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

Patea Mail, Volume III, Issue 270, 14 November 1877, Page 4

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

CHAPTER XLL— contd. il It shall be sent to post i’ the rnoriiiu’,” said Mrs MacDougal. “ Th weekly post leaves bore the morrow.” Mrs MacDougal brought writing materials, and Gretchen sat down to engage in the laborious task of writing her letter. “ Are you writing to Lord Glenham, Gretchen?” asked Cecil, in German, her face flushing. l< No, indeed. I would not write to the false lover,” responded the old woman, indignantly, “ but to the true lover, who stood by us in sorrow and trouble, and offered yon an honorable marriage and a splendid homo when you wore alone and friendless. I will write to Mr Craftou !” Cecil made no objection, and Gretchen spelled out her words carefully, writing in her own language, and giving an account of their adventures since leaving their lodgings in London. iSlie bogged Mr Grafton to hasten to the rescue of her young mistress, stating her fears lest Mr MacDougal should be won to deliver them up to Jarvis, in case of any delay. The letter finished, she signed, sealed, and addressed it. MacDougal deposited the letter on a wooden shelf, repeating the assurance that it should go on the morrow with the weekly post. “ An’ now/’ said Mrs MacDougal, ‘•ye arc quite safe till yo can hear frae yor aiu friends. The man Jairvis, if he coorn, will be oblccged to wait. Ye hae Wiliam’s word. Now, coorn to your chamber. The bod is ready, and the young lady is vera weak an’ ill!” Mrs MacDougal officiated as tiringwoman to her exhausted chief guest. Then the farmer’s wife brought to them two bowls of wine posset, steaming hot, and urged them to drink. They obeyed, draining the bowls, and she stole out with soft step, leaving them to their slumbers. “ One thing I’m sure of,” was Gretchen’s last thought, as she drifted into sleep, “ and that is that Mr Grafton will come to us—ami that Miss Cecil will marry lain ! After all his trouble, with a deadly enemy seeking her destruction, she will marry him in very gratitude and to assure her safety !” CHAPTER XLII. MBS PETERS GAINS A CLEW. Lady Trevor returned homo from her drive in the park in a sullen rage. Her hatred ©f Mr Pulford was intensified to positive abhorrence. She hurried up the steps of her house, disdaining his assistance, and he, cool and smiling, followed after her, quite with the air of master of the house. “ You will have to excuse mo,” she said, pausing in the hall. “ I must dress for dinner.” “ No apologies are necessary between yon iind me, Edith,” responded Mr Pulford, in his blandest tones. “But, as you remind mo, I will go and dress for dinner also, and return by the time you are ready.” He raised bis hat, and tripped lightly down the steps again into the street. Lady Trevor gazed after him with malevolence in which was expressed all the evil of which her soul was capable. Then, her hand clutching the phials in her bosom, sire slowly ascended the stair to her own l ooms. “ He will dine with me to-day,” she thought, as she entered her. boudoir. “ Oil, if I dared administer this poison in his wine ! If opportunity offers, I will do it. I will free myself from his claims at the earliest possible moment. I will never marry him, placing myself and my fortune in his hands. I shall watch my opportunity—if that opportunity comes to-day, so much the worse for him and the bolter for me !” Her thougts settled upon Cecil Rosse. “ If only the girl were dead all would be safe !” she mused. As she thus reflected, she decided to bear all the annoyances consequent upon her engagement of marriage a little longer before depriving herself for ever of Pulford’s valuable services. Her cheeks burned as her thoughts turned to Lord Glenham, but she by no . rn *ans given up all hope of becoming his wife. If Pulford wore dead, she could make such excuses for her engagement to him to (lie Countess of Glenham as would go far to reinstate her in that lady’s confidence and good graces. “ I shall win yet!” she assured herself. “ The prospect looks a little dark now, I admit, but with Cecil Rosse and Pulford dead, with Lady Glenham on my side, with the memory of my avowal in his generous heart, Gordon will yet turn to mo with affection and ask me to become his wife. I can wait. All will * come out right yet.” With recovered spirits she arose and passed into Iter dressing-room. She had decided not to put her murderous plaus against Pulford into action just yet, but to carry matters with a high hand, to show, herself in society us heretofore, and even, if necessary, to acknowledge her eur* gagement. “ I shall go to the theatre to-night, Cerise,” she exclaimed. “ I require one of ray prettiest toilets.” The Frenchwoman attired her mistress with scrupulous skill and care, and with an nuim itiou born of new schemes and re nviug hopes, Lady Trevor looked

unusually handsome as she descended at 1 length, to the drawing-room. Mr Pulford was there in waiting for her. Ho arose and stepped forward to grec her. Ho knew her hardness, her unscrupulous nature, her capabilities for wickedness : he delighted to humble her pride, to sting her soul in the Ways he so well knew, in return for her treatment of him, but, nevertheless, as much as he was capable of loving, lie loved her. “ The carriage is waiting,” said Mr Pulford, “We shall arrive at the beginning of the second act; early enough, I dare say ; yet I think we ought now to bn going.” The widow assented, and ordered her opera cloak—the one poor Cecil had wrought—and followed her suitor to the carriage. As they went down the marble steps they met a woman ascending them. This woman was Sarah Peters. In the light that streamed through the open doorway, Lady Trevor saw that the woman had a sickly countenance and a shabby gown, and that she had the look of one upon a begging excursion. The lady did not recognise her, and drew her silken train aside as if she feared contamination, and swept on. Mrs Peters turned and followed her to the carriage. “ Lady Trevor,” she began, in a whining sort of voice. “My lady—” Mr Pulford pushed the woman aside ruddy. “ Off with you, yon beggar,” ho exclaimed, “ or I’ll have you arrested !” “ Lady Trevor!” repeated the woman, desperately. “ I must speak to yon—” Mr Pulford slammed the door, and the carriage rolled swiftly away. “ 1 ought to have waited till morning,” the woman muttered, gazing after it. “ But I was too impatient. I’ll come again to-morrow, and 1 won’t be pushed aside then, I’ll warrant. Being I’m here, I might as well find out what I can.” She hurried up the steps just as the hall-porter was about to close the door. “ If you please’ sir,” said she, respectfully, interposing her person in the doorway, “ was that Lady Trevor who just went out ?” 11 It was,” was the response. u You’d better be off, ray good woman. No beggars allowed at this door.” Mrs Peters did not go away but made inquiries about Lady Trevor, and was surprised to learn that Lady Trevor had no child, and had never had one. She concluded there was some mystery and determined to fathom it. She left in dejection but meeting the nurse whom she had previously been talking to in Hyde Park, her hopes revived, and said to the nurse You know all about the aristocracy—l wish I did. Next to being one on ’em is to know all about ’em.” “ That is so!” assented the nurse. <l All these groat families have their troubles like poorer ones. Why, even this great Marquis of St, Leonards, Lady Trevor’s grandfather, has had his share of grief, and plenty of it came through Lady Trevor, they say.” “ How?” asked Mrs Peters, eagerly. “ I don’t mind telling,” said the nurse, as they walked slowly on together, arm in arm, especially as it’s no secret. The Marquis of St. Leonards had a son he loved to distraction. His son was called Lord Harry Ravondale. He, the son, fell in love with a low sort of woman and his father cast him off. The low wife, a regular scheming creature, lived only a year after the marriage and died, leaving one child, Lady Edith Ravemlale, now Lady Trevor!” “ How interesting it sounds !” said Mrs Peters. “ Especially as you tell it !”

The nurse, flattered, continued ; “ When Lady Edith was nearly a young lady, Lord Harry Ravondale married a second time. His wife was an orphan, of a great family, and one of the biggest heiresses of the day. The marquis loved her as if she’d been his daughter. From this second marriage one child was born, a girl, who was called the Lady Alba. This child became the marquis’s idol. About that time Lady Edith took it into her head to elope with Sir Albert Trevor, one of the worst men that ever lived. After that, Lord Harry and his young wife and little child, wont to Italy for the wife’s health. She had consumption, I believe. And Lord Harry took the Roman fever, or some other disease, and died there.” “ I don’t see how this concerns Lady Trevor,” said Mrs Peters. “ You don’t? Well, I’ll tell you. After Lord Harry died his widow sent for Lady Trevor to come to her. And Lady Trevor and her husband wont. Lord Harry’s wife died of consumption abroad and left her child to Lady Trevor’s care, telling her to bring the child back to its grandfather. But she did ? not do that. She stayed away months. And when the marquis sent after the child they found it was dying. They brought the little body home and buried it, and for fifteen years Lord St. Leonards never forgave nor spoke to his granddaughter. Some folks said that the little Lady Alba had been ill-treated, and had died of neglect. They say the little Lady Alba inherited a million of money from her mother, and by the mother’s will the money went to Lady Trevor at the child’s death. That’s where she got all her wealth,” “ Let me think it out,” the woman muttered, “ I’ve got a clew at last to the mystery that puzzled me.” [to bb continued.J