My Dead Client.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 162, 12 April 1872, Page 6

My Dead Client.

A Stoey told by the Ghost of a Barbisteb who had. the Ghost of a Business.

Sitting alone in my chambers, I have dismissed my clerk—there being no chance of clients calling at this late hour; and, indeed, I myself ought to be off westward, but I sit, dreamily gazing into the glowing embers —my mind wandering to other scenes, and to times long past. A knock at the door —a soft, , solitary knock. Who can that be ? Was I mistaken? No! there it is again. I rise hurriedly, and go to. the door—open it; outside is standing the. figure of a woman. I can hardly see her, as the passage is but dimly lighted. " Is this Mr. Grantley's place ?" " Yes. I am Mr. Grantley. What; is *j_ 99 .. •

"I wish to speak to you for a moment, .'l am afraid I have not come at the right time; but please.let me speak to you "for ■ ;y a moment."

There is a hurried earnestness in her manner; and X admit her, close the outer door, and place a chair for her by the fire. Now I can see her plainly : apparently a young woman, but her face is marked by sorrow and suffering. She is plainly dressed; but I take her to be a lady.j For a few moments she sits silently gazing into tiie fire. Does she see there any of the scenes that I hare been gazing at? I

wonder, vacantly. " Mr. ;Grantley, I will tell you shortly 'why lam here. . Some years ago; youwere intimately acquainted with George Marr ?" . v

" I was indeed. Poor fellow you. could tell me where he is now, you would indeed be welcome." You also Denis Hilton P" . "Yes, I did." " Are you as anxious to know where Tie is at this moment ?" " I cannot say I am. Friendship existed between us once.- His conduct, broke that friendship in such a manner that it can never be renewed." "I know it. He slandered you, Mr. Grantley." ■ r . " Pardon me. It can hardly be for the purpose of reminding me of unhappy circumstances, now long past, that you—a perfect stranger—came to mie thus ?"

"No, it is not. I have come liere to entrust you with something. I have heard your name mentioned often; and I know that you are an upright and honest man, and I may trust .you." " Before you go any further, I must remind you that you have not yet told me who you are."

"There is not the slightest need that! you should know my name. I hate iny i iiame—it shall not pass my lips unneces. ; sarily. The favor that lam about to ask of you is a very slight one at present; and I believe that you will not refuse me." "You are about to confide something to me.. Is it unreasonable that' I should ask you why you confide in I may not ask you who you are ?" " I confide in-you because, from what I have heard, of you—it is no use to ask when or where—" she breaks in hurriedly, as she sees the question in my face—'' from . what I have heard of you,- I believe that you will faithfully comply with my request."

She rises from her chair, and gathers her shawl about her, as if to go out into the stormy night again. , " "What is it ? W hat is this request you so strangely make to me ?" Itom her pocket , she draws out what seems to be a letter, sealed. / Take this packet/; When you next see me in this room—but not before—-

open. it, read the contents, and ..then act" as your lionest conscience bids you." • r

I take the packet mechanically. She i adds nothing more; and in a moment or i two, lam alone again in my cliambersj peering into the embers as before. . . lam more than ever disinclined to move. What can there be inside, this mysterious packet? I must put it away carefully. Have I ever seen this woman before P. No,' I cannot recall her features. And then; what can she know, of George Marr and Denis Hilton? We were all three at college together, and at one time were great friends. But that is a long while ago. Denis and I did not continue friends; for upon one occasion—the particulars of which there is no necessity for me to mention now—his conduct was such that high words passed between us, and' our intimacy came to an end. But Denis had . great influence over -George Marr, and they continued to be as much toge-i j ther as before. The consequence was that I Denis Hilton prejudiced George against j me-j-or, at all events, succeeded in keeping i him away from m e—though; George and I | had at one time been inseparable. It is. three ,years' ago, now, since I last saw t Marr; and I have now heard that he has i left England, having got into some ■ pecui niary difficulties, the exact nature of which II nearer learned.

• The summer came; and I was going to pass three months upon- the Continent with an; old Oxford friend of mine; and the morning before olir departure I was busy packing up", and my travelling companion was in my sitting-room; consulting ''Murray" and the Continental "Bradshaw." I was in the bed-room, which communicated with the sitting-room, and the door was open., Suddenly, my friend called out— ;

" I say, Grantlev, do you : ever study tli e second column of the 4 Times' ?" . " Ofcourse I dobut T have not had time to look at-it this morning." Do 1 you remember Marr, who was a f Oxford with us P" "Yes—to be : sure," I reply, entering the room. "VV hat about him P" ' . : " I see he is advertised for. Listen?'. "' £IOO Hewaeb.—The above reward will be given to any person Or persons who can : give such information as "wall lead to the discovery of George ;Marr, son of the late Colonel Thomas Marr, of Marr Court, in the county of Gloucester. 1 The said

■George* Marr was last seen in London, in November, tliree' yfears ago, and lias not

been heard of since. It is supposed that he emigrated either to America or Austra-

lia. , The same reward will be given on satisfactory proof of the death of the said George Marr. All communications to be addressed to Messrs. Bingley and Bell, solicitors, Gray's Inn.' " - " I know that firm," I said. ,I should like to ask some questions about- thia. Marr was a great friend of mine, as : you l remember." s

I managed to find time. in. the cpurse of that afternoon, to call at Gray's Inn, and I

saw Mr. Bell.; From him I learned that George Marr's elder brother was dead ; and as he left ho issue, the estate devolved on. George—failing him, to a 'cousin ; and this cousin was naturally rather anxious, tp know whether George was.alive or ; not : .

Well, we went abroad to spend our. holidays; arid so pleasantly did the time pass, that the long vacation seemed, un-" commonly short; but, as what we did and; where we went have nothing to do with the main point, of this story,. I must come at orice to the day of our return to Eng- ■

It was the last day of October. I think we were nearly four hours crossing—-the wind-and tsea increasing in their fury ';' and when were saMy in harbor at Dover, the storm rose to a hurricane. .• Manv persons had gathered' together on the pier

and quays, waiting to see the b6a,t ;I boihe in. A I was walking towards the railway station, I particularly noticed one figure in the crowd. It was a man ciosely muffled up, who, I observed, was continually glancing first over one' shoulder and then over the other, as if to see if anybody was following him. His ■ face was a peculiar one, and it seemed, hot iunfamiliar, to me. It was not till I was comfortably seated in a corner of the railway carriage, and halfway to town, that ;I' remembered to whom that strange face belonged. It was Denis Hilton that I .had seen at Dover, evidently intending to cross over that night ; if possible. (To be concluded in our next.)