County Observer and Monmouthshire Central Advertiser Abergavenny and Raglan Herald Usk and Pontypool Messenger and Chepstow Argus

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MISSING MILLIONAIRE; OR, Who Killed Hose Hammond ? BY M. C. ROWSELL. I CHAPTER. XVIII. I "FIND THE WOMA N: I TEMPLE'S intention of spending some part of the afternoon at the wharf that day, was changed by a letter from Mr. Belton, which he found on arriving at Panyer Lane. The note contained only a few hurried lines, asking him to call at four o'clock at Hare Court that same afternoon without fail if in any way possible, the matter in question being of some importance. As the business he had cut out for himself at the wharf could afford to wait, Temple rearranged his f)lans for the day, timing them so that they eft him free to keep the appointment in Hare Court, where he arrived some ten minutes before four. Belton was alone when he was ushered into the private office. He was absorbed in close and apparently troublous perusal of an early evening edition, but rose to receive Temple. A client of mine desires an introduction to you," he said, in reply to the unspoken inquiry in the young man's f&ce. "And as (-here appeared to me useful possibilities in it for you under"—Belton hesitated a moment—" under existing circumstances, I f>romised for your being here. I could not et you know sooner, as the letter arrived only by the latest post last night. Mr. Johnstone hasn't came yet, but it is not quite four," added Belton, glancing at the clock. I am before my time," said Temple, taking the proffered seat. "Yes, I fancied it might be Cleeves. He intended calling here for a paper," and the troubled expression which had lightened as had greeted Temple again clouded over the ordinarily placid face of the lawyer. What do you think of this business?" he said, tapping his spectacles, which he had taken off, on the newspaper. "The warrant against James Elmore for the murder in St. Vincent Street?" said Temple, with an uneasy smile. "A bit annoying, isn't it ? "Lucky if it stops at that," said Belton. Elmore is in biding, and if he is run down, it may be confoundedly awkward. What possessed him to enter upon such a wild scheme I cannot understand. But then I'm neither a globe-trotter nor a millionaire," added the lawyer, with a shrug. Of course he could at once clear himself," said Temple. Innocence does not invariably succeed in doing so. It appears that Elmore has been at Wolferton Grange." Wli en ? said Temple. "Almost immediately after the wager was laid," said Belton, referring to his paper and handing it on to Temple. "He was seen about i he place in the early part of May." "Creating anything but a"favourable im- pression," read on Temple, with a smile. "That's so strange to me," said Belton. "Elmore has such winning manners. At once so frank and refined. What people call such a perfect gentleman, and yet- "Yet while Uncle James was at the Grange he appears to have scandalised the whole neighbourhood. Ab, Mr. Belton," went on Temple, "if the gentleman at the Grange had been the real Simon Pure, don't you think my respected partner would have claimed his little guerdon, since he was also present at the garden-party giving on Norna -M iss Hatherleigh's birthday, at which this | James Elmore was a guest? I don't think Julian Cleeve s affairs are so flourishing as to admit of his leaving that comfortable little amount unclaimed, and lying where I placed it, in the Safe Deposit." Bless my soul! ejaculated Belton, you don't mean to say it is-" Mr. Johnstone," announced the clerk, opening the door, and Belton, rising once more from the seat he had resumed, effected an introduction between the two men. Mr. Johnstone, a grave but agreeable- mannered, commercial-looking gentleman of advanced middle age, did not appear to be a great conversationalist. He had, he said, already explained to Mr. Belton at their last interview that he had been requested by an old and valued friend to offer Mr. Temple the position of manager of a branch bank at Birmingham of the Home and Colonial Bank of Himore and Company, and in fact he would now add that the friend in question was Mr. Elmore himself. "Whom you have recently seen, I think you said, Mr. Johnstone? said Belton, inwardly wondering whether his new client was a student of daily journalism. "Quite recently? "Yes, several times," replied Mr. John. stone. "The Birmingham branch of the bank is an important one, and the salary attached is adequate to the duties of such a responsible post." Mr. Johnstone spoke deliberately, and with a marked Scottish accent. He himself was connected with the bank, he added, which had several branches beyond the Tweed. And you're to tak' your time for conseederation, Mr. Temple, I was desired to say," added Mr. Johnstone, "for Mr. Elmore gave me to understand that he mightn't be just sae sure of your own intentions." That was undoubtedly the case. Affairs in Panyer Lane were in a curious balance. Putting aside the claims of Mr. Dickman- as Temple began to feel. little hesitation in doing-the liabilities of the firm had been covered, but the business itself had fallen to the lowest; ebb, and there was not a living to be got out of it. Yet Temple clung to it, as a parent clings to some ailing child in whom some promise of life seems to flicker. He had borne all the burdens of its collapse, his heart warmed to the idea of its restoration. It might be only a dream, but it was always with him. Under fresh auspices it might recover; never of course under the old ordering for Belton was already drawing up the deed of the dissolution of partnership between himself and Cleeves. He look hesitatingly at Belton.. "I should wish you to convey my sincerest thanks to Mr. Elmore," he began, and if you are likely to be seeing him-" A short dry cough from Belton interrupted Temple's words. The lawyer's seat faced the door, and he saw it fall slowly open, and the face of Julian Cleeves peer in. "Come in, Mr. Cleeves," cried Belton, as the face was withdrawn. Er—I beg pardon," said Cleeves, entering. There is no one in the outer office, and I came for that paper." "Quite so," said Belton. "I shall have to talk to those rascally clerks, leaving the place to take care of itself," he added, irri- tably. I will find the paper for you, if you will sit down." Then he went out, curtly introducing Cleeves to the stranger, who had already risen as if about to take his leave. When he returned after a second or two's Absence, Mr. Johnstone was holding out his hand in farewell to Temple. "Then you ask a month's conseederation of this matter," he was saying, I am to tell Mr. Elmore? By the way," he went on, putting his hand in his pocket, and drawing out a sealed letter, I must not forget to give you this letter from him. It was half the object of my coming." And placing the letter in Temple's hands, Mr. Johnstone courteously took his leave and departed. That letter is from Elmore ?' said Cleeves, theflush which crimsoned his sharp handsome features. "Yes," said Temple, smilimr with unre- strained curiosity, as he opened the letter; "it must be the promised report of himself. Yes: "DEAR FRIENDS ALL,—This comes hop- ing you are well, as it leaves Yours sincerely, JAMES ELMORE.' "Let me see," said Cleeves, making a snatch at the letter. He read it, scanned the address, read it again, flung it down on the table with a contemptuous laugh, and taking the docu- ment he had come for from Belton's hands, turned on his heel and went out. "Something all wrong to-day with oup Mr. Cleeves," said Belton, looking at the closed door with a, half-amused, half-anxious expression. Can it be this newspaper intel- ligence which is disturbing him ?" So very greatly disturbed," said Temple, as he turned from the window, where he stood reading a bit of paper, "that he did not notice this enclosure in Elmore's letter. So much the better, for it does not concern him." Ah I" said Belton. "Sometbing pleasant for yourself, judging by your face ? "A note for 21,000, as a loan. Read," and Temple placed the enclosures in Belton's hands. H'm," smiled the lawyer, as he read and returned Temple the two papers. "I know all the circumstances. The enclosed note as a loan, my dear Temple, for your use. "J. E." "Ah, good-bye," said Temple, his eyes aglow with glad eagerness. What news —what news for her "Her? "said Belton to himself, for there was no one else to make the observation to. "How curious it is! There is always a her in these matters. Find the woman. H'm! and the bachelor, Mr. Belton, returned to his musty old legalities. But when Temple reached Belvoir Street Norna was not there. He paced the room- sat down—paced the room again. Waited- waited, till the darkness fell- And still Norna had not come home. CHAPTER XIX. I A RECONCILIATION. I By six o'clock next morning Blinker was well out upon the road past Stratford. The cart bowled merrily along away into the hedge-bordered highways of Essex at a. fair pace, for it was well-equipped, and the load was not heavy, consisting only of a few canvas-sewn bales and three or four large deal packing-cases. These were marked Fragile—with great care." "You know what that means, I suppose ?" said Cleeves, who was already at the wharf in the morning before Blinker drew up with the cart, as he pointed to the words. "The contents of these cases are—er—breakable— easily damaged, so don't be handling them as if all your fingers were thumbs. Wait a minute, and I'll lend you a hand with them myself," and very expertly and expeditiously Mr. Cleeves's long white lingers assisted Blinker in the loading up. "Now, then," went on Cleeves, as the last case, a large one, full six feet in length, was laid safely cross- wise on the lower packages. Up with you! Drive carefully, or you'll hear of it again, and take the road by St. Wolfram's, as I directed you yesterday." "'Tan't the nighest way to the Coort," Blinker ventured to object. "All you have to do is to obey orders," said Cleeves, with one of the looks that. quenched Blinker's desire for further argu- ment. Then he turned up the steps and called: "Dickman!" and Dickman, attired in a decent second-hand suit of fustian, a coloured cotton shirt, and carrying a billy- cock hat—all purchased at a neighbouring slop-shop—crept down to the door. "Ah, look alive!" said Cleeves, impa- tiently, "or you won't catch your train, and you've all your day's work to get through. Ye.s, yes. You're safe enough. There's not much of the millionaire left about you. Out you go now," and with the toe of his boot Cleeves started Dickman on his way to St. Wolfram's, where stern necessity guided him to Foxglove Cottage, and into the arms of Poor Nance. It was a strange meeting between the pair, but the man's clumsy endeavours to cheat the woman he had forsaken for so many years were simplified by the gentle, forgiving nature of Nance. The adventures of Munchausen were tame things beside those Mrs. Burgis's husbani descri bed himself as the hero of to his wife; and these were almost outdone by the lying record of how what he called his change of 'art" had come about. Perhaps the alteration in Sam Burgis would have been still more apparent to Nance if she could have seen him but the sight of the ill-favoured countenance, bat- tered And sodden and cunning, was spared her. She pictured him to her mind's eye as the husband of her youth, and his artful ex- pressions of repentance for past errors smoothed the way to his ends in a sp&ce of time which would have been as long again if Nance had had her eyesight. Possibly he would have failed entirely, for Nance was a woman of stern rectitude and common-sense; but her lonely woman's heart easily allowed itself to be drawn by the old ties. Hesitatingly, tremblingly, she nerved her- self at last to speak of Rosie. "Ah, Sam she said—for the significance of the one muttered word escaping him did not reach her as he rose hurriedly from his seat and shuffled to the door-" you knew of it?" He did not answer at once; he took out the red cotton pocket-handkerchief complet- ing his costume, and wiped his face, grown livid. Yes," he said, at last; "I read about it in the papers that we took on board the day before we landed. You could ha' knocked me down with a feather when I read it." "But you did not know she—Rose Hammond—was our child—our Rosie, Sam You couldn't know!" "Oh, no-no; that's only speaking sense," said Mr. Burgis, again sweeping the cotton handkerchief over his moist countenance. "And to think him—ah, Sam—the villain, the guilty wretch, still walks free! What could have been his object?" And the ready tears burst from the poor blind eyes but the man stood moodily gazing into the sunlight, speaking no word. "How strange it all seems," went on Nance, after a long meditative silence. "You know Mr. Elmore's come back from Australia?" Ay," said Burgis, s-lightly turning his head. "He's bin down to St. Wolfram's hain't he?" Mrs. Burgis almqst smiled. Yes, he came here ?" "Came here, did he?" and Burgis's small eyes blinked alertly. "H'm, He don't seem up to much—except the much in his pockets —from all'counts.' "Poor Miss Norna 1 No. 'Tis a sad busi- ness. Do you know, Sam, when he came here the first time, I mistook him for you ? "Me?" shouted Burgis, turning fiercely. His voice, I mean. I could not see birn t" Haw haw! haw roared Burgis. "Yes. He's just got your very laugh you always had, Sam." "Ho, well t" said Burgis—leaving his post at the door, and carefully closing it, he came beside her—"if you and me's to be chipping along the same level, Nance, you'll drop that sort o' chortle, d'ye hear, and speaking all round, you'll be silent in a general way, as your nagging woman's tongue knows how. Fur as I look at it, I'd as soon you was dumb as well as blind, but these blessings an't always in our own hands." I'll do all you wish. Ssim," said Nance. "You know I vowed obedience with my love." Well, all you've got to do is to give up this here dead-alive cottage of yours, and go and take care of Miss Ncrna. Understand? Well, it an't much matter if you don't. That's what you've got to do—saying, of course, that you've the least bit of well-wish- ing for her. Ho. Yes. Well, there's no time for Tootle about that. She's gone mad." Mercy you don't say that! How do you know ?" "That an't to the point now. I do know. I know a.sight you don't suspect. She fancies she's the wife of a man named Temple. Quiet, now. They was sweet on one another. Yes. We know all about that. Next thing, she's took a dislike to the millionaire uncle —haw haw! haw!—and says she: 'I an't a-going to live under the same roof with him.' That being the Grange, for Uncle James says 'tis his, and if he chooses to live in it, he will live in it. But these mad folks have to be humoured, and Uncle James has kindly given the old Chantry for her use- That dreadful place. Why, it's haunted I" cried Nance, aghast. Pah! Who's afraid ?-The old Chantry for her use, and she's to be locked up in it till she gets her senses again, and she's going to be took there to-night. And — and that's all about it. "But-" Ah. Do as yer like," snarled the returned wanderer. "It's the terms you and me's to resume our—our acquaintance upon, You refuse, and this here arf-hour is the last you ever see of your affectionate 'usband. You refuse, and 'tis hard to say the sort of attendant that pore loonatic '11 be getting; for why, strangers an't never to be really trusted. Now, then. Yes, or no? I'm acting, mind, in the instiriks of humanity, and if you can't see it so "I will do as you wish, Sam," said the blind woman. CHAPTER XX. I THE OLD CHANTRY. I NIGHT. No moon; scarcely a star; not a breath to stir the oppressive air. Sullen, heavily as molten lead, the sea lapped up to high tide round the base of the old Chantry walls. A weird, world-forsaken-looking place at the brightest of hours was the old Chantry. There were times when it bore the aspect of a huge monumental tomb slowly crumbling to nothing, and this indeed—if old chronicles spoke truly—it was, for the ground it covered was the actual scene of the murder of Wolfram the Dane, slain for his faith by his heathen countrymen and herein later times the good friars of the neighbouring com- munity dwelling yonder some short mile away as the crow flies, built a chantry chapel wherein to sing masses for the martyr's soul, and to keep his memory green. Then ere long to the little chapel fresh build- ings were added, for the terrible plague broke out at its fiercest along those eastern shores of England, and thither its victims were borne by such of the brethren who did not shrink from tending them. A place of death always the old Chantry, yet it had seen centuries die, and still its walls stood lichen-grown, ivy-clad, but strong almost as ever, and inaccessible on the sea- ward side, where the water at its flow reached nearly to the narrow loopholes of the upper storey. The only entrance to the Slace now was by a small postern, whose oorway had rotted away time long out of living memory. Few had, however, been known to embrace the privilege thus afforded of entering the desolate old pest-house, for its vaulted chambers and stone passages were haunted by the ghosts of the many who had died there, and frequently cowled friars might at dead of night be seen gazing down from the rampart-like walls though some pooph-poophed such tales, declaring that if you had only the pluck to examine the place well, you would find colonies of owls in it. As to the sounds-now of deep moans and anguish-wrung cries, now of solemn chanting and rolling organ notes—what was it all but the echoes and reverberations of the waves as they lashed upon the shore? So the "common-sense" of the countryside talked and jested away the terrors of the supersti- tious; but common-sense and superstitious alike gave the old Chantry a wide berth. It was thought that the knife-grinder had ventured in; he certainly had been see ) perilously close to the place, and the knif. grinder was a boldish-spirited man; but if he had been so foolhardy, no word of the sights he had seen ever passed his lips, unless by chance he had told Nance Burgis any- thing. If he had, Nance was certainly to b( trusted for keeping secrets, woman though she was. Quite a little thrill went round St. Wol- fram's one morning when the fact became known that a brand-new door of stout oak had been fitted to the empty postern. Surely a superfluous piece of work, said everybody but the carpenter who had been ordered to put it up and to make it secure with strong bolts and bars. The order had been sent down from Mr. Elmore from London by Mr. Cleeves. Certainly, said St. Wolfram's, the millionaire could not be knowing what to do with his money to be fixing up that oak door. St. Wolfram's was mostly asleep that dark, airless, moonless night, and there was no sound but the sullen moan of the sea, until presently, as the half-hour after ten struck in the church-tower some quarter of a mile away, the slow roll of heavy wheels grew audible, approaching by the grass-grown road leading to the long-disused old building. By the side of the cart, which was driven by Blinker, walked Julian Cleeves, his sharp, handsome features thrown into relief against the deep brim of the felt-hat he wore, by the rays of the dark-lantern swinging from his finger. Stop here," he said, grasping the horse's bridle, as the cart came up with a jerk by a, broken-down stile. "Ay!" said Blinker, casting a glance forward. There seemed, indeed, to be no alternative but to puB; up, for the rest of the road was blocked with broken boulders and clumps of bramble-grown gorse. Then Blinker waited, stolid and motionless as a waxen ima^e, reigns and whip poised in his hands, while Cleeves blew a long, low whistle, and in response the burly figure of Nance Burgis's husband approached over the slightly- rounded rise of the ground. "You, Dickman?" said Cleeves, in a mechanical sort of recognition. "Now, then-" "'Old 'ard a minute," said the man. "We'll jest square this fust, you being agreeable, Mr. Cleeves. There an't no Dickman here to St. Wolfram's. Burgis is my name, and no other, fur as I see. Eh ? Burgis-that's who I am, and- "And Mrs. Burgis?" said Cleeves, his white teeth gleaming with a mocking smile in the lantern rays, as he glanced towards the Chantry looming in the darkness. "Oh, she's all there," grinned Burgis. "She was willing. Directly I told her who the-the "The invalid lady-" Who she was. Yes, Nance was all right." "Lend a hand, then," said Cleeves, in silencing tones, as he mounted to the front of the cart, and getting inside, threw out one or two of the packages. Then making his way to the back, he put his head through the canvas covering, and signed to Burgis to approach. Steady," he called to Blinker, looking over his shoulder to see that the man was preparing to alight, in order to render his assistance. "All you've got to do is to keep that eye of yours on the horses-Mr. Burgis will help with this case. There's only this top one to move now." And with the a,id of Mr. Burgis's stout arms the case marked "Fragile" was lowered and deposited upon the greensward on the inner side of the stile. That done, Cleeves dis- missed Blinker, with directions to drive on to De Vere Court, deliver the rest of the packages there, and seek a night's lodgings from the ostler in the stable loft. At break of day he was to return on foot to the Chantry. Turning the horses' heads Blinker was soon out of sight, and the two men, leading the smaller packages to take care of them- selves, cai-eitilly lifted the large case, and swiftly bore it across the turfy waste-land towards the little postern. One of the flashes of summer lightning which had been frequent within the last few days broke from the skies and illumined sea and shore as the two men reach the postern and the vicar, hurrying homeward by the glebe field-path, distinctly saw them enter with their burden. The picture impressed him curiously—the dark figures, the long bier-like thing they carried, the black sepulchral structure, within whose walls they disappeared almost ere the flash faded, sent a momentary chill through his blood. Then he smiled his imaginative mood away. He had been r^any a long mile afoot on his parochial duties that day. The millionaire was coming to live or to stay—one said one thing and one another — at the Grange, and it was all in the course of things that millionaires should be cum- bered with goods. Those old vaults would make excellent storage places; for though some portions of the Chantry were in a ruinous state, other parts were as sound as the day they were built; and then—then the vicar smiled to himself-unless he was greatly out in his surmises, there was underground access to the Chantry from the Grange, a fact Mr. Elmore might be aware of. It would be very pleasant, he thought, as he turned in at the vicarage gate, if the million- aire should turn out to be like himself, an enthusiastic archaeologist. Thinking of Uncle James as he appeared at the garden-party, one would not accredit him with tastes of the sort, but appearances are misleading. Think only, for example, of what he had just seen in that flash of summer-lightning. Why, if the foolish St. Wolfram's folk had chanced to see it, they would have declared it was the ghostly re-enactment of scenes the Chantry walls bad witnessed in bygone days. Stealthily, silently the two men bore their burden by narrow winding stairways and passages, in many parts so broken and ruinous that foothold was insecure, up to a remote chamber cunningly built into the thickness of the seaward-facing wall. Denuded of its trappings, it was a grue- some place enough, damp, and crumbling into decay but the broken roof had been hastily boarded in, hangings of modern arras cloth curtained the scars and cracks of the walls. Eastern rugs of rich texture covered the seamed, uneven floor, a table and a few chairs of antique carving were scattered in the neighbourhood of the fireplace, whose coping reached to the vaulted roof. From the point where its groinings met, a bronze lamp hung by long chains, its gleams dimly illumining the immediate space, but leaving the distant recesses in darkness. Just within the outermost fringe of light it cast stood a silken-draped and softly- cushioned couch, and upon this Julian Cleeves and Burgis deposited their burdens, proceeding rapidly but noiselessly to unfasten the broad leathern straps and holdings bind- ing it. So deftly these held it together that, with the lifting of the lid, the sides of the case and its under laths fell gently apart, disclosing the form of Norna! Marble-white, motionless she lay, beauti- ful, calm, save for the pain-wrung lines parting the pale lips. The dark lashes of her closed eyes rested on the rounded cheeks— the luxuriant hair, loosened from its bonds, veiled the contours of her neck. The fingers of her right hand grasped the ruffling torn lace of her cape, as if with some last effort of consciousness she had striven to drag it back when displaced by her frantic endeavours to escape. On the finger of her left hand her wedding- ring— golden symbol of her wifehood— gleamed starlike in the steady radiance of the lamp. As it caught the eye of Cleeves, he stifled a laugh of mingled anger and triumph. Yes," he muttered, as he bent down and listened to the low, long-drawn breathing of the unconscious woman. Then he stood lost in thought, from which he was aroused by the questioning expression in Burgis's countenance. Burgis shuffled quickly across the floor towards the arras covering the wall of the furthermost end of the room, and dragging them apart, disclosed a low, arched doorway, furnished like the outer posterns, with a stout, iron-clamped door. Turning the key, which hung in the lock, he called in a low tone to someone within. Now then," he said; "'ere, look sharp, Nance. I've got to be hookin' it. Ah I this way," he went on, as he seized the blind woman by the wrists of the two hands which she stretched forward into the semi- obscurity, and dragged her on a few steps. Now what's up? he growled on, as despite his efforts she suddenly made & sturdy resistance, and stood with her head attently turned. I There is someone here," she said, You bet," coaxingly said Burgis, casting an uneasy glance at Cleeves. The young lady Someone else," insisted Nance. "Give me blind folk for whim-warns and fancies," said Burgis, again seeking Cleeves's eye.( "There an't no one here but the party you're here to wait on," he added as Cleeves, laying his finger to his lips, turned from the couch, and stealing noiselessly across the tlp'ck carpet, reached the door, and was gene. "Now then, 'tis a wife's fust duty not to be contradicting of her husband. 'Tis jest a lie, and no less, to be saying there's a soul here but me, and her, and you—now then," went on Burgis, as Nance allowed herself to be impelled forward to the side of the couch. Here's this arm-cheer. You sit yourself down in it," and with no very gentle hand he rendered his assistance. "Yes, she's asleep, and you've jest to sit here till she wakes, pore young thing. Mad as a March hare you'll find her, and there's but one way with that sort, and you've your instructions. 'Tis Liberty 'All for you, and —Miss; all but gittin' out. Try that, and you won't forgit it—for why, that the stairs is all broken and to pieces, and that's what you'd be if you tried on that pretty little game. And don't you be making no mistake about who's keeping an eye on yer both. 'Tan't because you don't see who's watching you you an't watched," and Burgis walked to the door. Wei1 ?" he said, impatiently, as Mrs. Burgis seemed about to speak. "Who d'yersay—Mr. Elmore? Oh, well, I an't Mr. Elmore's keeper. Happen he may be coming to the Grange, happen more pro- bable lie mayn't." "Will you be back again soon to St. Wolfram's, Sam ? wistfully asked Nance. "Can't say. I'm just a creecher of—of circumstances." And with this vague piece of information Sam Burgis took his departure. Dawn was breaking in at the narrow lattices of the Chantry room before Norna opened her eyes. She stirred restlessly many times through the night, and moaned like some stricken creature; but the next day brought full consciousness. Poor Nance, wearied out with her long night's vigil, lay asleep in the tall-backed old chair, a naze of pale sunlight enfolding her small, fragile figure, and Norna, scarcely knowing whether she was still dreaming, gazed wonderingly at the familiar face; but dream or reality, the sight of Nance filled her perturbed brain with a strange calm. The past hours had been an age of tor- ture; the fiendish drug had done its work; fearful dreams, myriads of mocking faces —monstrous reptile thiiigs-all the hideous imaginings spawned of such vile concoc- tions had agonised her, and for these to fade at last, and to see the friendly, peace- ful face, worn and sad as it rested there —dreaming, perhaps, of Rosie—filled her with confidence. Surely all must be well. Then she listened—listened for the familiar sounds of morning in Bel voir Street; but there came only the soft surge and fall of the sea upon the Chantry walIs, and she sat up more in amazement than in terror. "Nance," she said, laying her hand gently on the hands of the sleeping woman, what is this? Where am I ? Nance started hurriedly to her feet. ( To be continued.)

QUEEtf VICTORIA AND A BRAVE SOLDIER. Mr. F. Parker, who served with great distinc- tion with Rimington's Guides in the Boar War, has just died at Billericay. He was severely wounded and invalided home to Netley Hospital, and was there when Queen Victoria visited the institution. Her Majesty sat down beside his bed and talked sympathetically with him for some time, then, turning to the surgeon, asked if nothing could be done for him. The answer was that although he might linger his life could not be saved, as owing to the spinal injury he was paralysed from the chest downwards. The Queen was greatly touched, and before leaving the bedside gave the poor fellow a bunch oi liiies-of-the-valley which she happened to be carrying in her hand, and which he ever after- wards treasured. Later he rallied, and was removed to his home in Billericay. On learning of Queen Victoria's death he sent a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley, which the King gave orders should be laid on the coffin. Afterwards his Majesty caused a telegram to be sent to Trooper Parker telling him that his desire in this matter had been fulfilled. ■ i

U iN.LViN JL;S'r;S AJNJJ LIJtJEKALb. I A correspondent recently wrote to Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, drawing his attention to the Duke of Devonshire's intimation that it might be necessary for Free Trade Liberal-Unionists to reconsider the question of returning to the Liberal party, and expressing the hope that the right hon. gentleman would hold out an invita- tion to such Liberal-Unionists to again take their place in the ranks of Liberalism. The writer went on to suggest that the provision of a "golden bridge at this time might prove of incalculable benefit to the Liberal party. Sir Henry has caused the following reply to be sent by his secretary: "Sir,—Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman directs me to say, in reply to your letter, that the Liberal party will, of course, welcome the co-operation, on the fiscal question and on others, of any men who have hitherto supported the Government, but who cannot now follow them in their new developments of policy."

THE VIADUCT ACCIDENT. I The work of removing the wreckage of the collapsed railway arches on the Cheltenham- Honeybourne branch line of the Great Western Railway Company was continued throughout Friday night of last week, and was completed on Saturday morning. No other bodies were recovered, but two of the injured men who were removed to Winchcombe Hospital died during Friday night, making four deaths in all. The two latest victims are James Edwards, of Tewkesbury, and John Smith, the last of whom was driving a steam crane when the collapse. occurred. Some of the other injured men are in a critical condition, but are doing as well as could be expected. Hundreds of persons visited the scene of the disaster on Saturday, and many saw another arch collapse, making four that have fallen. Fortunately, nobody was near at the time.

BOY DESPERADO. POLICEMAN SHOT BY A LAD OF SIXTEEN. A. sensational attempt to shoot a couple of police officers has been made by a Leicester youth named Alfred Chapman. While service was in progress at St. John's Church, Clarendon-park, on Sunday evening, a member of the choir, hearing a noise in the vestry, quietly opened the door, and discovered Chapman and another lad rifling the coats belonging to the choirinen. Chapman was seized, but his com- panion got away. The police were sent for, and the prisoner was taken to the district police- station, Clarendon-park being a residential suburb of Leicester. On arriving at the police-station the accused was asked his name, but he stubbornly refused to give it. Superintendent Nicholson then instructed Poliee-scrgeant Perkins to search him, but the words had no sooner been uttered than Chapman whipped out a revolver, and, exclaiming Take that!" fired at the sergeant's head. Perkins staggered back, shot in the mouth, and ere those present could realise what had happened, Chapman had fired a second shot at a constable named Peberdy. This time, however, he missed his mark, and the officers closed on him. In throwing him to the ground the revolver dropped from his hand. When searched. Chapman, who is only sixteen years of age, was found to be in possession of a burglar's outfit, including a large jemmy, a diamond glass-cutter, a rubber sucker for removing panes of glass, some cartridges, and a silk handkerchief taken from a coat in the church vestry. When charged at the police-court on Monday Chapman showed little concern. He is a strongly- built, intelligent-looking youth, with a Hebraic cast of countenance. He was charged with shooting at the officers with intent to murder them. Sergeant Perkins, with a plastered face, told the story of the outrage, explaining that the bullet entered his face on the right side of the lip and passed out again near the nostril. The Bench remanded the accused for a week. Chapman is said to have been lately reading a number of books of adventure, but his parents had no idea that he possessed a revolver, and they re- garded him as a good lad.

A BISHOP'S RETORT. I Preaching before the Mayo* and Corporation of Blackburn on Sunday, Bishop Thornton said the disorderly debate which followed the election of the Mayor was a thing they should try to forget. Public business was never advanced by excited language and gestures, acid retorts, and stinging insinuations. He was often told that more business spirit was required in religious affairs, but they must forgive him for saying that a more teligious spirit might advantageously be infused into the public business of Blackburn.

mere is an interesting comparison between Lord Roberts and Lord Kitchener, as fighting generals, in the current number of the "British Realm." While the disposition of the two men is wholly different and even at some points antagonistic, the effect of each upon the troops under their command is precisely similac. "Roberts possesses the fascination of the lovable; Kitchener exerts the charm of tne terrible." The words of the late Lord Salisbury, in his eulogy of Lord Kitchener at the Guildhall banquet, are recalled by the writer: "His victory came out with absolute accuracy." Our contemporary justifies by references to Lord Kitchener's work as an explorer and an adminis- trator, his inclusion in its interesting series of "Empire Makers and Keepers." It is probably true, as a great man has said, that Lord Kitchener is as wise in statemansbip as he is in war.

GLUTTON'S FATAL WAGER. To win a wager a lad named Nikolaus Gagano, living in Temesvar, in Hungary, consumed ten pairs of large sausages, 2Jlb. of bacon, and Illb. of bread. He won his bet, but died immediately afterwards. The post-mortem examination showed that the heart had burst in consequence of the pressure of the oVer-distended stomach.

LORD KITCHENER. SERIOUS ACCIDENT AT SIMLA.—HORSE TIlROWI HIM AND BREAKS HIS LEG. Lord Kitchener met with a severe accident near Simla on Sunday evening, resulting in one of his legs being badly injured and temporarily disabled. His lordship was riding home, unaccompanied, from Wildflower Lodge, a country seat about six miles from Simla, and was passing through a small tunnel near the Sanjouli Bazaar when his horse-the charger he rode in South Africa— shied at a coolie who was passing in the darkness, and jammed his rider's leg against a beam, twisting and breaking both bones above the ankle. On seeing what had happened the coolie ran away. When the report that an accident had happened in the tunnel reached the bazaar several other coolies went out and approached the tunnel, but when they heard that the "Great Lord of War was lying hurt within they also bolted. His lordship, who had been thrown from his horse, lay on the ground suffering great pain for half an hour before a fresh body of coolies with a rickshaw passed through the tunnel, and conveyed him to Snowdown, his bungalow, where he was attended to by Colonel Tate and Majors Clark and Greene. The leg was set, and the Commander- in-Chief is cheerful and progressing favourably. The tunnel is not well lighted, and is an unpleasant place to ride through. Lord Kitchener had intended to start on the following day for an extensive tour of the Karachi and Rawal Pindi districts, ending up at the Punjab manoeuvres, but his staff and his servants with his baggage, who were about to leave Simla, were at once recalled, and it will probably be some weekl before his lordship can leave here. There is general sympathy with the Com- mander-in-Chief throughout India, and numeroaa messages have been reeeived. Only a fortnight ago Lord Kitchener's carriage fell over a clifr-ai Simla, his coachman and the horses being killed. Luckily his lordship was not in the vehicle at the time. Lord Kitchener passed a fair day on Monday, although he suffered a good deal of pain, his leg being much bruised. The doctors are hopeful of a good recovery. OTHER NARROW ESCAPES: The accident which has now temporarily dis- abled Lord Kitchener is not the only serious in- jury and narrow escape from death he has en- countered. While engaged in early life as an engineer officer upon the work of exploration La Palestine he and his little party camped at the town of Safed, in Galilee. The camp was invaded (says the Westminster Gazette," recalling the exciting experience) by two or three hundred yelling Moslems, filled with fanatical fury. The situation became exceedingly critical for the little party of Britishers. Both Kitchener and Major Conder were wounded, bat eventually the Governor was communicated with and a retreat to the town was effected. Then it was that Kitchener was discovered to be missing, and the gravest fears were entertained. After a time, however, he turned up covered with blood, having had a narrow escape from a negro who had attempted to cleave his skull with a scimitar. On the same expedition Kitchener had narrow escape from drowning whilst engaged in saving the life of Major Conder, who had gone to bathe in the neighbourhood of Ascalon.

DEATH OF A CHILD PRINCESS. SAD EVENT IN THE FAMILY OF HESSB-DARMSTADI. Princess Elizabeth, the eignt-year-oia aaugnter and only child of the Grand Duke Ernest Louis of Hesse-Darmstadt, and hie divorced wife, Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, died sud- denly on Monday at Skierniewice, in Russian Poland, of dysentery. The circumstances of her death are of a some* what tragic nature. Ever since her parents were divorced, the little Princess would spend part of the year at Coburg with her mother and her grand- mother, the Duchess Marie of Coburg, and the ae- mainder with her father at Darmstadt. During the Czar's visit to Darmstadt the Princess Eliza- beth was also present, and her delightful childish ways won the hearts of everybody at Court. When, after the Czar's departure for Skierniewice, the Grand Duke of Hesse followed at the invitation of his Imperial relative, he, at the express wish of the Czar, permitted the little girl to accompany him. On Monday the Grand Duke, with the Princess, was to have returned to Darm- stadt. During Sunday night, however, the Princess had shown signs of illness, and at eight o'clock next morning her condition was so serious that a telegram was sent by the Czarina te Coburg. Her mother prepared to leave for Skierniewiee imme- diately, but an hour and a halt later the Princess was dead. The grief of the mother is great. She shut herself up and refused to see anybody. The question of the succession to the throne of the Grand Duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt is reopened by the death of Princess Elizabeth. As both the Grand Duke's uncles contracted morganatic marriages, their families are excluded from the succession, and the same applies to the Battenberg family. By right, the throne should go to the present Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, Prince Alex- ander Frederick, born in 1863, who has been nearly blind since his birth. There is, however, a possi- bility of the succession passing to the family of one of the Grand Duke's Sisters.

Lord and Lady Chesham are at their hactina- box at Wansford, Peterborough, for the season. All is now quiet at Fez, and the Sultan of Morocco is disbanding his troops. The Khedive of Egypt has arrived at CaiM where he will pass the winter.