CHAPTER XVI.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 180, 27 November 1886, Page 8

CHAPTER XVI.

A KEPHEW LOOKING AFTER HIS U>'CXe's EFFECTS. " I imagine that young Dunbar, to whom Mrs Houghton introduced mo this evening, ia a fino fellow ; ho has a grand head, a noble, earnest face, and there was something about his eyes that impressed mo very strangely, as I must have seen him before" These remarks were made by Mr Foreat to Ms nephew, as, after their return from tho opera and their meeting with the Houghton party, they were seated in their private parlour smoking their fragrant Havanas and talking over the events of the evening. "He has a fine position ; if that can make a fine fellow, I suppose he may be one," Arthur sneeringly replied. " What is his position I " asked Mr Forest. " He ia general manager of tho telephone interests in this country." 44 Indeed ? That is a responsible position for a young chap like him. Ho must bo wonderfully smart." " He's smart enough to feather his own nest pretty v\ ell. I'm told that ho is getting rich f.\3t," replied tho young man, moodily. "How old is he?" " Twenty-three or four." " Who is he ? Where does he come from 1 Durbar is a familiar name." " He was brought up until he was twolvo years old by a poor woman in Boston. About that time he came out to our place and worked for a farmer named Brown, sticking closely to his employment in the summer and going to school in the winter, for three or four years ; after that he went back to tho city as office boy for a lawyer, and I never saw him again until I met him here." " He ia an orphan then ?"' " Ye3— or at least he has always passed himself eff as one." " You do not seem to like him very well.'' '' I ! He is nothing to me '"' Arthur listened to assert, somewhat scornfully. "But " "But what?" " I have no faith in him : he ■« as up to all sorts of things when we went to school together, and i believe tho^e old tricks, particularly if they are mean ones, will ciing to a boy all his lite,"' Arthur reEponded ; and, verily, we believe that he knew whereof he spoko. "Oh, I don't know about that ; all boy 3 are full of miechief, and I reckon he was no wor=e than others," Mr Forest remarked, charitably. " Well, you can judge for yourself,'" ieturned his nephew, and then he procaeded to relate that story of thg lost coin with ■which we are familiar, colouring it to suit himself, and making Louis out to have been a veritable little thief in his earlier days. "He doe? not look like a chao of that character; I think his face a nne one — very." Arthur made no repiv, but his lip 3 curled, showing his teeth in a disagreeable smile. " I imagine also/ parsuel the gentleman, ahootiug another Ee Arching glance at his companion, "that your pretty little Miss Houghton thinks so, too." Arthur scowled, hitched uneasily in hi 3 chair, impatiently threw away his cigar, and suppressed an oath. Mr Foreat appeared not to heed his disquiet, and finally fell into a reverie that lasted a long time. Tho following morning he informed Arthur that he was obliged to run down to Havre for a few days oa business, but he must try to enjoy himself as well aa lie couid during his absence. His traps, he said, ho ■would leave in hie care, although he supposed there was no danger of anything happening to f hem. But that night found Arthur A?pinwall "enjoying himself" in a remarkably btrange manner. Every door leading into his uncle's room waß locked, and tho portiera were closely drawn over them ; every window was closed, and the shades dravrn dov. n and the heavy draperie3 droppad over them, while the young man might have been fitting before a strong iron-bound che=t trying numerous keys in ita massive lock. ° He waa certainly " looking after '" his uncle's traps in a mo=»r literal manner. Hh efforts wero at la^t rewarded; the bolt slipped in its socket, the next moment ho i had lifted tho lid of the chest — a mysterious affair th^thad attracted his attention .tnd excited his curiosity the first time ho had seen it, and its contents wero at hia mercy. An examination of theee revealed valu--able3 of various kinds There were trinkets and curiosities from different countrie-, boxe^ and bundles of papen relating to business transactions, account books, bank-book=, notes, and bonds. There wero packages of beautiful goods, eilks, satin;?, embroideries, gloves, handkerchiefs, etc , evidently gifts intended for friends at horne — perchance for Arthur's own mother, his uncle's Bister, whom now he would never ccc in i this life. Every package and box, book and paper waa thoroughly examined, and before morningbroke Arthur had been through thi3 won- I derful treaeure-chest, and could have told almost aa much regarding his uncle's busi- , ncsa and the amount of his possessions as Mr Forest himself. The clock on the mantel struck five, and lie had examined everything save a narrow ! tray which was built into one eide or end ot the chest and securely locked. He, however, finally succeeded in opening it with one of his smaller keys, and, lifting the cover, the first thing that caught his eye waa a large velvet case. Opening it, he was dazzled by the glitter of a set of diamonds fit for a queen — necklace, tiara, ear pendants.bracelets, and brooch. " Where on earth did he get these, and for whom were they intended?" he exclaimed,almost awed by their splendour and priceless value. Another small case, or box, contained a variety ot un-set jewels, very valuable. There remained ■ now only a small-mother-of-pearl case fastened with a golden' clasp. Something made Arthur Aspinwall hesitate before opening this ; he seemed to realise for the first time that he had been guilty of a mean and unworthy act in thus prying into the secrete of another.

But curiosity again prevailed over tho auaall stock of honour that he possessed; he unfastened the .golden clasp, turned back the velvet-lined lid, and found himself looking into the face of the loveliest woman ho bad ever seen. Tho picture was painted on porcelain, and the tin to were exquisitely 30ft, the outliuo charming. Lovely brown eye?, large, hquid, and intense in their expression of love and confidence, gazed up to him with a look so strangely familiar that every nerve in his body began to thrill, a& if from some electric shock, and his own face suddenly blanched with an undetinable fear. The low, white forehead gleamed pure as a pearl through graceful waves of nucbrown hair, which were drawn back from the delicately veined temple, and coiled in a careless knot at the back of her pretty head. The noso was small and slightly retroues ; the mouth, one of wondrous sweetness, its scarlet curves perfect and beyond description ; the ground white chin, like moulded wax, curving into the gracaful neck. The girl could not have b*jen more than eighteon or twenty years of age whon the picturo was taken, and it certainly was as damty a piece of portraiture as Arthur Aspintvall had ever looked upon. "Who under heaven is -or was she?" he muttered, his fascina ci eyes rivtted upon tho lovely face. "Can it be that Uncle Albert has been married, and this is a picturo of his wife or daughter ?" ho questioned within himself, " No, I do not believe it," he added, "or he would have referred to it in some way ; and yet, I could almost take my oath I havo seen this same face before. Hia own face wa3 very palo, his brow settled into an ugly frown, and he gnawed his light moustacho nervously. In tho other half of the case there was a velvet pad, with a loop of satin ribbon attached to it. " This is evidently intended to come out," he said, and lifting ie as ho epoko, dieclosod underneath two or three folded papeis yollow and creased with age. Bis ruthless lingers clutched them eagerly. The first one contained only a smooth, patiny ring of nut-brown hair, tied with a narrow blue ribbon. The next a scrap of pale, silvory eilk, liko a piece cut from a web of goods. The third was a folded paper that had something of ihe look of a legal document. Arthur shivered slightly as ho began to unfold thi=, though he could nob havo told why he did so He hesitated in tho act, and glancod with trepidation about him, as if ho almost expected to find some one — perchanca the spirit of this lovely woman upon whom ho had just been gazing— coming fcrth from the shadows tbat lurked in the corners of the room, to denounce him for his meanness and treachery. Then, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, ho resolutely unfolded the document and began to road it. As he did co evoiy atom of colour died out of hia face — even out of hi 3 lips. Hia eyes grew wild and large with fear and fierce with hate ; his lips vvero set in a firm line of anger, and a violent trembling ran over hia whole frame. For a long time ho sat thus, staring at that paper, a3 if his mental powers failed to grasp tho meaning of irs good contents. " h'ursi him ! ' at length he cried, and the words came forth from hia white lip 3 with startling vehemence. Then he hastily refolded tno paper, though hia hands shook in I tbo act until it rattled in his gra3p. Ho carefully replaced it where he had ■ f found it, laid back the scrap of silk and ' that nut-brown curl, smoothed the velvet pad over all, and pressed it tirmly down in irs place. He tried not to see that sweet faco looking ud ut him from the opposite side of the ca-e, but those lovely brown eyos soemed to follow hia every movement as if they were instinct life, and it %vas with a feeline: of relief that he at last closed the case and returned it to tho tray where he had found it. He thon replaced the jewel-cases exactly a<* ho had found them, ehut^the cover of the till, relocking it ; then, after sharply regarding the 'contents of the chest to see that everything wa3 in its proper place, he clo=ed the lid, locking that also, and then shoved his bunch of skeleton keys into the depths of one of his pockets, while a look of relief Bwopt over his face, aa if he was glad that hia dirty piece of work was done. Tho clock on the mantel struck the halfhour after six aa he arose and went to a window, put back the draperies, raised the ?hade, and let the morning light stream into the room where all night long he had been engaged in prying into the secrets of another. A dark and troubled look rested on his faca— a look tbafc meant no good ; it was fierco, cunning, resolute. He stood there, lost in thought, for several minutes, then turning away from the calm beauty of the morning without, ho sought Ms own chamber, where, throwirg himself upo=: hia bed, he soon fell into a profound slumber. Thai: panio morning, as Louis Dunbar was on his -uiy from hi« apartmonts to his office, he was suddonly startled by finding his pathway blocked by the fa'gure of a man. Looking up, he found himself face to faco with Loui3 Murray -the man who, throe or four years hence, had claimed him as hia son. " You here in Paiis !" tho young man axclaimed, uhilo his hoarfc sank within him. 1 " Ye=t, lam here in Paris, You didn't mean that your fond father should know whither his sou bad departed, did you ?" va? tho mocking response. " I took no pains to conceal my actions from anyono," Louis answered. " x\h, yes ; I should have remembered that my eon is always open and above-board in all his dealings," Mr Murray retorted, sarcastically, adding: "But you perceive that my affection for you was so strong that I wag fo r ced to follow you evem acroes the ocean." " Do I understand that was your object in coming to Paris— to follow me ?" "Exactly." " Well, what elee ?" "Ahem! I knew you had obtained a very lucrative position, and, being hard up myeolf, I naturally supposed you'd be willing to assist your poor father out of his difficulties." " You are a well, strong man— why do you not obtain employment and take care of yourself ?" Louis demanded. " Because work and I never did agree." "Do you mean to imply that you followed me here with the expectation that I would support you in idleness ?" "That is putting it in a very disagreeable way, Louis ; but really I did expect that my only son would be willing to share ! his good luck with hia father." " I am obliged to tell you, then, that you will be sadly disappointed. I will find you something to do if you like ; but as for having you fasten yourself upon me and then lead the kind of life that you led in Boston, I tell you at the outset that I will not have it." The man scowled darkly. "You're a very affectionate eon. now. aren't you ?'j

"No, air, I do not think I am," f.ouis frankly admitted. , "I am free to ctnfesß ' that I entertain very little of either affection or respect for you. Still lam not ' heartless ; if the same blood flows in our veins I would not be unmindful of the fact, nor undutiful, if you were suffering and needed my aid. And I say now that I will get work for you if you will do it." " 1 won't, curse you ! I want money !" retorted the man, fiercely. "Haven't you any ?" "Five francs." Louis thought a moment. " I will pay your passage back to America and give you a hundred dollars. Will you go ?" he proposed at last. "No?" was the angry answer, accompanied with a tearful oath. " Very well ; then you will pleaße look after your own interests," Louis very coolly replied ; and stepping aside passed on his way without looking to the right or loft, while the bailled man behind him sent a torrent of abuse and invective after him, vowing he would make him eat humble pie for his impudence before ho was six months olaer.