A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9138, 10 July 1908, Page 2

A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

CHAPI'ER XVl.—Continued

To herself she was putting a series of burning questions: Why had Felix written to her? What did it mean? .What did he want? Was he going to persecute her—to blackmail her, perhaps? She knew he was capable of such' vileness as this, and she knew, too, to her cost, that she had given him the right to poison her life if he chose to do it! She was feverishly eager to be alone to see what his letter contained.

Paul read and re-read the communication from the lawyers, and he became more puzzled and uneasy each he read.

"I hope to Heaven no trouble has come to the girl!" he said, involuntarily; and then he opened the other letter that had been forwarded from his old rooms, and at the first glance he knew the mystery would be solved. The letter was from Sebastian Thorold, a lengthy one, but the writing was so weak and shaky as to be pitiful. "I do not know when you-will receive this, my dear Darnley, for I fancy you are not now in England," the old physican wrote; "but lam using my first strength to send you these few lines, for II have need of your help. Perhaps by this time the news I give you may be old news, and you may have heard of all that has happened recently at the White Abbey—of the death of that poor creature, and of subsequent events arising out of a communication she made to Cecil a day or so before she died. If you do not know of this, I will but briefly mention them. "I was called urgently by Cecil to attend Mrs Brownbw some few weeks ago, but an extra sharp attack of rheumatism had gripped me fast, and, unable to move myself, I telegraphed for my nephew to take my place. Being rushed for work, Felix did not come to report to me his view of the case before returning to London, but late that night Cecil was compelled to send into Manchester for the doctor here./ It was from him that I gathered the next day there was imminent danger of an end, and, ill as I was, I struggled into a car ■ riage and hurried to the White Abb'ey. "I found the poor woman unconscious, and half-way on the journey out of this world. She did not actually die till nighttime; but I. remained with Cecil, who, poor child, was burdened with trouble, and her-1 self so ill that J should have willingly sent her to Ded. "When death had claimed its victim, the child unfolded the secret in her heart. The dead woman had opened another page of the past—for what reason I cannot grasp, since her silence would have signified her love for Cecil, and she really seemed attached to the girl—and had set forth one more strange story. "Cecil, she had declared, is neither child nor even kin of Charles Lacklyne. She was the child of the woman for whom this other woman now resting in her grave in Minchester churchyard had been set cruelly] aside, to obtain from Helen Brownlow, as I have learned to call her, declares Lacklyne stained his hands with blood, and committed the crime for which she, innocent and doubly wronged, suffered the punishment. Lacklyne adopted the child as his own on the death of her mother. The poor girl has set down facts and dates. She told all to me with a calmness which cut me to the heart, and she accspts all for absolute truth.

"It must be investigated," I said immediately; but she only smiled. • " 'I know it is true,' she answered. 'lt was a dying woman who spoke it, and she only spoke ta save me.' "And to this strange assertion she clings, though more than this she will not say. Were I but stronger, things should never have passed beyond this stage, but, alas! the child, with all the impetuosity of ignorant youth, has gone too far. Already she has put the matter into the lawyers" hands, authorising them to write the several members of the Lacklyne family who, but for her, would have inherited the wealth Charles Lacklyne had accumulated. She has resigned all—White Abbey and her lands, the invested money, the regular income—all she has nut from her, and she will accept not even a farthing. But, worse than this, is the sorrowful fact that the girl herself has gone—where, I know not. I have been dragged almost td the grave myself since the day I struggled to go to Cecil, and for many days I knew nothing of what had passed. And now that I have grouped back to knowledge and a little strength, it is to learn, with an anguished heart, that the child is gone.

"White Abbey is in the hands of the lawyers, and no one can give ine word or sign of what has become of her. I write, therefore, to you, my dear Darnley, beseeching you to rouse yourself in this matter. God knows what may have befallen this girl, young and so beautiful, with an absolute ignorance oi' tlie world, and nothing but desolation in her heart. Stir yourjelf to send me some news of her. I huve prayed for her so earnestly, I cannot but think that God will have heard my prayer, and guarded her from bodily danger; but she is alone , she has bereft herself of everything, and she in no ordinary nature, hence my anguish about her. I have been two days writing you this letter, and I know, once it is in your hands you will leave undone to give me back the joy of seeing this child, whose home henceforth shall bj with me, and whose future shall be my care." The celebrated name of Sebastian Thotol.l was pencilled almost firmly at the end; but Paul's eyes had been full of tears beforj this end was

By Effle Adelaide Rowlands, Author of "Hugh Grctton's Secret," "A Splendid Heart,'' "Bravo Bivbr.r.i," "The Temptation of Mary Burr," '-Solina's Lovo Story," etc.

reached. Dora sat -and watched his emotions almost in tears herself; but her sorrow was for herself, for the hopeless failure of her ambitious schemes, not for the blow that had been deplt at this young girl's life. "It is terrible, Paul!" she exclaimed sharply, when the letter had been read through, and her heart gripped her a little, for she had Felix's unread letter in her pocket, and she felt she knew not why, that this letter had direct kinship with all that was passing with Cecil Lacklyne now, and that it might, indeed, have a connection for herself that would be fax from agreeable. Paul Dam ley was too unhappy to give this unhappiness words. He was plunged at once into painful speculations as to what could possibly have happened to Cecil. Had shß been an ordinarily situated girl, her disappearance would have caused less trouble, for with ordinary girls there were not merely many friends to whom she could have turned, but there would have been a certain knowledge of life and its habits and ways. Here, however, was a girl to whom the word, town, street, crowds, traffic and travelling could convey no meaning save that vague form which her imagination might at times have suggested to her. He found himself following the girl in his thoughts, witn a cold sensation of dread, and he almost lashed himself with leproach that he should have allowed the smallest thing to stand between himself and his friendship for her. He sat so long silent that Dora grew irritated. Till she had read Felix's letter, and known what sting it contained for her, she was restless and nervous. / "Don't sit there looking so hopelessy miserable, Paul; it is so cheerless," she exclaimed fretfully. You could not look more gloomy if you had heard this girl was dead!" Once again the incipient jealousy Dora had felt for Cecil and the attachment Paul undoubtedly had for the girl made itself felt. Paul roused himself with an effort. "Forgive me, darling. I—l have had a great shock. You cannot imag- | ine what a strange thing it is for me to realise that child outside the protection of the White Abbey, wandering alone in the world. 1 must find her, Dora," the man added eagerly, "and when I do find her we must be very tender with her—take all care of her, Dora," Paul added hastily, "I am so upset by this I feel I must go out and start my inquiries at I once. Will you forgive me if I leave you for an hour? . Bulstrode, the senior partner in this legal firm, lives in Devonshire Place. Possibly, if I drive there direct, I may find him at home. You see, he says nothing of Cecil's disappearance ; so, in all probabilities, he may have some knowledge of the girl's present whereabouts." "Oh, yes, go!" Dora said, halfnervously, half-peevishly. She was in no condition to enter into Paul's feelings. Even her first sensation of bitter disappointment at the failure of her schemes, in which Cecil and her money were to have played so prominent a part, was swallowed' up in the rush of uneasiness which the mere sight of Felix Bingham's wellknown handwriting had brought into her heart. (To be Continued).