TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 239, 5 March 1910, Page 4

TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

(All Rights IvCservF-.)

BY MAURICE SCOTT, Author, of "The Pride of the Morays," "The Mark of the Broad Arrow," "Broken Bonds," etc. etc.

SIXTH INSTALMENT. " I am not presenting you to my husband this evening," continued th€ lady. "You must allow Celestine to replenish your wardrobe. She is very quick and clever, and as you are limited to black for the present, there would be more fatigue than pleasure for you in ransacking shops. You can safely trust Celestine's taste and she has my instructions." Dorothy wondered whether she ought not to ask about her duties, to find out what was expected of her, and at'what hours Mrs. Fanshawe would require her attendance.

"You—j ou are very kind," she said, hesitatingly. " I have never filled the post of companion before. You will let me know what you wish me to do, will you not ? " " All in good time, my dear child. Now, here is Celestine, which means your room is ready. Go with her—she will take good care of you—and to-morrow we will have a chat over everything generally. Good night." Of course —she was forgetting. Mrs. Fanshawe was a rich fashionable "society" woman, and Dorothy Eliot but a poor waif, taken in out of the veriest charity.

Only for a moment had it crossed her mind how her own darling mother would have personally' escorted the humblest guest to the room prepared for her, instead of leaving that duty to a maid.

But she was only a companion now. She must remember that ! Had she not read over and over again of the indignities consequent upon such an avocation ?

Yet, oh how she hungered for a word of affection, of sympathy, instead of Mrs. Fanshawe's limp handshake, and reassuring nod of dismissal !

Celestine led the way up more flights of richly-carpeted stairs, on the walls and in the recesses of

which valuable pictures and statues hold of the wealth and good taste of their fortunate owners.

Then, chattering volubly, enchanted by a reply in her own tongue emanating from Dorothy's pale lips, the Frenchwoman ushered Dorothy into a room daintily upholstered in pale blue and white, which, though not reallj large, appeared palatial by contrast with the tiny alcove serving her for a sleeping apartment in Brick-street. A Insurious bed, electric light, a table on which was laid a cloth and silver, as if in preparation for a meal, a bright fire burning in a tiled grate—Dorothy, her eyes acclimatized to the dingy aspect of Brick-street began to wonder if she were not dreaming, and would awaken presently to find herself back in Soho, awaiting the return of Ju and Maggie from their nightly occupation.

She had mechanically allowed Celestine to remove her outdoor clothing, and the dream seemed to continue as she suddenly saw herself reflected in a mirror before whieh she was sitting, and in which she could see the maid's eyes glitter with admiration while she brushed out thg luxuriant tresses of the girl's redgold hair. Was it really herself on whom she gazed—really poor little, lonely, shabby Dorothy ? She looked like another person now, in a dressingwrapper of white —all white except for the black bows and girdle. And the cheap ill-cut shoes had gone from her tiny feet. Where could those slippers have come from, the toes of which she could see peeping out frorq underneath the flounce of her wrapper ?

She must be dreaming ! She owned no such slippers, no such wrapper ? And never in her life had she possessed a maid of her " very own." Yet here she was submitting to Celestine's ministratiqps as to "the manner born."

The magnetic influence of the hairbrush,- tne soothing warmth of the fire, following on the emotions of the past twenty-four hours —for bravely as she had insisted on doing what she conceived to be her duty, participation in the outdoor singing had cost her not a littl<3--=insensibly soothed her overstrung nerves, and gradually the great eyes closed, the tension relaxed, and Celestine deftly insinuating a cushion at the back of Dorothy's chair and seeing that her charge had dropped quietly asleep, lowered the lights and went softly out of the room.

And still Dorothy dreamed on. The mirror was darkened now. Her own figure, ghostly in its white wrapper, shone out §ll its-surface occasionally by fits and starts as the firelight flickered, silhouetted in the blackness behind it. Sue seemed to realize she was asleep, to enjoy the sensation of semi-consciousness, mixed with a lethargic inability to arouse into wakeful action.

And then she slept again, to dream of whispering voices, and to conjure ji'p' -gtiadgwy fpi-mfi, reflected in the mirror out of the region qf blackness p,t the back of her chair. Soon the fire burngd low, and she could see even her own face but indistinctly • and then tne shadowy forms came nearer, and she seemed to distinguish a man's harsh tone. ." By __ | y o u shall not thwart me, Florence ! " '' I have no wish to do so the whispered accents seemed familiap to, Jjferothy, yet not sufficiently sp recognition—'' but I warn you, Liejnueif J will stand between Gilbert's

child and. harm. It is the only atonement I can make."

"Are you turning squeamish in your old age*? " came the man's voice, louder and sneeringly. "Sh ! Perhaps. Her lonely position shows mc I have still a 'icart, though Clarence has loyally aided your efforts to crush every human impulse within me." " Pshaw ! Come, I've seen enough to satisfy me ; and self-protectipn is Nature's first law."

" First and last where you and your son are concerned. Had eithei of you one touch of humanity, the girl's ■ helpless, friendless position would "

The shadows faded, the voices died ■away, as Dorothy made a desperate but futile eSorts to shake off the heavy, over-powering lethargy which held her as in a vice from which ther< was no escape. Was she the person referred to ? she wondered as her brain began to recover from its torpor. Who wanted to hurt her ? Who was the man with cruel voice and angry accents, and who the woman who declared she would stand between " Gilbert's child and harm "? Who was Gilbert ? That was not her father's name.

It was a dream, of course —a dream —nothing more ! Gracious ! And there was the glissade of a guitar. She had fallen asleep atelier, post. in the fourth-floor back at Brick-street ! Here were Ju and Maggie coming in, tired and hungry, and the fire out and no supper ready ! She started up in affright, wide a-

vake now, and even in the dim light iCordi. 1 by the now dying fire the surroundings recalled her to her present altered condition. She was in Mrs. Fanshawe's house. Mrs Fanshawe must have provided her with that dressing wrapper, and she had fallen asleep while the maid brushed aer hair. Fallen asleep—and dreamed. What an odd dream ! Was itominous ? Was some harm intended to her ? She was "helpless," truly, and " friendless " also, so the woman had said.

And how plainly she had heard the guitar—so plainly. But alas ! Ju and Maggie seemed very far away. She felt very "friendless" indeed, without them. Why—why—yes there were the guitars again—distant, but real !

Dorothy went quickly to one of the windows ; one faced the park, the room being at a corner. It was a casement and opened easily. She leaned out, listening with all her might, for the night was damp and foggy and nothing could be distinguished save the lights of passing vehicles.

And away over the fog floated the tinkle of the strings, and her lonely heart beat with gladness as she heard Maggie's rough yet pathetic voice ascend in the strains of the song they had practised in unison : " Good-bye, Dolly, I must leave you Though it breaks mj heart to go." Oh, how her heart went out to her brain sang the refrain as she listened ! What would she not give if she dared go out intc the road and thank and bless them for turning out on such a night to comfort and sustain her ? But they would understand, she was sure of that,

And who dared say she was friendless now ?

So Celestine, coming in to make up the fire and see if Ma'm'selle Dorothee had awakened, found her on her knees in a paroxysm of tears. But the tears were not all those of grief. CHAPTER VI. THE PARTNERS RECEIVE A SHOCK. And then, as a week sped rapidly by, Dorothy was forced into the conclusion that either her own lines had fallen into singularly exceptional grooves, or all that had ever been written concerning the disadvantages of being a "companion" was fiction pure and simple,. For except to chat idly to Mrs. Fanshawe, to read to her occasionally, and sometimes sing a little in the drawing room after dinner when no guests were present, no claims whatever were made on her time or energy. Her wardrobe had been amply if not extravagantly replenished with everything of which she could possibly stand in need in her present surroundings. And her gratitude tq Mrs. Fanshawe was increased by the consideration shown towards her- recent bereavement in not obliging hev to wear colours. Her simple gowns were exclusively black or white, but in either case, without being funereal had been designed to spare her tne pain of appearing to minimise her loss.

Sometimes she found herself wondering why slie was living a life of ease and comfort at Rutland Gate. Of what value were her services, even were any claims made upon them ?• " My dear ' Ma'm'selle Dorcthee,' " laughed Mrs. Fanshawc one daj wherj the girl hazarded some re.tnapk about, it f! don't trouble over trifles, Accept the good.the gods provide, and be thankful or not, as your mood dictates. When you reach ray age you will find ' sufficient unto the day' a most comforting prc-cept for your guidance." " But —hut my being here in your house can hardly be looked upon as a trifle," suggested Dorothy timidly, '' To yourself or to me ? Take my side first. I am on the whole a lonely woman ; I have no daughters. Is it so strange a circumstance that, seeing a young, charming and refinecj girl, wh<s' attracts my sympathies, I take a whim to have her about me ? Now for your point of view, for I differ from my sex in preferring to look on both sides of a question. Apart from, perhaps, a natural an-; xiety as to what would happen should my whim forsake me a? suddenly as it came, have you any cause for complaint ? "

"I ? Oh, no, no ! You are most kind and most thoughtful. And believe me, I had not thought of the future ; it is only that I feel I am here under false pretences. I should be glad could I make some, return" — " There, there ! Let us change the subject, for you must admit that it is quite my affair," said Mrs. Fanshawe lightly. " How do you like mj son ? " She was almost relieved to see the girl did not change colour though a look of embarrassment, almost of distress came into the pathetic eyes, and more than answered the guestion. " You don't like Clarence, I am afraid ? "

" I—l hardly know. He is very obliging and tries to do kind things for me, and I think he is or would be clever,but —but " —. She faltered and hesitated, and thinking Mrs. Fanshawe would anticipate what she had to say ; but as that lady sat silent looking at her with mercilessly searching eyes, Dorothy summoned all her courage and blundered on.

"It is not so much Mr. Clarence's fault, I suppose. You see, I —l was young in Quebec, and the men who visited us were more —more formal in their manner to me. And—and —forme, I feel as though Mr. Clarence treats me too familiarly, with perhaps less respect than poor mother would like, could she—" Oh, I am so sorrj to have said so much ! I wish —I wish you hadn't asked me ! " " How like her father ! " mused Mrs. Fanshawe, as Dorothy with burning cheeks, escaped further questioning by the necessity of having to go and dress for dinner. " Another girl would have fenced the question, even had she not herself first seized on the idea of landing a rich prize in securing Clarence for her husband. Fool ! he has startled her already. How will it end, I wonder ? "

Clarence Fanshawe had indeed startled the girl, hitherto so hedged round and protected ; for even during her weary quest in search of work she had never met such familiarity, bordering to her unsophisticated mind, on insult, as that with which the young man treated her during their daily intercourse. For though young in years, Clarence was already old in vice. Mrs. Fanshawe, brooding over a secret trouble during his infancy, had left him to the care of a nurse, who possessed no love or even fidelity to her mistress. It would appear as though this woman had instilled into the child a feeling of contempt for his mother, as when Mrs. Fanshawe — having, as she thought, buried her grief—turned to her boy for consolation, she found in him " his father's' own son," and one to whom filial affection seemed an unknown quality, and self-love his first and last consideration.

Her experience of her husband led her to the conclusion that no protestation, no appeal, would render things other than they were. Lemuel Fanshawe looked upon women as belonging to an inferior sex, useful to, but owning no equal rights with man, consequently he had felt no scruples in bending his wife's will to meet his own when her assistance became necessarj for the furtherance of his schemes. Of respect, of chivalry towards the fair sex he had none whatever.

And " like father, like son." Clarence disliked the society of women with whom he needs must be on his best behaviour ; and considering as he did that Dorothy's recent hardships must have stifled all "priggish notions," he was considerably astonished at the chilling dignity with which she greeted his none too refined advances.

For intuition already warned the inexperienced girl that here was likely to be a stumbling-block to her peace of mind at Rutland Gate. Mr. Fanshawe she already feared, and instinctively mistrusted. He had, on a very short acquaintance, subjected her to a veritable crossexamination "as to her antecedents, his masterful insistence dragging from her the story of her father's strange disappearance, and about which, she knew not why, she would preferably have remained silent. Since then she had seen him but on his life and that of Mrs. Fanshawe appearing to lie widely apart. But Clarence seemed to be her shadow throughout the house, her own room the only place lie dared not penetrate. And to remain shut up in it long together appeared an act of discourtesy towards Mrs. Fanshawe. Oh, to be able to talk over matters with her humble but devoted friends Ju and Mag. For Ju had a '.vide knowledge of human nature, founded on experience as well as observation, and Dorothy felt more and more each day that her own presence vtder the Fanshawes' roof was a problem—.one difficult to solve. But Mrs. Fanshawe had protested against a visit to Brick-street, kindly but none the less emphatically. (To be Continued.) The latest fad is delineating charictcr by the shape of the tongue. Thus, the tongue that shoots out straight without turning ar wavering indicates a solid, reliable man of affairs. Tongues that turn. up indicate impractical natures. A downward, drooping tongue belongs to one born to poverty and a ready eye for the hopeless side of things. The cruel tongue flattens and broadens when extended. The delicate-speaking organ with curled-up edges is the property of an imaginative and artistic being. When the tongue issues forth as it grippeh in a dental vice it signifies a love of life more than ov^ars.