Carnarvon and Denbigh Herald and North and South Wales Independent

^^BLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.] THE CROWNING OF ESTIIER t BY MORICE GERARD, tbor of "Misterton" I" cmt Out, The Victoria Cross," "Black Gull Rock," Joak o' th' Beach," "Murray Murgatr^a, Journalist," ato., &o. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER XXXV. I Stephen Fleetwood's waking thoughts the morning! 5K-sr disturbance and the interview between 0rd Alfred Pontifox and Giles Underwood were but pleasant. Giles Underwood had drawn the tension of his ■P°wer over Stephen to a point at whicfh it was abeo- ^~iy ir»Roa £ ible the strain, could be borne. Towards iast it was evident that he did so intentionally, tnd that the rupture which -was thus brought about promaditated. Giles had in fact eome to the ^Wicliinion that Lord Alfred Pontifex would prove 4 l>ot;oi' paymaster than Stephen Fletwood, with- meationing the risk he ran as keeper to the ^tter ot being shot—by accident, of course when- e'er master and man were out on the moors H» ^tl therefore deliberately determined to goad on "j^ephan to commit some aot, which should make breach between them permanent Stephen Fleetwood h&d not to deliberate long, in •the morning air, now that the fumes of tns liquor "e hud drunk had dispersed themselves, to oome to *he conclusion that he had walked into the trap ^iles had ostentatiously s«i for him. As far as Gilo* Underwood was conoorned Stephen Fleetwood had by this time fully made up his mind a course which circumstances were to postpone, but from which he never afterwards deviated. Life "as not worth living; the world was not big enough ^°r Giles and him&elf. Aocording to the creed whioh he had learned from 'the Mexican oowboys, and ^"hich assorted perfeotly with the general bent of his character, either ha or Giles must be wiped "Dut," and that) speedily. His preference pointed to the lot falling upon Giles. How Stephen proposed to carry out his intentions will appear direotly. As to Lord Alfred Pontifex, the other subject of his thoughts, Stephen felt he had made a great istake. There was nothing to be gained by mak- g an enemy there was every reason for seeking his alliance. He had invited him to the Moat House for that very purpose, and when there had been led on by hia own passion to make him an *nemy. Lord Alfred Pontifex, both in Town and in the Country, was able to make Stephen's progress in the lipp.ar ether into which he had reoently soared a triumphal march or the reverse. He had the prac- tical command of the clubs Stephen desired to have thB entree of. and was paramount in the Society in which the new Squire of the Moat House hoped to Both these ambitions had been ruined by the events of the preceding day; and although Stephen Fleetwood could not well have passed over either the words Lord Alfred had used about him, or the act which had accompanied them, he could Cot but feel that the final scene was only the out- come and denouement of many small provocations .which had been going on intermittently all day. Stephen therefore came downstairs beint on an apology to his gueat; but he was surprised and mortified to find he was too late. The bird had flown. To write an apology was impossible, since the ..mende honorable" really ought to have come from Lord Alfred, who was his gueet, and who in that capacity, had acoused his host of cheating. He oould have led up to the matter in conversation, but in writing that was impossible. Over breakfast 0#.ptain Clivers and Up mora hka- Wise announced their immediate departure; and Stephen did not urge them to stay. He felt that the struggle which was impending between himself and his eoi-disant keeper would tax all his energies, and thM the presence of people staying in tho house would seriously hamper his movements. Theyepartd to oa.toh the 12 o'olcck train and no sooner had the trttp whioh conveyed them to the station driven away, than Stephen set out to walk to the keeper's oottage on Nab's Head, the situation of whioh will be deeoribed later. Tbe memory of his former visit to Giles Underwood WM very vividly present in his mind as he walked over the tnoor by the white and winding sheep track. He had not expeoted to find Giles st the oottago. He went in lact to aesure himself that he had gone. He Was right in hie surmise. Tk» keeper's cottage w*s locked up and empty. Stephen could easily have got in by the wiWdow, which was merely letehed and oosid have been foroed without difficulty, but his curiosity did not carry him further. Giles had gone, but his things were still there. That was •all Stephen wanted to know. He would return for those things, and he would chooee night to remove them. All that was of any value Giles would carry himself in a couple of journeys. Stephen argued that his late keeper would prefer this course to seeking assistance, under the peculiar circumstances which amended his leaving. That time of return would afford Stephen Fleetwood the opportunity for which he was waiting. Giles Underwood had not, as Stephen thought, gone back to his old quarters. He was already in iSh-effield. engaged in the questabou,twhich he had spoken in the old Squire's bedroom to Lord Alfred Pontifex. He was, in fact, looking for the lawyer "who bad drawn up the will for Stephen. His reasons for thinking that the man was to be found in Sheffield have been stated before. The first day's search proved abortive. It is not difficult, if you go the right way to work, to get a list of the lawyers who are generally deemed to do the less respectable business of their profession in any. +«own in which you may happen to be. Giles got the names of six or seven, and he spent the first day in visiting them all. None of them, however, confessed to having drawn up a blank will answering the description the poacher gave, and as he intimated that he was willing to pay liberally for accurate information, he came to the conclusion that they happened to be spealdng the truth, on this occasion. Giles went to seek a bed at a small inn, somewhat discouraged. He chose that particular hostelry because he knew the landlord, who had formerly kept a public at Cannwell End. Over a pipe that night the landlord asked him what broug'ht him to Sheffield. "I wanted to find a lawyer," replied Giles. That's not difficult. They swarm about here." I want tho shadiest of the lot that ever swore an affidavit." "Well, there'e one drinking and smoking i' th' bar at this very moment that it would be hard to bent, I should say. mate, in all Sheffield. True, .he's not quite a lawyer, not being on the rolls; but he does more business than the best solicitor in Sheffield and lends money as well. Ho knows law too, mind you. He was a lawyer's clerk before he set up on his own account." "I should like to have a look at him." "Oh, he's not a beauty to look at," laughed Mr. •Griffiths, the landlord of the Wheat Sheaf, what you can see of him for the dirt. I'll ask him in here if you like." Thanks, I should like to see him alone for a minute or two but I can't expeot such a piece of luck as tc find the right man, ready to my band, right under my nose, so to speak." The landlord went into the bar and Gilee remarked to himself, "This is just the cover for a first-class ■rogue; so perhaps the old chap may be the right 'un after all." In a few seconds a very old 'and very dirty Jewish- looking person, with beetling brows, a long red nose, and white shaggy beard, was sbown in. Giles's favourite dog wa« lying down by his side, a huge beast, half Lipurian wolf-hound, half Scotch deer- hound, if possible a more cunning poacher than his master. Pont growled as the visitor entered. He was or an too low class company for the lurcher. G;>od evening, zur: I do not like ze dog. Mr. 'Griffiths did not zay zere was dog." Pont lie down!" Pont obeyed. I call him Pont," Gilee remarked with mild ple-a. santry, snort for Pontius Pilate. No offence to you, sir." Giles ■apologised under the very natural impression that Pontius Pilate was & Jew. "What will you take, sir?" A little vhisky and vater 'ot," wheezed the old ansn. Gites rang the bell and gave the order. My name is Underwood," Temarked the poacher introducing himself. And yours?" ZummeTville." tt "Not it," thought Giles; ''Summerville's much too good a name for you. 1 11 make a bet it is •Solomon or Laaarua." MT. fchimmerville eat down and sipped his liquor -quietly, N sucking it very much as a nian would througli a straw, only Mr. Summerrille had no straw. He th-ereby no doubt got the maximum cf flavour out of the minimum of quantity, a habit he iàad doubtless acquired when he paid for his drinks ihimeelf. I am looking for a lawyer who drafted a blank will a couple of months or so ago," began Gii-iS, plung;n,rf straight in medias res. Mr. Sunimerviile sucked on at his whisky and water quietly, betraying not the slightest sign that he was listening, any more intelligently than Pontius Pilate, whose vast bulk lay aaieep on the sanded floor of the inn parlour. "If I find the man," went on Giles, seeing that his visitor did not respond in any way, even with an eye- lid, I make it worth his whilo." J There is many lawyers in zis town of Sheffield," remarked Mr. Summerville_slowly, with the air of a roan enunciating a material fact in the present dis- oussion. A "I have been to a good many of 'em." Giles etfd not add the biggest rascals I could find but probably Mr. Summerville was able to supply the hiatus for himself. -"They must many of 'em ave drawn up wills." Not the one 1 want. It was quite blank. No faame mentioned." v. Mr. SummeyriHa sucked on for a little while, aDo. p: parendy trying to recall something to his recol- { tectton. Dere is stunting in my mind. Ze man was ferry "^and so me—ferry 'andsome, I tink," and the old man looked sharply at Giles from under his over- ging brows. "That describes mm exaotty," replied Giles, oaiv- lesely. "I see you don't want to make a pound or two, so we shan't close." The Jew bent forward. 'Ow much is it worth, master?" Giles,took (two crisp five-pound notef ont of hie pocket And laid fhem on the table the ends of the netted ifltuck up in an inviting manner. Mr. Summer- ville eyed them as a jeweller might the Kohinoor. Ze man 'e 'ad a mole upon 'is cheek," re- marked Mr. Summer-villa. "Yes, you said he WM & beauty just now," answered Giles. "Zere is beauty and .beauty, replied Summer- vine. Ze devil is beautiful to em people." Well, that is the man any way; beauty or no beauty." "What do you want me to do?" "Put it down in black and white in the presence !of a couple of witnesses." Summerville eyed the notes. "My eyes is bad. I zought they were ten puns. I see now they are only vives. I cannot do it. It is not professional. It was a private tranzaction." "When I have two copies of that paper I epoke of, you shall have a ten pun note for each of 'em." "Muster Griffiths will 'old de»take«?" responded the Jew cautiously. Certainly. Call him in and let him bring another witness; he tnwtft be respectable, you know." Mr. Summerville called the landlord and the latter produced a small tradesman from over the way, who was passed by Giles as sufficiently respectable. The two doouments were soon drawn up and signed. Mr. SinnmerviHe pocketed twenty pounds and a two guinea fee. whioh he insisted upon afterwards for his labours in penmanship, remarking that it was "dirt oh»*p." Mr. Griffiths and his friend were also generously presented by Gilee with & pound eaoh for their trouble. The humour of the transaction almost made the poacher laugh outright, aa it was Stephen Fleet- wood's money which purchased the proof of his own fraud. Giles Underwood slept at the Wheat Sheaf that night, carefully fastening his door over night, in case the fact that there waa money about loose should oause his friend Mr. Griffiths to walk in his sleep. The next morning he went on to Manchester, to gat their version of the affair out of the nurses. One of them was in the Home, the other was out at a case half-a-dozen miles away. Giles had no diffi- oulty with the nurses. They were frightened into confession directly they found how muoh ho knew. Nurse Wreford, who was ^e one not out at a* en- gagement, accompanied Giles Underwood to a| kiwyer — this time ia first class member of the profession — and there drew up a statement which the solioitor declared to be the most remarkable he had ever come aoross in the whole course of his professional experience. It amounted to this: that the signature to Squire Wrottesley's will was undoubtedly her own, but that when she signed the document she had not the slightest recollection; that she was not awake, she was assured in her mind; a.nd that ehe certainly 'had never seen the old Squire affix his signature. That fact alone invalidates the will," remarked the lawyer, pleasantly. Do I understand a large property is in question?" A couple of hundred thousand pounds wouldn't Cover it," replied Giles with placid nonchalance. The other nwrse signed tho same statement of facts readily enough, Giles promisin that no harm should accrue to either of them if he could help it. Again two copies had been made. It waa seven o'olock on Friday evening before Giles got back to Manchester from his visit in search of the second nurse. His first occupation was to do up the papers, one copy of eaoh, and direct tham to Lord Alfred Pontifex at Hydrangea Mansions. In large hand Giles ooncooted with some difficulty the following brief epistle to go with them: — Menzies Hotel, Manchester, August 29th. Your Lordship,—Your Lordship's servant, Giles Underwood, sends these papers whioh the lawyers says settle Mr. Steve's hash. Please your Lordship to look sharp and marry the girl before no one elee does, and please your Lordship 1M your humble servant, Giles Underwood, know at the above where he'll be any time next week. (Signed) Giles Underwood." Giles intended to remain at Manohester until Monday night, then to return to the keeper's oot- tage late to remove the few things he thought valu- able, and to return to Manchester oa Tuesday, Sep- tember 2nd. It was not Giles's faalt that only the first part of ibis programma was swee carried out. CHAPTER XXXTI. Lord Alfred Pontifex returned to Town on Sa. day, August 30th, from Chsreler, his piaoo in Sonth Yorkshire. The few days ha had spent upon his property had only served to emphasize the all-im- portant fact that money was wanted on all sides, and that it was not forthooouag. Buildings ^were in need of repair; rente were ooming down. The outgoings were as great or greater than ever, while the incomings were very considerably lees. Many of the tenants had beea on the Oheveley eeta/te for a long period of years, and they were not slow to remind Lord Alfred of the generous treatment they experienced from his mother, in days gone by. when farming waa a muoh more lucrative employment than it had now beeome. Cheveley was, in fact, full of memories of the late Marchioness of Pontifex, which sometimes pressed upon her eeoond 80n with a foree of ret ,hien. was entirely beyond control. The low rambling old house, sheltered from the moors, by a superb growth of trees, remarkable even in a county notoriously well wooded, had been the residence of the Marohiooess ever since the time when separation became abso- lutely necessary between her and her hueband. Here she had brought up her two sans, rejoicing in and cultivating the innate nobiJity of the elder, and checking the wild tendencies and selfish extra- vagancies of the younger, with the tact of a woman wise, brave, and good. Every room in the house, every walk in the woods, every farmstead on the estate spoke to Lord Alfred Pontifex of his mother and of his elder brother, whom he had always res- pected and feared rather than loved. It was not untii after his mother's death, and his own accession to the Cheveley property, that Lord Alfred had broken altogether loose from the guid- ance- so long exercised over him for good. Now he was estranged from his mo.uer's memory, a stranger to his elder brother, unconscious even of his whereabouts, and the pressure of coming disaster and bankruptcy preesed heavily upon him. Those days of quiet at Cheveley Manor were any- thing but happy ones to its master. It was with the greatest satisfaction that Lord Alfred greeted the dawn of the day whose olose would find him located once more in his chambers in London. Yet those days at Cheveley had not been without fruit. Ho had felt, not for the nrettime, only now more lastingly, a distaste for muoh of the wild life; which had held him bound so long. He had' made up his mind that, with his impending marriage, he would cut a way the girder ropee which had secured him hitherto. The revolution which had distinguished the career of the late Marquis promised to repeat itself in his &00000 eon. But on the forced marriage itself, Lord Alfred Pontifex, in spite of his partial reformation of in- tention, was more bent than ever. The thought that the Wrottisley inheritance would rescue him from the difficulties into whioh his recent heavy losses had plunged him was only a secondary con- sideration. His mad passion for -the girl herself .had only fanned itself into a fiercar flame during the itime that he had been far away from her entourage. jThat his absorbing love for her, which had sprung into mushroom-like existence ia the railway car- jriage as they journeyed to London now nearly two jmonths ago, was very insanity he was ready enough jmonths ago, was very insanity he was ready enough ;to confess to himself, or anyone else: but like all iasanity it held him bv bonds which laughed at jreason and scoffed at the control of will. In the | solitudes of the Oheveley woods the form of Caro- line Wrottisley came ever before him. supple, em- bracing, luxurious as any cedar growth, alluring aa some Will-of-the-wiep. What would he mot give to have his arms round her, to feel her kisses upon his lips, to mould her body and soul to his sovereign will That Caroline would resist at first Lord Alfred jknew positively. But he did not doubt she would jyield in the end; and then—the goal was worth the [effort indeed. Gustave had been sent on beforehand. He met |Lord Alfred at the front door, as the hansom con-1 taining his master and his master's more personal! [belongings drove up to the door of Hydrangea. Mansions. A letter for you, sir." Gustavo handed him the 'epistle directed in round-hand, which Lord Alfred [at once guessed came from Giles Underwood. A whisky and soda and a biscuit. Then take (the hansom and bring Mrs. Butterfield here, if !she is in; if not, leave directions for her to come !on at once." These were the directions which fol- lowed a hasty study of the documents the letter [contained. Gustave provided the refreshment and departed !Ith the celerity of movement which was one of his consummate attractions. An hour and a half passed before he returned. << M.rs" Butterfield, sir, is in the breakfast-room." Show her in here." Mrs. Butterfield came in, profuse in her apologies for the delay, which had been occasioned by her ibeing out whan Gustave first came for her. Lord Alfred waved them aside. He despised and [disliked the womfn, although he made use of her. I You have arranged for Miss Wrottisley to be at your house on Monday, I presume?" Exactly so, my lord." "You think there is no doubt she will come?" j '"Not the slightest. She takes the greatest in- terest in my pursuits, and^ Mrs. Butterfield smiled a sly deprecating smile. "I have written to tell • her sho is to bring a latchkey, as I shall probably keep her later than her usual hour." I am sure you have made the beet arrangementa possible," replied Lord Alfred, coldly. This woman's eleek sinfulness. was more than usually ottensive to mm to-day, tresh from Cheveley and its influences. Now I wish you to understand," Lord Alfred went on. that I mean seriously." Mrs. Butterfield raised her eyebrows. I mean marriage," Lord Alfred answered to the question thus put by gesture, emphatically. In fact, when the ceremony is over, any need I may have had for your services will have lapsed. I shall therefore hand you over a sufficient sum to bring you in an income which will supply your needs." "To what amount?" One hundred and fifty pounds a. year. Then you intend, my lord, to get something by the transaction besides a. wife, I suppose? Most wives taken by themselves would be dear at a cost of one hundred and fifty a. year to be paid on a good life. Mine is an excellent life, my lord." That is my business. As 'to your life, that is youre. You are stout, Mrs. Butterfield; and etout people, I need not remind you, oscillate M a rule between the Scylla of heart disease and the Charybdis of apoplexy." Mrs. Butterfield moved uneasily in her chair. Lord Alfred returned to his instructions, after having inflicted a sting which he waa aware would rankle. You will dine on Monday at a few minutes before six. Towards the end of the meal Miss Wrottisley will "feel fatigued and will probably require a little sleep. Take care that the sleep is not too sound, Maria, please. When Mitt Wrot- tisley awakes, she will find herself a prisoner." Lord Alfred paused. Yes, e And then?" "She will remain there until she eoneente to marry me. I shall procure the necessary licence on Monday." MM. Butterfield retired, feeling JB150 a year already jingling in her pocket. CHAPTER XXXVII. Ever eince that lunch with Coutanoe, my re-1 lationship with him ha.s totally changed. We ue I on quite a different footing from the one we were on before. I can hardly be.ieve now that I am the same Caroline Wrottisley who oame to the studio as "a hired model" only half a dozen weeks ago, er that ho is the man I admired and feared with the same breath of life. With tho thawing of Contance's reserve, I stepped at once, not indeed into t.he facts of his past or thai secrets, if he h any such, as I cannot doubtf hlSI life and story, but into his inmost feelingB-into the real sentiments of his many-sided character, and into the depths of a nature which is QA; deep and wido as the ocean itself. Reginald Storey has known Coutance for years; yet. he does not know him one tithe ae well as I do, who had never seen him tt couple of months ago of that I am absolutely certain. What is the key which has unlocked the eecret chamber—which has thrown back the shutters and let in a flood of divine illumination where before there was obscurity and gloom, if not absolute dark- ness? There is only one such key, and its name is Love. And the key fits the lock; the wards are delicately framed; but not more so than their com- plement. Coutanoo lov me. as I love him. He has ner told me so, nor I him; but we feel it in the touch of each other's hands, we see it in the dream light of Mob other's eyes, we inspire it in the very breath we breathe, when we are together. At night I cannot sleep for my thought They force themeeives upon me and Ibaniah drowcineea. And when I sleep, I dream. And my dreams I would not tell to myself, when I am awake again, lost I should blush at their open confidence*. I am eighteen. The stress of life hall been upon me. I have faced the harshneM of isolation, and the pangs of homeless despair. Now I feel that the ocean breakers are past, the shore is near, the friendly shore of home, the haven of a life-long rest is in sight. I eon weary enough at times to lay my head down on his broad chest, and just rest there quietly. It is curious how feelings outstrip the march of time, rapid 808 it can be when it chooses. I can hardly believe that only ø. few days have elapsed since Coutance showed me over Ennismere, and I was jealous about the flowers, and I went home to hear the denouement of Polly Hedger's love story. Yesterday was Sunday, the last day of August— the most eventful month I have ever epent in my life, eventful in feeling if not exactly in actual incident—I suppose July was Polly, and Tom Borrow came to spend the day at Haj*erst-one Place. They amused me very much. Mr. Borrow, although ll in his Sunday things—white waist- coat, check trousers, and button-note bouquet, juet the same as on the day that PeAly fehed him, like a gudgeon from a pond, out of the eooloenre, as I call the back garden-laed got over his first shyness and 'Was very "spoony," lolling over Polly's chair, fiiling her glass, looking at bar wi&k great oalf eyes, as if thece had never been suok a marrel created, nor ever would be again. » he look as if be was ffoing *o eat asked Polly with a laugh of ooneotoue po—nwion. I thought of her former simile of the rabbit, but did not deem it an opportune noaent to retaind her of it. "Yes," I said, "he thinks yem wfcat yon are, PollY-4 tempting morsel." Mr. Borrow looked very pleased at my remark. "Yes," he answered, "I don't mean other folks Lo see so much of Polly here as they have done. I have made her promise to give up the Pamphfflto*. I am going to set up a stage for her." She'll be primer donner there, I reekon," following up the faxniiiar illustration with apm»♦, remarked Mrs. Hedger. "She'll be primer and secundor and everything else," answered Mr. Borrow, who was familiar with the pure Latinity whioh thrives in th* clerk's room in a lawyer's office. "Perhaps when Miss Wrottisley how well Polly dances on the private wire, be think- ing of a theatre of her own," put ia Mrs. H.dcer, who was still unduly exhilarated at her "bonne fortune." J. had come to the conclusion that Yr. TOM Borrow, trustworthy and capable clerk as no doubt he was to the firm of Shopter and Sparrow, was not likely to- introduce an undue amount of ultra refine- ment into the Hedger family. Now that the talk had veered rouod to my own prospscts I took the opportunity of retiring, and spent Sunday afternoon in reading the Book of Esther—I am ashamed to confess I Wve never read it all through before—while Mrs.Hedger slept aftd Tom amd Polly alternately embraced one another, and ate almonds and roieine. I could hear them embracing while I %v&6 reading Esther, and the old-world stoa-y was curiously illustrated by the bursts of nineteenth- century hilarity and affection. Coutance must have used very considerable imagi- native power in depicting Polly Hedger as Vashti— but then she was only platonically eaga^ed to Tom Borrow. Now the feat would be impossible. Next morning I went as usual to Ooutanoe, and I am afraid I deeoribed to him the scene between the lovers in such a way as to make us both laugh. I had not put on my Esther robes for a week. In fact, very- little painting had been done, and thM only of the accessories of the great picture. I had watched, and Coutance and I had talked, then VÆ had lunched together, and eat out in the garden afterwards, sometimes alone. Hut to-day Coutanoe wished mo to put on the Queen's drees, and I did so. It was a bright sun- shiny day and be wished to oatch the effect of a toned sunlight upon the figure. "Come this way, Miss Wrottisley," be amid when I entered the room in my sweeping robes. I obevedj and he placed me under a beautiful stained glass window. The long glass waa in such a position that I could just see the mellowed gold of the sunlight shining through the colouring of the window upon my brow and hair. Now the diamonds," he said. Do not move." Coutanoe went to the cabinet and took out the tiara, a.nd came back to me. I was prepared to kneel, but he would not let me. Stand please." The painter was standing facing me as he plaoed the diamond corona upon my brow. I oould 8e8 it sparkling with dazzling radiance as Ooutanoe piaoed it upon my hair. Do you know what Esther means?" he said. No! Does it mean more than other names 1" It means a star. The name was never more appropriate than it ia to-day." His arms WNe up, placing the corona m its posi- tion, which did not seem so aasy a matter ae usual. At any rate, it took him longer. We were looking into each other's eyes. I oannot quite tell what happened next. When I oan recollect events more exactly, I felt he was me. I rested my head upon his shoulder and a world of love, of satisfaction, of passionate emotion swept over me. Then I steadied myself and moved apaet from him. I did not mean to do that," he said, "i never knew my will give way before tbat. You have mastered it, Caroline." How bad he learnad my name? I misunderstood him for a. moment, and a bitter pang shot through my heart. I oonld eee in thai great tell-tale glass that I was very white. Forget that you said it," I said proudly, think- ing he regretted having giveai way to his Ion for me. How can you misunderstand he replied reproachfully. "Do you not know that I have meant to ask you to be all the world to me? Only it must not bo hers. I must oome to you. There is much to te 11." I do not wish to hear any more," I eaid, and I nestled down to him again. Coutance smiled. "You do not even know my name. Yea have nothing to call me by exoept my painter's pseu- donym. Yet you are content to take everything about me on trust. How do you know I have not a wife in every quarter of the globe? You were jealous the other day, you know, of Louise Bre- teuille." "How do you know, Your face tells its own story whs/their you will or no. It is no credit to you fair girls to be honest. You could not deoeive anybody if you were to try." I pouted like a scolded school-miss. You think you know too muoh." Then he kissed the pout away again. How strong his arms were about me Would they be there always protecting me from every breeze and current on the ocean pf time? Bruin was standing by us, wacipioe his £ rea< tail' r-