TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 250, 13 April 1910, Page 4

TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

(All Rights Reserved.)

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

SEVENTEENTH INSTALMENT. He paused, and walked the room. To question this woman went sorely against the grain ; yet might she not give him same insight into the difficulties besetting his loved one—difficulties he might conquer or avert did he hut know their source ? " Are you accustomed to sing throughout the countrj ? " he asked, pausing in his walk. " No, sir. Me an' Ju —Ju's my partner sir—works all the year round in London." " Then do I understand that you have travelled into Devonshire solely to hear news of Miss Eliot ? " " Yes, sir ; there warn't no other way," said Maggie, simply. " Gould you not write to her ? " " We wrote a-many times to Mr. Fanshawe's house in Rutland Gate, sir, but'got never a word of answer. We waited outside till the fogs wero so bad Ju got bronchitis, and I had to stay indoors and nurse her. An' when she got better we went to Rutland Gate again but the house was empty and shut up. An ' sir, we couldn't think that, of Her own free will Miss Dorothy'd have gone without a word to us." Here was devotion truly, but the relations seemed so inexplicable. " How long was that ago ? " " Last November, sir," " And since have you written Miss Dorothy at Havillands ? " "No, sir. It was a long time before we could find out where Mr. Fanshawe's country seat was, an' even then we weren't sure he mightn't 'ave gone abroad ; and by the time we found out through a newspaper paragraph I knocked up—an' it's been a hard winter for outdoor work, sir — an' Ju had to nurse me round. Then there warn't much to boast of in either of us, but we were anxious about Miss Dorothy, an' as Ju could not leave our beat an' chance some one else queerin' our pitch, she's took another partner temporarily, an' I started out to work through the towns an' villages to Exeter—for all we heard of was that Mr. Fanshawe's place was near Exeter—an' there not bein' no 'buses, it took some findinV' concluded Maggie. Trevedyn felt perfectly astounded at the story and overcome by its pathos, for Maggie's thin pinched face and hollow eyes told of hardships, scant food, sickness struggled against, poverty in its most acute form. And through all this the girl had battled her way over two hundred miles to gain news of one who seemed to have ignored any tie or responsibility, had such ever existed. And Dorothy was incapable of undervaluing such devotion ; on that he would stake his life. Granting the existence of ans valid reason why this poor singer and her partner should be kept informed of her wellbeing, he did not believe she would i neglect the duty, unless prevented. What of the letters to which they, the partners, had received no reply ? I am sure, did she but know of it Miss Eliot would greatly appreciate your " he began. " There ain't no need for her to know anything about us," broke in Maggie stubbornly. " We've got to know if she's all right. That's our duty. We took it on when we stood by her dead mother. But, sir, I never meant to say half as much as I've said. If you can help me to what we want to know, I'll be thankful." "You have said enough to prove j to be your right to know all I can tell you," he answered, after a paugg —" Miss Dorothy is well in health, but I fear—l know—she is unhappy." " Are they unkind —hard on her ?" asked Maggie, almost fiercely. " From their point of view—l assume you mean the Fanshawe family —no. But Mr. Fanshawe is desirous that Miss Eliot should marry his son, Mr. Clarence Fanshawe, the heir of Havillands." *' And shG=--Dorothy ? " " Has what they consider the bad taste to love some one else." " Then why—why is she unhappy ? A woman in love should not be so," said the singer ; and • Ernest smiled sadly at the " one touch of. nature " permeating rich and poor alike. " The man," she continued, feverishly " does he love her ? " " With all the strength of his manhood," answered Ernest, steadily. " Then is he free to marry—able to support a wife' ? " " Perfectly, though not in luxury, perhaps." "Is he honest —a good man ? " '• I—hope so. His intentions are honest." "Then what has Dorothy to do. with these Fanshawes ? " cried Maggie in increasing excitement. " Doctor the heir, Clarence, is dissolute, even vicious. We see him in the London streets,, not always sober, in pompany with the vilest. We didn't know at the tuflS ' Mrs. Fanshawe took her away, and Ju's dreaded trouble ever since we found out." " Miss Eliot 'is Mr. Fanshawe's ward," replied Ernest, " and he appears bent on enforcing his authority." " He's got none, sir ! " burst out the girl. "She ain't his ward; he's got no right. Doctor, do you know the man who loves Dorothy Eliot, and who she loves ? " " Yes." " Then let me see him ; let me tell fiim the truth ! He must save her — protect her from 3, profligate. Never fear that me an' Ju'U give any

[ trouble ; but Dorothy must be saved! Let me see the man, doctor. I beg and pi ay of you." "You are looking at him now," replied Ernest quietly. " You, doctor ? " " I." There was silence for a moment. " And Dorothy loves you," said Maggie, softly., " Doctor, I don't wonder." " But she has sent me away," he continued, resolving to trust this poor woman who had manifested sucb extreme devotion to his beloved. And sitting down; facing her, he told her the entire story as far as he knew it and before he had concluded Maggie burst into a paroxysm of tears. " Ju said it ! Ju said it ! " she cried. " Oh, my dear, my dear ! We wanted to help you, an' we've been your ruin. Ju said it over an' over again,' Mark my words, Mag, if ever Dorothy wants to marry, her goin' out with us'll be throw'd up against her.' That's the barrier. Oh, my dear, my dear ! " Again Ernest walked the room, deep in thought. His quick intelligence half grasped the truth conveyed through Maggie's tearful utterances, but there was much that remained still a mystery. And then, again, he sat down, facing her. "I do not seek to know anything Miss Eliot may prefer to keep secret," he said " but, believe me, there is no barrier between us but one of her own creating, save, perhaps', in her imagination. I quite grasp the fact that in some way you iiave been associated with her ; but, except to be grateful to you and appreciate your interest in the one woman I hope to call wife, the association can have no influence on my sentiments or my actions." " Are you sure ? Are you sure ? " ;ried Maggie. " You wouldn't go back on her if she'd been forced — forced, mind you—into taking up with people who she's as far above as the stars ? " " I would not —of course I would not. I love her too truly, too deto let any false pride com# between us." " Then, I'll tell you," said Maggie sxcitedly—" I'll tell you, for you're a man —a strong man —and she, maybe, would sooner go away an die for very shame " " Shame ? " " Not on her—not on her. You needn't turn white ; she's as spotless as a snow-white angel. It's our faults, an' we didn't look ahead. Swear not to go back on her." " I swear it," he said, after one look into Maggie's honest eyes. And then he listened wonderingly, with occasional short, fierce interruptions, as Maggie went back to the time of her first meeting with Dorothy on the stairs of the lodginghouse in Brick-street, on through her mother's sudden death to Mrs. Fanshawe's proposal to take the girl as a " companion," of their own doubts and fears, their decision to let her go " for her own good." Then on to the happenings at Rutland Gate, of their being warned away by the policeman on the beat, the unexpected exodus of the family, and the fact that from the moment they had parted from Dorothy when J she drove away from Brick-street in Mrs. Fanshawe's carriage not one word of communication had passed between them and the girl to whom they had been such veritable "good Samaritans." " We don't complain o' that," Maggie said—" leastways, we would not, if we felt sure 'twas her wish. But we don't." Nor did Ernest. Treachery had been at work at Rutland Gate no doubt, and Dorothj r 's long illness at Havillands had also contributed to cut off all communication with her former friends. Maggie had made no mention of money, but Ernest Trevedyn readily understood the sacrifices made by these two poor the nestegg which should, have sustained them during a hard winter of ill-health had been cheerfully given to help a suffering little sister in affliction and he inwardly vowed to repay them as far as lay in his power, a thousandfold. And when Maggie, overcome by finding this handsome young doctor was shaking her warmly by both hands, again subsided into tears he pulled aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, with a twofold purpose of giving his visitor time to recover from her emotion, while at the same time concealing a glittering moisture in his own eyea, Dim indeed must have been his sight that he failed to perceive the little shrinking figure that he would have given worlds to soothe and comfort within his strong arms crouching beside the palings of the garden gate, and which presently, with a heartbroken sob, disappeared along the dark, lonely road. And Mrs. Bembridge was none too pleased—though she knew her master too well to dare to dispute his orders have to prepare and sprve a hot nourishing meal for the " tramp " whom she had vainly tried to turn from the door. Seriously too, did Dr. Trevedyn insist on a searching investigation oi the source of Maggie's cough, until that poor waif, unaccustomed to such kindlj personal interest save from Ju—who always scolded vigorously while she nursed —thought in her own mind that Dorothy would be well repaid for all her former sufferings did the fates withdraw their displeasure sufficiently to allow het to marry .Dr. Ernest Trevedyn. CHAPTER XVII. MORE VISITORS FOR DR. TREVEDYN. Ascertaining that Maggie had found a decent lodging in the village, the doctor escorted her thither —after she had done justice to Mrs. Bembridge's cooking and her host'a

generous hospitality—and obtaining her promise to call on him next - day, or let him know should her chest develop further trouble he wished her good night and returned, in deep thought towards Woodbine Cottage. He must see Dorothy, discover if the " barrier " really referred to her association with these two poor singers, and assure her of his undying love, his unswerving devotion through all and every circumstance affecting either past or future. For now it must be his duty to step into the lists, assert his rights as her future husband, challenge Mr Fanshawe's claim ; and then it was incumbent upon the man who determined to marry Dorothy—in spite of all and every objection—to elucidate the mystery surrounding her missing father, and discover him if yet alive. Poor little Dorothy ! How she had suffered, and how his heart yearned to take her into his arms, to soothe and comfort her, atone to her for all she had gone through. As he drew near to where the trail of red light from his lamp streamed out into the darkness, he saw the figure of his housekeeper in the porch, and then quickened his steps on recognizing the person whom Mrs. Bembridge was in the act of showing into his room. Mrs. Fanshawe I At that hour of the night, alone and unattended—could such a thing be possible ? Apparently, for Mrs. Fanshawe it was, pale, hagjgard, obviously suffering both mentally andophysically. Getting rid of Mrs. Bembridge, who was nothing if not curious, Trevedyn placed a comfortable chair for his visitor, calmly, as if her arrival were quite a matter of course, though intuition told him something beyond an ordinary ailment had brought the mistress of Havillands to his house that night. " I am sorry you did not send for me," he said. "This damp night air is not favourable to neuralgic"— "Oh, don't trifle with me, Dr. Trevedyn," she cried. "You cannot imagine the worst form of neuralgia could have compelled me to walk over from Havillands to-night." " ' To walk ' over?" "Yes, walk. To order out a carriage would have been to publish my errand —to frustrate its purpose. I have dragged myself along the dark, lonely roads, how I hardly know, save by the aid of desperation. And now, I beg, I implore you not to put further difficulties in my way. Let me see her, or tell me where she is if she has already left your house." See her ! Was it possible Mrs. Fanshawe knew of the street-singer's errand—had some object to further in which the girl Maggie was concerned? But he must be quite sure. " You had an unexpected caller this evening," she continued, agitatedly. " Your servant admitted as much. Is she still in your house ? I entreat you not to put me off with excuses." " I have no desire to do so," he replied. " I am but now returning from seeing my visitor to the cottage in which she has obtained temporary accommodation for the night." " She must not stay there," cried Mrs. Fanshawe, excitedly. " Doctor, grant me a favour ; it will not do for me to be seen unattended in the village. Go back to her—tell her I entreat her to return to Havillands to-night. To-morrow we can talk things over, and I will try to help her if I can ; but to save trouble —, even crime, perhaps—she must come back with me now—now, before her absence or my own can have been discovered !" Ernest Trevedyn had suddenly grown very pale. The words were scarcely applicable to the girl Maggie. And was it possible his ears had deceived him—" to save even crime, she must come back "? Even :rime ! " I fear we are playing at cross purposes, Mrs. Fanshawe," he said, trying to still the uneasiness creeping over him. " The only woman patient whom I have seen to-night is a stranger to Havillands, and cannot possibly be the person to whom your words refer." "You are not prevaricating ? " "By no means. And now I am considerably exercised at your inferjnce. Can it be possible you came here, expecting to find " " Dorothy, Dr, Trevedyn—yes." He fairly staggered back. " In my house —at this hour!" "Do not misunderstand me," she pleaded, a little in awe of the impressive dignity in his tones. " I am sure you are all that is chivalrous and honourable ; but, Dr. Trevedyn, before you ceased attending Dorothy I knew that you loved her, and, later, I drew from her an admission that she loved you. We —my husband and I —are her only friends in—in this country, and finding she has elected to leave our roof, what more natural than I should suppose she had come to you." (To be Continued,)