Daughter of Mystery

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10268, 21 June 1911, Page 2

Daughter of Mystery

OUR SERIAL.

BY F. L. DACRE, Author of "Was He the Man?" "A Phantom of the Past," Sir John's Heiress," "A Loveless Marriage, 1 ' "The Doctor's Secret," etc.

CHAPTER XXXIII— Continued

Away Mr Mobberly went into the wind and the rain, his long waterproof coat flapping about his legs. He bent his head to the storm, and by the time ho came to a shelter on the front he was drenched to the skin. A gathering of hopeless and disconsolate holiday seekers were already there, gazing at the sad-coloured and angry sea, and bemoaning their fate. An old seaman, clad in oilskins, came tramping along, his deep-set eyes gleaming cheerfully under beetling brows.

"Dirty weather, gentlemen," he remarked. "Set in for keeps. The wind is backing to the sou'-west, and there will be a gale before night." Mr Mobberly hastened back to his lodgings, his shoulders humped, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his traitorous waterproof. " "Send the bill up to me," he,said to the landlady. 'We are going borne. You are sorry, eh? I don't believe you and I hope it will rain like the deluge for six months."

He banged upstairs, and when Elneth heard the news she was secretly pleased. "There's a quick train to London just after eleven o'clock," Mr Mobberly said dismally, "and if you women hurry up we can catch it. I'll go and order the carriage. I never had a more disappointing holiday in my life. The weather gets worse in England every year. A drop of seventeen degrees in less than four hours. Constitutions of cast iron can't stand it." He shivered. "I'm sure I am booked for a fine cold after this sousing." He manufactured a sneeze, and disappeared downstairs arairi. Within an hour the carriage was at the door, and the Mobberly's caught the seven-five express to London. Early as H was the train was well filled with people returning to their homes. Good-nat-ured badinage was exchanged, and before the journey was half over there wasn't an unhappy face in the whole crowd. It was rather a good thing to be going home, after all! Twenty miles from London the clouds began to thin and drift away, then the sun was revealed, showing like royal gold in a sky as soft as blue velvet.

"One would think that the wind and the rain were a dream," Mr Mobberly saM. Then he straightway began to dream of his garden, and planned a week of real delight.

The train, panted into Victoria Station, and babel began. The familiar sights and sounds, and smells were dear to the heart of the Londoners. The luggage was banged on to the platform—only to be snatched up once more by %he greedy hands of'the porters, whose palms itched expectantly. In a twinkling the -mountain of bags and trunks was gone, and a stream of cabs filtered through the station gateway. ,

"This is splendid!" Mr Mobberly said, lying back in the cab. "We'll have tea in the garden, with strawberries and fresh cream. Must we let the servant girl know that we are back. It would be a pity to break into her holiday." "My dear James," expostulate! his wife, "do you expect me. to do the scrubbing and the cleaning?" "I'll do the housework," Elneth eagerly interrupted. "I should love to. Oh, you can't think what a relief it will be to have something to do." "What an extraordinary girl you are," sighed Mrs Mobberly. "We can do the work between us," her husband chuckled gleefully.. "I used to clean the windows and the knives, and wash down the little paved yard in front of our house in Peckham in our early married days. I was absolutely certain then that I had : -the makings of a great lawyer in me, and had visions of thousands a year."

I have spent several delightful hours in the garden daily. Oh, here is the key." "We are going to have an early tea, Mr Stanley," Mrs Mobberly said tentatively. "Strawberries and cream, and all sorts of good things. WEII you come?" "Will I?" he smiled into Elneth's eyes j "Don't expect anything of me," she said. "I haven't written a line." "Oh, bother the writing," Mobberly laughed. "This is holiday time. While the ladies make things shipshape inside, I want to call upon some of our tradesmen, Mr Stanley." ! "And where shall I be of the most use ? Carrying your purchases or handling a broom?" "Carrying parcels, of course. The women won't stand a man bothering about." Mrs Mobberly and Elneth went on home in the cab while Mr Mbbnerly and the curate perambulated the shops in "the high street. Orders were' given, and some of the goods were taken away—strawberries and cream, bread and cake, and some fresh butter. "This sort of thing gives one a picnicky sort of feeling," Mr Stanley remarked. "Sorry your Brighton holiday was a failure." "Nothing of the kind. Matters could not have shaped themselves better. This is real enjoyment, and a week of rest at home will make me as fiffc as a fiddle"." He looked at the curate, a little pleading in his voice. "You won't trouble Miss Tyndall with that book for a while? She seems to be oppressed by the weight of it.' I suppose such things take a lot of thinking out." They found Elneth enveloped in a big apron, and moving about J ike a : whirlwind. Mr Stanley took off his J hat and coat, and turned up his shirt j sleeves. I "What i.~. there for me to do?" he { asked. "What can you do?" "Anything," he replied merrily. "Just try me." "I am only taking off the surface . dust, and I am now going to wash up. i Everything feels gritty. Empty that 1 saucepan of hot water into the bowl in the sink, and put the kettle in its place." "As good as done. What next?" "There are some drying cloths over there. I want you to dry the china.''' "I am positively in my element, Miss Tyndall—a perfect paragon of domestic virtues. You can't imagine how long the days bare,been since you went away," he added. "The change hasn't done you much good." "No, I hate noise and bustle." "Have you been worrying about the book?" / ■■■.'' "No; about other things." "Perhaps I can help you. We are chums, you know, and partners." Elneth's lips tightened, and her eyes j momentarily darkened with pain. "The china is piling up on the draining board, Mr Stanley. Please get on with your work—l want to set the tea table in the garden."

He dropped into silent rumination, from which he was awakened by the cab pulling up with a jerk. "Hello!" he exclaimed.

I "There's Mr Stanley," his wife cried, "oyer there. "Whistle, James, or something. He has the key of the front gate." | "Why, we are nearly home," Mr . Mobberly said, surprised. 'He won't I look this way. I'll go after him." j But at that precise moment the j curate' stopped to speak to a lady, and | swung round with his face to the Mobberlys. Ho saw them, and. was astoni ished. His eyes dwelt upon Miss Tyadall, and astonishment gave place to genuine delight. He hurried toward the cab, and shook Hands with the ladies While Mr Mobberly, who was standing beside him on the pavement, was explaining matters. "We were driven home by the weather, Mr Stanleyraln and wind, wind and rain." "You amaze me. "I have diligently watered the garden every evening." "You are very kind." "The obligation is on the other side.

CHAPTER XXXIV. BROTHER AND SISTER. Just two weeks of work, and then Paul Morosov'S answer came. Elneth had been busy in a desultory way. Half a dozen visits to the British Museum had resulted in a little pile of manuscript, and Mr Stanley was pleased to express his satisfaction at the progress. With eager and trembling finders Elneth opened the letter, and th»? first thing h6r eyes lighted on was a banker's draft for fifty pounds. Before she read a word of the somewhat voluminous letter she knew that the money was to take her to New York, and it warmed her heart to know that she was not quite alone in the world. Paul Morosov had evidently written under stress of great emotion— a hurricane of words, a delirium of delight and enthusiasm. Oh, this book was a wonderful idea; but Elneth must come to him for what she needed; there were hundreds of manuscripts to wade through, and the result would stagger humanity to the uttermost ends of the earth. Who was the clergyman who cared so much? Had he no fear of the emissaries of the czar ? It must never be known that Elneth Tyndall had had a hand in the great exposure. "You pHist oome to New York at once, my dear girl," the letter concluded. "I am sending you the money to pay your expenses. I want to see you so much and Mrs Morosov and the children went you. I have been very selfish, but my heart, like the future, is expanding. Cable to me that you will come, and then write by ivhich ship, and I will meet you at the dock."

(To be Continued.)