TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 248, 6 April 1910, Page 4

TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

(All Rights Reserved.)

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

FIFTEENTH INSTALMENT. " I am serious, Mr. Fanshawe." "How do you expect to liveaway from my house ? " "I do not know. I must try to get work " " Pshaw ! " he said, impatiently. "I am weary of this quibbling. Must I speak, plainly, brutally so ? Who would employ you were a whisper passed round that you had been a vagrant street singer ? What man but Clarence would marry you under the same conditions ? Are you in a position to dictate what-you should or should not do ?" There was a blaze of indignation in the girl's eyes now, though she suffered under the realisation he spoke the truth. " You infer you would tell my story to my detriment, should I refuse this marriage ? " she asked. The man shrugged his shoulders. " That is quite possible," he said. "I am unaccustomed to opposition, and in the present instance few would blame me if I resented what must be looked upon as obstinate ingratitude." Heaven help her ! What was she to do ? He would ruin her, undoubtedly ; prevent her obtaining employment ; even poison Ernest's mind against her. What, what was she to do ? Her soul cried out in its anguish for the dearly-loved mother, who, could she but behold her child's distress, must suffer also. The man was watching her closely, admiring her fortitude, while cursing her self-possession, and speculating on the necessity of the final coup for which he had prepared. And as he speculated in thought, the occasion arose and he summoned all his nerve to meet it. " Mr. Fanshawe," said Dorothy, steadily, " will you tell me your motive in thus forcing me, as it were into an uncongenial marriage ?" '* Motive ? " T " Yes. You have been singularly outspoken with me, and must pardon me if I also speak without reserve in my turn. I cannot accept the motive as one of charitable intent only. By the same rule that if, as you assert, no other man would marry me because of my misfortunes had not Lemuel a heart of stone he must have been moved by the tremor in hei voice—" why should you force on my acceptance your son, the heir to a vast estate and an honoured name?" "Were you wise you would accept the facts unquestioned," replied Fanshawe, breathing hard, and realizing the critical moment had arrived. " I cannot do that. Do you deny the existence of a reason for takitng me into your house —one other than that assigned by your wife ? " " No ; I am unaccustomed to explain my motives, young lady." " In that case I must ask—nay require—you to make an exception, Mr. Fanshawe." " You are bold, Ma'm'selle Dorothee. I warn you, take care !" '' What if I assign the motive ? Will you answer me the truth if I am right in my conjecture ? " Dorothy was goaded to desperation now ; she felt like a stag at bay. All caution, all thought of suppression were scattered to the winds. She would beard this man, and force an admission from him. At least he should understand that her eyes had been opened to what he meant to conceal. " You will answer me ? " she re' iterated, "If you wish it ; but you will regret " I do wish it. I can have no further regrets than those now torturing my soul." " Do not be too sure of that. Well ? " His tone chilled the blood in her veins. For a moment she faltered, and then her courage came back. " I told you my history—that I was born in Quebec, that my father's name was Brande Eliot ; that seven years ago he sailed for England, landed in Liverpool, and was from that time never seen again by myself of my dear mother." " Go on." "I have heard the story of your elder brother who. went abroad so many years ago. . I see in his childish portrait a resemblance to myself; and in the church register your brother's name is set forth as ' Gilbert Brande Eliot Fanshawe,' and, as I have said, Brande piiot was my father's name." The man's dark face was paler than usual, and his hand shook a little. " You have been collecting quite an array of facts," he said. " May I jnquire jour deduction from them?'' "That your brother Gilbert and my father are one and the same person," replied Dorothy, calling up all her courage. There was a moment's pause, after which the man spoke slowly : *' You show go much intelligenee that I am reluctant to pain you. I give you the option of forgetting your conjectures, marrying Clarence, and troubling your pretty head no further about a circumstance which is sufficiently regrettable to bury in oblivion." " Answer me ! Answer me ! " cried Dorothy, in agonized entreaty. "You promised " " I did ; but I conjure you, for your own sake " " Answer me 1 " "You believe yourself to be the daughter of Gilbert Fanshawe, and that my knpwledge of tbe fact has in-

Juenced my actions towards you ? " " Yes, yes !-" " I answer you, at your demand. I believed you to be the. daughter of my half-brother Gilbert ; for that reason I brought you into my house, for that reason I consented to Clarence's proposition to make you his wife." " For what reason did you keep the knowledge secret from me," cried Dorothy in great agitation—" even to the suppression of the fact that Eliot was a family name of the Fanshawes ? " "A foolish reason, perhaps. The thought that, once honourably married, no troublesome details respecting the past could be raked up to disturb your peace or that of the man who might be your husband. And I am not now alluding to your street-singing experiences." " To what else ? " " You have exhibited such unusual penetration that I marvel a reason does not suggest itself to you that might have influenced Gilbert Fanshawe in dissevering himself from his —er —associations in Quebec.'' " 'Dissever.' He did not. He left with the intention of returning." "He said as much, doubtless. Yet men are not in the habit of throwing off responsibilities where they actually exist. And bad he been desirous of returning what could have prevented him ? " " 'Responsibilities' exist.' [ don't understand." Dorothy was pale as death now, Leaiuel Fanshawe still watching her, lynx-eyed. " You have dared me to a disclosure I would gladly have concealed from you," he said; " Would you recognize your father's handwriting?" " Yes, I—l think so, though it is long ago." The man unlocked a secret drawer in a bureau and took out a stained, crumpled letter —a portion only. " To screen my brother's memory I have let the report that he died abroad remain uncontradicted," he said;" but he led a fast life in London after his return from Quebec, and this was sent me by the doctor who attended him in his last moments." A mist came into, Dorothy's eyes, and her head swam. Was it really aer father's handwriting ? It certainly appeared to be. " One moment before you read it," said Fanshawe. " You may be aware of the fact that Havillands is not entailed upon heirs male ; therefore had your conjecture proved substantiate, you, as Gilbert's legitimate issue, would have been entitled to succeed. And can you imagine me 30 shortsighted as to defraud— But read that letter, since you insist." The ink, originally poor, was now iaded and indistinct ; and then as Dorothy looked, the characters stood out as though written in blood. " i've left nothing to my credit, old chap, and much to my disgrace ; but of all my misdeeds, the one I repent most is away over the Atlantic —and she thought she was my wife. There was a child—a girl. Look for her, Lem, in Quebec. I was only Brande Eliot there. I wearied of it, and came away, and meant to do right, only I came to London and ' fell among thieves.' Take care of the kiddy, Lem. Don't let her know if you can avoid it. Gilbert." There was a heartrending cry, and then Lemuel Fanshawe had barely time to move quickly enough forward and catch the unconscious girl, a lead weight in his arms. CHAPTER XV. DOROTHY'S FLIGHT. Illegitimate ! The word had burned into Dorothy's brain, boiling and seething as though branded through her brow in characters of molten lead. It stood out on the walls of her room, too, in letters of huge proportions—of a vivid scarlet colour, blood red ! She could think of nothing else, hear nothing, save that one word, thundering and booming in her ears with ceaseless reiteration. Mr. Fanshawe had tried to convince her of his regret that 'she should have forced from him information he would willingly have withheld from her knowledge ; had assured her of his earnest desire to do what he thought his brother would have looked upon as the only possible method of righting the wrong which had been done. Also that the secret she had so insistently wrested from its hiding-place might be reconsigned to its oblivion by themselves, iinknown to all the world. But his observations had fallen upon ears practically deaf. The girl's faculties were numbed, deadened by the shock she had sustained. One terrible fact stood out in bold relief, other and side issues' held no significance. "She takes it hardly, but she'll get over it," was Mr. Fanshawe's mental reflection as he held open the study door to allow her to pass, through. " Let Dorothy alone," he said to fiis wife that evening. " Don't urge her to come down to dinner if she seems inclined to shirk doing so." . " You have not been rough with her, Lemuel, I hope ?" "No ; quite the contrary. But 1 t'clt compelled to put certain matters before her which will necessarily disturb her peace of mind temporarily. But a little quiet reflection will above all things tend to convince her that I hold the winning cards, and that she has no alternative but to follow my lead." Thankful to feel the responsibility lifted from her own shoulders, Mrs. Fanshawe gladly followed his suggestion, and when his conjecture that Dorothy might not appear at dinner proved correct, issued orders for a tray to be taken to her room, but otherwise that Ma'a'selle Dorothea be left undisturbed..

But the tray remained where the maid had set it down, its contents intasted. Dorothy was slowly recovering irorn the stunned, dazed condition oi mind to which she had been reduced by Mr. Fanshawe's revelations, and uow her brain began to move and a strange, tumultuous activity to permeate her senses. She must get away from Havillands, from the place which should have been her dear mother's and her own, had not her father — Wait ! Was it true ? Was Lemuel Fanshawe to be trusted ? He had much to gain by his elder brother's dishonour. But that letter—that letter —every word of which was seared into her heart, and his mysterious and protracted absence, the suppression of his real surname ! Oh, God, it must be true ; it must be true ! Thank God, her mother had not lived to know his baseness, the falsity of the man she had so fondly, so devotedly loved ! But she would go away—back to Ju and Maggie. Could she get so far. It were {impossible to remain under this man's roof ; he would force her into this hated marriage, upon the alternative of publishing this new disgrace. He had threatened as much and the thought that Ernest — Oh, she could not bear it ! She must go away, even if she died upon the road. Die ? Did people ever die when the strain of life seemed more than they could bear ? Yes, her darling mother had mercifully been taken from the blow which must have crushed her when it fell. Perhaps the sinking of the liner, the loss of all their possessions—totally crippling all attempts at discovering the long-missing Brande Eliot —were but blessings in disguise. The heartbroken, deserted wife had suffered enough ; an all-seeing Providence decreed that she should endure no more. And now, first locking her door, Dorothy seriously looked things squarely in the face. To get away from Havillands without hindrance, she must go that night—must steal away in the darkness and pray Heaven and her dead mother to guide her on her way. She would have to walk, of course, and could take nothing with her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation even at the necessity of wearing clothes paid for by Lemuel Fanshawe. But there was no help for that, and discretion told her to wear the warmest dress and the Redfern coat to protect her against the night air in the changeable English climate. Once she could find Ju and Maggie if they would take her back and allow her to work with them, she might return it to Mrs. Fanshawe. A fur-lined Redfern coat would scarcely evoke much charity from a London crowd. Charity ! Had it come to that ? Well, why not ? What right had she to encourage pride—she who could not even claim the right to bear her father's name ? Perhaps even the street-singers would hold their heads above her did they but know the truth of her story. She was dressed at last, and had packed everything about the room in order that Mrs. Fanshawe might see she had taken nothing but necessities. There were two or three trifling mementos of her mother, brought from Brick-street, and these, together with the least possible amount of encumbrance in the way of toilet commodities she arranged in a small satchel strapped round her shoulders —one she had been accustomed to use during her wanderings through park and forest. In taking her cherished possessions from the drawer in which they had been placed she found something she had quite forgotten in the storm and stress to which she had been subjected. A little shabby leather purse—or was it a pocket-book ? —very quaint and old-fashioned. From whence could it have come ? And then, as she held it in her hand, memory took her back to the day when Mrs. Fanshawe's fine bays were impatiently neighing as they waited in Brick-street while she tearfully prepared for her departure—how at the last moment, Maggie had run out to the carriage and pressed something into her lap, laughing and crying at the same time, while telling her to put it away with her mother's prascr-book and keep it/"for luck." She had put it away hurriedly, she remembered, for Cclestine had been looking on. And now she fingered it over affectionately. Poor, good-hearted Maggie ! She turned it over in her fingers, and then, unconsciously opening it uttered a cry. Gold ! Two sovereigns ! Tears welled into her eyes as she knelt in thanksgiving for surely once again Heaven had foreseen and anticipated this crisis in her life. It were an easy thing to talk of walking to London and doubtless to one of stronger physique the task might be well within the range of possibilities. To be Continued.