Novelist.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIV, Issue 2754, 8 March 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Novelist.

BRISTON DELL, AN trsiiUCEy KARErAor.

Bv MRS Vf. RATTRAY, Author of "Mr .LaHtyiear'a Visit t • Aaoklund," The'M'yßtsry of 81»ane Cottage," ic., &0., &o.

CH&PTIIJt Monet; ;

Mr Philip Brown's presence at this opportune moment, for himself, and | the furtherance of his schemes for always contriving to l.ve at the expease of other people, requires a •word of explanation. He happened to be staying at the county town of Lidlee twenty miles from Calpston. Taking up the local paper on the Monday morning, bis eye was attracted by the beading, " Curious death of an infant." He read the paragraph, which he seemed to enjoy thoroughly, • then . laid down the . paper and proceeded to work it out, as he expressed it. The rtisulfc of his meditations were that he resolved to ran down to Oalpsto'wn for the inquest. It was still early, only nine o'clock, tind he decided that he/ had time to transact a little business in Loudon, and, retu'rhing by the noon train, reacib CaJpstown m plenty ot time to oner of 'the audiei.ce, and judge for himself wh.it hold this affair waß likely .to give him on Miranda. M ' , ' , He was staying at an hotel, and calling next train parsed through to town, wasn't it lr.ine-thirty T _ -xi «I?o,.siry it's ninvithirtoan ; atx l inst due;l if you ran for it > you J Might catiH it, thf station is barely tbree'minott* walk." 1 Mr Philip Brown did run for it, picking op p» hat and stick as he passed the hafc-stand. The train was just beginning to move, and, risking the fine, Philip made a dash at the nearest carriage and jumped IQ 'lfc was second'''sa, and he glan roond. to see what fellow-prose* gero li« had-

There was only one, a. youn# woman, and Philip started when, he | recognised Susan, Mrs Lionel and Mrs Matthew Briston's maid. He had carefully trained himself never to forget a face,' and had frequently found this acquirement exceedingly v useful. He lost no time in addressing her. i "'Why Susan, is that you? I thought it was Miss Jossley." 1 : " La, sir," said the flattered ' girl, " you never did !" 1 . . "Fact, Susan. I say are you alone, or is Mrs. . Matthew with; yon ?- Daren't face the inquest," he said to himiself. 1 i "I'm quite alone. My brother broke his leg on Saturday and they've took :him to ' the 'oapitul, and I'mgoingto seohow.he is." , ■ " Then you left Bristonclell this piorning ?" .... ' ■ "Yes; sir, I was coming by the parliamentary train Which leaves at seven o'clock, but I,missed it,, so. I yvent and -had a bit of breakfast with a friend, and came on by this. Lor, air, wasn't that there death awful sudden f" "You mean Mrs Lionel's baby? I hava'heard no particulars, about it 1" Nothing lo h, uaan told all . she knew, and l>y very judicious crossquestioning, Phillip contrived to find out all he wanted, without in any way awakening Susan's suspicions. " HoA* long shall you be away, Susan?" ! " I don't care about going back, sir. When there's illness in the house, there's always a lot more Work, arid goodness knows, Airs \latthew made me work hard enough as .it was. I never got one moment to myself, to trim a hat in, ever " > " And, so," observed Phillip watching the girl intently, "you had ito borrow some of your mistress's thiugs when you wanted to look extra smart, eh?" Susin started and turned'pale. : " Lor, sir, however did you know? But' you won't let on, will you, sir ?" " Not I Susan,.l think you wore quite iright. : 'know you look a whole heap nicer in theui, than ever Mrs Matthew did." .'M Ui,, it wasn't her things, they didn't lib me; ray figure is the same as Mrs Lidnel's." : Philip laughed softly at the conceit, but continued banteringly, , '• Then you had a tine time when Mrs Lionel was at Church 2" Susan laughed too, but a cloud over-spread her face as she said, •' Well, and:so I should, but that meddlesome Mrs Matthew niust :ieeds poke her nose in." " What time did she appear ? I thought you said she was safe in bed •vith neuralgia." . " And hat's just what I thought? -ladn't I given her a dose ot vile stuff, and shook her pillows, and ind fiddled here, and faddled there, .intil she says ( You can go, Susan, I shall be asleep in a minute, don't :ome near me again : Stay I ,' she ( *iys, " you can go out for the whole day,., make haste and get off, you vion't often get a whole holiday do you 1 she saysy unusual civil-like ?" " And then ?" queried the interested Philip. " Well, then," pursued Susan, who was extremely flattered that this gbodrlookirig gentlemen should take such an interest in her pi o•l'edings, then I said I shan't be »<> time, dressing, I can tell you, ma'm and she says, ' Well, don't •ome near this part yf. the house, tnd tell the others not to disturl.Tie. So I ran off, and tells Ned, f.hat's the young man who wants to <eep,company with me, that I'd go iionie to his mother's to dinner." v "And you went at once ?" , asked ; ; Philip; a sound of deep disappointment in bis tone. Susan laughed. " What a little ; geutieman do know! Why, 1 wasn't dressed. Ned said he would he ready as soon as tho horses iHtme back from taking the family ; :o church, and when they drove into thf yard I slipped away to get dressed." " iln-n you,ran into Mrs Lionel's ■•oom to borrow a trifle to make yourself extra pretty for Ned ?" " how sharp you be! 1 only went to her dressing-rocm to look for a'pink feathar to pin in my hat when I got outside the house, and a pair of glo\es." " And Mrs Matthew caught you?" Philip was all attention now. " No, I saw her coining and hid myself in the wardrobe." " Could you see her ?" " Quite plainly. You see it waa this way; the wardrobe has two long glass fronts ; one of these was opposite another fijlUength lookingglass against the press where her linen was, and this showed me all Mrs Matthew did." " Y«s, yes, what did she do V . "She peeped about for some time, and then she went into tho s night nursery." »Could you see what she did I thuro 1" demanded Philip with al-1 most painful earnestness. " No, but I could hear her talking softly to someone." • " Was the nurse there?' "I don't know. Ob, she must i s h tve been in the kitchen with the i cook, but I'm not sure. You see I didn't let on to anyone that I knew ; cook had hurt her finger before I I left the house,.because they would have wanted me to stay and help„ I and I wasn't going to disappoint . e H, and me getting out so seldom."

* •' How lon'/ was Mrs Matthew .ir the nursery V " Between five and ten minutes but my, how anxious you are tc know, all about her I" and Susan ventured on a wink. Philij ilaughed, "An old sweetheart ol mine, you know, Susan. are you siire Mrs Matthew did not see • you ?" " Certain sure. She just looked rotind her again as she came out, andthenshe quietly run to her own room " i ' " Susan,'* said. -Thilip imprasaively, "do you know that from iwhat you have just confessed to me; 'I could bave you put in prison for stealing ?" The frightened girl burst into teats; and implored him to spare her. After working on her fears a little longer, Philip promised he would not betray her if she, on her part, kept away from Bristondell, knd never let'anyone know she had been in thftt, jtwp pf the hbiife' 'after leaving Mra Matthews' room. He "arranged with ' her 1 that she should on no account attend the inquest, and if he telegraphed to her. she was to reply in exactly the same words as his telegram, signing her own name, and addressing it to whatever persen he should direct. Having obtained her probable address, he left her at the city terminus, feeling that he had done a capital day's work. ! i Beviewing the situation, ho decir ded, that no one would be likely to suspect- Miranda of having any hand in the baby's death, and she would think herself perfectly safe unless he produced Susan as a witness, which would not suit him at all just then. So he wrote a telegram to "The coroner, Calptston," rightly judging that in such a small village, everyone would know who th» holder of that office :■ was. He despatched- the message from the General Post Office, just before making his way back to the St. Pancras station, signing himself " T. Maid." ■ He had completely disguised himself, and it was only an intuition ou Miranda's piart that tho nocturnal disturber of her peace could be none other than Mr Philip Brown that enabled her to recognise him so speedily on that same evening. He eat his chop in the private parlour of the Capston Aruis in a very satisfied . frame, of mind on Wednesday evening. He had, of coursH,'been present at the inquest again, and rejoiced thao up till then his plans had succeeded very well. It only now remained to obtain the promised hush-money from Mrs Matthew Briston. " Women are invariably fools, in money and law matters," he murmured, critically holding his glass of beer to the light. He had not thought it expedient to risk the wine of mine host at such a small inn as the Calpston Arms. Had he lieen liisposed to grumble, he might well have found fault with the cooking that evening, but, as the landlady said, they had all been far too much taken up with the exciting events of the week to think of such trifles as preparing meals. " If Mrs Matt, turns sulky and refuses to pay, of course I must threaten do do my duty, and place the information I so luckily acquired in the hands of the police, who will instantly issue a warrant for her apprehension. That would settle moat women, but really,'with all my experience of the .-ex, I am only sure of this, that they invariably do the very thing you would least expect. If she says she will hand iiie over to hr husband, declare she is ? innocent and defy nie, well, she might be apprehended on Susan's evidence, but I'm pretty sure no jury, comprised of decent men, would hesitate to acquit her, at least it should be a verdict of no*, proven which would let her go scot free. Bah. she'll pay up all right, but if she can't get it all ; to-night I shall not think it safe to allow her too much time to reason the matter ou', or else she may refuse to pay at all." Mr Brown was very much disgusted when Miranda handed, him a cheque for fifty pounds saying that was all she could possibly get. " But what on earth am I to do with this ? Don't you see that I should compromise myself by presenting this at the bank, why, confound your husband, its made out in your name. Why did he do that 1 You will have to endorse it. No, I'm not going to risk anything, cheques can generally be traced. You must go to. the bank the first , thing to-morrow morning and change this, Take an envelope addressed to—let me see, ' John Smith, Calp- | ston Post Office' will do. No, put another initial in, say ' John P. Smith,' that will do- get ten five pound notes, wrap them up in a piece of writing paper, and put two stamps on. Post it immediately, and I will call for it. Do you understand? " Yes." " Well, that will do to start with, but I must have more than that, I really must. Yo.i know you are completely in my power? Well, just reflect that a word from me would send you to prison ; then would come your trinl for murder, and as the evidence is so strong, you would bo hanged. That's not a very pleasant prospect, is it 1 I have always imagined that hanging must be frightfully uncomfortable, and then the unfortunate victim presents such a peculiarly repulsive i appearance after the execution ; to • a woman, who haa some regard for I hor good looks that, I should say,

n would, a(Jd.;to i jthe horrors of the' i scene. : I say nothitig of the dia•J; (grace of the ...whole proceedinc, and 6 I the crowd of* spectators enjoying the n trial and the sight of the unlucky p murderess." : Miranda could no longer repress 6 n cry of agony. ,' , 1 ~ ; 6 " Don't torture me like this. ,if , you had One spark of humanity iu you, your lips* would be sealed on " such a subject. But I believe you are a fiend incarnated" " That's rather , a good way of 3 putting it. But, bearing all Ihave y so vividly described ;in your mind, - don't ,you. think s fifty , pounds is a simply'ridiculotis'ahiount to pay for escape from all that ?" • " I can't rkise* more." ! ■' • ! " You muse,' or take the .'conse--3 quences." • ; , p You are a : brute'! I had to tell ' all sorts of stories to get that." V ; I "Capital practice, for you will hive • to tHI a Ipt More, as y.ou must;raise > the dollars."' 1 » Miranda mbkne'l.; I don't; jrn6w » what to say to Matthew. I told > him I wanted all that for mourning, 1 and he told, me to send the bills in to him, antJ he would settle them. At last I said I wanted money to go down to some friends of mine, and he gave me that" : , * " Who are your friends?" " You don't know theni," " Look here," he said, roughly grasping her arm, " understand that if you try any hanky-panky with me, I'll set the, police on you, I will as sure as I stand here So if I'! don't see you going with this to the bank first thing to-morrow, and if I | don't get those notes when I call for, them, I'll inform Barnes, and pub him up to your little pranks." Miraada had suddenly grown very calm. " You could riot get the notes to-morrow," she said, " because the bank does not open till ten, and I shall have to walk from there to the post-office, and 1 am sure the mail is not sorted more than once, a, day now. ,-It used to be. twice, but lately they have changed;' so you shall have them without fail on Friday morning." "In that case I shall call here for them, so when you can dp so safely, slip out and put them under this stone on Thursday evening." " And then you swear to keep ' quiet ?" " For a fortnight, yes. Then I shall come a.rain and demand a couple of hundred; yes, that's what I sh.ill require then;" " How am I to get it? " " That's your look out, but see that you don't fail me. Now, 1 good night and pleasant dreams!" and ' with a mocking laugh he was gone. Miranda made her way back to the house in a very troubled frame of mind. She simply could not raise the thousand pounds he bad demanded as the total price of his silence, even in instalments, as lie had reluctantly agreed to receive it. Should slie throw, herself on her husband's mercy? But the crafty Philip had guarded against such a possibility -by remarking that those two Bristons had such, peculiar notions of honour that they would not hesitate .to give up each other to the hangman, if necessary. Now, as she remembered that; and recalled how frequently her ideas and theirs on points of exact equity had materially differed, she decided that it would be simply giving herself away to make a confidante of either her husband or his brother. What could she do then ? Slowly and cautiously she pushed open the side door near the smoking-room by which she had made her way info the shrubbery, when she ■ perceived to her dismay that the door of that sacred apartment stood a little open, and from within eame the'sound of voices. Was she going to be discovered ? CHAPTER XVIII.—The Mystery of the Pool.

The brother's relief at the verdict that afternoon had been very great. They were also glad that Miranda I did not appear at dinner, and had endeavoured to hoodwink Smithson ■by talking over the .events of the day in an utterly indifferent manner. The old butler smiled compassionately at them, and produced a bottle of extra good Burgundy, thinking that they would need something to cheerithem up a bit, and to his mind a glass • of that particular vintage was bound to have a good effect oiv their spirits. After dinner Lionel sat in his i wife's room until eleven o'clock, when he was turned out by the nurse, who thought it high time she should have the room to herself and her patient. Then he went down to the smoking-room, where i he found Matthew stretched on a > lounge sound asleep, with the door » shut, and the heavy shutters so , closely fastened that not a ray of i light penetrated the darkness outside, and Miranda, slipping out ju3t before Lionel came downstairs, , naturally concluded . that the room 1 was deserted. 3 His brother's entrance roused , \Tatthew, who willingly lit his pet black pipe (his wife's speaial detentul tion), and prepared, for a private '» yarn. ;, There was but one thought uppert most in the. minds of . both, and I Matthew gave expression to it. w " Say, old man, what do you ', think ot things now ?" a "They are pretty' mixed," e answered Lionel, " but what are we o to do ?" r " Go on as usual, I suppose, hot ! .can't euduic the thought of facing

3li fieoplfl iiftor-'thft tidsty-inbji 11 adtl'Anfe" - ;■ 1' ; .' $ or Bi whiW!.: , •• ;«*:.( •> f'.i! ■"'' - <' "•• r 'Matthew - made;'; a -wry face; , 'I Well. pefhkpis j ! ; !®' <!* | still so ill,,and> there's the expense." f ; " l ean write daily, and then j I 1 lf • At 'this?' moment Miranda had, j icautiously,- .upen«dt the i ! side,;, dooiy ; ;and • now stood' ■ in ;; tho passaigP, p i wohdoririg 1 if She dare venture past , ithe half clbsftd^doo^oL^ ' iroom. , , Meantime, hVr [. j ionel's" answer ''fo" his brother's i iquestian., i,.. ■, " How , much t Why tho full amount of the loan and, interest' tod," \Vsl,' t^Bjlj^e''4inji ,f-l' i " Just tw.o hundrediand tifty-three pounds,"twoshillings.','■ ■■»■■■ () j :l What^hii's s nofc 1 giyep; ; cheque'?" <j T . :; j ;• j . " I don't supposehe'had a'Cheque- ,! boob. He told me he had saved it by "bits' and- scraps'and J buried it uiitil he had together enough to pay us. See it's all in odd sums." " You had better give' it to me, Leo, and I'll take it to the bank the first thing to-morrow morning." ' " All right, thanks j here,' c itch," and Miranda,; now intensely interested, ... andcautiously i; peeping through the hin«fi-crack,:saw, Lionel toss a dirty • canvas bkgv'to his brother. 'Then jhe rose up und yawned.,, , v V "' ...•■ " It's bed time. We have got into dreadfully late habits. Be ware of j burglars!, I suppose SmitliSon has j locked up as usual,, so, we'll just put ] out tlie ligHt and retire." ; j Miranda had only J just time to slip back ..downf fcher ;anid draw her dark cloak '-v«H round . Jier ■when the two brothers came out and went straight up stairs. ';•••;>' She waited' 1 lintil she ' heard'the' good r nights exchanged, respective -doors.; .shut, . then,.,, her slippered feot -sound on the thick carpf't','-crept up to her. own Carefully, securing, the* door,,'she sat dtiwn l £o'lhinX'," [A new and ..startling ide&had suddenly occurred •to her whim saw that canvas bag. Supposing.she" 1 were itp' take • money, and'.tuu;; away. .xAh, but 1 then Philip : Br&ft'n; wbufd set the police on her , track',.,.and if a., good detective were employed, she could not hope to baffle him; Never again would she risk any thing jso dreadful'as that inquest had been. And a trial for murder would be so inconceivably worse. No, she must devise some other 'plan. Ah inf spiration seized her. "The pool, the pool. I will drown my clothes there, and run away as someone else." This seemed the only way short of actual self-dfestruction, which would save her from the continual blackmailing of Mr Philip Brown. It was not at all likely, whatever assurances he might give to the contrary, that even when he became possessed of one thousand pounds of Mirarida's money, he would allow her to consider herself a free woman. Believing, as she did, what he told her that Susau had actually seen her enter the nursery, fondle the sat with a sudden strange affection for the pretty white .animal lying asleep so quietly, afc tho further end of the room, raise it, still with those unusual caresses, and stepping softly to the cradle where it reposed, lovely in his unconscious innocence, the heir of Bristondell, place cat over thß sweet little face, and shut out 1 for ever from the closed eyes, the light of this world, the look of love in; his mother's and of proud satisfaction in his father's , face, which up till that momeirit had been wont to shine into them when the tiny baby was awake enough to be admired and adored as only such infants are. A fow gentle pats, and pussy, finding her quarters warm and comfortable,; settled down to sleep.—the sleep of death for its poor little victim. And the aunt glided, back to her own room, softly locking the door, ;and applying such cosmetics and-dark 5 lines to her face as should give the necessary apr pearance of suffering. , Miranda had done this terrible deed, not exactly because she was carrying out a settled plan of operation ; no, she had left her room to have a good look at her hated little nephew whilst his mother was out of the way. If au opportunity should occur of safely injuring the child, well and good, but she' had scarcely any hope of that, when suddenly she found herself quite alone with the hitherto well-guarded son. She looked, round. . The presence of, the white cat, Rita's pet, suggested a cruel method of disposing of the boy she detested, and at the same, time a perfectly natural way of accounting for tho death without"at all implicating her. Indeed to Miranda's warped mind .there was a certain poetic justice in murdering Rita's darling child by moans of the favourite cat which Matthew had given her. She had bitterly resented any attention paid by her husband to his lovely I sister-in-law, taking any such as j special slights to herself. She had never forgiven Rita for ensnaring the elder brother, and forcing her to share with a chit liko that, the honours of reigning- at Briutondell. ■She had envied Rita, her wonderful hiscination, her gontlo, lady-like 1 manners so thoroughly unconscious , of self, her soft winning voice, and above all hoi* great personal beauty,. ' all' which charms had made her beloved by all who carne in contact ! wi'h her. In short, Miranda was 5 aimply mad with jealousy.

ll f And now that her revenge was accomplished, she must ;pay the i i penalty for her drime, Or go forth a ! homeless wanderer from the house, ;• ; tho possession ofiphicb,! she had so j, covet»d.: < Arid she; had decided that ' her , only safe course Was to quit Briston'idell and,tliat in such a manner as to ■ leave; l no trace: of her flight.' j Strategy had always had a great ; attraction for 'her, iioW she found ; a.taste for.it extremely usoful. t ! . She made l her, plans, then pro- . cfteded to carry them 1 out. t An hour later, : when Matthew 3 \yas, sleeping,soundly,; making up to judge by; noise,- for wakeful |. nights caused by slight ' I creaking of his door,' in'no wise disturbed hia, slumbers, and Miranda's , soft! tread across the i floor," even the glimmer from "her 5 riis;ht-light, With •; which she approached the bed, and ' permitted to shine for a moment on ~ his face^.failed to warn him of his . visitor's presence. . . . . Miranda spared herßelE a minute of .her precious ,time' to indulge -in , a scowl at- her husl>and, and even ventured'' on . a little well-selected abuse, which being perforce uttered in an.undertone, seemed rather to soothe thatnagitate the sleeper, Tho wife, feeling that'after all, : Was injuring , no one by her . delay, •• except perhaps herself, , turned away from' the bed, and began a* close Examination of the > contents of her, husband's pockets. .The trousers yielded only one 'sovereign,!: three' shillings and a copper. ; These Miranda t?'arisferred to hei own, little travelling bag, which she .hud brought into the room to hide, anything in, supposittg she w\s discovered. The ■coat. ' Was next and Miranda could hardly repress a .little cry of delight, as she drew forth the canvas bag, • and' placed.it also in lier. reticule. 'Then/she, went into the dressing- , room, wondering why Matthew had ! not left his clothes in and proceeded to ransack his wardrobe ! fc'or , his. : last summer suit. She | found it at length, and au old hat i of the same material.' | will, think lie has given j them away, if he ever misses them," she... said ;> "now for a< collar and) tie." ■ ■' ■ : She fdund what she. required, and j and added a shirt, then retreated to ' her own room, where she endeavoured to array herself 'in-these, for her, strange garment's. "If only I had a coat to match my riding-trousers, they would tit me better than these, but after all, these will go over iriy' under-gar-ineiits and those would not." Fortunately for herself, , Miranda's under-clothing consisted of the new feminine departure, known as the divided skirt, arid it was a comparatively easy matter to arrange the masculine nether garment over this. It had also the advantage of nicely filling out the trousers, so that they did not look as if they did not belong to her. The shirt she eoulJ not manage, so contented nerself with a pair of neat little linen cuffs of her own, pinning Matthew's collar, which was uncomfortably large, with an amount of pins which would have astonished its owner had he beheld them. Ac her toilet was complete, and sh,e surveyed herself in the glass With great satisfaction. Her hair had only required a very small amount of cutting, and ths front was easily brushed back in a straight line. The hair she usually wore shp,put in-her travelling bug for future use, also a neat black silk.dress as being the lightest to carry, and a few other requisites. Her ordinary dress and hat she tied up and put ready to take with her. Then she sat down and wrote two letters. One was addressed to Mr Matthew Briston, and this she laid on her dressing-table; the other had " Air Philip l{rown"on it, and this »he took down with her, and placed it upon the stone as agreed upon. But it contained no money, simply these, words. scoundrel! . My death lies at your door. I cannot comply with your utterly unreasonable and cruel demands, so I am going to drown myself. I have one consolation in doing this, you will lose all the money your mean greedy nature tried to squeeze out of an innocent lady. I sha 1 try and haunt you." Needless to say. this truly feminine touch at the end, made Philip smile even in the middle of his abusive epithets of the women who thus tried to cheat him of what he actually called " his rights." The note to Matthew ran as follows:— *• You have beon a tiftglectful and mean husband t<> me. Ynur infatuation for your brother'* wife has compelled'rne to leave y,,u. I aw a broken-hearted, wronged and inflected wife, and I atn goini? now to the Poo), which you so kindly introduced to my notice, even when you were seeking me in it'iarringe, and tnero I shall find a loiipU, cold and iciHerable grave. B it I can be»r thac better than your studied unkin(lnes<. You have always wrongfully suspected urn. and you know iu your heart' I an innocent. It's no use dragging the poul for me, uk I *hall take a large btone in my arum, an ". throw thyself iii, heavily weicht.ed, *o thai you shall, never have the e;it.i-fuction of zln-.tting over my dead body.—Your moat unfortau ita wife, Miranda Bhibtos'. P.S.— If I could only nign myself once more Melcotton I I enclose your cheque." Mirauda nest took one of hr , visiting cards, and wrote on it, "For . Mr Matthew, I atn trying to get a littlfi sleep, it is just half-past five, and I have not yet closed my eyes, • for neuralgia. Kind y see that thw ; sefvavits 'irn quiet, aiid don't disturb i Tais she fastened to the outside

* of her bed-room door, and carefully * locked the outer doors of her other i apartments,; leaving the keyß inside. , Then she took afi al survey of her- > self in her full-length mirror, and murmuring, " With all my worldly * goods I thee ondow. Well, 1 have - got some of them, anyhow, thin i time," She tarned froni the glass, ' shut and locked the door. putting - the key in her pocket, and made her i :way f downstairs. She had purposely left her candle, r which was nearly burnt outsort the dressing-table, Without extinguishing it, with a latent hope that somehow 1 it might set fire; to the house, though she could not make up-her > mind to deliberately commit arson ; * l.ut this seemed like an accident, 1 The way to the Pool was very dark, for, notwithstanding she . had written on her card, it was only just three o'clock; There was a moon, or Miranda could not have 1 possibly traversed the rough path. She was heavily laden, and wished 1 many times that she had not taken so many things with her. She was a strong woman, and reached the silent water at length, having found her roan's dress offer far fewer attractions to branbles th*n her usual attire. With some difficulty, and treading down tho fern as much as possible, so as to mark her track, she made her way round the top of the pool, and halted over the part which Matihew* had described as having no bottom. She untied her bat, and wrapped her dress in as heavy si stonfe. as she could lift. This she threw into the water, making a dull splash, and startling even herself for an instant, as two or three owls, roused by' the noise, flow past her, hooting. Then she threw her hat in ; as she hoped, it floated cai'tiiessly on the surface. She had brought. a handkerchief well marked with, hor name and this-she also threw as far as she could. It caught in the overhanging bushes, and she had to leave it there. ller by drowning was now an accomplished fact, and with .a little sigh of regret for herself, Miranda gave a final trample to the hushes, and fern, and left the spot taking .care this time not to leave any trace behind her. She went directly away from the Pool, milking for the high-road. About five miles in that direction, by taking a cross road, she could reach a -branch line, where there was an early train to Bletehiey, whence she would easily take the express to Liverpool. She was very tired, e'er she reached the station, aiid thankful to creep into a third-class carriage which she judged safest for the lirst part of her journey at least. She was completely worn out when at length the long journey was ended, and remained quiet in ..iverpool for two or threo days, waiting for a steamer bound to \merica. For she fancied they would never dream of looking for her over the water. She resumed her feminine gar- . monts, purchasing what she required in the way of outfit for her voyage, and finally took her passage in one of the Cunard boats for New York. (To be Cut:tinned.)