gifted could entertain a thought of her, when ao many pretty girl* were to be had. Jto she could hardly believe it true when her father told her of Sir Branden’s proposal for her hand. “If you are wise, my girl, you will refuse him. for he is no credit to anyone. However, he says that in the event of your acceptance of him he will reform, but t don’t believe it myself.” ‘‘Oh. father, you don’t lielieve all those Scandalmongers who malign him so, do you ?’’ ’’Well, perhaps, after all. it's a case of ‘give a dog a bad name.’ ” “And does he really wish me to be his jrife, father? ft can't lie true.” “And why, I should like 'to know? Aren’t you the lieist' daughter in England ? You are a great deal too good for him, anyway. But surely, my girl, you won’t accept him—you don’t care for him, do you?” asked the old man, pathetically. ~ "1 don't mind telling you now. father, that I have loVed him for years. I never hud but the out secret from you, dear, and it was one t, could not speak of, even to you, father.” ■'Well, well, my child, if that is the case, marry Irim, and if he isn’t good to you. come home, again to me, and God bless and keep,you.” Neither futlipr .«{>r. daughter had the faintest suspicion that Sir Branden’s chjef object in.asking Linda Babbington to marry, fiiiin ,wfts money, that he was embarrassed tit the time, and at his wit’s end for, .ready money, having long ago raised all he could get on his fine property. He was always extremely courteous to his wife after their marriage: indeed, she often thought his courtesy too studied, and would like to have been treated a little more familiarly by him. She found it ail so different to the sweet, familiar manner of her schoolmate’s husband, who had been married just twelve months, and she was on the point of asking her once or twice if Cyril had been like that from the first, but loyalty to Branden prevented her putting the question, and she decided to wait and see. "We have only been married six months, and Norma has lieen married twelve, and then Branden is more reserved in manner than Cyril; but I am sure Branden loves me just as much as Cyril loves Norma.” And so she comforted herself, and held her peace, hoping for the change that ■ever came. By this time her husband had drawn pretty heavily on her purse, and she began to feel alarmed at these Constant large demands; but she made no complaint, nor did she mention the fact to her father. About eight months after their marriage she one day decided to question Branden about his monetary affairs, for his last demand had seriously crippled her, and she felt sure now that he was in difficulties, and that perhaps he did not like to tell her so for fear of causing her pain. Branden. of course, made out the best case for himself regarding his heavy losses. ■nd Linda Itelieved him. and liegged that ■he might explain matters to her father, .whose help she relied on to save her husband's properly, which was heavily mortgaged. Ohl .Mr. Babbington consented to save the pro|ierty cm the condition that he became the purchaser, and Sir Branden. Utter considerable delay, agreed to this, believing that the estates would revert to himself again through his wife, which,

he told himself, was the same tiring. He was also very glad to be rid of the responsibility and business transactions connected with the property, ami he was already making private plans for enjoying the proceeds of the sale. This having been completed, Mr. Babbington sett led the property on his daughter and her heirs, and in less than nine months from that date Sir Branden was on his way to New Zealand in search of the health which fast living had shattered. Poor Linda had begged to be allowed to accompany him, but to this he would not agree. The prospect of perfect freedom from- her society had been one of the chief inducements which the change held out to him, and he had managed, without offending her, to make her see the impossibility of accompanying him. “You see, Linda, I will not remain in the cities, but intend to tour the wild parts of the country on foot, and I should feel wretched, my dear, if I had the eare of a laity in my present condition. And, then, your father would miss you so much, and he is old, and might go off al any time, and you would never forgive yourself if you were absent under these circumstances.” Linda was not now so blind to her husband's faults, but she loved him still, and when he had gone and she was alone she grew pale and low-spirited, anti indulged in fits of passionate crying, after which she would look so wretched that it nearly drove her father wild to witness it. When six months had passed, and only one letter had arrived from Sir Branden, Mr. Babbington decided to send out Toby in search of him, and, having arrived at this decision, he lost no time in carrying it out. “Tell the fellow I have sent you out in search of brains, Toby,” he said, on seeing his son off at the docks. “Leave that to me, father; I'm not the noodle everyone takes me for, don’t you know.” “Well, this trip ought, to be the making of you, Toby, so don’t let anyone lead you astray, my boy." Toby assured his father that he would come back a credit to him, and told Linda to keep up her pecker, and he would send a cable as soon as he found Brayden. Toby loved his sister with a dog-like fidelity, and he hated Branden for causing, her unhappiness.' He knew riiqre of his brother-in-law’s private affairs than anyone suspected. Toby, with all his dulness of intellect, was a gentleman. with a gentleman’s instincts, and would not have harmed the weakest of Grid's creatures. When Toby had been three months in Auckland, and no news of Branden had come Home, Linda begged her father to take her out to New Zealand, and, having gained her point, they started exactly five months after Toby had left. Linda had written to advise her brother of her decision, but withheld the fact of her father's intention to accompany her. This was Mr. Babbington’s wish for various reasons. linen Sir Brandens' temper had cooled down a few- degrees, he rose to his feet, stretched himself, and yawned; then, with a muttered curse on his wife, he ascended to the top of the crater, and made his way down the other side. After dinner that evening he found his way, as agreed, to his brother-in-law’s hotel. “Well,” he said, “here I am.” “So I see," answered Toby with a drawl, and without rising. “Seat yourself in that arm-chair there, and make yourself comfortable, me deah boy,” and as he sjHike he pushed a tray with glasses and whisky across the table. “Thanks. I’ve just dined.” “Gettin* moral. Signed the pledge, perhaps, and attend prayer meetings.” “Not exactly. You are getting quite witty. Perhaps you have found some of the brains the old man sent you in search of, eh?” “Y-e-s. Picked ’em up on the Epsom road.” “I see. Does that brilliant remark mean anything?” “Perhaps it does, and perhaps it doesn't.” “You are quite mysterious this evening. Toby." “Y-e-s. Almost as much so as the little girl at Epsom.” “You are. drunk, you ass. I haven’t come all this way to applaud your witticisms.” “Haven’t you? What then?” “To hear about Linda. What the deuce made her come out!” “Oh, about Linda. And didn't your letter give you the information you crave?”

“No, she writes in rather an hysterical way. and does not favour nie with her confidence as to her arrangements.

She certainly mentions her intention to stay with the Marlows, but that is preposterous; she must decline the invitation.” - , I “And wljy, pray? Are our friends not good enough for Sir Branden lungstone !” “That is my business. She,shall stop where 1 am, you cannot say she would wihh this to be otherwise.” "Unfortunately, no.” ■ “Why unfortunately, you cub of insolence ?’’ “Because she lives in ignorance of your vices, and is unaware that your sole object in marrying her was greed—in short, money. What do you care for Linda, you dog?” “We are getting complimentary. Suppose I admit the soft impeachment, for you must be aware that your sister is not exactly a lieauty, and I think she has done remarkably well for herself in marrying a baronet.” Directly he had spoken Sir Branden saw his mistake. His role had always been to appear fond of Linda, for his whole future depended on her so far as money was concerned. He knew that his own money that he had received for his estates would not last long; indeed, he had considerably reduced that amount at the card tables, long before leaving London. -He therefore felt when he saw the fury in Toby’s lace that he had allowed revenge to get the better of discretion, and hastened to make the best of matters. “You really try a fellow too much. Toby. Of course, I did not mean what I said about Linda, but 1 could not resist the temptation to punish you for your insolence to me. You know that it is all surmise about tlie Epsom girl. I assure you you are mistaken entirely.” “If I am it’s the first time, and your assurance goes for nothing. You can’t take me in as you do Linda.” “Well, Toby, you may not believe it. but I would not exchange Linda for the prettiest girl in New Zealand.” "Not while her money lasts, you won’t do it—openly; but let that run short, and you would desert her without a qualm.” Sir Branden was determined to keep his temper at all costs, and .he secretly decided to immediately rpinove Aimee from her present .place of abode tp one more secure from Toby’s inquisitorial interference, as he mentally styled it. “Well, as f cannot convince you of my sincerity, time will show and prove what I say to be true. Of course, I know I am a bad cuss, and Linda knew it before she married me, didn’t she now ?” “She never believed one word against you. The trouble lay in making her believe it, and she still believes you a saint. I expect.” “That proves I’ve been a good husband. Toby.” “You’ve been coldly polite to her. and given your best feelings, if you ever had any, to other women, you cold wretch! ” “Thank you. On second thoughts, I will let Linda go to the Marlow's, if she prefers their society to mine. I shall, however, be anxiously awaiting her at ttie boat, and we can decide our plans when we meet, so, for the present, goodnight.” And Sir Branden abruptly left the room, while Toby snarled like an angry dog. (To be continued.)