TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 240, 9 March 1910, Page 4

TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

(All Rights Reserved.)

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

SEVENTH INSTALMENT. " It was my husband's one stipulation that in coming to me you should sever your connection with the street-singers," she had said ; " and I dare not give my sanction to your going, in defiance of hif wishes."

" But —but they were so good to me, and you promised I should see them," pleaded Dorothy. " I think I made the reservation ' occasionally,' replied Mrs. Fanshawe with heightening colour. "And you must be patient, and wait until a suitable occasion presents itself. For without wishing to depreciate your poor friends in need, you must admit that Brick-street and Rutland Gate can scarcely be on visiting terms." '

Dorothy could and did admit that. " But might I not go just once," she begged, " just to let them know how very kind you are to me ? I could go alone on foot or in the omnibus ; no one would notice me. It would be such a consolation to them and such a comfort to me."

" Why, what a shocking compliment! " exclaimed Mrs. Fanshawe, in a rallying tone. " Here are poor Celestine and myself doing everything we can think of for your comfort, and you crave for Brick-street ! Oh, Ma'a'selle Dorothee, I blush for you! But I "really cannot take the responsibility of flying in the face of Mr. Fanshawe's expressed prohibition, my dear girl." And Dorothy, who had gathered the impression that the master of the house ruled his wife with a rod of iron, had perforce to submit. To go without permission never once entered her mind, so thoroughly had the. principle of obedience to those in authority been instilled during her early education. And the weather had just seemed to join in the conspiracy to cut her adrift from her former surroundings, for a week or two of fog ensued and even when it lifted, dense white mists lay heavily over the park. And strain her eyes into the mists as eagerly as she might she could distinguish nothing save an occasional blurred figure, whether men or women it seemed impossible to tell. And vainly did she court chills and rheumatism by leaning out of the window, listening intently for the tinkle of the guitars. Surely they had not taken offence at her inability to visit them ? Would thej not instinctively understand that in a house of that description she was not altogether free to go and come as she chose ? •

And in such terrible weather how selfish of her to expect them to come so far from home, risking colds and loss of voice for a mere sentiment ! In fact the fogs must mean considerable hardship and loss of work. The waiting crowds would certainly be diminished by the inclemency of the weather.

" Have you warned those vagrant women away from the premises, Norris ? " asked Mr. Fanshawe of one of the footmen on the day succeeding Dorothy's arrival at Rutland Gate. " Yessir."

" Have no nonsense about it, remember. Give them in charge if they persist, and tell the constable on the beat it is my wish they are prohibited from playing their instruments or singing within hearing distance of my house." " Yessir."

Dorothy knew nothing of this, neither did Mrs. Fanshawe. Her husband chafing at the delay caused by some necessary repairs at his country house which detained him in town, had in going out at night to his club recognized the guitar players and his guilty conscience fearing in each bush an officer," had instructed his servants to prevent their singing in the vicinity of Rutland Gate, should they attempt to do -so on another occasion.

They had returned the next night, and on being ordered to " move on,'' by a constable, whom Ju's sharp eyes had detected in a confab with a liveried flunkey, had accepted the situation and I tramped back to Brickstreet without a word.

"What d'ye make of it, Ju ? " asked Maggie, as soon as she dared speak. " We let her go for her own good," replied Ju, stolidly. " That's all we ean gay—for her own good, as we thought, If it turns out wrong, I don't see that we're to blame.''

"Wrong—wrong?" cried Maggie. " Ju, don't say that ! When her mother died that day—you remember —when I held Dorothy in my arms, I promised that poor dead woman, whose sou} couldn't ha' been far pver our heads that;, $Qd kelpi?}' wrong should never touch her chile} while I could stand in front of her to keep it off. Ju, rememberin' that promise, ought we to ha' let her go ? " . " 'Twas for lier own good," returned Ju, in the same-tone. "Our life wasn't fit for her ; there's her future to be thought of. An' it ain't unreasonable that rich folk don't want ud as visitors, I told ypU 4 be moved on, didn't I ? '' " What can we do ? " cried Maggie wringing her hands. " Ju, if any-r thing happened to her, I'd be afraid to die and meet that dead woman's; pyes \ " "Bosh! What's likely tq Jiappeq to her ? " retorted Ju, whose uneasy pyes belied her confident words. "As soon as the weather clears, we'll gq

up without out instruments, and wait about to see her, even in the distance. If we can't speak to her we can see how she looks, anyway. And meanwhile we'll write and say the fogs are keeping us away." Write they did ; but to their great disappointment Dorothy vouchsafed no reply. They wrote again with the same result.

Could it be possible that Dorothy was herself desirous of severing all connection with them ? Did she fear they would ever presume on the strength of the service they had so spontaneously rendered her —ever force themselves on her knowledge against her will ? They could hardly think so ; yet Ju wrote a good plain hand and the letters were properly addressed.

Again they braved the fog and went as near Rutland Gate as they rlared, waiting about a considerable time, with no better result than that Maggie caught a severe chill which resulted into slight bronchitis. And then for over a week Ju was chained to the fourth-floor back, nursing her partner back to her normal condition. By the time Maggie was up and about the weather had ; cleared, and early one morning the partners set off for Rutland Gate with the avowed intention of waiting round until nightfall risking the chance of a policeman moving them on, or even locking them up but see Dorothy they must at all costs. But to their amazement and dismay, Mr. Fanshawe's house showed no sign of life. Every lower wondow was closely shuttered ; in every upper ' window the blinds were closely drawn.

The chimneys were devoid of smoke; the iron gates fronting the hall door, and usually standing wide open, were now closed and visibly bolted and chained.

Evidently the family had left town —the house' was shut up. The two women looked at each other in silent stupefaction. Where was Dorothy ?

CHAPTER VII. MR. FANSHAWE MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT.

Only for tlie thought—hitherto slumbering within Dorothy's mind, now awakened into activity by Mrs. Fanshawe's suggestion—of the manner in which her mother must necessarily have viewed her connection with the street singers she could have wished herself back in Brick-street with Maggie and Ju. There she felt safe, but at Rutland Gate Mr. Fanshawe's stern, almost cruel face and dominating manner filled her with speechless dread. And, do what she would, it seemed impossible to escape from Clarence, whose familiarites grew more pronounced day bj day, and for whom she now began to conceive a strong feeling of detestation.* " Why do you dislike me ? " he asked boldly one morning, when he had unearthed her from a place ol concealment behind the curtains ic the library. " I—you speak to me in a manner to which I have hitherto been unaccustomed," she replied with a flash of indignation which only had the effect of heightening her beauty in her tormentor's eyes. " Hitherto ? Possibly. You will have to get accustomed to many things unknown to your previous experience," he said. " But now you're no longer in that slow-going old Quebec, where " " Where men respect women ! " burst out Dorothy, her eyes ablaze. "By Jove, a spice of anger becomes you, my gentle Ma'm'selle Dorothee ! " cried Clarence trying to take her hand. " But now, look here, ' other clinics, other manners,' you know, and here in England girls will forgive a man anything save being a slowcoach. And we've got to be good the minx ! "

For Dorothy had eluded his grasp and fled from the room. What —what was she to do ? " she asked herself. Mrs. Fanshawe's attitude towards her held out no encouragement that relief might be obtained at her hands. She was kind, even considerate, towards Dorothy, but the girl saw no trace of any feeling of affection, nor even of regard. Was it, as she had said, owing to a mere whim that Dorothy was resident under her roof ? And once or twice she had left her alone with almost intentionally it geemgd, And he was her son !

Oh, for her mother, her father ! What of her father ? In the storm and stress which had beaten round her since the mighty River St. Lawrence faded from her sight the possibility of his being still alive had been almost lost sight of. Was it not her duty to follow up the quest, from the pursuance of which her mother had been so suddenly, perhaps mercifully, cut off ? JJqw dared .she resigii herself to a life of ease, of indulgence, when such a task lay before her—a task indisputably her duty ? She must rouse herself from this inertia, conquer her fear of appearing unappreciative or ungrateful. But at any rate ssh§ jnusli appeal to Mrs. Fanshawe to assist her in some way to become self-supporting. She must be independent or the fate of Brande Eliot would never be revealed. She thought Mrs. Fanshawe turned pale when she very earnestly pleaded her cause, though the elder woman appeared to treat the matter lightly. " When you grow older you'll finc\ ' let sleeping dogs lis ' if **■ very useful axiom, my dear girl," she replied. You'd better wait until your experience of the world as it is has widened. Could you find your father-, your advent after all these years, might place him in a very embarrassing position.'' " Embarrassing ? But—l am his daughter ! " " True ; but the fact would seem to have escaped his memory. There,

don't look like that ; but if you're wise you'll leave the past behind you and make the best of the present. Why cannot women do that I wonder? A. man takes each day as it comes ; avails himself to the full of each grain of pleasure it may contain. But we women always want to be digging into a grave. We deny our iead the rest for which they long so ardently." Mrs. Panshawe's tone was distinctly impressive, and for a moment Dorothy felt awed into acquiescence. " But the—the future," she said, after a pause. " Have I the right to waste time ? Ought I not to qualify myself for a position " "My dear Dorothy, leave the future to take care of itself. Nature has qualified you, and in the most admirable way to turn men's heads, and win their hearts. You will undoubtedly marry and —if you've any luck—may live happily ever after. That's as may be. And my son is your first victim, presumably." The shot told. Dorothy started, .then turned pale.

" You cannot mean that —that Mr, Clarence "

"Is in love with you. Did you not complain of his—' familiarity,' I think you termed it ? You are unused to the type of young man he represents. Making love is ho longer one of the fine arts, my dear. And your modern man's vanity is so colossal that he hesitates to subject himself to the indignity of a direct refusal before ascertaining the probability of the lady returning his preference." " But—but I—l do not return Mr. Clarence's preference," returned Dorothy, almost wishing Mrs. Fanshawe would wax indignant at her rerr'arks and send her back to Brick-.-street. " I—if that is really what you mean —I could never marry him." "It is what he means, my dear Dorothy, rest assured of that, however clumsy may be his method of expressing himself." '* But it would be impossible I could marry him ! " said Dorothy, aghast. *' Would it ? He is sufficiently good-looking, heir to a large fortune."

Mrs. Fanshawe's eyes betrayed more anxiety than her careless words implied. " But I do not love him." " Your acquaintance is but recent." '* But surely love comes at first or not at all ! "

And then Dorothy was blushing furiously at the boldness of her words. And the words themselves had roused a strange far-away look in Mrs. Fanshawe's eyes. She seemed lost in thought and spoke no more until an interruption changed the subject. But with this added anxiety came to Dorothy's mind, for the first time the seemingly difficult project ol slipping out unnoticed and running down to Brick-street for Ju's advice. And apart from her own worries, she was anxious about the partners, also. She had written to them repeatedly, had seen Norris, the footman, take her letter amongst others he was convening to the post, yet not a word of reply came. It might be their extreme self-abnegation, but also one or both might be ill. The weather must try them severely. But one morning, when she had " screwed her courage to the sticking point," and decided that at any risk, she would go to see them that day, Dorothy on descending to the hall, was surprised to find it filled with trunks, strapped ready for departure.

And at breakfast Mrs. Fanshawe shiveringly directing the girl's attention to the forlorn aspect of the park—so mueh of it as could be seen —observed :

" I'm sure, like the rest of us, you will be glad to turn your back on London, for a while, eh, Dorothy ? " The grest eyes looked the astonishment their owner felt. "We are going out of town for a few days," put in Mr. Fanshawe. " You have no objection, I hope ? "' "I ? Oh, no. How could I have?"

They were going out of town, leaving her alone ; at least, so she read his words. Then she would be able to see Ju and Maggie, to talk things over, and—better than all —would be free of that detestable Clarence. Her delight seemed to her so obvious she tried to conceal it ; but her spirits fell as Mrs. Fanshawe rose from the table.

" Come to my room, Dorothy," sh( said. " I ordered you a travellingcoat from Redfern's. It was delivered last night and I want to se.c il any alteration is necessary. You've plenty of time. The carriage isn't due until half-past ten and Celcstine is packing your trunks now." " Packing—my trunks J w " Yes. Why I believe you thought we were going to leave you here alone. You did. Confess it ! " "I—I —yes, I did think so."

(To be Continued.)