Lady Trebor's Secret, OR THE MYSTERY OF CECIL ROSSE.

Patea Mail, Volume III, Issue 220, 19 May 1877, Page 4

Lady Trebor's Secret, OR THE MYSTERY OF CECIL ROSSE.

fßv Mas. Harriet Lewis.] CHAPTER YlL—conid. Lord St. Leonards had breakfasted in his own room, and had not yet made his appearance, as Lady Trevor ascertained by inquiry. She took her place at the table, showing no trace of the cares that lay heavy upon her, and enacted the part of hostess with her usual ease and grace. After breakfast two of tire ladies went out upon the rocks, sketch-books in hand. Others retired to the library, or set out for a “ constitutional’' in the woods or along the coast. Lady Trevor summoned her cook, a chef brought from her own house, to a private conference, and having arranged the menu for the dinner, considered her housekeeping duties quite fulfilled, and sauntered to the morning-room. There was a fire here in the gmat chimney place. The castle having been closed since the previous year, and tb.; principal rooms unoccupied, it was deemed safe to have fires in all the rooms to dispel the lingering damp and chill, and this practice was found decidedly pleasant. Lord St. Leonards was the sole occupant of the room at the moment of Lady Trevor's entrance, and ho was standing before the hearth, grave, stern ai;d haughty, bis steel-blue eyes glittering coldly under his frost-white brows, bis attitude expressing some thing of desolation and stern self-repression. He looked as unapproachable as a Spain.:, yet Lady Trevor, feigning affection for interest's sake, rushed towards him, full of animation, her hands outstretched, with an affectation of girlishness which she found frequently effective, “Good morning, dear grandfather,” she exclaimed. “ i hope you. rested well.”

“ Very well, thanks,” responded the marquis, coldly. “ I always rest well. I shall ride over to Gienlmm Lodge this morning to see the earl, but I had r. lew words to say to you first. Did 1 tell you last evening that Lady Glenham is in. tending to visit her son at the Lodge “You did not mention it grandfather.” “ 1 thought not. She expected to arrive there, accompanied by one or two lady friends, this evening. It will be well for you to call upon her to-morrow. Her slay will bo brief, not exceeding a week.” “ I will call to-morrow, grandfather. Shall you speak to-day to the earl about this foreign adventuress with whom he lias fallen In love ?” “ Certainly. The countess assures me that 1 have great influence ove. her son, and has begged me to exert, it in the attempt to wean him from this foreign woman. I scarcely needed her urging, hj love Gordon almost as If ho were my son, and I cannot boar that his life should bo wrecked as my son’s was wrecked. I shall reason with him, plead with him—yet where his mother Las failed how can 1 hope to succeed ?” “ Shall you speak to him about me ?” asked Lady Trevor, down at

the fire. “ I do not quite know. Lady Glenham desired me to suggest—Edith,

Gordon is the noblest fellow alive. I don’t think you worthy of him” “ You are complimentary, sir.” “ I am truthful,” said the marquis, grimly. “ You were a disobedient daughter, an unfaithful friend. I am lianu.ed by doubts of you that I scarcely dare own to myself. I believe that but for my daughter-in-law’s unfortunate will, your step-sister might hav„ been alivo to-day. Perhaps 1 wrong you. God grant it may be so. It does not seem credible that one of my blood can be a murderess !” Lady Trevor, with a livid pallor, drew angrily away from him. “ How can you speak so to me ?” she demanded. “ I am a defenceless woman and your grandchild, therefore at your mercy. But it does not seem to me manly to strike at one so helpless, to accuse me of awful crimes. My stepmother trusted me. I am not so base as to betray a trust. The child was my step-sister, a baby of two or three years, a little, winning creature who loved me. And you think I could kill her ! Great heaven, how shall I defend myself from such a hideous charge ? ” She twisted her hands together as in an agony of grief. “ Perhaps I have wronged you,. Edith,” said the marquis, somewhat softened. “ God grant it may he so. Yet it rankles in me that you should have kept the child from me so long after the mother’s death—” “ The child was ill. I knew you worshiped her, and I could not take her to you puny and ailing.” <£ She was ill when you left Rome with her after her mother’s death ? ” Lady Trevor gave quick assent. “ But I have been to Rome lately, to the lodgings my son and his wife occupied,” said the marquis, slowly. “ I saw the old landlady with whom they lodged, and she told me that the child was well and healthy.” Lady Trevor trembled and looked scared. “ It is so long since—nearly fifteen years—that she forgets,” she muttered. “ Surely you wouldn’t take an Italian landlady’s word agairst mine ? Shall I swear that the child was ill when her

mother died? Shall I swear that I never harmed one hair of her little head ? You have said to me yourself that the physician declared her disease marasmus. He had no suspicions of foul play. The post-mortem examination revealed no ground for these doubts and accusations of me.”

“ No, they did not. There was disease. The doctor assured me that she had not been poisoned,” acknowledged the marquis, “ Ihit the little, wan, rickety body that was brought home to mo seemed so unlike the bonny, beautiful child I loved, that I have always thought that she must have been fed ou baleful drugs. Your husband, Sir Albert Trevor, might have done this

without your knowledge. He was a scoundrel and a villain.” “ He is dead and cannot defend him self, but with all his faults lie could not have done what you surmise. He was a coward ; he would not have dared commit a murder. Grandfather, you have wronged us both —” “ Perhaps so Yet you were poor, and little Alba’s death made you rich. I may bo pardoned, knowing the stock you sprung from, and knowing so well your husband’s reputation, if I have feared the worst. 1 will try to believe your denials of guilt. I will try to believe you .good and honourable, though still my mind misgives me. Yet how can a woman, and tnat woman the daughter of my noble son, ho guilty of a horrible crime? We will say no more, Edith, 1 will endeavour to have faith in you.” “ And yon will not believe me unworthy of Lord Glenham: ? ” asked Lady Trevor. “ Grand lather, I will own to yon that after my early infatuation for Kir Albert passed, away, 1 grew indifferent to him. I neve- really loved him. Lord GleiTmun has been very kind to mo, for your sake, of course, yet I fancied that he was growing to like me. And so I—l grew to like him ! ” “ I understand. If anything I can do, in a delicate wry, can further your withes, I will remember. And now, Edith, I must go. My horse and groom

arc waiting.” He made no offer to caress her. lie exhibited no sign of affection, but coolly drew on his riding gloves while she watched him intently, and thou, with a coardy bow ho took his departure. Lady Trevor watched him from the window as he rode away from the castle, followed by his gioom. “ How straight ho sits his saddle ! ’ she thought. “ H./w much vigor and life he has, yet he is seventy-five yea.s "Id. He docs not took fifty-five. He Is mod for twenty years yet. But, of sou.se, ccc Lents may happen—he may die of fever—and his great estate be distributed within a year. I begin to stand some chance of sharing his inheritance. He doubts me still, I see, yet imagines ho wrongs me by the doubt. He will use his best influence in my behalf with Lord Gleuham, and I am persuaded that the earl will hear to reason. But if I win him, how am I to dispose of Pul ford ? hf lam pushed to the wall,” and she set her lips in a hard, tense line, and her eyes gleamed, “ I resolve anew, what I resolved last night, I shall defend myself at all hazards !" fro ns CONTINUED.]