Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 January 1902 — NORA'S TEST [ARTICLE]

NORA'S TEST

BY MARY CECIL HAY

From Darkness To Light

"- I < V • CHAPTER XX.—(Continued.) "No,” thought Will, staying his willing steps, “it would be unfair to ask Nora. How could she utter a word of consolaflta to mother, while she knows Armstrong so thoroughly; knows how persistently he sought her up to the last moufent when he dared to venture into her presence; while, I suppose, all the time he was pretending to care for Tory? No, I must not ask help from Nora; I—l know what I will do.” His step quickened a little in that moment of relief, for he had caught sight es his mother, with her arm in Celia's. Joining her, and taking her other arm within his own, while, in a new, anxious, almost timid way, he begged Celia not to go away, he led them from the pier to his mother's pleasant rooms upon the parade, and there he told her of her daughter's flight, while Celia cried a good deal, and spoke very little; and yet was so gentle and tender with the unhappy mother, and so quiet and compassionate, that afterward, when Mrs. Foster looked back to that sad hour, she fancied that Celia had been a great consoler, anil had made the shame and sorrow less for both herself and Will. It was a short story? though the mother’s tears interrupted it so often, and made the telling of it take a long time. Early on the previous morning Victoria Foster had left home, professedly to speiid a day or two with a young friend who lived at Hove. That afternoon, as Willoughby sat writing in his mother's lodgings, while she and Genevieve were out, he had received a letter from his youngest sister, posted in Dover. She told Mm she had been married on the previous day "to Hr. Xuei Armstrong at the Church of St. Stephen, intValbrook; that they were on their way then to Paris; that she was very happy and desired hith to give her love to her mother and Genevieve. Such a thoroughly heartless and •elfish letter it was, that Will pretended just now that he had lost it, and told the story in lys own way. “We can do nothing, I suppose,” moaned Mrs. Foster, at last. “Tory is of age by her father's will, and knew the man she was marrying. But you will go up end eee the register at St. Stephen's, Will?” “Yes, ns soon as ever Lord Keston comes down. The law proceedings are. all over now, and I fancy he will be here to-night.” The band had begun to play under the pier, when Mark Poynz entered and went slowly along it, glancing at every figure he met, but with no eagerness of scrutiny, for he knew how instantly he should recognize the form he sought when he came near enough to see it. Many eyes followed him, for he was not one of the usual loungers on the pier; and they grew inquisitive, too, trying to reconcile the •low and leisurely step with the evident concentration of both gaze and thought. But, unconscious of any glance bestowed upon him, Mark went on, until at last, at the very end of the pier, he saw that his search was over; and in his sudden great content, as well as his fear of startling Nora, his step slackened instead of hastening. So he went softly up to her and stood beside her, with his hand on hers; and though she started a little, the grave thoughtfnlness within her eyes died instantly in the light of her great joy—a joy which she would never have let him see had he not come upon her unawares. “Ah! didn't that startle you—the sudden splashing of the oars below? What a ghostly little boat to come gliding so unexpectedly from under the pier!” Nora said this nervously, turning away from Mark to look down upon the water; for she had rentetubered now, afICT the childish tears rose to her eyes when she felt how unable she had been to hide from him the gladness his coming gave her. And seeing this, Mark bravely still (while his own strong impulse tempted him to shatter resisties&ly every barrier between them) restrained the words which he knew she felt she might not hear. ’

“Where are they all, Nora?" he asked, as his warm, strong fingers held her hand within his unn. “llanuah told me \ — I am so glad to see Hannah hack in your service, darling—that you were all on the pier.” “So We are," said Nora, grateful to hint for speaking only thus. "Is—is Miss Giffard not come, then?" “No, sweet. She is awaiting you—at home.” “I do not understand," faltered Nora, moving slowly on. “I have no home.” “Ah, 1 forgot that," said Mark, in his cool, quizzical way, and with no sigu of the effort it cost him to speak to her without betraying all his heart held of love, and care, and tenderness. “Well, we must go and see bow the mistake has arisen. She certainly told me to bring you home soon, and to say that she awaited you there.” “She has been very, very kind to me,” aaid Nora, earnestly. "1 hope I may see her again." "You have to hear, sweetheart, the reason for her not coming to Brighton. It is rather a long story, and can uuly ho told at home. How soon will you come with me?" "I wonder how Celia has gone Y*" aaid Nora, wondering why Mark spoke of home with such a new and happy tone of voice, but never guessing how his utterance of the word made her. own eyes aoften with an inexpressible hope aud happiness. "May we walk on and look for her?." They met Mr. and Mrs. Pennington presently, but could find none of the others; to they strolled from the pier, guessing thst Cells had unthinkingly sauntered homeward with the Fosters. • “Then will you tell us nothing, Lord Keston, until we raach Heaton?" naked lira. Pennington, laughiDg sa they stopped for a last look ficross the shadowy sea. "And do you really expect us to •tart to-morrow f’ "If you please," said Mark, with rather unusual gravity. “I bare my horse# here, wd will drive you at any hour you will arrange. Perhap's Foster and hla mother •rill came with us. Mlaa Genevieve la golag to Farts, Will telle me. and her slater -*» 1 • “■ - -«»■ , , .» * v*/V, KSkhl'l »' m* .i#.. . +* *f . k i

by and by. Nora, ;will you walk on with me to see Mrs. Foster? Ah, you look so much better, my beloved. I never can be grateful enough to the sea air for bringing the dainty roses back. And, presently, when you and I— My love, do not shrink from me. I am not going to break my word; only, when we go home, I have a story to tell you; and then you will tell me something about that love test of yours. I dare say you will never see Dr. Armstrong again, dearest; but possibly we may find the test fulfilled, even in spite of him. We shall see. Why are you stopping? Oh, is this where Mrs. Foster lives? Nora, darling, I have sad news to take to her; but I am not afraid, because I am taking you to her at the same time, my own beloved.”

CHAPTER XXI. Instead of guiding his horses round the cottage (when they reached Heaton next morning) Mark took them through the park to Heaton Place, and drew them up upon the graveled sweep before the wide, arched door of the silent old house. “Nora, isn't it strange?” whispered Celia, in a little flutter of delight and excitement. “But I’m so glad Lord Keston is really living here at last! Mr, Foster will be so glad, won't he? See, there’.* Miss Giffard in thb hall.- What a beautiful place it is!” The servant who had opened the outer dbor to them had thrown open a door on the right hand side of theJiall; and now Celia and Nora and Mark followed Miss Giffard and Mr. and Mrs. Pennington into the room to which it led. “I think lunch is ready for us," said Mark, in his cool anti leisurely way, “but I want you to spare -ustt-few minutes first, if you will. We have a little story to tell Nora here, and I know she will like you to be present, too.” He had drawn up a couch for Mrs. Pennington and Miss Giffard, but Nora had walked up to the wide, low window, and stood looking out thoughtfully; remembering well that this was the scene of that little water-color sketch in Rachael Carr’s cabin, and recalling that one; day when Mark himself had'told her the sad legend of this house. Was he going to tell this story again to-day? No, for Mark only said; “We think that in this room we can tell you the end of the story better than in any other spot. Nora, do you remember it, or do you wish me to tell you any part again?” “Oh, I remember quite, quite well,” she said.

"This was Arthur's room,” Mark said. “I will call him Arthur still,'because, as you know, the title never reached him. When I first came here (I was paying a visit to my uncle then), this room was filled with his machinery, and chemicals, and a hundred specimens of his odd tastes and pursuits, and I investigated everything; for such work and such experiments had a zest for me, too. At last one day I made an unexpected discovery. I need not tell you now, Nora. That will do another time. I found that that one fresco —just above your head, Mrs. Pennington—fitted into the wall with a spring, and, when taken away, disclosed a narrow, secret staircase. Some day, Nora, you will climb It. I can tell you what I found, just as well as if you had seen the little turret room to which it leads.” As Mark spoke, sitting opposite Nora at the window, he rarely addressed any one except herself; but the vicar and his wife sat listening quietly, and did not seem to wonder why the story should be told to Nora. "That turret room opens to the battlcmeuts by a trap door, which cannot he stirred from without, hut which can be opened from within with very little dittieultjv In this dim little room I found one or two things which—gradually, I think, hot all at once —excited a strange suspicion in my mind. First, I found what seemed to me the remnants of an old balloon; but presently I discovered that the whole balloon was there, only cut into pieces. Then I found portions of a man’s dress, an empty bottle, dry crusts Qf bread, and torn pieces of paper. For hours, Nora, I baye sat in the gloom of that secret chamber, trying to bring my vague surmises into shape. I seemed to see so much, and yet, when I brought what I saw fully iuto the light, it dwindled into so little, for want of the key to all. Going back ugaiu aud again to that story of Arthur’s escape, 1 grow to feel quite sure that ne had, by means of this little balloon which he had himself constructed, returned to the Place, and taken refuge in this unknown room, from which, one day long after ward,, he may safely hnve escaped in disguise. Can you follow\me, Nora?” “Yes.”

"Though I seemed to see that so plainly, there were still, as I say. great gapa where 1 could find nothing; and I was obliged to wait, only watching earnestly, lest the slightest clew should escape me. But while I waited, I searched well for nny trace of Arthur himself; and Miss Uiffard must remember well how. sometimes, I wearied her with questions.” “Yes, I remember," Miss Giffard said. But she answered Mark's smile with one which was qven grateful, as well'as tranquil and content. "But she never helped me in the slightest." Mark went on; "she was too loyal to her old ftjend, and too faithful to her promise. At last, Nora, eatne that day, when 1 was summoned ao suddenly—l will not recall that," he added, hurriedly, when he saw how the eolev left even her lips as that evening was brought before her once again. "After that the title was mine, and the poser to act. You understand, sweet. But tbeu began my -search for you, and the other search waa almost forgotten—almost, not quite, for 1 had put machinery into motion which worked on while my oufo misery Nora, we will pass that time by, and I will ask you If you remember telling me o«M day—that first day yon were allowed to walk to the little church, and when I met you there-how Mlaa Giffard had gives* you your medicine in her aleep. Yea, I aee how clearly you remember It,” he added, following her grateful, loTing

glance across at Miss Giffard. “Nora, those of yours seemed somehow to put into my hand the key which I m> long had wanpfcd. I went at once to Miss Kate, and told her what I fancied. I had no fear of her resenting my words or discrediting yours, and slie listened kindly, as I knew she would, whatever pain they cost her." pause, while his warm, clear glance tested on ifalss Giffard’s face, “had never believed in Arthur's guilt, only it had all been so strange to her, _so utterly inex-: plicable.” “But—but she did not give the poison, even in her sleep.” This was Nora’s whispered cry, as she crossed the room nnd bent to kiss Misa Giffard's shaking lips. But Mark went on very quietly, only turning his eyes now away from her. “She fancied at once, as I did, that this was the solution of the mystery; but, as a suspicion and surmise, that knowledge must kept in our own hearts, Norn, for the telling would have done no good, and only pained her uselessly. But, in he; great desire for justice to be done, at any cost to herself, •he followed up the clew, and at last, tempted on gently and imperceptibly, Miss Giffard's old Indian nurse— you know the gentle, kind old woman, Nora —confessed all that we had been unable to make clear. She, sitting sleeping in the outer room that night, had awakened just in time to see her young mistress pour the drops and put the glass to old Mrs. Say’s lips. It had only taken two or three seconds, and before she could reach the bed Miss Kate had put down the empty vial and retaken her place beside the bed.

"After this confession,” continued Mark, “Miss Giffard at once gave me the clew to Arthur's whereabouts, and was far more anxious even than I was that justice should at last be (lone to him, let the confession cost her what it might. I soon found him, Nora, and brought him to England, while Mr. Doyle and my own solicitors paved the way for us. 'You will not understand that quite yet, I dare say. I need not tell ypu what Arthur had thought, poor feUow, all this time. Perhaps Miss Giffard (is right, and he really must have suspected her, even against his will. It is hard, indeed, to think how else he could have accounted for the act; but he has not told me. When we reached London we found that Dr. Armstrong had laid his plans, too, for our return, and we had not been an hour in England before Arthur was arrested. My dearest, turn your pitiful eyes away for a few minutes. This part of the story I hate to tell you. Armstrong's evidence was rejected as worthless. Then the old ayah made her confession iff a clear, straightforward way, which made it doubly convincing; and Miss Giffard herself did the rest. No peed to tell you all that passed, or had to be looked into. But Arthur left the court a free man, acknowledged innocent eff that old crime whose shadow had so long rested on his life; and gratefully and hopefully he brought Miss Giffard back to her peaceful little cottage to rest. For it had been a trying time for her, Nora; and for that it was that she stayed from Brighton when you went.” “And I,” said Nora, wonderingly and sadly, “fancied it ‘was because she was so tired of me, after the great trouble I had given her for so long.” “You should never fancy,” observed Mark; but he lowered his eyes for a moment. “Nora, take your thoughts back again for a few minutes to that night so long, ago, for 1 6 want to make it all-clear to you. That balloon I spoke 61 Was made, ns I thought, by Arthur himself in this very room. The plan of escape, by its means was his own, but it could not be done without help, and Miss Giffard helped him and kept his secret; I need scarcely tell you how it was managed, because it will grow so clear to you presently. He carried the balloon down to tlie boat house on the lake shore,, while Miss Giffard, iu the turret house, slowly unwound the cord whose other end was attached to it. Arthur making deep foot prints in the snow as he went. On the edge of the water he made thff marks which next morning so thoroughly misled the police. Then front the roof of the boat house he entered the balloon, throwing his coat into the lake, and Miss Giffard turned the wheel nnother wuy now, and gradually brought the little balloon to the turret roof. The rest was very soon done, just as I used to see it all. The balloon was wanted no more, and so was destroyed; food and a disguise were soon procured, and after a time, when all suspicion was (dead, he es* caped from the old house and left England in safety. But he had a far greater trouble than poverty, and—l have that to tell you, too, Nora." (To be continued.)