Novelist. [All Rights Reserved.] MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

Waikato Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 2817, 2 August 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Novelist. [All Rights Reserved.] MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

A NOVEL By ADELINE SERGEANT, Author of "Jucobi's Wife," &c, &c.

CHAPTER XXXV.—Will's VISITOK.

Clifford Yargravo had managed matters so well that nothing very much to his discredit transpired during the preliminary inquiry which ended in the committal of Giles Kin»lako. Some surprise was expressed that he should have been on apparently friendly terms with a man of Lo .Breton's character ; and

it was generally thought that the inform ition given to Martin Deveril had been imparted with rather too little regard to possible consequences. But on the whole it was admitted that he could scarcely have done more or less than he had done ; and his testimony with respect to Giles Kinglake was given with so much quietness, yet with such a tinge of reluctant sadness, that for a time Clifford Yargrave rose high in the popular esteem, lie still told himself, however that he would not be free from anxiety until Kinglake's trial was well over ; and that it was useless to meditate the transfer of the diamond to a dealer's hands at present. Deveril's diamond was beginning to be famous. Dealers would be suspicious about the stones offered to them for some time to come.

He had hoped that nobody would attach much importance to Joel Bray's occasional tits of violence ; but he soon found that he had hoped in vain. Many persons in the village had been afraid of "the lunatic," as they called him, quiet as were Joel's usual ways and habits. As soon as the murder was noised abroad, and before suspicion attached itself to Kinglake, many persons remarked that it must certainly have been committed by Joel Bray. His habit of beating any object with a thick stick when he was angry was remembered ; his disappearance also was strongly commented upon. But then Martin Deveril accounted clearly for his absence upon the day in question; and it was remembered in Walding that he had been selling baskets in the streets about two o'clock in the afternoon. The murder _ was committed soon after three o'elock in lirale Wood, five or six miles away from Walding. Was it possible that he had walked those six miles in less than a hour, reached Brale Wood at three o'clock, attacked Le Breton, and then vanished, as far as could be known, from the very face of the earth, leaving not a trace behind? It seemed improbable upon the face of it.

Search was niado for liim, but with no result. Mrs Le Bretou, howover, hold obstinately to her opinion that it was Joel limy who had killed her husband, and not Giles Kinglako, and with her ' Cicely and Philip Lorraine agreed. Desolation meanwhile reigned in Kinglake's ([met little house in Kensington. Hannah, going about hot- work as usual one afternoon, with reddonod eyes and un aspect of utter dejection, was startled by tlio unaccustomed sound of a double knock at the front door. Shu pooped out of tlio little diningrouu window before slio answored it, and saw a cab at the gate, and two persons, a iady and a gentleman, on the door-step. " More trouble, I suppose !'' she muttered grimly to herself. ,; Sorrows never come singly. What bad news do they bring for that blessed lamb upstairs, T wonder?" Her lace relaxed, if it did not brighten, when she found that one of "the visitors was Mr Lorraine, whose visits had of the late been very frequent. The lady was unknown to her ;she was young, slight, apparently pretty, but so thickly veiled that hor face could not be clearly seen. Hannah looked at her sharply as she opened the sittingrnom door, but could not remember even to have seen her before. Philip spoke to her kindly. " Well, Hannah," lie said, " howare things going with yourself and Master '\Vili?"'

lliiiinah's apron went readily to her eyes. " About as bad as they can be, sir," she answered. •'I don't say to the blessed lamb, and I hides the papers away from him as well as I can, but he's as keen in his way as ever his father was before him, and he will know everything, and it's wearing the very life out of him." " Can't you keep newspapers out of the house, thenf " I've stopped as many as I cou'd," said Hannah, dejectedly; " but Mr Cfiles takes in such a quantity, and do what I will Master Will will (ind them. And if he can't find them he'll go so far as to knock at tho window for the newsboy, and limp downstairs to get a paper for himself when I'm out marketing, poor lamb !" " But it is very bad for him." " So I tell him ; but he says that he, must know what they are doing with his father ; and that neither me nor Miss Freebody would tell him the truth, in which he's about ri"ht," continued Hannah, "for neither me nor her could bear to tell him of his father being shut up in a dungeon, and half starved, maybe, and brow-beaten by a lot of ugly lawyers, when everybody knows that he is as innocent as a babe unborn." " Miss Preebody is his aunt V ssid Philip, aware that it was useless to argue with Hannah on the subject of the treatment of a person under arrest. " Yes," Hannah answered with a significant sniff. " 1 suppose she is his aunt, sir, if you like to call her | so, after a fashion. She was half- . sister to Mrs Ciles—Mrs Kinglake, as I should say. She has been stayin" in the house for the last three ' days, and wants him to go back 5 with her to Twickenham '' <! "And why doesn't lie?" asked i Philip quickly, i, " Nothing short of his father's I orders will make him do that, sir.

Miss Freebody fidgets him, just as she does Mr Giles, and always did. But here am I keeping you, and the lady, when no doubt you wanted to see Miss Freebody herself and Muster Will, maybe." "Yes, we should like to do so. Miss Freebody is at home?" " She's out for the present, sir, but Master Will is at home. No more bad news, I hope, sir, begging your pardon for asking ?" " Only what you already know, Hannah. Mr. Kinglake has boon committed for trial." " Ah, me ! It's indeed a weary world!" sighed Hannah. Then she turned half- apologetically to Mr. Lorraine's companion. " You must excuse me, ma'am, if I seem to make too free ; having lived with Mr Kinglake's family since before he was born or thought of, I seem to love them all as though they were tuy own." •' I think it must be a great comfort to Mr. Kinglake to know that you are taking care of his little boy," said the young lady, with a simple frankness that went straight to Hannah's heart. " When he comes home he will be very grateful to you." "Ah, ma'am, if he overdoes come home !" "Of course he will come home," said the girl, putting up her veil and showing Hannah a very decided little face and proud, candid brown eyes. " His friends mean to stand by him through thick and thin, and bring him home in triumph." Hannah looked at her oddly, as if sho did not know whether to be pleased or offended by this outburst. " If I may be so bold, ma'iMa," she said, twisting a corner of her apron furtively between her lingers, "as

to ask your name—seeing that you are one of Mr Giles' friends. It's Mr Lorraine's good lady, no doubt, that .1. have the honour of speaking to '!"'" " No," said the young lady, with a quick flushing of her pale cheeks, "you are speaking to Mr. Lorraine's cousin. My name is Cicely Lorraine, and I want to see Mr. Kinglake's little boy." Hannah put out her hands with a quick movement, as though she were half afraid that Ciceiy would try to force her way into Will's presence. " Not while I'm here," she said involuntarily raising her voice. " Not while I'm here to stop it ! r-mtosee Master Will? Why, it would kill him to look at you ?"' Cicely's face suddenly turned white. She shrank back, and turned an appealing eye towards her cousin. " Philip?" she said faintly. "You are exeesssively foolish and rude, Hannah,' said Philip quietly. "Do you suppose that Mr. Kinghike would wish you to shut the door against his friends ? Miss Lorraine has a message from Mr. Kinglake to his little boy, and of course must deliver it." " She'll do it at her own risk then," said Hannah, whose wrinkled fact had become strangely hard and obstinate in expression, " for [ won't take upon me to tell Master Will who has come to see him, when he knows, and Mr. Kinglake knows,

that but for her find her pleasure my master wouldn't ba lying in prison on this day." Philip tried to silence her, but Cicely interposed. " Don't be angry with her, Philip," she said. " She means well, but she does not quite know what she is saying. You are very faithful to Mr. Kinglake," she went on, looking steadily at Hannah, " and that is a great point in your favour. I wish that I had such faithful servants about inc. Otherwise, you know, I should say, as my cousin does, that you were rude. Now, will you kindly tell me exactly what you mean V Tho tone quelled Hannah. "I didn't mean to be rude, maa'm," she said in a half-exculpatory manner, " but it ain't to be expected that Master Will should not fee it deeply according to what the papers say." " Of course, he feels the whole matter deeply. Do you mean that he thinks that I am to blame because Mr. Kiuglake was unfortunately on his way to call at my house on the afternoon in question?" asked Cicely, with some dignity. "As to that," said Hannah, casting clown her eyes uneasily, " he feels himself as much to blame as anybody, because it was ho that put his father upon going down to Lady well that afternoon to give you the brown necklace." " You had better listen no further, Cicely," said Philip. "The old woman knows nothing of the story." " Perhaps not," returned Cicely, with serene composure, " but I mean to learn what she thinks she knows. Well, what else '<" "It's in the papers," said Hannah, stolidly. "You can read it there." • ' I have read most of the respectable daily papers for the last few days, but I have seen nothing in them that reasonably explains your objection to my seeing Wilfred Kinglake," said Cicely. "Well, then, if you must have it," said Hannah ; "but it isn't mo that says it, it is the. papers—what : they call society papers, or »omc such stuff—they say that Mr Kinglake quarrelled with Mr Le Breton 1 about j/iui ; that my n:astcr wanted to marry you and get back the old s house for himself and Master Will, . I and that Mr Le Breton, being a re-

lation of yours, throw it in his teeth. That's what they say. And anyone might know Mr Giles would sooner beg his bread in the streets than do such a thing as that." "People will gossip, Cicely," said Philip, with real anxiety in his tone. "You must not mind the foolish things they say." Cicely had seated herself. She was looking straight before her, with an intent, wistful gaze. The colour had gone out of her face—its pallor and sorrowful expression made it seem years older than it had ever done before. The little tendrils of curling hair about her forehead looked almost too childishly soft to be in keeping with the mournful droop of her mouth, the sadness of her eyes. Her hands were clasped over one another upon her lap. Her figure was slightly bowed, in great contrast to its usual alert uprightness. There was a moment's silence; Philip, with his hand on the back of her chair, Hannah, still nervously twisting her apron between her lingers, both waited for her to make some reply.

Tlio silence startle J li or at last. Slio drew horsoli' up, and utterod a strange little laugh, ill tlio midst of which there was a catching of the breath almost like a sob. "You need not have been afraid," she said to Hannah. " Your muster never onrc thnughtof asking mo to be his wife in the whole time I havo known him.'' Philip did not quite approve of this form of an answer to old I [auuah, but ho could say nothing. Then she started up. '• It is all the irioro reason that I should go to poor little Will," she s.iid. "How is it possible that I .should learn to boar trouble when ho lias pcoplo round hiin who repeat such silly tittle-tattle as that!" "lam glad to learn that it is silly titclo-tattln;" said Hannah, whoso agitation was now beginning to manifest itself in tears ; '•'audit is not that I bear ill-will to you, ma'am, butbecauso it would bo like doath to the blessed lamb upstairs to think of anybody coming between his father aud himself." "That is enough," said Philip, sternly. "If you say another word I shall repeat it to your master." " Who wants to conic between his father and himself?" said Cicely, with scornful lightness. "My good woman—Hannah your name is, 1 think—if we were not, all of us, in very peculiar circumstances, we should not easily forgive you. Put as it is ' —she laid her hand on Philip's arm as she spoke —'■ we are ready to look over it, if you will be a little more discrect in the future. And now, us Mrs Freebody does not seem to have come in, I will go and see Master Will myself, and you will please not stop me. He is upstairs, I think.'' "He is in the study," said Hannah, rather sulkily, while Philip added a direction. '• l.t is the tirst door 011 your right, Cicely. I know that you would rather go to him alone." Cicely nodded and left him alone with Hannah, to whom he immediately administered a severe rebuke for her conduct. Hannah listened and was meek enough, but there was a sort of dour obstinacy about her at times, which made her a dillieult person with whom to deal. Cicely knocked at the door indicated, and, receiving no answer to her knock, ventured, after a moment's pause, to open it very gently and look in. She saw at once what had been the reason of the silence. Poor little Will had fallen fast asleep upon his sofa ; his paleface was stained with tears, his long eye lashes were still wet, his golden hair was tangled, his thin hands still clutched a newspaper, which 110 seemed to havo torn in impotent rage. Cicely eamo in and closod the door behind her. She stood by his couch for some minutes gazing at (he fair, little face, unconscious that her own eyeslilled with tears as she did so. She wondered whether Giles' wife had looked liko this, whethor she had had such shining hair, such deli-cately-cut features, such beautiful brows aud sweeping oyelashos. There was not much likeness tc Giles in tho boy's lineaments. It was only when he opened his eye: and fixed them earnestly upor Cicely's faco that the girl was thrilled by a sense of his relation ship to tho man she loved. Gilos Kinglake's eyes looked at her ou of Will's waxen, baby-face ; an( Cicely's heart wont out to thosi eves at onco. " " Don't be frightonod," slio said kneeling down beside liiin, ant takiu." his bony little lists botweoi lier warm, supple lingors. " I'lau nab knows that I am bore." [ "I am not frightened," Wil answered, regarding her curiousl) > but, with perfect tranquility " Hannah never lets anybody com * up but people that 1 like. I don think I knot" you," he added ealnili ' " but you look kind." 1 " Will you let mc kiss you 1" sai Cicely, trembling a little, as sL met his full, brown gaze. v lie raised himself aud let In 1 press her lips to his cheek, then fe '' back ou his cushions and puslu. 1 back the newspaper that had falk over his knees. Cicely took it awe e and laid it upon the table. " \VI e do vou read such things ?" she sai ,t reproachfully. e Will's eyes grew big with tears. (- " I can't help it," he said pit n fully ; " I've nobody to tell mo an d thing about him, and I must kno d what they are doing with hit 1, Hannah and Aunt Matilda wa' 3- me to know nothing."

" You think that he would like you to see what the newspapers say about him V " He always told mo everything," answered Will proudly; "even when they reviewed his book badly, we used to read the reviews together and laugh at what people said against him." "He knew that you would not believe them." "Of course he did. You know my father don't you 1" " Yes." " And you are fond of him 1" " I think he is a very good, brave and noble-hearted man. Nothing can really hurt a man like your father ; Will; even if people rave and rage against him for a time they will soon learn that he is far greater than themselves, and they will be ashamed of their own littleness. He can afford to despise them now and so can we." " How nicely you talk!" sighed Will, gazing at her as ff spellbound, and drinking in the eloquence of her loving words with his whole heart and soul. " I wish Aunt Matilda would talk to n.e like that? Will you kiss me again, please V " You love your father very dearly,'' said Cicely, with a tremble j in her voice.. ' "Of course I do. Don't you think he's tho best man in the whole world T "Yes," said Cicely, half below her breath, but with passionate emphasis at the same time. " You are crying," remarked Will, turning to her restlessly; "your eyes arc quite wet. Are you crying for father, or tr.e, or for yourself 1" " For all three of us, I think, Will." " Then— v;ho arc you V Will's eyes looked preternaturally bright. It seemed as though some sudden suspicion of her motives had crossed his mind. He took his hand away from her and surveyed her keenly. "Is daddy ill V he asked, in a sharpened tone. " Has he sent for me to go to him I Oh, I knew that they would kill him sooner or later —1 knew they would !" " No, my dear little boy, no," said Cicely, controlling herself. "He is not ill; he wished me to come ami s.eo you—that is all. You don't know mo; lam Cicely Lorraine.'' Then, as ho kept silence, sho added, rather hesitatingly—" 1 sent you the roso treo out of tho little gardens at Ladywell." "Horrible Ladywell!" cried Will, pushing away her caressing hand and hiding his face in tho cushion with a sudden burst of tears. Tho gesture gave Cicely's heart a pang. " I hate Ladywell! I liato you!" he cried. "Why should you liato rue, Will?" sho said sorrowfully. "You know it was not my fault. lam very unhappy too." " 'You ought to bo unhappy, It was your fault—and mine. If you had not sent tho rose-tree, aud I hadn't wanted you to have a kcopI sake "

" And if everything had been different! Yes, Will. But if we havo unhappily helped to cause the misfortune, we ought to make friends over it, you and I, instead of reproaching one another. Don't you think so?" AVill listened but said nothing. " I bcliovo that your father thinks of mo as one of his friends. When I sent word to him that I would go and see you if ho liked, ho was glad. And ho told Mr Lorraine to say that he was qui to well and hoped to see you soon. "How can he see nic! : said Will, half indignantly. "He has applied to be tried iu London, not in a provincial town. So that when he is iu town you might perhaps go to see him." "Is Mr Lorraine downstairs?" '• Yes • would you like to sec him '" '•' Presently. I want you to tell me." said Will, with a forlorn and wistful look, " whether—whether — it is really true that my father asked you to marry him V " Not in the least true." Then Cicoly added a few words witb a ! faint evanescent blush. "I am sorry that you do not like me." "Oh, it is not that," said Will, ingenuously. "I like you vory much, and so does my father —he calls you a sweet and gracious lady, and so you are—but, you see I know all about the circumstances, and it would never, never do." " What circumstances ? and what would never do V asked Cicely, feeling inclined to laugh and to cry at the same time, and amused in spite of herself by Will's precocious knowledge of his father's affairs. " Why, don't you see 1 Of course you are a lady, aud have never thought of these things, perhaps," said Will, in a tone of doubt; " but when you remember that you are so rich and he is so poor, and that you are living in Ladywell Priory, where he used to live when he was a little boy, you will see at once that it would bo perfectly impossible for my father to ask you to marry him, and that the most disagreeable thing in the world would bo for people to think that he was wanting to ; because it would look as if he. were caring for your riches and houses, and lands; and indeed he doesn't. Nor do I. Because, indeed, Miss Cicely Lorraine, nobody could be moro happy and contouted than my dear, dear, old daddy and . me, when he's at home !" And here Will's undcrlip pouted and his eyes • shone through a mist of blinding tears.

" I quite believe it, Will," said Cicely, quietly. She rose from her kneeling posture, and leaned over him. " Will you forgive me before I "o, and give me another kiss ?" she said. He could not resist her sweet looks. He held up his thin little face and put both his arms round her neck as she kissed him. Then she summoned up her cousin, and went downstairs to sit with Miss Freebody, while Philip talked for a few minutes to the boy. " Will's last words to Philip were certainly market! by all the consequence of a child's mind. " Will you ask Mj.ss Lorraine to come again T' lie said. " Slie was very good to me this afternoon, and 1 liked her very much." CHAPTKR XXXVI.— Tub Accused ano the Accuser. "Can wo do nothing for him?" said Cicely to Philip, before he took leave of her that evening on their return from London. " I don't know what we can do," said Philip. "I must ask Giles whether he wishes the child to stay with Hannah, or to go with his aunt to Twickenham. That old woman will be tho death of him." " Vou are too hard on Hannah," Cicely answered, with a 3inile, which was pathetic in its very brightness. "She is very faithful to her master." "What makes it more difficult to manage,'' said Philip, "is the Will is a thoroughly spoiled child. Kinglake has, naturally enough, petted him all his life, and the boy is heartbroken now that he is separated from his father." " I don't sec why yon can call poor Will a spoiled child," exclaimed Cicely, in rather a hurt tone. " A sweet, loveable little fellow." " I can only say," said Philip with a laugh, "that I should not like a boy of my own to be quite as intimately acquainted with my afTaira as Master Will appears to be with those of his father. But I agree with yon ; he is a nice little chap, but he wants somebody beside poor old Giles and Hannah to look ;>ftcr him."

Philip took pains about tho matter. He went to see Kinglake, and represented to him that Will was suffering from the circumstances in which lie was placed. And when he had said his say lie was sorry, for Ins friend looked perplexed aud pained. "Of course the poor little lad will suffer", he said, pushing his hair back from his forehead with a wearied gesture. " I hardly see how I am to mend matters." " Von mean that I ought not to interfere ■>" " Vnu have every right So interfere, Phil," said Giles, smiling in rather a iin-hiiiolioly way. " What did you want me to do r" " Can't you send him to Miss Freebody ? She tells me that she is obliged to go back to Twickenham before Sunday, if so, he will bo left alone again with Hannah." " No, he must not go back. That would be worse than old Hannah's companionship. Miss Freobody has an elder sister who is imbecile, and frightens poor Will nearly out of his senses. I only send them there wheu Lydia is away." " Would you " — Phillip made Ins suggestion diffidently — " would you olijeet to his coming down to Ladywell, to Kleauor and myself—or to Cicely? We should all do our bust tor him." " I know you would," said Kinglake, turning away and drumming on the table somewhat moodily with his right hand, '•but I don't think that would do, Phil, thanks. I doubt whether you could get the hoy down to Ladywell now." " I suppose- lie would go if you sent him—if you told him he must go." "1 suppose he would." Kinglake smiled at the expression. " It's a line of conduct I've very seldom adopted with Will, however, aud I don't feel inclined to begin it now. "Will has had bis own way so long that I can't thwart him when—when perhaps I have only a month or two of this world left to me." " Nonsense," said Philip. "Keep up your heart, man." " I keep up my heart as much as I can, but it's no use to protest that facts are not apparently against inc. I begin to see no way out of it," said Gilos, rising and pacing up and down the narrow space afforded him liko a wild animal in a cage. " They mean to lianjr somebody for Le Breton's murder, and unless they prove it was Joel Bray or somebody else they will hang me '' " Have you thought of anybody else," said Philip, struck by a certain iullection in Kinglake's voice. " Yes." " Who is it ?'' " I suppose you won't bo offended if I tell you ?"

"'is it likely ':" <; Woll," said Giles, facing his friend and looking at liim steadily, "there is one man to whom I fancy it would be convenient if Le Breton were well out of the way." "You mean Vargrave ?" Kinglake nodded. "I have thought of that myself," said Philip, meditatively. •' I may be uncharitable," continued Giles, pulling his brown beard as he spoke, and still looking at his friend, " but it seemed to me at the examination that there was some animus iu his way of stating the facts against me. There was a great show of fairness and moderation, no doubt; but, you know, Phil, his account of the hurt that Le Breton got from me in the first instance, when I struck him with my cane, was immensely exaggerated. Le Breton's face cut open from chin to temple ! Why, one would think that I was a brute ! It is apparently just what they do think, by the bye." " Vargrave was in the wood by his own confession," said Philip. "There was no one else." " Yes, there was someone else. I saw another person when I had left Le Breton. But 1 think that it was a woman." " You did not mention that at the time?" ' ll did not recur to my memory till afterwav.-ls. Vargrave, a woman, and I in the wood together—which of us committed the murder? One of us, or a fourth person, unknown ?" " I can believe anything against Clifford Vargrave," said Philip, with some heat of manner. "He is both false and cruel, but I doubt whether he had either strength or courage sufficient to attack a strongly-made man like Lo Breton with no other weapon than your stick. Besides, you have heard what Finch says ? He docs not believe the murder was committed with that stick at all. He says wo shall see what the expert* say about it. He thinks the blows were given with a much larger and blunter weapon." "Possibly." Kinglake threw himself into a chair and sighed. " It's sickening work, Phil," he said, almost with a groan. ' "I know," said Philip, sympathetically, and he put his hand on shoulder.

" But it would not be so bad to bear," aid Giles, still looking down, with a heavy frown upon his brows, "if it were not for that boy of mine at home. It's hard to think of a delicate little fellow like him being left to face the world alone with no legacy but a father's shame." " No shame, Giles." " Shame in the world's eyes, is it not ? Will the world not brand him as the son of a murderer. And—good God !is it not possible that he may grow up—to— believe mo—guilty? And yet—God knows my iuuocencc !" Ho leant his elliowa on the table and bid his face in his hand. His strong frame shook from head to foot, as a willow is shaken by a gust of wind. "He shall never believe it as long as I am living," said l'liilip, almost with anger. " But there, is no need to think of that. We shall bring you through." "Look me in the face, Phil," said Giles, lifting his head from his hands; "and tell me honestly whether you think that I have a ghost of a chance " " Good heavens, yes ; of course I do." "I do not," said Giles, turning away his head. Philip kept a reluctant silence. He wished to say something consolatory, but could think of nothing to say that would be strictly true. And Giles was in no mood for pretences. " If it does come about as I foresee," lie began at last, "you won't leave Will to the Freebodys, will you, Lorraine ? It would be the ruin of him, body and soul. " He should bo as a child of my own," said Philip, in a low voice. " I thought I might rely on you, Thank you, Phil. And your cousin— perhaps your cousin " He had not known that his voice was likely to break at the mention of Cicely Lorraine ; but certain memories of her gracious kindliness, her frank, maidenly grace, her gay, innocent eyes, conjured up by the utterance of her name, overbore his self-command. He tried to conceal the sudden tremor in his voice ; he cleared his throat once or twice, took a turn across the room and back again, but only succeeded in making it somewhat more marked, especially as he began his next sentence iu a peculiarly cheerful voice, with an entire change of subject. "I hear that my book is running through a new edition," he said. " People are reading it hard aud fast, so that they may see whether it bears traces of the monstrous depravity attributed to me. There will be quite a nice little sum waiting for Will at my publishers. You'll have to manage all that, you know." Philip followed his lead, and 110 more was said about Cicely. But he pondered rather seriously over Kinglake's unwonted show of emotion. "Do you want Will to come aud see yon ?" he asked towards the closc of the interview. Giles shook his head. " No." " You don't ?" " Would you like a ton of yours to sec you iu Newgate ? No ; uot until ive are oblisrhed. Then I'll see him—once.' " Give mo some message for him, then," said Philip, " for I must b: going." " I have no ospeeial message except the old one. My love to him—that's all, And do anything for liis good and comfort that you think best, Lorraine, bul don't send him to Twickenham." Philip was considerably puzzled to knoiv what to do, particularly when i scrawl from Hannah informed him thai Master Will had fallen ill. Miss Free body had gone liome, aud slie, Hannah did not know what to do, for the boy wai suffering from a low, nervous fever wandered in his mind at times, aud coulc not bear to be left alone. Philip took hi: perplexities as usual to the Priory. Lad} Eleanor vouchsafed him neither interest nor attention. " I must go to him," said Cicely, stand ing up and suddenly turning veri white. "My dear Cicely you must do nothing of the kind," Phil answered with uuusua decision. " She looked at him pitcously. " Wha harm could it do me ?" she said. "There', nothing infectious in his illness. I would only be kindness. Nobody wonlc know." " Pauline," said Philip, " tell her tlia she must not go. You can make he understand." " Pauline will be 0:1 my side," sail Cicely, kneeling down by Mrs Le Breton and resting her heart against Mrs L Breton's shoulder. "She will not oppos me." "Yes I shall, Cicely. Yon canno go." "But someone must go. We can' ieavc little Will to lie there alone wit nobody to nurse him but Hannah ! Han nab ! Llow can she nurse him, indeed And no one has any right to stop nie If I choose to go. I will go !" " No, Cicely, you will not be unreason able. You could not go to nurse thi poor little boy without making peopl talk about you." "It is a paltry reason," said Cicely. "Noit is a very good one. You must stay here aud do your own duties. Now, I have no duties." She stopped and looked from Philip to Cicely with a sad smile. " I shall make a better nurse ' than Cicely," she said. \ " But —it is impossible." "No ; the boy does uot know me. I will go as a nurse merely; you shall 1 recommend me, Philip, and I will take good care of him until he is better, or until hi 3 father conies home again." ' Philip and Cicely glanced at each : other. There was the same anxiety in the mind of each. J •' Dear Paulino," said Cicely, stroking [ the elder woman's thiu hand and putting ' the disturbing thought into words, "we ' don't want you to go away from us." ? " I suppose you would think it unI grateful of me if I said that I wanted to go." ' " Not ungrateful — unkind to us, j perhaps." " Well, dear, let me be unkind then. 3 I should like to go away —for a time at least. It is painful to me to stay at s Ludywell, where I always fancy that e curious eyes are watching to see how I bear my husband's death. It is a foolish j fancy, is it not? By-and-bye I shall not u feel it ; but just now I should like to go a where nobody knows me, and work a little for myself, and try to forget that I e am that wretched thing—a woman with a history." I] They could not oppose her wishes j when urged so earnestly. Philip agreed to help her iu the work that she had a undertaken ; she should go up to London with him next day and spend a few days at least with Will. If she nursed him back to health and strength Philip knew that she would feel as if she bad done '? something for the comfort of Giles King- " lake, to whom her husband's death had ,0 brought such trouble. * So for a time she vanished from Ladywell, ami three persons only—Cicely, !!, Eleanor and Philip—knew whither she " t j had gone. U It seemed likely that the trial would bf [e postponed for further evidence. Tliepolicc ill thought that they had found a clue to Joe Bray's whereabouts, and his disappear If ance was considered sufficiently signifiirr cant to afford a reason for the postpone a ment. Clifford Yargrave, lounging alow in his mother's house one night read thi ;i- item of news in an evening paper, am throw it away from him in disgust. " To-morrow, and to-uiorrow, and to

morrow," he said to himself. " Will these delays never come to an end ?" His rooms were luxuriously appointed. Snow was lying on the ground without, i keen wind whistled through the London streets, but not a breath of cold sould penetrate through the heavy curtains, the closed shutters, the great stamped-leather screens by which Clifford ensured warmth and snugnees for himself in his own abode. And yet some memory, some chill doubt or fear, existed, sufficient attimes to tend a shiver through his whole frame, as though he were suffering from the cold. He was leaning back in a large velvet-covercd easy-chair, with his arms ciosscd behind his head ; the lamplight fulling on it from tho sconce in the wall showed how worn were his features, how hollow tho fine contours of his brow and chcek. There was an anxious look in his eyes ; when seen in repose it was evident that a new expression was gaining ground in them — an expression of craft and subtlety which made their quick glance positively unpleasant to persons of even moderate sensibility. There was something watchful about them—something which betokened the uneasy mind of a man who is never off his guard. " Yes, these delays will be the ruin of me," he was thinking, "unless I take means to turn them to my own advantage. If it were not for those cursed debts, and those bills that I must take up, I could afford to wait. But I have been playing a risky game ; I had better make what I can and get out of it. I'll let Deveril have his diamond after all— half-profits and ' expenses,' according to agreement, I think. After the trial I'll go quietly oil to the Mediterranean for the rest of the winter, or further afield even—to America or Japan. Japan would be a pleasantly inteiestiifg and not too exciting place of residence for a man with a jaded brain, and nerves which are decidedly out of order. " Yes, it's plain that this business has played the devil with my nerves. The scene in the wood—pah ! It doesn't do to think about it! The sounds were worse than the sighs. And then this uncertainty about the trial ! By Jove, when I think of the way in which those lawyers will turn old Deveril and Carnforth—not to speak of Pauline Le Breton and Lorraine—inside out ; when I think of Deveril's blundering and Cnrnforth's rash folly, backed up by the malice of the other two —it is as much as I can do to prevent myself making a bolt while I have time. And that is not what I should have said a year ago. But I am not afraid of what the lawyers will get out of me. I think I shall be a match for them ; and when that is over it will be a long time before London sees me agaiu. If I never set foot in England again I shall be the better pleased. I loathe the sight of an English landscape now." And then for a moment his thoughts travelled back to the picturesque little wood in which he had lain, face downwards 011 the bracken, trying to shut out the sights and sounds which had haunted his memory ever since. He came to himself with a shudder and a questioning glance around him, and then changed his position. He stooped forward, and threw a log of wood upon the fire, then held his hands out to warm them beforo the leaping blaze. " What a fool I am ever to think of it!" he said, looking down at the slender white fingers, which trembled a little as he extended them. "One would think that I had killed him myself! What could I have done to save him ? With the best will in tho world I should have been absolutely useless And it is no use denying that his death was a great stroke of luck for me." Then he mused and smiled. " They don't give fires in Newgate," he murnmrmed, softly. "Kiuglake will feel the cold on a night like this. No, lam not sorry for that part of the business. J wonder if Cicely has repented of her preference by this time. She o.ui't marry him now at any rate. I wonder if I should have a chance if T tried again. I suppose Lorraine would spoil my game —Lorraine anil Mrs Le lice toil between them. If I could do Lorraiue a mischief I would most certainly embrace the opportunity. lie iiniled again, took up the poker, and began to rake up the embers with ir, and to re-udjnst the fuel in the grate. His eyes were still (ixed upon the blazing wood, as lie said to himself with an aceint of some amusement : "I suppose that I have the opportunity." Then he gave one final stroke to the log, and sent a stream of red sparks up the chimney before he laid the poker in its place. I don't see why I should't take it," he said, as'if replying to the arguments of some uuseen opponent. " It would do her 110 harm, and it would annoy him considerably. Philip f,orraine's annoyance would afford me a good dual of unmixed enjoyment. In a world where unmixed enjoyments are very few, such au opportunity is not lightly to be passed by."

A certain look of excitement had come into liia face. His eyes kiudled—a slight flusli rose to his cheek. He began to walk up and down the room, meditating us lie walked. It would l>e better than even Cicely and the Priory," lie thought, " where I should always have been tied down by coiwcntionalties and proprieties. Tliut girl would have driven me mad by her rustic airs and graces and attempts to lord it over me. I should have had to teach her her place, and there would have been disturbances. I made a mistake in not taking poor Nell when sh«i was free. She worshipped me ; and we might have been happy enough together. I am pretty well tired of English life. This diamond business will bring me in sufficient for travelling aud living abroad in a modest way ; aud I can go in fur domesticity after a fashion—with the right woman, There would be nothing to keep me in England—if she went witli me. And the sooner we are out adiilt from the old lies the better for us both." "To-morrow I'll go down to Ladywell and get the diamond. The boldest and simplest plans are the best in the long run. Who would have thought Unit Deveril's diamond lias all this tune been in the hands of Lady Eleanor Lorraine '! Phil would certainly be the last person to suspect it ! But I shall have to be careful how I get it back, since Master I'hil has had the impudence to forbid me going to his house. Not a bad idea to have it sent by post as a registered letter. Bud the risk would perhaps be too great." The dressing-bell roused him from bis reverie. He dressed and went d iwn stairs, wondering as he did so whether it would be possible to obtain any further sums of money from his mother for the settlement of the affairs. He mad': himself exceedingly pleasant aud amiable duriiig tl)u meal; he did not contradict his mother, sneer at his sisters, nor find fault with the cookery ; and Lady Vargrave thought she had never seen her son more charmingly affectionate. His elder sister regarded him with a suspicious eye. "Clifford wants something," she said to herself. And therefore .-he did not respond very readily to his advances. It was not until the servants had gone that she chose to make a communication that she thought wuu.d interest him. "I have had a letter from Eleanor," she answered, in a stolid voice. " From Eleanor?'" said Clifford, lifting his delicately arched eyebrows. Then

lie ''.ivu his sister a swift glance. " \Vhat is she writing to i/mi about?" lie asked. "She wants mo t.i find licr a house," said i'hai lotto, perfectly nniiiovea by thi' contemptuous emphasis which ho put upon Win pronoun. "A small house near L.ndoll." " Not for herself, of course," put in Lady Vargrave, in a warning voice. " For a friend." "Sin: ilocs not say,'' returned Charlotte, disagreeably. " I thought she was rather mysterious aliont it. And it was so odd that she should ask me to do anything for her when she behaved so l«ailly to us—and has not asUed us down to Ludywell once since her marriage, too I" " [ believe she wants it for herself, said Gussie. "She has quarrelled with Philip Lorraine and means to leave him." " Don't be foolish, Guasio," said Lady Vargravo, sharply. " Mrs Penefather wrote to me the other day that the Lorraines were perfectly devoted to one another." Clitlord could not resist a sneer. " The devotion must be of recent growth," he said. But they could extract nothing more. His efforts to got money from his mother were utterly unavailing. She had none to spare, and, in fact, nothing which she could legally touch for his benefit. " The question is settled," said Clifford to himself, as he went upstairs that night with rather a dark look upon his brow. •' lamtobe an honest man after all, and give Deveril back his own —or half of it. So Nell is thinking of the house that she will take, is she? I will go to the Grange to-morrow in spite of Phil Lorraiue." [To bo continued.)