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[ALL, RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MISSING MILLIONAIRE; OR, Who milled Mose Haniinofid ? By M. C. ROWSELL. I CHAPTER XX.-(Continued.) I Miss NORN A she cried. "Ab, no," smiled Norna. "Not Miss Noma now, Nance, but—Horace—Horace," pile broke off. "He said he should be here to-day Hush, dei,rie-Iiii,,Ii I "Oh, but I am positive he intended it. Horace—Mr. Temple-he is my husband, Nance—and all, yes, I want to find him." She put, her hand to her head. When was it —0I1, when was if, ? What is to-day? I went to the wharf to find Horace. This is not the wharf, Nance ?" she went on, gazing wonder- ingly round the walls, illumined by the deepening lines of the sun shining in a cloud- less sky. "This is not the wharf." "No, no, dearie. No," soothingly said Nance, as she groped her way to the lattices and opened them, letting in the pure air. It brought fresh life to Noma's fevered blood. "Yet I hear the rippling of water. Ah!" she cried, joyfully, "it is the sound of the sea. Where am I, Nance ? Nance, where are we? What is this place ? It is-it- Yes, it is St. Wolfram's," evasively said Nance. "BuL I do not know this room," and again her perplexed gaze travelled round the wans and scanned the furniture, "Yet, yet," she hesitated,!for a, room in the Grange had been dismantled by Cieeves and his faithful assis- tant of its chairs and for the fitting up of Noma's pt'ison. "Ah shrieked Noma, as full consciousness (hushed into her brain, "This is the Grange! Who has dared"—a flood of fears stifled her voice, that was laden with agonised doubt—"who has dared to bring me here ? Let me gq, Nance. Open the door. You shall detain me at your peril!" she stormed on at the unhappy woman, who stood trembling and mute. "I will not stay under this roof which that man has III a,-Ie his home. Yes—yes—don't you understand ? This JjJ¡J.t)-- "What man, dearie ?" put in Nance. "James Elmore." "James Elmore!" echoed the dazed woman, "he is not- here. No, my dear, no and this is not the Grange." "Ah, I shall go mad. What does it mean ? I That man upon the stairs V She shuddered. Horace, where are you ? and she rushed to the lattices and Hung her arms far out. "Horace! Horace!" she called across the bine, lightly-tossing expanse, startling the free sea-birds in their flight. "Horace!" she moaned on, turning upon Nance, who strove at last, with partial success, to drag her from her perilous posi- tion back into the room. "Calm myself! Would yon be calm," she demanded, with, a mocking laugh, "if you had been torn from -all thnt vou love?" Something in the silent resignation of the blind woman's aspect calmed the distracted j girl's tempest of words. "Ah, Nance! and you have suffered so. Poor friend for that you are. Surely you are my friend, Na.nce?" she went on, as a shadow of some sudden doubt darkened her face. "Surely you are my friend?" "God knows I am that," said Nance, solemnly. "My dear, if need were, it would be to the death. Come, come!" and, taking Noma by the hand, she strove to lead her to a chair. You must not excite your self so. It is bad for you. For my sake, be calm." "For your sake?" echoed Norna, as she allowed* Nance to do as she would, and, leaning back in the old carved chair, she looked with searching eyes at her blind companion. "Excitement is bad for me? Do you think I am mad? Nance," and a strange light broke upon her face, have they told you that I am mad?" "My dear-" "Ah! Yes or no?" and then indeed the wild, hunted look of despair contorted Noma's features. Yes, Nance, your silence gays yes. And who—>- she checked herself. "No; I will not ask you—not now, for I can- not think—I cannot see—I—'In a glass darkly'- My husband. Ah, love! those were your words—when was it? Last night ? -a year ago. What is to-day, Nance? Thnrsday-yes, and it was on Tuesday that I went to the wharf—and—and She looked long and keenly round the dim dbamber; then she rose and approached the lattice once more. "Ah!" she went on, as Nance guided by Norna's voice, followed her and laid her hand upon her gown. "No you mistake, Nance. I will do myself no harm. There is but one way to suffer—to endure. Is it not so ?—is it not so ? "Ay," sobbed Nance, as the girl took the poor, helpless creature in her arms and kissed the faded cheek. "No," she went on, with a smile that was I- tnore stbå than any tears could be, "I don't think I am more mad than people are generally," and she leaned from the casement as she spoke and gazed down, and upwards, and on every side. "And at least I know one thing—vve are shut up in the old Ch au try," > iI4' CHAPTER XXI. I THE GOOD SHIP "ALBATROSS." I BY the time the leaves began to fade upon the grand old trees of Wolferton, the G ra nge presented a picture of absolute desolation. Once such a cheery place, its hospitable doors were closed, and its shuttered and barred windows were opened only by the gardener's wife for the purpose of keeping mildew and moths and rats and mice at bay. Now and again Cleeves would call when he chanced to take Wolferton way in his rides. He did this, he said, in compliance with the wishes of Mr. Elmore's solicitor. This was in a sense true, since Mr. Belton, iu the course of his interviews with Cieeves or with Temple concerning the Panyer Lane business, would occasionally express anxiety about the Grange. For the present the management of the little estate was, as it had long been, in the hands of a trustworthy factotum, who was answerable to trustees until Norna's coming of age, now so near at hand. All this was in such proper ordering than the mere hint of Wolferton's being claimed by Elmore perplexed Belton. "He cannot lay a hair of claim to the Grange, he said one day to both the partners, when "casually touching on the subject, and that Elmore should so much as raise such a questions surprises me; 1>ut-" the lawyer shrugged his shoulders, and left his comment unconcluded. The point was only one a,mong several which he found irreconcilable with his estimate of this friend from boyhood, and day by day he watched the papers, now hoping, now dreading to read of the million- 1 9 aire's arrest for the crime committed in St. Vincent Street; but the endeavours of the police seemed entirely baffled. Sometimes it crossed Belton S mind that Mr. Johnstone might know more of Elmore, perhaps even of his whereabouts, than he seemed to know but Johnstone, while far from a morose man, had always been imperturable in the extreme, rarely wasting words on any sub- ject, and his visits to Hare Court had been few and brief. One day, however, Belton chancing tc meet Johnstone in Cheapside on his way tc Panyer Lane to see Temple, roundly and directly referred to the police search after Elmore. They will have all their work to find him, I imagine," was Johnstone's comment. It is preposterous I" said the lawyer, indignantly. "Ye think so?" said Johnstone, looking keenly at Belton. "Ye think him incapable of such an act?" I could stake my own life on it I" warmly said Belton. "He is as tender and gentle- hearted as he is brave. Isn;t that your im- pression of him ?" Yes," said Johnstone. "As it is my almost lifelong experience. The puzzle to me is, who could have set the notion of his guilt afloat—cast this mud at him ? Nothing has leaked out on that head from Scotland Yard." "Forby," smiled Johnstone, "that Scot- land Yaird can keep a still tongue when it pleases." "And," went on Belton, more to himself than to Johnstone, the difficulty of con- ceiving Elmore's being the object of any man's malice Ah, mon," rebukefully smiled Johnstone, ye'l I never tell me ye've lived a' these years and not discovered yet that there are twa blooms the wasps of malice love to sting—a clever brain, and a full pouch." Steeds not often yoked in a pair," smiled Belton, in his turn. "Ye have the right of me there," good- naturedly assented Johnstone. "But gould is just the dragon's teeth of our day. The guineas a rich man casts as frequently spring up to ill against him as to guid." "So that you hold that the fool and the pauper have the best of it in this world ? Rout, tout! I'll no be measuring wits with lawyer bodies," laughed Mr. Johnstone. "I meant but to say that James Elmore may have had a wide acquaintance; but for the good-wishers—ah, weel! onyway, he's nae sae oot of luck while he Mr. Belton for an advocate." "And yourself, sir!" "Ah, weel! he might even find a special pleader in me, the sairvice being needed. But speaking in all earnest, Mr. Belton, there's this ye may put in your pipe and smoke to your comprehension—the folks at St. Wolfram's are nane sae ready to speak the good word of Elmore as I find he has won it in London. They've seen him but once or twice, and, speaking plainly, they'll not shed tears if they never seen him again." "Dear me!" said Belton. "Is that so? You have been down, then, to St. Wolf- ram's ? I promised I wad give the place a look- up if I was near by and I just happened to be, and I did." "Ah," said Belton, "I suppose Elmore needs to be known first." It may be sae," said Johnstone and as yet it has been scarcely sae much as a booin' acquaintance." "But/ didn't they sA,y "Ah," interrupted Johnstone, "they seem to have but one subject of conversation—the ghaist- "Ghost?" Of St. Wolfram, whoever he may have been. Some Papish speerit-" Oh," laughed Belton he always begins to be troublesome about this time of the year at the Grange." "And never1 sae troublesome as this year, judging from all 'counts. Now it's to be seen parading the old garden walks of the Grange, now in the park, now he's to be heard in the house itself, now aboot the dark entry of some ruined areh- "Yes; his favourite haunt always." "Now paddling in mid-stream that tra- verses the grounds, and now down away in an old ruin by the seashore." 14 Yes, yes, the old Chantry, a place that the owls and the bats and the guUs have made their own. Gulls-lia, ha!" But strange sounds "Why, yes, indeed; hootings and scream- ings certainly, Mr. Johnstone. Throw in the moonlight as we have it now, and your ghosts are full-fledged." That's what I said. But the bee's in their bonnet, and they're in nae mind to part with it. Coming back to common sense, have ye seen Mr, Temple again ? I "No, I can't think why he has not looked in on me. I am on my way now to Leaden- hall Street to see if I can have a chat with him. Time is running on." "Ah, ye'll make him my kind compliments, and remind him- "That you look to hear from him at the expiration of the month?" "Mr. Elmore will hope to do sae," replied Mr. Johnstone, as he shook hands with Belton and went his way. I The lawyer stood for a moment looking after the well-built, sturdily-stepping figure 1 of Johnstone before it was lost in the crowd. He had never known the man so communi- cative. The clatter of the great city highway seemed to nourish his eloquence better than I the tranquility of Hare Court. On reaching Panyer Lane, Belton found that Temple was not in he had hardly been there for half an hour together for some days, he was informed by the clerk whom he I found-for lack, possibly, of more important demands upon his time—busily engaged in j some profile drawing upon his blotting- J paper. Mr. Cleeves will do," said Belton. But neither was Mr. Cleeves in; lie had gone down to the wharf, and thither Belton repaired, to find the partners together- Temple being hardly recognisable, he was so haggard and pale. The two received him almost in silence. I "I have come on from Panyer Lane," began Belton, as he took the chair proffered him by Temple, and looking up in his face as j be spoke. I—you don't look yourself, Temple," he broke off in anxious tones. ¡ Anything the matter ? I You have come," began Temple, in tones which his best efforts failed to control to cahnness-" you have come about the disso- lution of partnership deed, Mr. Belton?" ''Yes, it will be ready for signature in three or four days, wild-good heavens, Temple what is wrong with you ? For the young man stood the picture of apathetic despair, and Belton turned to Cieeves for elucidation while Temple strove to-frame his lips to answer. "I do not quite grasp the situation," replied Cleeves, with a faint smile. Temple has only just come in, and, as far as I under- stand, he-I am not certain whether I heard —comprehended correctly—but he appears to have—er—lost his wife." "Your wife?" said Belton, gazing in astonishment at Temple. "Yes, Mr. Belton," replied Temple. "I have been married some mouths." "Dear me!" ejaculated Belton, fumbling with his glasses. "This is quite—er—quite a surprise—that is to say—it "He has sprung a mine on us, Belton, hasn't he ?" said Cieeves. And—the lady—if I may ask ? "I married Miss Norna Hatherleigb." "Dear me!" reiterated Belton. "And now-you-w hat- I have lost her." "Rather absurd, isn't it?" said Cieeves, opening his cigar-case, and handing it to Belton. "No, thanks," said Belton, waving itaside. U I don't understand you do not mean that — Miss—Mrs. Temple is—is—forgive me— dead? God forbid said Temple "but she left our home a few days since—the afternoon I was a t your chambers, Mr. Belton—and she has never returned." "Not been heard of since," put in Cleeves, as be flung,, away his lighted match. Isn't that, what you said just now, Tertiple? "Have you communicated with the police —taken measures?" said Belton. "I have done everything. I have never rested or slept since we parted," said Temple, speaking in the hollow, tuneless tones of despair. "And he comes to me at last to confess the charming little secret," said Cieeves. I really do not see how I can be of any use in the matter." "But it is most mysterious," said Belton. Such an occurrence in the heart of a civilised city as a lady "Happens every day, Belton. Little birds tire of their cages, young wives are mislaid or mislay themselves as easily as your umbrella or-your purse, say." "But surely Scotland Yard might help you ? Yes. The Lost Property Office, perhaps," said Cieeves. This is hardly the spirit one would expect you to regard this serious matter in, fr. Cleeves," said Belton, rebukefully. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I sympathise with Temple—profoundly. Stich aciiti-ii-iiiig lady. Such a treasure of all that is desirable. Really, you k ii o "But," went on Belton, knittingliis brows at the callous, smiling levity of Cleeves, "J repeat, it is not conceivable for anyone to be lost, and not the faintest trace to offer itself." What about Mr. Eliiiore P siid Temple, speaking for the first time. The words silenced the airy mockery of Cieeves. "But we are detaining you, Mr. Belton. You wished to consult Cieeves and myself on some point of the deed?" added Temple. "Bless my soul, so I did," said Belton, rousing from the abstraction Temple's intel- ligence had plunged him into and he opened his little bag and drew from it a large folded document. I find that in the matter of the insurance of tile and also on the deficit on the collapse of the-- Temple rose as the sound of footsteps crossing the floor of the wharf was followed by a knock at the inner office door, where the three men were seated. "Dam!" continued Belton, softly, as he cast his eye over the clauses of the document Da,yti-diiiidei, "What is there?" thundered Cieeves, impatiently. "I've got an appointment at my own house this evening, and I shall lose my train. Hurry up, please, Beiton Dam- dunder-- "Log-mine—yes," went on Belton; "and furthermore, having regard to the loss of the 'Albatross,' trading upon the Western Coasts of Africa, and the ship having dis- appeared heyond all reasonable expectation or hope of her being ever again heard of; and furthermore Isn't someone tapping at the door?" asked Belton, peet-iiig over- the top of his paper and Temple opened the door. Yes-what is it?" he said to a man wearing the labelled cap of a special mes- senger. "From Lloyd's, sir," replied the man, handing Temple a letter. "News of the said Temple, as he opened the letter and hurriedly glanced at its contents. She is safe, with all hands on board. Partially wrecked off the Gold Coast. Put in for repairs. On her way home.' What is this ? went on Temple, turning the leaf of the communication- "'Further intelligence to furnish. Please call at once.' Very well; someone will call," said Temple, dismissing the messenger. "This is good news," said Belton, and he rose and folded his paper. "Anyway, this can wait," he went on, restoring the deed to the black bag, and looking up with a smile that was shaded by his anxiety on Temple's account. Yes, it ought to stand over, of course,' said Temple, seeking the sign of assent from Cieeves. Belton, looking from one to the other of the two partners, saw in Temple's face only the light of content submerged in his misery; while in Cleeves's he saw the stolid, waxen impassivity of a handsome mask. And so, like seed upon stony ground, the good news fell. "But there's one thing won't wait," said 1 Cieeves —"going to Lloyd's. You will have to go, Temple. I must keep my appoint- ment." Then I must send someone to my house," said Temple, and lie put his head out of the office-door and called "Blinker!" But there was no answer. "Where the deuce is he ? said Temple, and he called again. "And what the deuce do you want him for ?" demanded Cieeves.' To take a message to my house." He is hot here," said Cieeves, sullenly. Where is he, then ? Ci,iit-. say to a square inch. As Blinker was simply eating his head off in this para dise of a place—I—I put him on a, little private job at De Vere Court, Migson's Wharf has become a sinecure, and so Blinker's hands being idle 'Satan finds some mischief still, began Belton, in the flush,of jocularity occasioned by the favourable shipping intelligence. "I beg your pardon," he went on, sobering under the prevailing sombre influences. J will take your message for you, if you will allow me, Temple," for the good-natured lawyer divined that Temple's anxiety to reach home might be great under existing circumstances. "Provided your 'diggings' are within sound of Big Ben." In Belvoir Street," said Cieeves, "I think you said," he added, and his white face crimsoned uneasily, as Temple turned sharply and fixed his eyes keenly on him. Did you not?" "No, I have never told you my private address," Temple replied, curtly. Someone did," said Cieeves, making rather a sorry attempt at nonchalance. Who could it have been ? "Mr. Samuel Dickman, of 'Ornsey, per- haps," suggested Temple. Oleeves's white teeth closed over his lower lip as he took his coat and hat. Then you are going down to Lloyd's," he said, and with scarcely a word of leavetaking to Belton, he went out. CHAPTER XXII. MR. BELTON'S ERRAND. WITH a parting word to Temple of comfort and of hope, Mr. Belton departed on his err,and to Belvoir Street. The message he carried was to the effect that Temple would be home as soon as he could, business detain- ing him beyond the hour at which he had intended to be back. I Temple meanwhile hastened to the City, where lie learned the latest intelligence of the "Albatross" sent on by a Castle liner. Then, as he had never learned it before, came home to Temple the truth of the insufficiency of mere worldly good fortune for the making of happiness. This stroke of good luck, so utterly unlooked for, seemed like ashes in I he mouth. Sunless and void without Norna, li I (t was a mockery, a vain shadow; it was torture when he thought of the perils to which she was exposed. He had left no channel of information followed up. The aecídent wards of the hospitals were natural ly one and all closely inquired into. At the shop to which Norna had told him she was going with Fraulein Krum's knitting-work thnl day Temple had at once made inquiries, but Noma had not been there. Fraulein Knun was in Germany, staying for a few weeks with friends in Bavaria-a fact in which Temple found consolation, since the distress of the gogd,, kind-hearted woman would only have aggravated his own misery. A hundred possibilities rose up, goading him to semi-madness. Inactivity was unen- durable—to sit down in the little parlour at Belvoir Street, and see the trifles betokening her dear presence—the work-basket, the little framed photographs, and, ah, me! the flowers fading and drooping which her hands had arranged in the little vases and glasses to brighten the small London room were so many more pangs to his wretchedness. The haze of doubt almost blinded his power to reason. Did she know—had she heard any tidings it had been out of her power to communicate to him ? Had any sudden fear ii ri veii her from London—any impulse drawn her back to the-old home." Uoula sue have gone back to the Grange? It might be for safety from some terror—real or maginury only—for peril was in the air. He started up. He would go at once. The last train would' leave at half-past seven. There would be just time. The clocks were striking the hour, and lie rushed out of the house and sprang ijato.a passing hansom, arriving at the station in time to see the train gliding slowly off. It was a long time since Temple had been at St. Wolfram's, and a change of some minutes earlier in departure had been made in view of the oncoming a.utumn months. He turned slowly away, his disappointment none the less keen that-, he had caught sight of Cieeves as he had entered the station, passing at a leisurely pace through the barriers. He returned home on foot, pondering as he went on many things, feeling sure only of one thing, that some deep-laid scheme was in full plav around him and the one in whom all his love was hound np. But, Heaven helping, the meshes should soon be destroyed. Be things as they might, lie determined to start for St. Wolfram's as early as possible next day, but the absence of Cleeves at the critical moment of the return of the "Albatross forbade his leaving, as lie wished, by the first train. The man's selfishness astonished him greatly. Cleeves's important engagements at De Vere Court probably resolved themselves into a billiard match, or a turn at tennis at some neighbouring country magnate's—for Cieeves was a Society man, and regarded as an acquisition, and his plausible nature had been even clever enough to make it seem possible that, despite recent depressing cir- cumstances in Panyer Lane, he might be a catch. It was most creditable in any case 1, L 7LI e that the debts of the firm were squared to a shilling, and Cieeves, who was reported to have '"expectations" from a very wealthy private source, it was known contemplated retiring to live presumably therefore on his means." Temple, however, who had a closer knowledge of his fascinating colleague, was mystified at the cool manner, which amounted to indifference, with which Cleeve., had received the important and gratifying intelligence of the safety of the" Albatross." The additional intelligence at Lloyd's was to the effect that not only was her original cargo intact, but that the value of her freight, had been nearly doubled by some highly satisfactory tranactions along the coast upon which she had nearly foundered. The old story of the mess of pottage, of old lamps for new, had been enacted. Many treasures of the G ol d Coast were aboard the "Albatross," bartered gladly enough by the native population for things comparatively worthless from the civilisation point of view, and surety this was exceedingly satisfactory all round Of this latest information Cieeves, of course, was as yet unaware, and Temple decided, before leaving St. Wolfram's, to call upon him and fell him, little as lie deserved it. And then at that reflection the suspicion darkened in deeper than ever upon Temple that some scheming thoughts so engrossed the man, some colossal speculation filled his wily brain, as to dwarf every other thought. And pondering, hoping, despairing, and pondering again, Temple reached the railway journey's end. (To be continued.) T