OUT OF DARKNESS; -OR- The Priory Mystery.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 113, 7 December 1908, Page 4

OUT OF DARKNESS; -ORThe Priory Mystery.

(All Rights Reserved.)

By lIEDLEY RICHARDS, Author of "A Day of Reckoning/' "From the -Mill to the Mansion," Etc., Etc.

PART 5. "Whoever my people are, I shall always love you and mother more than any one in the world." Salome .Johnson bent forward and kissed the girl tenderly. Then she said :

"I felt sure you belonged to gen-tle-folks, and it is right you should go to them. Reuben and I must be brave. We shall have had fifteen happy years, in which you have been like a child of our own." Iteuben sat down, and taking pen. paper, and ink, said he would write to the lawyers at once. "Eve had a rule all through my life to do the disagreeable things at once. It's worse if you sit thinking about them ;" and when the letter was written it was put ready for the postman, who took the letters to the nearest village post-office on his return journey.

Three days elapsed, then a letter arrived saying that the next Monday they- might expect to sec the lawyer, who would bring a jeweller who was an expert in opening secret springs in artieJes of jewellery,as it was possible the locket might contain papers.

From that time every one in the house was restless, and when the day arrived Silas was sent with the dogcart to meet the lawyer and. his co c.ipaivon, who were expected to arrr e about one o'clock.

Lrsula had gone upstairs, feeling too re.- tiess to sit still, and she waMed up and down her bedroom until the sound ,of wheels made her pans-and listen to Reuben Johnson's words of welcome, and the reply in a pleasant, grave voice. A mom nl later her foster-father called "Lrsula," and she went slowly downstairs to meet the stranger who caiulf from her people.

Tassing the sitting-room door, she went info the best parlour, where the strangers had been taken, a-s the table was laid for dinner in the liv-ing-room. The door was closed, but not shut, and pushing it gently open, Ursula entered ; then as her eyes rested on a woman who was seated in a chair facing the door, she called aloud, "Nanny Jones !" CHATTER VII. The woman's grim face relaxed into what was meant for a beaming smile as she rose, exclaiming : "Bless me, how the little dear must have loved me to remember me after all these years ! It's little Ursula, and no mistake ! Though she have growed into such a fine. tall voting lady." "Loved you ? I think I hated you I At any rate, I was frightened of you. I heard you tell a woman that when Richard was dead you should take me and send me but begging ; but Richard told me to get out of the house—that it wa-s hell —and I've been taken care of ever since. Why have you come here ?" And Ursula's tone conveyed her dislike.

"Now, I calls you ungrateful ! Here have I come all this way from London with that gentleman on purpose to identify you, and you go calling me like this I" said Nanny in a coaxing tone. Her words made Ursula remember what, in the excitement of seeing Nanny, she had for the moment forgotten—that she had come to sec the lawyer from Helliford, and she glanced round, meeting the gaze of a pair of penetrating black eyes. The owner of them rose and bowed to Ursula, saying, in a pleasant tone : "I don't think there is much identification needed. The young lady knew you at once, Mrs. Jones, and Miss Calthorp is the image of her grandmother, the Countess of Ilellifield."

The woman looked enviously at Ursula as she said : "Just to think you belong to grand folks, yet you lived in the garret at the top of the house !" Ursula did not reply, and the lawyer spoke sharply 1 "Now, Mrs. Jones, you can go. I suppose your man can drive her to the station, Mr. Johnson ?"

"To be sure. But there isn't a train for some lime, and if she went to the kitchen Betty would give her some dinner."

The lawyer thanked him, and Nanny, who had looked angry a t the prospect of returning at once, was appeased, and followed .Mrs. Johnson out of the room, pausing at the door to say :

"I've only had twenty pounds. You'll remember the one hundred and eighty." "You shall hear from me," replied Seholes, -••You don't, mean to say you arc going to pay her two hundred pounds for just coming' down here ?" exclaimed Keubcn Johnson. "For that and some papers she had that she said she found in the garret Richard Brown occupied with bis little charge. I suppose she was shrewd enough to know they might be -worth something some day, so die had kept them. There are letters that passed between John Calthorp

and Lady Monica Ashurst during their secret courtship, and one or two written after their marriage when he was away. J'd better explain - that John Calthorp was in the Civil Service, and had nothing but his salary. and Lady Monica Ashurst was an heiress in a small way. It was quite by chance they uiei, and from the letters 1 imagine it was a t; i IKC o1 " love at first sight. The engagement was clandestine, though the gentleman wished to speak to Lord (Jalesworthy-. but his fiancee objected, .Finally, Mr. Calthorp did see his lordship, and was forbidden to ever again speak to Lady Monica. The i-csull, was that she ' left her home, and they wei'O u-e.k-tlv married. Ann Brown had, before her marriage, been Lady Monica's nurse, and on her marriage with Richard, who was second gar-

doner at Lord Galesworthy's, lived at one of the lodges at Ilellifield Hall. After her daughter's marriage I.ady (Jalesworthy got it into hot head that .Lady Monica had made a confidante of the old nurse, and dismissed her and her husband. Lady Monica, hearing of this, begged them to come to her, and as she was totally ignorant of housekeeping, t-h? worthy coiipie went. . They had sa - . Ed five hundred pounds that they believed was well imested. so they took service with Lady Monica foi less than half the wage they had received, and between them did the enLire work of the house, Richard becoming handy man and general factotum. Then Miss I'rsula was born, and J ady Monica wrote beseeching her mother to forgive her and conn to see the baby. The letter —it is imong the papers Nanny .low's put into my hands —was returned unopened.

"Eighteen months later John Calihorp' died of pneumonia after n Cw da', s' illness, leaving his wife and child unprovided for, and a 'or! night after his death Lady Monica was prematurely confined, both die and the child dying. Leafing that she might not recover, she had.

when taken ill, written a few brief hes to her mother, Lady (Jalesworthy. begging her to take charge of her little" girl. After her death Ann Brown posted this letter, with ;i few lines'l'rom herself saying that Lady Monica was dead. This letter ,vas not returned, but it was ignored *o Ann made up her mind there was nothing to be done but for them to bring "up the child. The sale of Lady Monica's furniture paid all :lebts and left something in hand ; so they took a little house and Ann got a lodger, and with the interest :m their five hundred they lived as jest thev could.

"One day the company in which their money was invested failed, and they were almost penniless. From Lhat time they became poorer and poorer, though Ann took in sewing 'or shops and Richard worked at iiiything he could get. Then Ann lied, and Richard and the child drifted to the garret in the tcnetie'nt house, and,he was just able to ;am enough to pay the rent and keep them . from starving.. Nanny tells me that when he went to work little Ursula had to bolt the door niter him, and never open it to anyone until he returned. He took cold and after a short illness died, the little girl disappearing. "Ann Drown kept a sort of diary of all that happened from the time of her mistress's death to her own, thinking, she wrote, that some dayMiss Ursula might be wanted by her own people, and it would help to identify her. She also alludes to the locket and chain which she says ner dying mistress put round the child's neck, and that it contains certificates of the marriage of her parents and her birth. So, you see, the papers that woman had to sell were of great value." "Js it my grandmother, Lady Jalesworthy, who has sent you her? ?" asked Ursula, in a clear, ringing tone that had something of scorn in it.

"Oh, dear, no. Your grandmother is now the Countess of Ilellifield. Her husband has succeeded his father. Just now the family are abroad." "That is well. I would never have had anything to do with a woman who could treat my - mother so cruelly,,and who left mc to grow up a beggar or thief." "Yet vou are very like her ladyhip."

Ursula drew herself up proudly. "I'm sorry to hear I resemble -■iich a wicked woman,'* she said. The lawyer smiled grimly. He was thinking that when Ursula and her randmother met there would be warfare. But at that moment Mrs. Johnson, who had returned in time to hear the history of the girl's parentage, said : "Then who is making inquiries for Ursula ?".

"Her father's uncle, John Calthorp, Esquire. He lives near Ilellifield, where he oyvns a coal mine. Her grandfather, who was a captain n the army, was his brother, but 'aptain Calthorp vexed his father, and had merely a legacy of ten f housand pounds. He was an exrava.gant man, and left nothing but debts behind him. Miss Ursula's ather was only once or twice at his uncle's, and it was then he became icquainted with her mother ; and as Jr. Calthorp was vexed about the secret marriage, he never a«ked him igain. Mr. Calthorp, your greatmcle , married late in life, and had ■wo sons. Unfortunately, he has ost them both. The last died six nonths ago. Lady Kathleen, his 'tis wife, has been dead many years. \bout a month ago Mr. Calthorp sent for me, saying that he wished no to find his nephew, as he intended making him his heir. After some trouble I discovered that Miss Lrsula'* father and mother were dead, but that they had left a daughter, and I then inserted the advertisement you saw. 1 may say it is Mr. Calthorp's intention to make ' his grand-niece his heiress, and he wishes her to reside with him."

"But I cannot leave my fosterfather and mother. They took me when J was homeless." said Ursula. Mrs. Johnson spoke quietly, but decidedly : "My dear, if is your duty to go to your great-uncle. He is alone, and you are his kinswoman. Sometimes you will come and see us. Mr. Calthorp will consent to that-?" she es'.rd, looking at Ihe lawyer. "Certainly, madam. Mr. Calthorp will value what you have done for Miss Lrsula." "I should never stay with him if he tried to keep me from you," -aid the girl. "Well, ifow about this locket. Can Mr. Atkinson see it? He is an ■exp- r( in such things," said Mr, Seholes,

Lrsula drew tlie chain over her head and handed the locket, which was large and massive to him.

"The Ilellifield coat-of-amis ! This locket must have belonged to your 'mother ; in fact, I should say it was an heirloom, it is so old-fashioned. Now. Mr. Atkinson, can you discover how it opens ?" The jeweller took it in his hands and examined it carefully, then he' touched a spring that only an expert could have found, and the locket flew open,, revealing a cavity, in which lay sjtme papers, and ho a,k once handed them to the lawyer, "The marriage certificate of your parents and the certificate of your

birth!" exclaimed the latter, triumphantly, adding : "Allow me to congratulate you, Miss Calthorp. There is now no doubt about your being the young lady we sought, and the heiress to a great, fortune. With your permission, I will take these papers, of course giving- Mr. .Johnson a receipt for them, and 1 advise you to take care of that locket. Your grandmother, the Countess of .Ilellifield, will be delighted to see if." "I shall have nothing to do with her," said I'rsula, resolutely. .Just then a maid appeared to tell them that dinner was served. Reuben led the way to the sitting-room, and for a time he forgot that he was going to lose his "wee lass." as he often called I'rsula. so intent .vas he in seeing that his guests 'ared well. Luring the meal it was arranged that they should remain 'or the night at the farm, and Mr. Seholes informed them that he had business which would detain him in

London until Thursday. when he would like I'rsula to join him. and. they could travel into Lancashire together. Loth ihe Johnsons and Lrsula were aghast at the proposition. She was to gc>. hut not just. yet. so they had thought... However, the lawyer had so many and apparently such good reasons why she should not defay her departure, assuring the Johnson's that Miss I'rsula could come and sec- them before long, but it would be a great disappointment to Mr. Calfhorp if she did not return with him. So in the end it. w a s decided that her foster-father and mother should take her to London on Wednesday, and stay the nhrht at the same hotel as Mr. Seholes, then I'rsula go with him into Lancashire the next day. Late that afternoon when I'rsula was in the orchard, she met Silas, who looked troubled : but his face lighted up when he saw her. "That lawyer's a decent chap. I had a bit of a talk with him, and he told me where your uncle lived. It's mighty strange you should be going there," said Silas. Lrsula looked puzzled. "Whv is it strange that I am going to' llellilield ?" she asked. r, Your uncle lives a t Mythemroyd Crange. three miles out of Ilellifield," said the old man impressive-

'"Mythemroyd! It was Mythemroyd' Uall where Mr. L'Estrango lived !" she exclaimed. CHATTER VIII. The journey was drawing to a close, and " Lrsula had recovered somewhat from the pain of parting from her foster-parents. -It had been a wrench—so little time to think a,bout it before the final goodbye was said—and they were left standing on the platform at King's Cross while the train bore her forward to the unknown. At first she had been too miserable to think of what might await her, but now, when ML. Seholes told her they were only thirty miles from Ilellifield, she roused herself and said : "Po you mind telling me something about my uncle ? Then perhaps I shall feel less of a stran-

ger.' The lawyer smiled. He liked the girl, who was so much better fitted for the position she had to occupy than he had 'expected to find her. "Ask me anything you like. Miss C'althorp, and I will answer to the best of my ability."

"Thank you. 1 should like to know if the Calthorps have risen, or are they an old family ?"

"Your great-grandfather was a pitman's son, and worked in the pit when he was twelve years old. He was clever, and rose quickly ; then he bought a pit that was believed to be worked out for next to nothing, but his estimate was justified. It was rich in coal, and he sank a new shaft.

"For years he worked and saved, not marrying until he was nearly fifty ; then he married a lady with money. At his death everything but ten thousand pounds went to your great-uncle—his elder son. Some people said that it was not .'our grandfather's extravagance that made him do it, but his desire to build up a family. John CalLhorp. your imcle. is seventy-two vears of age, and, like his father, he married "late in life, but he did not marry money. His wife was the daughter of an Trish peer. For the greater part of his life your uncle had been saving. 1 should say he is one of the richest men in Lancashire, and that is saying a good deal. Of course, your relatione on your mother's side have ft long pedigree and are rich, but their riches are as nothing compared with those of Mr. Calthorp. and vou are the only relation he has in the world." Lrsdla did not reply, she' was ooking at the. towers of an old mansion that could bo seen among the trees.

"Who lives there ?" she asked. "It is the residence of the Earl end Countess of Ilellifield. but. as I told you, they are at present fl broad."

She did not answer. These relations of her mother's could never be anything to her. Even John Calthorp, on whom she had no claim, but who was going to make her his heiress, could never be more to her :han an outsider ; her heart was with her foster-parents. Yet as she thought this she was conscious of a quickening of her pulse—a satisfaction in coming among people' who were her kinsfolk. Very soon they •entered the station at Helliford, where a fooLman was waiting. (To be Continued,)