OUT OF DARKNESS; OR The Priory Mystery.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 117, 21 December 1908, Page 4

OUT OF DARKNESS; OR The Priory Mystery.

(All Rights Reserved.)

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

PART 9. ''Dear Silas, —I expect you will have read an account of the foundering- oi" the ijcean Queen ; it struck 011 a rock about midnight on the ISth August. The sea was rough, and the moon, that was at the full, kept going under a cloud, but they managed to get all the boats launched. Some of them sank quite close to tha ship, but several .ol them g'ot away. The boat in whicli L was encountered very rough seas, and one by one the men were swept off. I don't know how I escaped, but I did, and the next day 1 Was picked up by a vessel bound from Valparaiso. ' The captain and crew were Spanish, and as they iha.ve a genuine liking for the English, J waS treated with the greatest kindness ; but as I was very • ill the captain could not ask me any questions, which perhaps accounts for the fact that I was saved, not being known. When I recovered 1 professed to have lost my memory. \ou said Miss Ursula's name was Calthorp, and that she was the adopted child of the Johnsons. Can she belong to the Calthorps, of the (Jrange, Mythemroyd ? She is not like them, but she. resembles the Countess of VjTellineld as much as n girl can resemble an elderly woman. I knew she reminded me of some one : since then I have placed her. Tell her that I have a feeling—unaci oi.nta.ble ; still, it is tiiciv that she will meet my people. i w onrlei if it will over be in her power to aid me in the matter 1 have nearest lo heart ? Tell her 1 shall lever forget her, even if fate decrees that we should not meet agai 11, but I hope otherwise. Write to me and send me all news. The address is ' .John Smith, care of Pedro Santiago, Qu artier Barcelona, Valparaiso.' lam trying to get work as 1 clerk ; the wage will keep me from starving".—Yours truly, "John Smith."

At the foot of the letter Silas had written, "I've copied the address, sc burn the letter, missie." Hum it ! Ursula felt very unwilling to part with it; then she asked herseit' why she took such a strong interest in the writer. Hei thoughts flew to the interview in the secret chamber when he had told his story to Silas and her, and a vision of his honest, manly lace rose before her mind's eye, and she ;old herself it would have been strange if she had not felt an interest in a man who was the victim of a cruel mistake. She would burn the letter, as Silas suggested, but she would never forget its contents, and the knowledge that ho was living would stimulate her in hoiendeavours to establish his innocence. Hut how was she to begin '? She had told Nettie they must find a clue. Where was she to look for it ? and Ursula sighed as she thought of the difficulties that beset her task. Well, she must destroy tho letter, and, striking a match, she placed the two letters in the grate, and was going to ignite them, when she remembered she had not Copied the address. Blowing the match out, she removed the let* tors, and went to her writing-desk. When the address was written in a note-book that was securely locked in a drawer, she burned the letters, and taking the ashes, cast them out of tho window. Then she went into her dressing-room, where the maid was laying out her dinner dress. § An hour later Ursula went downstairs and found Mr. Schoies, a clergyman, and a latiy in the draw-ing-room, to whom her uncle was talking in a more animated tone than usual ; then she remembered he had told her that the vicar, his sister; and Mr. Schoies were dining there that night. "You're late, Ursula. I thought you would have been here to receive our guests," said Mr. C'althorp ; and she Saw that he was displeased. "I'm very sorry, but to toll the truth I forgot you were expecting friends." she said, frankly. His face cleared. .John Calthorp like plain speaking, and he was already beginning to feel kindly to this girl, who was the l.ast pi the C'althorpa. "Well, now you have come, let me introduce you to Miss Uoyce and Mr. Royce, our vicar ; you know Mr, Schoies," he said, as dinner was announced, and her uncle led tho way to the dining-room, Ursula following with the vicar, while the lawyer and Miss Royce came behind). Ursula took the foot of the table, facing her uficle, and it must be confessed she felt a UttJc nervous, as this was the first time he Jjp.d entertained since her arrival ; then -he forgot her fears. Startled by ft woman's voice,, and . looking round, she saw that Miss Royce was speaking- to her uncle, and the voice was J hat of the woman with whom Horace 1/Estrange had talked in the Priory p^rk. For a moment' the discovery disconcerted her so much that she did not notice what the view, wj iq was at her right hand, was sav ing, am( jt was not until he made a remark {■allying her on her day-dreams that she recovered her composure. and answered tirelessly that day-dreams were inconvenient, mid she liuisi not give way to them, "Sometimes they add to our happiness, even if in ill'' long run they are scattered," he replied, thinking that though she was not strictly beautiful, .her eyes were magnificent, and her luxuriant brown hair would make her be considered so. Then there was a fascination in her manner. and when she smiled it seemed <(> light nn her face, besides revealing a r,')w of white teeth. During the intervals of conversation Ursula sioi't many a fiance at Ai ins Royce. who wa-s &. remarkably handsome woman of about tjiirty. There was no attempt at girlishwess,.

I ITer dress —a, black silk cut low — ! showed her beautiful nock, and wns I rather old than young. Yet no one I could have called her passe. She was a woman whose beauty was natural. and who not only accepted the l'act that .she was pa-st her first youth, but accentuated it-. She was a brilliant talker, and Mr. Cali thorp evidently enjoyed her society. At last —it had .seemed a long time to Ursula—her uncle gave her the signal agreed upon, so that she might know when it w a s time to withdraw, and she rose. Miss Roycc following her out of the room. In the hall the latlur put her arm through the girl's, saying : "My dear, you will make a capital hostess for this quaint old mansion."

I'rsula smiled. "1 don't feel at all up to it. TUit you see I have lived in retirement; my foster-parents were farmers." "Hut, they have had you well educated. 1 soon discovered that." "Yes, my foster-mother had an idea I shoulel some day be claimed by my own people, whom she believed to be in a good social position, ko that when I was six years old she insisted 011 having a really well-educated young gentlewoman as governess for me. She remained at the farm until she married. I was then twelve years old, and her successor was an older lady who had travelled a great deal. T believe she was very happy ,at the farm, which she left only a year ago, when I was nineteen, to go to keep house for a widowed brother. 1 often think I owe my foster-par-ents a great deal ; it seems a long time since I left them, but I am going to spend a month with them early next year." Miss Roycc smiled. "I see you are of a faithful nature So am I : we have something in common. Where did you live before these good people adopted you ? T understand your mother had been dead many years." "I'.oth your parents elied when I was a baby and somehow Ursula looked at. her in surprise, and saw an expression of anguish on- her face ; but it passed quickly as the door opened and the men entered tho room.

The next hour or two passed pleaar.ntly. Ursula sang, and she saw that her uncle was gratified that she possessed a good voice. Miss Royce too—who had a splendid voice—also sang, and Ursula, who, when she had discovered = < she was the woman who had discusWd John L'Estrange with his coil si li. had felt prejudiced against her, was conscious that the feeling was dying, and was inclined to respond to the older woman's friendly overtures. Then, just as Air. Schoies rose, saying it was time he took his departure, tho vicar said :

"l'y the way, Schoies, have you heard a report that is going about among the pit folks in Mythcm10yd V" The lawyer smiled. "There's always some report going about. What' is this particular one?"-,

"It is to the effect that Mr. L'Estrangc has been seen in the neighbourhood'." The lawyer started* "I hope it's not true. Of course, you know he escaped from .Dartmoor. Hut I should think he would give this place a Wide berth." "He might return, hoping .to prove his innocence. two or three of the pitmen'declare that they saw him- loitering near the Priory. Mis coat collar was drawn up, a imill'or hid the lower part of his face and he worn a soft hat, crushed on his head. That's how the tale runs," said the vicar. ".lack I.'Estrange would do a good deal to prove his innocence. Probably, however, the man is a detective. Jack had friends who never believed in his guilt, and they may bo employing a detective," said Mr. Calthorp. "A detective!" exclaimed Miss Royce, and Ursula saw that her face had become pale as death. "The pitman vow he was I/Estrange himself," said the vicar. Half an hour later, having dismissed. her maid, Ursula sat thinking of the report about John L'Estrange, and slip smiled as she .thought that : iio was safe in Valparaiso. But who was the man pruwlingt, about the lanes ? And why did the thought of a detective taking up tho case that was supposed . to be settled make Miss Roycc turn \yhito_ as death ! she asked herself.

CTT A PTE II XIII. A .11 'STIKICATION. It was a question that gave lier much food l'ov thought, and the next morning as she strolled about the garden she speculated about this and other matters to which it gave rise, finally deciding it was useless to worry herself' about a matter she ■could not solve. £she could wait aJH] watph ;* theji, no doubt, she would get some clue to tho mystery of the murder that seemed to involve other mysteries. Having come to this decision she went into the house to fetch a hook that she had left in the drawingroom tho preceding day ; but as she entered she saw a lady sitting near the open window. The opening of the door caused her to turn round, and Ursula gained the impression of a hamlsojM. stately-looking woman of sixty odd years, A pair of keen eyes were turned on the girl as she stood for a moment hesitating and wondering who the stranger could be. you are Ursula ?" she said, advancing and holding out her hand. As she looked at the tall, imposing woman, so richly dressed, whose appearance suggestpd rank and wealth, a suspicion crossed the girl's mind, and, putting her hands hehind. her hack, she said ; "Who are you "I am your grandmother, the Countess of I le|| jfiulfj and to Ursula the words seamed to convey a hint, that this grandchild ol" hers, who had been a waif and stray, should welcome her with open arms. Instead of thai, Ursula drew herself up proudly as she said ; "1 don't, want to know you," The old woman laughed—ft laugh dial Conveyed amusement- and satisfaei ion—as she answered : "Scholes told me 1 should find you were very like me, and see (lie resemblance is even .stronger than 1 expected." "It would have been better if Mr.

Scholes had told you—what he knew —that I did not wish to see you and Ursula threw her lv>ad back proudly as her eyes met her grandmother's. Again the latter laughed.

"He did tell me. and it only made nic all the more anxious to see you. Won't, you shake hands?" " No:" and the slender nostrils quivered. her hands were clasped more firmly behind her back, while her whole attitude displayed defiance. "Why not?" and the countess drew nearer. "Recause you east my mother off. You refused to answer her letters, even thai last one. written to you just before Ivr death, when she feared that she might not live long —the letter asking you to care for me. You left me to take my chance among .strangers. If it had not been for Richard and Ann, I should probably nave been sent to the workhouse. Then afterwards, after Ann died, we were so poor that we lived among the very poorest, in tin: Rast,-end of London —people who were so vile that before Richard went to sell matches —that was what he had come to —he used Lo lock me in the. attic. Think of a little child spending whole days in a small room, lighted from the roof, not even able to look into the street below, sometimes shivering with cold —we could not afford much fire —and my dinner was usually a,, mug of cocoa with dry bread ! It.-was a strange life for a child aSul Ursula paused for a moment. Sl* seemed to see herself a little child again, grave beyond her years. Then her J one changed. "Richard died, and his last words were to warn me to flee from that hell. I left him lying cold and dead, and went out before the break of day into the streets of London —the East-end, where thieves, murderers, and the wicked congregate. You cared nothing that, the little child—your grandchild—was in such awful straits, but God took care of her, and led her to the man who was a-father to her from that day. I love him and his wife ; I despise you While Ursula was speaking, her grandmother had listened in silence, surprise and admiration in her face, and when she spoke her voice had lost the tone of amusement, and Was earnest as the girl's.

"I see you are like me—you do not fear any one. If your mother had been more: like you, the childhood of which, you speak would not have been yours. But she thought only of .her owij wishes when she entered into an engagement wjth a man whose whole income did not amount to more''than her dress allowance. She bound him in silence, and when he did speak' to your grandfather it was against your mother's wishes. > I warned her that we should never consent to the marriage—that it would mean a life of poverty for her. I knew she was not made of the stuff to face hardship. She ignored our commands and advice, yoUr father and she were quietly married, and we kept our word —she ignored. I could have forgiven anything rather than the deception she practised over the whole affair. I was deeply hurt, and returned two letters, as I intended her to learn what hardship was before I helped her. The third I never received. At the date on which Scholes says it was written we were abroad. Until he told »ne your history I believed both your father and mother were living, but as I never heard of them, I concluded they must have gone abroad and made up their minds to ignore Jne as I ignored them ; so I let things stand as they were. Sometimes I have wondered if they had children, but I felt that your mother had been in the wrong. She was the one to make future overtures. Moreover, I did not know where to write; she knew where I was. And so the years have drifted on, until John Calthorp wanted an heir. Now, are we to be friends ?"

There was a ring of entreaty in her voice, and as she ceased speaking she watched the girl's face, which had the last minute or two been a study in emotions, as each change of feeling was reflected in her countenance.

Ursula hid not speak for a moment. Her grandmother's words had surprised her. With the impulsiveness of youth, she had not thought there might he another side to the story ; but now in her heart she realised that her mother had been to blame. She had nut acted straightforwardly, and it hurt her to think that the angel mother whom she had idealised had been weak and erring, flung father and mother on one side for tiie man she loved, and it had not been done openly, but in a sl. v ■ underhand way, and this thought stabbed her. j?he was open as the day : it was hateful to her to think that her mother had been otherwise. "You did not get her iast letter, so that alters matters, and other things you have told nu ,r make a difference." Then a sudden thought struck Ursula. "Jiut how do I know if- the letter had not miscarried things would have been different —that you would not have returned it, as you did the others?" •she said.

"You don't know. neither do I ? we can none oi us gauge our strength against untried circumstances —l>ul this I do kiM>w, that I was hi.-gili-ning to long for the sight of my daughter's face. It was her longcontinued silence that made me resoh'c that she, who was to Maine, should make the first, overtures," said the countess. (To be Continued.)