CHAPTER XV11.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 281, 14 July 1888, Page 3

CHAPTER XVII.

A \\ UITK LIX. Tut, Earl of Strathspey held his' word ad sacred ab his bond ; nevertheless he told what, in polite parlance, would be called a ■white lie, when he avowed his intention of making a run down to London. And white lies are about as disastrous in their results ab black ones., tor it the earl • had not indulged in this one, he would ha\e spaied himj-clf many a day of bitter agony. Since that afternoon when, as be galloped o\er the Tryol, on his return from the shepherd's cot, that terrible suspicion Hashed across his mind, Lord Strathspey had nob known one hour of rest. He possessed just the tempeiatuie to seize upon a silly suspicion, and magnify it. and brood over it, till it grew into a torturing realty. The sudden fancy that struck him wad that the little flaxen-haired boy, with a face like Lady Pearl's ?ra> his wife's child. .Strangely enough, it never occurred to this gifted peer that the boy mighc be his child and the one who bore bis name, and was to be his heir, might be an impostor. iNo such dream ever entered bib mind : he fully believed that hid own babe, marked with the scarlet cross, as some of the male Strathspeys had been before him, had been restored to him ; yet he harboured the fooli&h suspicion that the little Tyrol lad, whose face haunted him day and night, might be (he child of his countess. He, her husband, thus dishonoured her by a slanderous suspicion, yet if any living being had dared to utter such a thing in his hearing, he would have struck him dead ab his feet. Once in his mind, the fancy haunted him like a fiend. How else could he account for his life's visit to the cottage, for ncr strange conduct, and above all her obstinacy in refusing to confide to him the cause of her unrest and depression ? At last the poor man's torture grew to be unbearable, and he determined to go back to the Tyrol and solve the mystery. He would find some way, either through fear or bribery, to force the secret from the glibtongued old woman ; and he would see the child again, and judge by its age and appearance whether his terrible suspicions were true or false. Accordingly , he made his arrangements, and uttered his white lie about his run down to London. But instead of going to the metropolis, he went straight to Dover Harbour, and crossed the Channel by the first steamer, little dreaming that the very next one would bring his wife over. From Calais he started direct for the valley of bheßhctian Alps ; but midway, at a little wayside inn, he fell ill. His constitution was like iron, but it sank beneath the incessant mental tcrtuie he had endured within the last few weeks ; and for two nights he lay prostrate, scorched with fever. In his deliiious, midnight dreams, he began to think of death, death far from home, and wife, and children ; death, with this hideous suspicion in his soul. His wife's face, sweet, and pure, and reproachful, rose up before him, and he awoke to the bitter wiong he was, doing her, and determined to return to England, and for ever give over his absurd illusion. Bub the moment bhe fever abated he tottered to his teet, and all his old torturing fears i eturned w ith double force. He coulcl not go back ; he must know bhe brubh or he should go mad. So, in opposition to the on treaties of the surgeon who attended him, he started off, white as a ghost and only able to keep on his feel. The September sun hung low in the purple sky, and all bhe grand old Switzer peaks glittered with hia departingglory, on the afternoon when Lady Strathspey reached the Tyrol valley. Colonel Verney had sent a despatch from Calais to Varis.and learning that his friend was something better, he acompanied her. At a small public-house, at no great distance fiom the shepherd's cottage, he hiied a carriage and drove across the smiling green valley. Divining with the intuitive instinct ofj a gentleman that the poor mother would sooner seek her child alone, he pub her out ab the edge of the little coppice, and avowed his determination to remain there with the carriage until she should return. Lady Strathspey walked briskly over bhe short space that intervened between the coppice and the cottage, her heart throbbing so wildly as almosb to stop her breath. In a few moments she would know the truth, and ascertain whether there was any proof by which her child might be reclaimed and reinstated. The sun dipped low about the western seas, the Alpine summits gleamed and glictered in theiv eternal whiteness ; a mingled melody of tinkling bells and lowing herds floated on the balmy evening air, | but unmindful of all, unconscious even of her glorious surroundings, the counters ' hurried on. ■ Half-way across the slope of meadow- ■ j land, a peal of childish laughter starbled | her, and jusb before her, clustered upon the • sward, beneath a giant oak, she beheld a , young kid, all garlanded with wild wood ■ blossoms, an immense Alpine sheep-dog, ' and a little boy in a scarlet &mock and ' plumed cap. The little fellow was sitting *■ asbride bhe dop's back, dipping his curly : head, and shouting with childish gleo, , while the great, grim animal lay, with his i nose resting on his paws, iv the afternoon c I sunshine, as if he enjoyed the sport.

Lady Strathspey stood still a momonfc, gazing on the lovely pastoral picture, the tears streaming ovor her wan cheeks. At last she drew near. The dog raised his pointed ears, and uttered a hoarse growl. The countess paused in terror, but the boy's quick eyes had spied her. 'Down, Tiger,' he cried, planting his brown, chubby foot on the animal's head, and the dog obeyed. •Come on,' he continued; 'him won't bite 00, him only bites de bad foxes.' Lady Strath&pey approached, and nold out her hand. ' Have you forgotten me, Rommie ?' she asked. ' No, indeed, I knows oo — oo tomod with other lady, long, long ago. Pat's my kid, Molly's kid ; grandmudder says it's my bru elder — ain't it nice?' he replied, giving her ono little hand, and pointing the other toward the kid, which cropping the green gras^-blades a yard or two away. She tried to answer, but her voice failrd ; the little prattling voice thrilled her to the heart's coic. ' Oh, my darling, my darling !' she sobbed, catching the child in her arms, and covering his face and hair with passionate ki&3es. He struggled fiom her arms, looking up with wide, wondering eyes. 'What do make oo always ky ?' he questioned, a trifle impatiently ; 4 Kommio don't like folta to ky.' 'Don't you, darling ?' &aid the counters, restraining her tears ; ' then I'll not cry tiny more, for I want you to like me. Don't you like me, liommie ?' 1 Oh, yes, Rommie likes 00, an' he likes gvanmuddcr, an' granpap, an' Molly, lotb an" lots.' ' Who is Molly V ' Molly's my goat — my main my goat— don't oo want 'o see her ?' ' Not now ; I'll see her by and- by ; .sit heie by mo, and lot Ub talk a little bit. Where's giandmother ?' 'Tooking suppor. Wo'b doing to ha\e tustard pie — oo want some ?' Lady Strathspey nodded, and took his little lound light arm in her hands with a beating heart, almost fearing to look for the birth-mark, yet feeling aine it wab there. ' Won't you let me sec jour pietty arm ?' she asked. ' Yes, indeed ! Does oo want to see my pretty koss, too? — look a theie now!' he cried, pushing up the loose t>leeve of his smock. There it wab ! The Strathspey birthmark, the scarlet eros;?, deep and vivid beneath the white, transparent skin ! For an instant the sunlit peak's, and all the green valley, swam before the poor mother's eyes, but by a mighty effort f-he controlled herself. 'Little Pvommie,' she s-a ; d, solemnly clamping the boy close to her heait. 'you are my own child, and as sure ab I live, and Heaven helps me, you shall bo yom tathei's heir.'