CHAPTER LI.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 293, 25 August 1888, Page 4

CHAPTER LI.

A WOMMvRFUL DLSCOVJvRY. Tiik Countess of Mortlako took an ama/.ing ancy to Doctor Renfrew at first sight, and whatever the countess fancied she appropriated at once. So it turned out (hat after her twisted ankle was straightened, and she was able to stump about again, and rattle her jewelled stick through the great chambers at Ravenswold, she felt no inclination to give up her physician. She had her aches and ailments, as women of her age will have, dowager countess though she was, and she found it convenient and comfortable to have the sage old doctor at her elbow. 80 she made him a proposition, engaging his medical services until her return to London ; and for tho sake of the golden guineas that formed part of the compact, the doctor assented, and every day, rain or shine, found him on duty at Ravenswold. Thereby, Lady Marguerite and Maggie giew to be great/ friends, and formed for each other a very fond attachment after the fashion of ynung ladies ; and Maggie carried to Marguerite an endless number of bouquets and three-cornered billets, which Captain Fossbrooko always took cxce&sive pleasure in delivering. Matters stood at this ebb one Sunday afternoon late in August. The doctor was on duty at Ravenswold, as it chanced that day that the countess and Lady Neville both had need of him. The earl was absent, and Sir Bayard Brompton had taken flight to London, for short stay, on some very urgent business ; and Lady Marguerite was making a visit to Maggie Renfrew at Mrs Keith's. The two girls were sitting on tho long terrace of the pleasant old country-house, chatting very confidently over their needlework, when Fossbrooke drove up in a handsome carriage, with just the daintiest pair of cream-coloured ponies that eyes ever beheld. He had come, he averred, approaching .the pair of maidons with hia winning smile and knightly bearing, to take them

for a drive far down amid the green highland valleys ; something that would surpass the London Park and the Lady's Mile infinitely. Maggie's brown eyes twinkled like twin stars as she listened. ' I haven't the least doubt of it, Captain Fossbrooke,' she replied ; ' but tell the truth, and say you came to take Lady Marguerite ! Confess, you've been to Kavenswold, and not finding her there, you are here — three, you knOw, may be one too many, captain. 1 He smiled very good-humouredly, but he protested loudly against the accusation. But Maggie refused to believe him. ' And even if it were so,' she added, with bewitching gayoty, ' I should bo forced to decline your invitation, for Aunt Keith has gone to Perth, and I'm housekeeper, and must make queen-cake for tea — thanking you all the same, Captain Fossbrooke. ' And with mocking laughter, she ran away for Lady MargucriGe's shawl anil hat, and actually torceel her to put them on and accompany the captain. 'It will be a match yet,' she mused, standing on the terrace, and looking after the pretty turn-out, from which Lady I'eaiTs happy, blushing face smiled back, *if only that bugbear of a baronet could bo gob out of the way. Poor Lady Marguerite, she'll get a fine lecture for this from her royal ladies ! Bub how happy she looks. I wish she were like me, and had courage to rebel. I'd like to see anyone marry me to a man I did not fancy !' And as the bitrh-sbepping ponies turned into the green lane and disappeared, away danced light-hearted Maggie, trilling a merry song. First into the kitchen to look after her queen-cake ; that arranged, and left in the hands of the brawny .Scotch cook, .she wont daticing through the breezy hall, and up to her own chamber. Maggie seated herself at the window, a\ ith a book in her hand, but she was in no mood tor reading. Her thoughts were full of Lady Marguerite and her approaching marriage with the baronet. With her eyes on the distant highlands, she sab and pondered. 'It must be dreadful to be an earl's daughter,' she thought, 'forced to marry some titled man, no matter whether one likes him or not ! Dear me, how much sooner 1 w oukl be poor and humble 1 Poor Lady Marguerite, Ido pity her so ! She's .so «\\ eet, and good, and gentle ! I wish I could help her ! I wonder what she would say,' with an amused laugh, ' if she knew about that insolenb brother of hers — what an offer of marriage he made me ? But maybe she knows he's not her brother— l don't think she likes him : but she's so mild and good she never expresses her feelings. I wonder where the noble young peer can be ? I trust he'll not come to Ravenswold. Dear me,' she cried, presently, as a key in the lock of a trunk, near at hand, chanced to catch her eye, ' lioav careless I am ! I forgot to take out that kcj when I got out the money for papa this morning.' She arose, and approaching the trunk knelt down beside it. ' The idea ot taking these things every,) where we go,' she went on, 'andl always feel uneasy about them. Poor Lady Strathspey's jewels, and to think that Lady Marguerite must not know • It seems so wonderful ! I wonder what papa ever u'ill do with them ? Give them to Lord Strathspey, I suppose, now that the poor countess is dead. The Tyrol boy will never be found now, though Judith thinks he will. Poor Lady Strathspey ! I can just remember her sweet face !' She sighed, and half-unconsciously raised one of the caskets from the depths of the trunk. They were carefully packed ; whereever the old doctor went hs took them with him, lest some harm should befall them in his absence. Maggie took out the quaint old casket and opened it, obeying a momentary impulse. It was filled with diamonds and pearls, very fine and costly gems, that had belonged to Lady Stiathspey's mother; she ran them throug'i her fingcis, watching the glancing reflections when the sunlight touched them : then she put them away, and took up a small bundle. ' The poor little baby's clothes,' she mused, 'that it a\oio when they found it under the milch-goat ! I wonder if it was really Lord Strathspey's son ? Why bless me, I must hang them in the sunshine ; but I don't suppose they'll over be of any use now — no one will care for them now that pooi Lady Strathspey's dead.' .She shook out the little garments and hung them one by one upon the windowbill, where the afternoon sunlight fell. The quilted satin lining of the cloak was tarnished by the dampness, and she took up a tow el and essayed to brush it ofl. In so doing a kind of rustling sound struck her attention. • What's that I wonder ?' she thought, a? she examined the garment/ more closely. Something rustled beneath her fingers, between the quilted lining and the flannel, something hard, like paper. Anothci person might never have noticed, but Maggie was very observant and very determined. 'I must solve that mystery,' she said, going to her work-basket for her scissors. 'I wonder it' the cloak's lined with Bank of England notes ':' She sat down by the window, with the little cloak on her knee; the cloak faded by so many years, that had wrapped the little Alpine babe when the old shepherd found him on the summit of the bald cliff, suckled by the pitying milch-goat. She inserted the point of her scissors in the seam, and ripped the lining 100.-c, and, sine enough, inside was a paper. Maggie drew ib out with trembling fingers ; a yellow sheet of paper, closely written over. What mystery was she about; to solve ? For amomont the' time- worn letters swam before her eyes, and then she read : * This paper is to show that this child the son of the Earl of Strathspey. It wa stolen from him only an hour or two after its birth by a woman who was hired to steal it by Lady Cecilia Drummond. She gave it to me a week or two after it was stolen, and told me to throw it in the Thames. I promised that I would, for Lady Drummond had me in her power, and I was bound to obey, and 1 meant to do what I said when 1 took the child. But it's no easy thing to murder a baby. I've done bad things in my day, but Tcouldn't do that— my heart failed me. My father and mother lived in the Tyrol, and I made up my mind to take tho child to them. I crossed the channel with it, and the little thing lived, and that through what would have killed any other baby. But when I got to ths old place I couldn't face the old folks. I was an innocent lad when I left them, and now — well, no matter ! I shall pub the child near to the cottage, where 1 know they'll find him, and in after years, if anyone wants to know his name, he is Lord Strathspey's son.' Maggie read the cramped, badly written lines through twice before their full meaning dawned upon her. When she fully understood their import, she sprang to her feet, with an exclamation of delight and astonishment; and, turning, with the' all impoitant paper fluttering between her fingers, she beheld the young heir, Lord Angus, of Strathspey Towers, confronting her from tho terrace beyond the open window.

(T? be Continued.)