Jasper County Democrat, Volume 8, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 December 1905 — The Yellow Holly By FERGUS HUME. Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab." Etc. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Yellow Holly By FERGUS HUME. Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab." Etc.

By FERGUS HUME.

Author of "The Mystery of a Hamom Cab." Etc. X X

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I—George Brendon, a young Londoner, visits hl* friend. Leonard Train, who hat lodging* in the boarding house kept by Mrs. Jersey. Among the boarders is an elderly maiden lady. Miss Bull. Mrs. Jersey is startled by a piece of yellow holly worn by George. ll—George, whose real name it Vane, tells Train the story of his life. He is an orphan and the grandson of Lord Derrington, but the latter refuses to recognize the marriage of George's father (Lord Derrington’s son), who had eloped. Brendon desires to establish his position as Lord Derrington's heir in order to marry Dorothy Ward. The place of marriage of George’s parent* it known only to Mr*. Jersey, formerly maid to George's mother. His mother died at his birth, and his father had been murdered in San Remo, Italy, years before. Ill—ln the night Mrs. Jersey is killed with a stilleto by an unknown person. IV—Miss Bull takes charge of the house in behalf of Margery, neice of the murdered woman. The house has been leased from Lord Derrington. V—Mr*. Ward, a heartiest society woman, mother of Dorothy, is opposed to Dorothy's marriage to Brendon. The yellow holly had been given to Dorothy by her mother and by the girl to George.

CHAPTER VI. AFTER his disagreeable experience In the Bloomsbury district Brendon was not very anxious to go there again, but it was necessary that he should do so if he wanted to see his guardian. From force of habit he still continued to call him so, although Mr. Ireland bad long since ceased to act in that capacity. George had a sincere respect for him and frequently paid him a visit. Usually It was one of ceremony or of enjoyment, but on this occasion the young man went In search of knowledge. Ireland was an eccentric character who collected posters. Most collectors turn their attention to stamps, to snuffboxes, to autographs and such like trifles, but Mr. Ireland hunted tor those gigantic and gaudy pictures which make gay the thoroughfares of the city. He was a tall old man with rather •long white hair and a clean shaven, benign face. His usual height did away with the Impression of his excessive stoutness. George often wondered at bls size, considering that the man ate comparatively little. Mr. Ireland was dressed In glossy broadcloth scrupulously brushed and wore an old i fashioned Gladstone collar. He had mild blue eyes, rather watery, and a large mouth with full red lipa. This 'hint of sensuality was contradicted by th< serenity and pallor of his face and

by his life, which was as correct as his dress and as methodical as his hoars. Never was there so methodical a taan. He lived by the clock, and with him one day exactly resembled another. He rose at a certain hour and retired precisely when the hand on the clock indicated another. His meals were always regular, and he had stated hours for walking, when he went out whether It was wet or fine, sunny or foggy. The man was like a machine, and George, when living with him In his early days, had often found these restrictions irksome. It was 1 o’clock when Brendon called, and Mr. Ireland had just finished his luncheon. At 2 precisely he would leave the house for his one hour's constitutional. Brendon was aware of this and had timed his visit accordingly. Nevertheless Ireland looked at his watch and mentioned the fact “I can only give you an hour, George,” he said. “You know my habits.” "An hour will be sufficient” replied Brendon, taking the one chair. “You

are not looking very weH, sir,” he added, noting the fagged air of the old man.

"I have not been sleeping so soundly as usual,” rejoined Ireland. “At my age—and I am now seventy-five—l can’t be expected to enjoy my bed so much as a young person.” As time was short and Mr. Ireland would be sure to terminate the interview exactly at the stated hour George plunged Immediately Into the business which had brought him hither. “I wish to hear the story of my parents,” be said deliberately. The cigar fell from the fut fingers of Ireland, and he stared In amazement at the young man. “It Is rather late in the day for that, is it not?” he asked. < “Better late than never,” quoted George. “A proverb Is no answer,” said Ireland testily. “Then, if you wish to know, sir, I am in love.” “That Is no answer either.” “It will lead to a very explicit answer,” rejoined the young man coolly. “Love leads to marriage, and in my case marriage cannot take place unless I know that I am legitimate.” “Of course you are, I have always maintained that you are.” “What proof have you?” asked George eagerly. Ireland hesitated and wiped his mouth in quite an unnecessary manner with a red silk handkerchief. “Your father always declared that Miss Lockwood was his lawful wife, and treated her with every respect” “Did my father ever tell you where the marriage was celebrated?” “No; I never asked, nor did your grandfather Lockwood. It was not till after your mother’s death that Lord Derrington denied the marriage. Then Mr. Vane was in Italy and never troubled about the matter.” "He should have done so for my sake,” said George Indignantly. “Certainly, and I urged him to do so,” said Mr. Ireland heavily. “I was In Italy at the time, and you were only an infant In arms.” “Who was my nurse then?” “Jane Fraser, the Scotch nurse who afterward brought you to your grandfather Lockwood when Mr. Vane was murdered.” “Do you remember the other nurse, the first one I had?” Mr. Ireland grew Indignant and puffed angrily at his cigar. “I do, Indeed,” he said wrathfully, "a vulgar, forward hussy. She was not bad looking either and set up for being a lady.” Here he began to laugh. “Would you believe It, George, my boy, she was in love with your father and showed It so plainly that he was obliged to get rid of her?” “What was her name?” "Eliza Stokes. And she was handsome In a bouncing way.” “What became of her?” “I can’t tell you,” said Ireland, with sudden reserve. “Did you see her after she was dismissed?” Ireland turned his cigar slowly and

did not look at George when he replied. "Yes. I did. When and where it does not matter.” “But it does matter—to me!” cried Brendon anxiously. “It is to know about her that I came here to see yon today.” “I thought you came about your birth,” said Ireland sharply. “That among other things.” The old man looked down again and : appeared to be in deep thought. He | was turning over In his own mind how i much or how little he should tell George. And the young man looked at him anxiously. Much depended upon the speech of Mr. Ireland. At i last the silence was broken, and by a , most unexpected remark. “I loved your mother,” said Ireland. “I never knew that,” said Brendon softly, for he saw that the man was moved at the recollection of some early romance. “I never spoke of it before,” was the reply; and Ireland laid down his cigar to speak more freely. “Yes, I loved Rosina Lockwood with all my heart and soul. I was not bad looking in those days, George, and I had a good income, but she preferred your father.” “I am sorry to be obliged to ask you for a story of the past,” said Brendon apologetically, “but it means so much to me.” TH tell you all I can,” said Ireland, taking no notice of the apology. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and then began abruptly. “I first met your mother at her father’s house In Amelia square, where I went to take lessons In singing. Lockwood was famous for his method in those days, and his fame was increased by the appearance of your mother, Roslna, at many concerts. She was a most beautiful creature and was as much admired for her beauty as for her voice. Ah, what a voice! It was like the thrill of a lark, flexible and silvery, and with an immense range. She was quite the rage for a season and was called the English Jenny Lind. Many offers were made to her for the operatic stage. I dare say she would have accepted In the end had she not met with Percy Vane, and I he”— Ireland’s hand clinched. Brendon saw that the recital was painful to him, and but that he was so anxious to get at the proofs of his birth would have asked him to desist. “Percy Vane was a handsome man and rich. I warned Lockwood that be was in love with Rosina, but the old man would not heed. He was flattered by the attention Rosina received. All through that season Vane was in attendance on Rosina. At the end of It he eloped with her—yes. He met her outside St James’ hall and they eloped.” “Where did they go to?” asked Brendon eagerly. “That I cannot say. Rosina wrote three weeks afterward from Paris,

signing herself Vane and stating that she was the wife of Percy." "■Was my grandfather angry?” “Yes and no. He was angry that he should have lost her, for she was of use to him as an advertisement of his method of singing and also she earned a great deal of money. The house in Amelia square was large and required a good deal to keep it up. Besides, Anthony Lockwood was extravagant That was why you were left so badly off.” Brendon shrugged his shoulders. “It was good of my grandfather to leave me anything,” he said, "but in what way was my—Mr. Lock wood pleased? You hinted that he was not quite angry” “Well,” said Ireland, “he was flattered that his daughter should have married into the aristocracy.” “Then there was no question of the marriage?” “No. Lord Derrington said nothing till your mother was dead, and even then he said very little. It was when Vane was murdered at San Remo that he first decisively asserted that no marriage had taken place. He did so because Lockwood insisted that Derrington should acknowledge you as the heir. He refused to do so and said that bls second son was the heir.” “That is Walter Vane’s father?” “Exactly. And now the father is dead Walter Vane stands in your shoes. I wish you could prove the marriage, my boy,” said Ireland, shaking his head, “but it will be a difficult task.” “I don’t care how difficult it is,” replied Brendon resolutely. “I am determined to learn the truth.” “Who is the lady ?” asked Ireland. “Miss Dorothy Ward. You don’t know anything of her.” Ireland shook his head “I left the adoration of the aristocracy to Lockwood,” he said, with something like a sneer, “but that’s neither here nor there, my boy. To make a long story short, I met your mother in Paris, and shortly afterward she died, giving birth to you. Eliza Stokes was with her when she died, and you were given Into the charge of that woman. Your mother was buried in Pere la Chaise. Vane put up a stone to her—oh, he behaved very well, I don’t deny that,” added Ireland, but with a dark face. “He was really fond of her, and I suppose there was a marriage.” “Did my mother ever say anything about It?” “Never. You asked me that before. It was an accepted fact After the death of Rosina her husband went to Italy. I was there, too, and it was at Milan that the episode occurred which led to the dismissal of Eliza Stokes.” "What was that?” [TO BK CONTINUED.)

“I wish to hear the story of my parents.”