Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 November 1896 — A LOYAL LOVE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LOYAL LOVE

BY J BERWICK HARWOOD

CHAPTER XX". "This is an awkward business, my man •—an awkward and a disagreeable business, I may say.” The speaker was Mr. Sturt, one of the principal solicitors in Daneborougb, and clerk to the magistrates. . “An awkward business for him, I hope!” growled out the person addressed. “You persist, then, in your accusation against the gentleman whose name you have just mentioned?” said Lawyer Sturt. "Very well. I have sent a message to Dr. Leader. No other county magistrate could be so promptly communicated with.” Crouch took a chair, while Mr. Sturt went on with is writing, In perhaps twenty minutes more a boy clerk ushered In “Dr. Leader.” “This man insists,” said Lawyer Sturt, “upon bringing a formal charge against Sir Richard Mortmain, of Helston, a landed gentleman, a baronet, and brother of Lady Thorsdale.” “Ah, indeed,” said Dr. Leader, surveying from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows the truculent countenance, shaggy and broad form of the accuser. “And,” added the clerk to the magistrate, “he admits that it is private resentment which has induced him to come forward in this matter.” “Nothing more probable,” observed the Doctor. “We had better get in a succinct form his statement of the case and reduce it to writing.” “He gave me these, Sir R. did,” said Crouch, savagely, as with a brown forefinger he pointed to two bluish wales ■that scarred his ugly face; “as if I'd been a hound to bear the whip. But I’m not here to jaw about a mere assault. I charge Sir Richard Mortmain, baronet, with forgery to the tune of eight hundred pounds sterling. He did it at a time when he was on bad terms with his father, the late Sir Richard. The forged check purported to be signed by a nobleman who lived near us—at Mortmain, I mean—and I was the man who presented it, and got the cash for it, at Threddleston. Then there came a coolness and the.-e were words between me and Sir R. And that was how he wrote me two letters, which I have by me to this day, and which are proofs that he wrote Lord Wyvern’s name on the check, and that he begged and prayed me, his accomplice, not to split.”

“This sounds a cock-and-bull story, my man,” remarked Lawyer Sturt. “I doubt if any jury would believe your tale.” “That depends, of course,” said Dr. Deader, mildly, “,;pon the proofs.” “I’ve got them, sir, never doubt me,” responded Crouch, confidently. “I can lay my hand at an hour’s notice on what will send my finb gentleman to spoil his white hands with oakum-picking and quarryman’s work.” Rufus Crouch, after indulging for a time in liquor and boastful talk at a low public house on the verge cf the town, left Daneborougb in a state of high excitement. "I shall be queen’s evidence, and so copie safe out of the forgery job,” he muttered to himself. Hordle Cliff, as Rufus had truly said in his conversation with the baronet, is a formidable place—a rampart frowning down upon the sea. Crouch, excited by drink and the tension of his nerves, walked recklessly at the very verge of the giddy height, kicking over now and then a pebble or a clod of earth, and then laughing, as an ogre might have done, at the grim visions that passed through his seething brain. At last Rufus reached the tempting spot which he had lovingly described to Sir Richard —the scene of the intended murder. How he had gloated over the details of the projected crime! It would never be done now —that dark deed—never! never! Crouch was not one to risk his neck gratis; and yet At the selected spot the ruffian turned, witn his face toward Daneborougb, the town he had just left, and by an effort of the imagination saw before him, hurrying along and unsuspecting, the hated form of Don. “Aha! my gentleman foundling,” he snarled, “one good push and over you go, never to come up again!” And as he spoke he stamped his heavy foot on the bettling cliff, and threw forward his great hands in hideous imitation of the purposed crime. But then the crumbling path gave way beneath his unwary feet, and with one wild yell of despairing anguish, down, down went Rufus himself to the jagged rocks below! It was two days before the body was found.

CHAPTER XXXL On the day on which the medical magistrate waited in vain for the reappearance of the accuser of Sir Richard Mortmain, Don called at the parsonage of Woodbui n. He was in the usual attire of a gentleman. but there was a sadness in his bright face that only dated from the day when his hopes of Violet for his wife had ben rudely dashed away. “Is Mr. Marsh at home?” Don asked, and Mr. Marsh, when he came into the drawing-room and found Don standing there alone, was moved by a generous impulse. “I have to beg your pardon, Mr. Don,” he said, heartily; “and, as an honest man, I feel it my duty to own that I have done you, unwittingly, a great injustice. Every injurious expression that I used in my anger toward yourself applies, I find, to another person, of whose very existence I was ignorant. I withdraw and regret those words —I own I was wrong.” “Dear sir, you have said enough,” answered Don, readily. “I was certain that you had mistaken my motives, but I felt sure that you acted from a sense of duty. “But, Mr. Don,” remarked the dry-salt-er presently, assuming his most serious aspect, “though Ephraim Marsh regards you as a fine young fellow, Miss Violet Mowbray’s guardian must not sanction any betrothal—any love passages—between his ward and a young man whose worldly position is so unequal to her own. Pedigree is not what it was; but when there are high connections, and MMey, too, Mr. Don ” **l nadentand you, sir,” said Don, sadly. so the merchant hesitated; “but, believe me, I did not need fresh proofs of the hopelessness of my suit. lam here to-day to ask your permission to my seefag Mias Mowbray once more—only once —before I leave England.” •Leave England Fer claimed Mr.

“Yes, sir!” Don explained. “It is for Mies Mowbray’s—for Violet’s—dear sake that I have made up my mind to seek a short cut to fortune. Mr Barrett, Lord Thorsdale’s land agent, has kindly recommended me to a brother of his, who is manager of a great estate and of some rich silver mines in Mexico.” “Upon my word,” said Mr. Marsh, “I am sorry! But never mind that now. Mr. Don, if I consent to your request for a parting interview with my ward, I must stipulate for no pledges and promises. There must be no positive engagement to prevent the young lady from forming future ties.” There was a proud sadness in Don’s voice as he replied: “My own honor, sir, would forbid me to be married, or even betrothed, to Miss Mowbray, rich and well-connected, unless I had won for myself the advantages of a position in the world, and of a competence. Should I succeed. I will come back to t-sk for her love and her hand. Till then I will accept no plight from her. Of that. Mr. Marsh, I can assure you.” “I will, on receipt of this assurance, go to my ward, mention your wish for a meeting with her, and arrange for it tomorrow. Mr. Don, if, as I doubt not, the young lady be willing,” said the merchant. “Wait for me, if you please. I shall soon be back.” Five minutes after Mr. Marsh’s departure the door of the room was opened, and “Lord Wyvern” was announced. The Earl entered. He had ridden over from Thorsdale on one his noble entertainer’s horses, and attended by a mounted groom, to call upon the rector, whom he had known and esteemed long ago in London. “You are a son, I’ suppose, of my old friend, Mr. Langton?” said the ex-am-bassador, graciously, to Don. “I am not related to Mr. Langton, my lord. lam merely waiting here on business, if I may call it so,” answered the young man, with a slight bow. Lord Wyvern seemed to resume his haughty coldness of demeanor. He seated himself, and, without speaking again, awaited the arrival of the clergyman. But from time to time he could not prevent himself from glancing at Don, as the latter stood, in an attitude of unstudied grace, near a window that commanded a view of the sea. Of what did the young man’s dark eyes, his features, and the very turn of his proud head, remind the Earl? Lord Wyvern almost felt as though he had known Don—or, at least, seen him before; felt as though the sight of the handsome, manly youth awakened in him vague memories, though of what he knew not.

“Lord Wyvern, I believe,”- said Mr. Marsh, coming hastily into the room. “I must apologize to your lordship for the stupid blunder of the maid who showed yoa in. Mr. Langton, my niece’s husband, is in his library, I believe, and quite unaware of your visit. If you will wait one moment, my lord. And you, Mr. Don, please step this way.” And the dry-salter hurried Don out of the room and so into the hall. “I have spoken to Miss Mowbray,” he said. “I have explained to her that you are on the point of leaving England for a distant country, and only wish to see her alone this once, to bid her farewell. And she will see you—poor girl!—at eleven to-morrow.” Don took his leave and went, while Mr. Marsh made haste to repair to she library, where he apprised the rector of the coming of the noble visitor, who remained alone in the drawing-room of the parsonage. And when Mr. Langton had hurried away to greet his titled guest, the drysalter seated himself beside the writing table, and for some moments reflected on his recent interviews with Don and with his ward. At the appointed hour on the day succeeding to that on which Lord Wyvern had paid his visit, Don rode into the pretty garden of the parsonage. After a brief delay he was conducted into the drawingroom, where he found Violet Mowbray, looking very pale and pretty. She was the first to speak. “So you have made up your mind, Don dear, to go away and leave me?” “I am going Violet, darling,” answered Don, drawing nearer, “that I may come again all the sooner to claim her I love as my wife, to win my sweet prize, and be very happy ever after, as the dear old story books say.” “But, Don—Don,” answered Violet, looking at him tearfully, with large eyes wistfully fixed upon his face, “suppose you never come back to England—never come back to me? Girl as I am, I have read something of the wild country whither you are bound. I know partly what lurking dangers await you there.” “Come, come, we must not make out my future abode a place from which no traveler returns. Violet, love,” said Don, tenderly, but firmly, “there must be no engagement—no binding troth-plight—be-tween you and me. That much I have promised Mr. Marsh. There must be no pledge, dearest—nothing to make you think that you are bound to Don, should Don come to be half forgotten.” “Cruel! cruel!” was Violet’s reproachful answer, as she looked at him, all her soul in her eyes. There was more of fond talk, the little, sacred reminiscences, the lovers’ prattle, that all can remember, that seem so sweet and precious, and which, if transferred to prosaic print and paper, would lose all their charm, and then came the bitter, bitter moment of the actual parting. “My love! my own!” she murmured. “Make haste and come back—to me!” Then Don caught her in his arms, andkissed her pale, soft cheek ence and again. “Good-by,” he said, “my love, good-by— Violet, dear.” (To be continued.) One tug on the Mississippi can take in 'six days from St. Louis to New Orleans barges carrying ten thousand tons of grain, which would require seventy railway trains of fifteen cars each. Tugs in the Suez Canal tow a vessel from sea to sea in forty-four hours. An omnibus for smokers and nonsmokers has been plying for some days in Berlin. There are no outside sears, but the inside is‘divided Into two com partments by a glass partition. Statistics prove that a single house fly may become the progenitor of a family of 2,080,320 descendants in one season. For headache, bathing behind lhe ears with hot water often proves of Im* manse benefit

DANCING LIZARD. One of the interesting little animals that live in far-away Australia is the dancing lizard, known scientifically as the chlamydosaurus kingi. This queer reptile is about three feet in length and wears a collar of bright red, yellow and blue mixture. He gets his name from the collar and is called the frilled lizard. He is not a bit pretty, and has a way of jumping around that gives one a peculiar fright if one comes upon him suddenly. Although this frilled chap has four legs, he seems to like walking and dancing upon his hind legs better than traveling upon all fours. He is as quick as lightning in his movements, and lives upon the insects that inhabit the trees of the thick woods. A QUEER FREAK DUCK. The queerest duck that ever swam is owned by a San Francisco man, who keeps a big farm just outside that city. The name of the duck's owner is Mr. E. J. Wilkinson, and he is very proud of his feathered pet The duck is just an ordinary appearing, white, quacking bird, such as everybody is familiar with, and yet it stands alone in duckdom as a unique specimen. The queer thing about this particular duck is that it has a trick of laying two eggs at one time; in other words, an egg within an egg. As a rule the shell of the outside egg measures about nine inches around, while the inside egg measures about four inches. The outside egg is just like the one inside with the exception that the yoke or yellow part is slightly flattened out from being pressed against the shell of the inside one. Sometimes this freaky creature will lay two double eggs, each one weighing from a quarter to half a pound, and measuring from eight to ten inches around the outside. Mr. Wilkinson is very proud of his peculiar pet, and says that be will never part with the downy creature as long as he has money enough left to buy feed for his talented bird. Noone has ever known any kind of a fowl to do the wonders that this duck perforins regularly, and though several people have offered large sums for the freak, Mr. Wilkinson steadfastly refuses to sell her.

OLD GOOD-BYE. Benny had lived in the country long, and everything he saw was new and interesting to him. He liked the old black crows in the trees behind the house particularly. He said he was just as sure they talked to him as he could be, and that if he only knew crow language he could talk to them. His mother answered that that was quite likely, for some very learned people believed that every animal had a language, and one gentleman had been talking to monkeys. Well, then Benny said he should go on trying to talk to the crows; and one morning he came down to breakfast, and told the family that a crow had come out of the tree and perched on his window-sill and sa ; d, “How are you?” and that he had said, * ‘Very well, thank you, Mr. Crow,” and the crow had laughed and said, “Good-bye,” and flown away. Benny’s mother told him that she thought be must have dreamed that; but Benny could not be convinced, and a few weeks later, when Benny was quite ill with fever, and she was nursing him, she was astonished by seeing one of the crows on the window-sill. ' ‘There!” Benny said. “There he is! ” Then the black bird came in and hopped over the bureau to the head-board, and said: “How are you r” “I’m veiy sick. Air. Crow,” said Benny. Then the bird cried out: “Oh! Oh! Good-bye!” “I never could have believed that if I had not seen and heard it myself," said Benny’s mother. And the little waiter-girl— who had brought up a bowl of gruel for Benny—was so frightened that she spilled half of it on the table and ran out of the room, crying that she was sure Master Benny was going to die, for a bird had come in at his bedroom window and bid him good-bje.] The result of this was that in the course of the morning a very nice old lady called on Benny’s mother, and told her that she wanted to explain that the bird who had come in at her little boy’s window was not a crow at all. It was only as black as one; it was a raven. She had had it a great many years, and it often went to visit the neighbors. It always said: “How are you?” when it walked in, and “Good-bye," when it went away, and often made other speeches. His name was “Old Good-bye.” Then she talked about Benny and gave his mother some medicine that helped him at once, and after that they were all great friends, and often called on each other. ‘ ‘Old Good-bye" dropped in very often, and amused the children whenever he came. He was a great thief, and picked sugar out of the bowl and raisins out of the stone jar where the cook kept ths.ni, and would have done considerable mischief if he had not been watched. Sometimes it is necessary to watch children as well as animals. A cat will steal milk and fish, and there are little boysand girls who will nip corners off of newlybaked cakes, and make the edges of pies look as if mice had been at them, and even meddle with preserves and pickles. None of Benny’s siste' s would have done these things, but I am sorry to say that Benny would. People do not like to say that their own children will steal; but Benny’s mother admitted that her boy would “snoop.” She tried to cure him of it in vaiu. Benny was so fond of sweet things that they were a terrible temptation to him. On Saturday evening, when lus father came from the city, he always brought a considerable amount of candy, and on Sunday afternoon he used to get it out of the drawer and hand it about. But one Sunday morning, as Benny came down-stairs, he saw his father’s traveling-bag standing on a chair, and peeping in, saw that for once the candies had been left there. The top of one paper was loose, and in went his fingers and transferred a dozen chocolate drops to his pocket. Then he ran on downstairs. The family were at breakfast, and Benny ate his with a guilty feeling. When he had finished, he sat down very quietly on a stool, and thought how wicked he was, and made up his ndnd to put the chocolate back where he found it, and get it off of his conscience. In fact, be was about to

rise to his feet to do so, when In at th* long window walked Old Good-bye, and came stalking over the carpet to where he sat, and looked at him with his queer eyes, and said, “flow are you?” “Pretty weU,” Benny answered. Then Old Good-bye perched upon Benny’s knee and brought one of his eyes to bear upon his pocket, and. in an instant, in went the bird's beak, and out I came a chocolate drop, which it carried to the hearth and laid down with great solemnity. Benny was so frightened that be could say nothing, and all the family sat staring, while the raven made twelve journeys to the hearth and ranged the dozen chocolate drops in a row. When the last was placed there he began to swallow each in turn, said “Good-bye,” and walked solemnly away. “Is it possible you have done this again?” said the boy’s father. “Oh. Benny !" cried his mother. At this Benny’s tears began to flow fast, and he arose slowly and went to his father. “Papa,” he said, ‘ ‘I never felt so mean. Won’t you please whip me right away, and get it over ?” “Benny," said his father, “you shall have a punishment. That does not always mean a whipping. Ot course, you will not have any candy, and you had better go and sit by yourself while we are taking a walk together this afternoon, and think how mean you have been. That will be punishment enough. I think.” Poor Benny thought it was, and his sisters cried softly during the whole walk, and no one could eat the candy. When one of a loving family does wrong, the rest always suffer. Benny gave up “snooping” from that time; but Old Good bye di I not allow him to forget his fault, for whenever he paid a call he always went straight to Benny’s pockets to look for candy there.

CHAPTER XXXII. *We are striking work here, sir. We are going south; but that matters little. As for Rufus Crouch, we have not had •him among us these four days past. And that, doctor, is all I ha’i* to tell.” Obadiah Jedson, as ba said these words, leaning on the long, sharp-pointed shovel which jet-hunters use, looked sternly and grandly picturesque, his gray locks streaming over his shoulders, and his tall, gaunt height towering aloft. "This person Crouch,” Dr. Leader was In the act of saying, when suddenly a procession of seafaring men came winding its way along the beach skirting the cliff wall, and in the midst of the marching column was visible a rude litter upon which lay a shapeless, motionless something covered up decorously with another fragment of tarpaulin. “An accident, do you say? Let me see it,” said Dr. Leader dropping the magistrate, and resuming his old functions ns a medical man. The tarpaulin, when removed, gave to view the marble-white face and pinched features of a dead man. There was no mistaking the shaggy red beard, the broad, strongly-built figure of Rufus Crouch. “Yes, he must have been dead for days; the tide had reached the place where he lay, for here is the green slime of the sea-weed mingling with his hair and staining his clothes,” said Dr. Leader. “He was on his way back from Daneborough toward Beckdale, when the path gave way, and he fell. No human being could have survived that fall.” Dr. Leader promptly decided that it would be better to remove what had lately been Rufus Crouch to his own miserable home, the rather that he, in his magisterial capacity, felt it his duty to institute a search for the documents which the ex-gold digger had pledged himself to produce at Lawyer Sturt’s office, in confirmation of the heavy charge which he had so vehemently brought against Sir Richard Mortmain. At last the lonely hu,t was in view. There it was in its stony ravine, shut in by the barren hills. There was now no 'furious baying on the part of the fourfooted sentinels that guarded the door. XThe starving dogs could bark no more. Hunger had tamed them, and they lay exhausted. Then, by Dr. Leader’s orders, the door was forced open. They laid the body of Rufus Crouch on the wretched pallet-bed. “And now for our search,” said Dr. leader; and the superintendent and the more intelligent of his helmeted acolytes did their best, but on no shelf, and in no locker, chest, basket, barrel or cupboard could the most vigilant scrutiny discern anything answering to the papers which Rufus had promised so confidently to produce as proofs of the truth of his accusation against the baronet. “I am very much afraid,” said the magistrate. as the tedious work of searching into all manner of receptacles, nooks and corners came to an end, “that the man had some other hiding place away from his hut. At any rate, it seems as though we had had our trouble for nothing.” Obadiah tapped his forehead suddenly, as if a new idea had occurred to him. “I remember,” he said —“yes, I remember how I once came here and found the hearthstone up, and Crouch sorely angered and ill at ease because I found him busy with something beneath it that he did his best to hide. The hint was eagerly adopted. The very workmen who had found Crouch’s body on the razor-edged rocks below the dizzy height of Hordle Cliff were ready at a word to use Crouch’s own crowbar and shovel to force up the heavy hearthstone. “A miser after all!” “A crockful of golden guineas!” “Always thought he must be rich—a close chap like old Robinson Crusoe!” Such were some of the comments of the lovers of mystery outside the dead man’s dwelling. But when, with some difficulty, the weighty stone had been lifted, and the cavity which it concealed was exposed, no gold, to the great disappointment of the spectators, was revealed, but only a number of parchments and papers, •heedfully wrapped in oilskin, to keep them from injury by damp. “Yes, yes,” said the magistrate, after a cursory inspection of his prize, “these are the very papers, as far as I can see, which this poor wretch promised, and, no doubt, Intended to bring with him to Mr. Sturt’s office on the morrow of the day on which he met his death by a fall from that dangerous cliff. And there seem to be other documents, too, not less valuable to further the ends of justice, which Crouch may or may not have meant to use for a good purpose, but which are brought to light now, thanks chiefly to you, Captain Jedson.”

CHAPTER XXXIII. Earl Wyvern, for the second time, was a visitor at Woodburn Parsonage. He had called to bid adieu to his friend of other days, the rector. “I leave Thorsdale to-morrow,” the Earl had said, and at that moment Dr. Deader was announced. Dr. Leader looked around him. All the inmates of the parsonage, including Mr. Marsh, were present. Worthy Mrs. Langton was there; so was Violet Mowbray, looking very sweet, sad and gentle. The Earl, -who had known her mother in days long past, was struck by the likeness which she presented to Mrs. Mowbray. “My visit to-day,” said Dr. Leader, with his grave, kind smile, “is partly to 'this young lady”—and here he bowed to Violet, who looked at him with astonished eyes, while a slight tinge of color rose to her cheeks—“on account of a remarkable discovery, which, in ray capacity of magistrate, I have been fortunate enough to make. I am the bearer of unexpected good news, since here is a deed”—and he produced a thick folded parchment—“by virtue of which General Oliver Yorke, years and years ago, made over to three trustees the sum of seventy thousand pounds consols for the benefit of his grandniece, Violet Mowbray,” Then followed an animated conversation. The Doctor briefly narrated the salient features of the finding of the precious document, while Mr. Marsh on examination vouched for the genuineness of the signature of the old Indian general long dead. “This must have been stolen,” said the dry-salter. The medical magistrate had no doubt of that. Papers arid memoranda had been found proving Rufus Crouch to have been head clerk at a West-coun-try solicitor’s, one Lawyer Bowman, whose name chanced to be familiar to Xord Wyvern.

“I knew him perfectly,” said the Earl, “and I have heard that before he died, -with very enfeebled faculties and almost complete loss of memory, a rascally clerk had robbed him and absconded. It was a singular coincidence, too, that general Yorke should not have survived the signing of this deed by a month.” “At any rate,” rejoined Mr. Marsh, “we may congratulate Miss Mowbray on her good fortune.” Violet could not repress a sob. The money brought no comfort to her; it was the golden bar to keep her and Don apart. “But,” said Dr. Leader, seriously, “my duty as a magistrate is not yet discharged. I have another errand of a more painful nature. I intended, my lord, to have gone up to Thorsdale, but finding your lordship here, I must request the favor of a few minutes’ private conversation.” Conducted by the wondering rector into the comfortable dining-room of the parsonage, Dr. Leader made haste to lay before the Earl the proofs of Sir Richard Mortmain’s guilt. There was a copy of Crouch’s sworn deposition at Lawyer Sturt’s office. There were found beneath the hearthstone in the dead mpn’s miserable hut Sir Richard’s treasured letters, penned at Mortmain, to conciliate the good-will of his offended plebeian accomplice. There were also the rough copies of the forged check for five hundred pounds, the imitation of Lord Wyvern’s signature having in each instance been deemed too faulty to pass muster at the Threddleston and County Bank. Never was more convincing documentary evidence brought together. “I ata sorry for this,” said the Earl, thoughtfully. “I thank you, Dr. Leader, for the delicacy and kind feeling with which you have acted in this distressing affair. If you will allow me, I should like to have a few days to reflect. I will write to you, certainly, but I should prefer a short delay.” The Earl went back to the drawingroom, but there was a cloud on his brow, and he seemed strangely preoccupied; and as soon as courtesy permitted he took his leave. So soon as the carriage which had brought him from Thorsdale Park was clear of the parsonage grounds, the Earl gave the order, “To Helston—to Sir Richard Mortmain’s. I wish to call there on my way back.” Earl Wyvern, conducted into the presence of the baronet, bent his head slightly, but stretched out no hand to take the white and jeweled one which the master of Mortmain held out to him. He declined, too, to be seated. “I am here,” said the Earl, in his sternest tone and with his coldest manner, “to give you a warning, Sir Richard. It may seem strange to you, perhaps, that such a warning should come to the forger from the man whom he has robbed, but ” “My lord, this language must be accounted for!” interrupted the baronet, as a patch of red mounted to his pallid cheek.

The Earl eyed him with haughty scorn. “I shall account for it,” he said, severely, “before a proper tribunal, if necessary. Let me tell you, before you attempt to cloak your guilt by denial or bluster, that your accomplice, the fellow Crouch, has denounced you. Let me tell you, too. that within the space of one short hour I have had before my eyes the proofs—the absolute proofs—that Captain Richard Mortmain, the son of my best and oldest friend, wrote my fictitious signature to the forged check for which, at the Threddleston Bank, Crouch received five hundred pounds.” This was terribly plain speaking. Sir Richard, ghastly in his pallor, clutched at the table near him for support, and seemed as if about to faint. “Mine,” continued Lord Wyvern, “is an errand of mercy, not of vengeance. My request for delay has only put off the evil hour of your arrest and trial. Take my advice, and fly; and in some distant country repent, if you can.” “I thank you from my heart—l will go,” stammered out the baronet, feebly. “I think your master is ill,” said Lord Wyvern to the Mortmain servant who was ready to open the hall ‘door for his exit. And then, re-entering the carriage, he went back to Thorsdale Park. CHAPTER XXXIV. Thrales Maple, which lies on the Yorkshire coast, between Horseshoe Bay and the seaport of Shrapton, is a decent little village enough, and boasts of as tidy a little inn as is consistent with the sparseness of the local population. Customers of the better sort at the Blue Lion meant farmers and farm bailiffs, skippers of fishing-smacks, captains or mates of small vessels, Shrapton townsfolk, and last, not least, the household brigade of the landlord, the servants from Herrick Hall. The category included also old Captain Obadiah Jedson, well known and respected from Lowestoft to Shields, and whose company of jet-hunters were just then encamped in Horeshoe Bay, near the rugged reefs of black and weeddraperied rocks which there jut out, like a natural wall, into the sea. It was the very place described in the earliest of these .pages, the very spot where Don, as a child, had been found by the jet seekers under gaunt Captain Jedson’s command. And in a corner of the neat parlor sat Obadiah himself, his long gray hair flowing over his shoulders and his eyes half shut. “We’ve got a new visitor up at the Hall,” said the coachman, setting down the pewter, from which he had taken a temperate draught—“Lord Wyvern.” “Will he be a Lord of Session, Mr. .Stubbs?” asked the Scotch gardener.” “This is a real lord," rejoined the coachman, almost crossly. “Why, man, it’s Earl Wyvern, one of the richest earls, I’ve heard tell, in broad England. His lordship’s no stranger here, and he’s an old friend of Sir William Herrick’s. He came here first with his young bride — poor thing!—that died early in foreign parts. And the next time he came to stay at the Hall he was a widower, as 1 grave to look at, though not so stern-like as now. Then it was that the great misfortune happened that our Sir William and his lady felt so much for, though, of course, it was worse for his lordship. Haven’t ye heard the story, Mr. Meiklejohn?” Mr. Meiklejohn had heard no story in any way connected with Earl Wyvern, and said so. “His lordship, as I said before,” re- 1 sumed the coachman, “came back again a widower, to visit- our master at the Hall. He wasn’t called Lord Wyvern then —he was not, because, you see, his father, the old earl, did not die for a matter of three years after that, so my lord was called Lord Ludlow. It’s the second title in the family. If his lordship’s sea

had not come to a sad ending he’d be Lord Ludlow this day.” “But how did this sad ending happen, Mr. Stubbs?" demanded the Scottish gardener. “It happened this way, Mr. Meiklejohn,” replied the coachman, returning to the pith of his story. “My lord brought down with him, besides his valet, a nurse for the child, a very respectable, tidy young person. This young person, the maid, used to go. with the perambulator and the little child, who may have been four, or something near that age, here and there, but most to the sands at Horseshoe Bay, and sit down there and read, or look at the sea,' as girls Ike that will do; and one day. when a sudden storm came on, she didn’t come back. When the child and the nurse were missed there was a search, but it was too late. The perambulator was found empty above high-water mark, and so was the open "book the girl had been reading. But that was all, and nothing more was known until four days later, the body of the young woman was found, poor thing. But the child’s poor, beautiful little corpse was never found—washed out to sea, no doubt, and ” Here a sudden crash interrupted the narrator, as Obadiah dropped his long church-warden pipe, and the fragile clay was smashed to pieces on the sanded floor. “What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Meikeljohn. “Nothing. The old cove in the corner must have nodded off to sleep, I suppose,” answered the coachman, glancing toward the captain of jet hunters, with whose personal appearance he did not happen to be acquainted. But Obadiah sat quite still and appeared to be unaffected either by the story he had just heard, or by the demolition of his pipe. Quietly the captain of the jet hunters rose from his seat in the corner and stalked out of the room, paying his modest reckoning as he passed the bar, and went out into the dusk of ths coming night. (To be continued.)