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PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

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PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. THE CROWDING OF ESTHER By MORICE GERARD, Author of "Misterton," "Oast Out," "Tho Victoria Cross," ''Black Gull Rock," "Jocko' th' Beach," Blurray MLu'gmroyd, JourDalIst," &c., &c. [COPYRIGHT). CHAPTER XIX (Continued). The valet and the lady were evidently no st-angers. Mrs Butterneld was a comely middle- ged person who had once been an actress, but retained httle truce of her previous profession except in absolute sang froid. She haJ a lady-hke manner and a soft, silky, almot sleepy way of talking which completely deceived the multitude of the unwary. Mr. Butterneld was the p)iid partner in a large pro- portion of Lord Alfred's wickednesses, and it was she who had driven with jbim in the hansom past No. 7, Haggerstoue Place on the evening that Caroline Wrottisley first took refuge under Mrs Hedger's hospitable roof. Give Mrs Butterneld a chair.'Gustave.' The Belgian obeyed aud the lady sat down, smoothing down the folds of her silk dress as she did so, an action which was habitual to her. Site was fashionably attired, and might have been making an ordinary morning' call. As a matter of fact, however, she had come on business, by appointment. I sent for you to hear what you had done since I saw you last. It must be a couple of weeks ago.' 'I have done as you told me, keeping a careful eye on that girl, Caroline Wrottisley, to find out what her movements are, what friends she has, and her general habits of life.' Mrs Butterneld said the words as if she were repeating a lesson. Well ?' Her chief friends seem to be Mrs Hedger, with whom she lodges, her niece, a fine healthy girl.'—Lord Alfred here broke in with an exclamation which was not polite. As if I didn't know,' he said, wliat Polly Hedger is like, a jolly sight better thau you do. Of course, she is in the chorus at the Pamphylhon." Mrs Butterfield took her rebuke mildly she had in fact expected it. Beginning in that way was only this astute lady's way of leading up to something more important and startling. What male friends has she ?' injured Lord Alfred, searchingly. He was more gone on this girl than he cared to confess, and the demon of jealousy which bad been asleep for years had already shown signs of wakefulness. Mrs Butterneld, who knew Lord Alfred Pontifex's human nature pretty well, was amused at the serious- ness of his last grand passion. I was just going to tell you, when YOl interrupted me just now, that hel" friendship for JHiss Polly Hedger has led Mias Wrottisley to take a decided step towards earning her own living-. She has, in fact, adopted a new Is she to star it at the next comic opera ?' Mrs Butterneld said her next sentence slowly and impressively so that each word might have its due weight. Caroline Wrottisley has turned artist's model.' Lord Alfred bounded out of his chair and made use of an exclamation which was anything but Parlia- meiitflry. How do you know ? Are you sure ? Why wasn't I informed of this earlier ?' -I o)dy knew myself a couple of days ago. I found out that she went with Mrs Hedger to a house on C!ap)r)m Common; but as the station was BrixtonI imagined——— You imagined?' Yes, I imagined, and so would you. that Mrs Hedger was only taking her to her brother's who lives in Connaught Road—and as a matter of fact they both did go there. But when I found that the young lady went every other morning, I saw there was something' more in it, so I followed her.' What you ougM to have done at first.' 71 I know that nov. Well, she went to a house called Eumsmere, just off the Common. I made some in- quiries in the neighbourhood. Site was there two hu'n's—and I found out the man who lived there was a palmer.' Lord Alfred WM beating a tattoo with a paper knife on the table. What is the fellow's name ?' I had some difficulty in finding that out five out of six people in those suburban neighbourhoods don't know the names of their next door neig'hhours.' But I suppose you did find out?' snapped Lord Alfrecl Yes, I got hold of a postman after having sounded the tradesmen in vain. They all said the manservant bought in, and paid ready money, and the goods were always sent to his name, which was Brook. I happened to meet a fresh man delivering letters. I knew very well he would not tell me who live at Ennismeee if I asked him straight, so I made up n etory——' I don't doubt that.' Mrs Butterneld went on unheeding So I made up a story that I was on the Committee of the Charity Organisation Society that we had a distressing case of a clergyman in need, but that we were making enquiries, and that 1m had referred us to a gentleman living at Ennismere. I had, however, for- gotten the name of the owner of the house and come away without a memorandum.' You always do go such a round-about way. Probably if you had asked the name straight out, the post would have given it to you. You look much too innocent to he up to any mischief.' Mrs Butterneld smoothed down her gown and replied in her blandest accents, I hope I do.' Lord Alfred laughed outright, in spite of himself. Come now, that won't do with me, Mrs Butterneld, you know.' ? ?) ?'? ? Coutance.' Bosh An assumed name. The postman did you. i know all the artists who can paint at all about Town by name, and Coutance isn't one of 'cm. Of course the postman was larking with you.' He showed me a letter with the house upon it, and I have since ascertained that Folly Hedger has often posed for him, and that he dosen't sell his pictures.' How did you find that out? From Mr Hedger. He very kindly helped me when I slipped, getting' off the step of an omnibus. I related to him the story of the poor clergyman, and he told me all about Coutance.' Lord Alfred looked at Mrs Butterneld with genuine admiration. pity you were not born a man! You might have been anything from an ambassador to a detective.' Mrs Butterneld looked pleased. I am going away in a few days. You must keep an eye on the girl, and if you can get into her confidence I shall expect the little affair to be ripe when I come back to Town in a month's time.' As Mrs Butterneld rose to go she said: I want money, Lord Alfred.' By Jove, so do I. I was never so tight in my life. I have dropped a oeol thousand this week. Well, here's forty pounds. Spend it well. Good-bye.' And the benevolent lady departed. CHAPTER XX. After the first visit Mrs Hedger made no demur about mygoingtoEuiiismere alone. In fact, as I thence- forward went in a morning, the objections of the most rigid of chaperons would have fallen to the ground. My hours were from eleven-thirty to one o'clock. At the end of that time Coutauce disappeared and lunch was served for me alone by the silent Brook,' as I nick-named him in my own mind, girl fashion, in a little room close to my dressing-room. I then returned straight to Islington. Coutaace was still engaged on the panel upon which he was painting the portrait of Esther first, before trans- fen-iug her bodily, if the nrst conception was approved when finished. to the larger canvas. The painter seemed to me f}uieter and more reserved Mi the morning sittings which followed upon that pre- liminary visit. During the iirst of these latter he said tome: I ",m afraid standing on that pedestal must be dull work for n, young and active-minded lady. I do not know how I can lighten the monotony for you.' I should not hI7d it so if I could see you paint,' I replied. I a.m afraid that is Impossible; as Esther, In my ?GRigu, must appear in proiile.' At the further end of the room from the canvas, near to the door by which the studio was entered from the gallery, there was a verv large mirror swinging in a ?hogaDv frame large enough to reflect the tallest man "'omheadtoheel. Could not that mirror be so placed that I could see You a.t work e' Y (S, I nver should havethoiightofit/Coutance t'Mig for Brook, and together they placed the mirror in Position. "Will that dor' questioned the painter as he wunt "?ck to his work I should not have thought the sight Ot mv brush work much less dreary thau th3 wall-paper you were looking at before.' t tlid not reply I was not likely to tell him that fh,e;t(ly the very sight of his grave, dignified, Impressive ?ee had a fascination for me for which no reasoning Acuity of mme oSered the faintest solutiou. Coutance painted, as soon as the actual brush woei: ? taken in hand, in his shirt sleeves, with the right s?eve rolled up to the shoulder. He apologised for this. at the commencement of my second sitting, saying that it, had grown to be a habit with him in very hot countries, and that lie found now that it had become so Much second nature that ho only turned out inferior stuff with hjg covered. -Had Coutance striven after effect, he could hardly ??e designed anything which would produce a greater. ?et nothing was further from his thoughts. tt wn,s the very limb of my pictured Hereward, as lie cuu Ins way sword in hand through the Normau men-at- arlllS, bearing Torfrida aloft out of the reach of their craven attack. Muscular, nervous, capable of carrying ouu the commands of a hero spirit, T watelied the subtle OVements of those vigorous muscles from which the ??_?ins stood out. in the gl:tss opposite me, hour ?''er hour, and thought that here was indeed a man. ? ? girl like myself, witli the full red .blood coursing irough her veins, with the strong young limbs trained o health and exercise on the rough heather-covered "s of my native Derbyshire, with a capacity for Passion, as yet wholly unstirred, part of my very being, jeL dormant as buttterny in chrysalis, the virility of ? ?n as this had a. wondrous charm which mingled its essence with the more spiritual influence of mental power and moral strength, and made together a Rood of Irrestistible attraction. strong' enough to sweep away the barriers of womanly reserve within, however much the outward semblance of a calm which was as fictitious as the slumber of an active volcano, might bo retained by the mere force of will. No. Looking at Coutanee painting was not a weari- some monotony. On the second morning of these sittings came a sharp knock on the panel of the door through which Mrs Hedger had made her appearance on the occasion of our first visit. Come in, Reginald—' a second's pause—' No, stay where you are, I'll come to you.' 'All right, old fellow.' Brain had risen up to the height of his majestic clmine stittire. He now to the door and gave It short slmrp bark, evidently a welcome perhaps, too, a protest that a friend should be kept on the nether sida. In that one second of pause between the two sentences of contrary direction Coutanee had looked at me. The come in' had been involuntary, the result of long habit. The stay where you are was the result of that glance at me. I had never realised until that moment that artists have friends, who enjoy the right of the run of the studio as a matter of course. That knock, familiar and and distinct from that of a servant, recalled Polly Hedger's remark about a particular friend of Coutanee's -I had forgotten his name—who yet knew nothing of the painter's actual identity. Pride and shame rose up within Die after al) I was a paid mode); although the pay was three times that which would be given to a professionaL and conyeyed in such It that the finest delicacy in the world could not possibly be outraged. Why should I be ashamed of the fact ? 1 had forgotten,' he apologised. That is my friend Reginald Storey. He has the run of my bouse generally. For the last three weeks he has been at the sea. No doubt be came back late last night or more probably this morning. If yon will excuse I will go and speaktohim.' Coutanee held out bis hand to me to assist my descent froll the pedestal upon which I was standing. That was a ceremony he never omitted. What a stalwart arm it was, and bow small my hand in his To-day I felt mine tremble. Did he give my just the very least pressure of assurance nnd encouragement? I felt I ought to say:'Please ask your friend but I could not. Coutanee handed me to an easy chair, and gave me the morning paper, while lie went out to talk to Mr Storey. I could bear their strong clieery voices inter- spersed with some merry laughs coming from the gallery outside. Somehow their friendship made me feel more utterly alone than I had done any time since the old Squire's death, more than I had felt even in church that Sabbath evening. CoutHnce had wonderfully kina to me, too kind, yet what was I to him compared to this friend who had suddenly slipped in as it were between us, effecting an eclipse of the sun complete and final. I w::s not feeling very well that morning. It was a specially hot day and the train I hnd come by (third-class) had been unusually crowded. I only say this as a feeble excuse for what followed. Now one knows better than I do, that every woman will say what a weak fool I was. Perhaps the men will judge me with a lesa harsh COlltance came "back, I was He came in suddenly before I knew he was even at the door. There was a great sob in my throat so that I could not apeak to him. But I knew, I saw 111Y tears, tlmt he wail anything- but v.Mtt out of the room again. I thought he iN-ts uagry. I knew the always got very angry at the sight of my tears, on the r,u'e occasions that hc ever saw then. He always mpped his stick more than ever, and said something especially cynical. In a, few minutes Contfmce hack. By that time I had dried my eyes :fnd choked my sobs. I had even stepped on the pedestal to express my penitence in the way by showing that r was ready to go on with my allotted task. Coutanee held in his hand a. smalt bottle and a wine glass. He put them down on the side-table by the door and came up to me. 'Why did you get up tl-,ere P, Then lie held out his band to help me down. There was no mistake about thepresurethistime. I looked into his eyes. Bruin, who had gone out and returned with him, was standing by, very slowly wagging his great bushy tail from side to side. There was something of the same look in both their eyes, although the man's were blue, and the dosr's brown It was sympathy— true, unfeigned sympathy—almost affection. Coutanee led me to a seat on a sofa—not the chair where I had been sitting' before. Then he poured me out a brimming glass of bright, exhilarating, cbam- pagneofsomerareandoostiyvintage. 'Esther in tears" he said very kindly. That will not do at all. You have forgotten the concep- tion. She was to be brimful of hope and expectant I replied, before I knew I was saying it. A minute later I would have given the whole world, if I had possessed it, to recall the words Esther had the king. I have no one in the wide world.' Coutanee paused before he made any reply. No sooner were the words out of my month than their meaning, the likeness of Coutanee to Ahasuerus. their lack of maidenly modesty, rushed over me like a nood. The hot crimson blood suffused the surface of my body, until I felt that every limb was dyed red down to my very feet, which I felt gratefully were covered beneath the royal robe. CHAPTER XXI. There was no more painting that day. As far n,s the picture was concerned, it was a day wasted. As far as the painter and myself were concerned, the human living drama, as compared with the canvas representation of the old-world story, that morning was a milestone. I never taste champ!; gne without thinking of that nrst glass I had at Enmsmere, the very elixir of a life hitherto totally unknown to me. Even Coutance seemed henceforward to recognise some subtle bond between us, something more than the relationship of painter to bis pltid model. I heard afterwards the story how the friendship com- menced between Reginald Storey and Coutance-but not from the liltter. Coutanee had set up n. studio in Cabul of all places in the world, the capital of Afghanistan. Storey was out there on a shooting expedition. One day the painter was strolling through the bazaars unarmed. Suddenly there came a great cry, which increased in volume momentarily, a babel of all tha dialects and lan- guages which congregate in an Afghan city. Coutance was looking at S011l," nllgree work in one of the bazaars. The shouts soon brought him into the open street. This was what he saw :—People Hying in all directions screaming shrilly then, in the midst of the street, a swarthy white-turbaned tribesman with a scimitar in his hand reeking with blood, and a. wild, frenzied face. It was a Pathan running a-muck,' as it is called in the East—that is, tilled with a wild thirst for indis- criminate slaughter, perfectly insane in the belief tliat the pathway strewn with slidn victims is the surest and quickest road to Paradise. Close to Coutance. w::s an Englishman, who was evidently quite at sea as to what it all meant. Over his shoulder he C!trrlea fowling-piece but had not had time or more probably grasp of the situation to use it. The infuriated Pathan made for him with it savage bound and a shriek which apprised the Englishman of his danger, but not in sumcient time to enable him either to meet the attack or to avoid it. Coutanoe was quicker than the Pathan. He Run.? himself between the frenzied man and his victim. There was a struggle of nerce but brief duration, the two men swaying from side to side of the narrow street, the painter innnitely stronger naturally, but the insanity of the assailant lending a force which almost equalised the two. A snap ?he Pathan's arm had broken in two places. The scimitar fell to the ground the next moment Coutance had him on the ground and held him until some soldier police came up, bound the murderer, and carried him off to the summary trial and execution of the East. The rescued Englishman was Reginald Storey. Their friendship dated ri'-oiu that incident, and ever after par- took of the warmth incidontd to such a genesis. I merely tell it as showing what Contance was, how be was likely to strike a woman who, above all things, worshipped physical power in man, and also to make clear that when I likeued him to Howard in my own mind, the comparison was not.. wild girl's tancy, but had a sober substratum of :,cÜmllikeness. On the evening of the a.me day that Mr btorcy re- turned, which occasioned the incident before related I was sitting in my room at Mrs Hedger s when the latter knocked, and, having obtained permission, er.me in. George Forbes has come, and would like to see you, Miss Wrottisley.' ? r <. I was thinking of the morning scone and of Loutance. I stared hard at Mrs Hedger, unmindful of manners. 'What, forgotten all about him f' I had to confess I had. Yet George Fo-bes had made me the only oner I had ever had in my life. Such is human, or shall we say feminine gratitude. Forbes is the porter at King's Cross Station who brought you here.' Mrs Hedger-s reminder was given in tarter tones than she was wont to make use of. -ha thought I ought to have l'eme11lk.'ecl; and of course she did not know how full my mind was of other things.. I felt rebuked and humbled. Oh yes, I remember him quite well. it was on y his name,' I added apologetically; 'you see I only heard it once. Please show him in: J shall be very pleased to see him.' Mrs Hedger gave a little snort. Mv answer had not succeeded in quite mollifying her. I Humph I heard her mutter as she went out of the room. I shouldn't have thought you had so many friends that you need have forgotten one who stood uy you when you hadn't any. The mention of the porter recalled the circumstances of my nrst coming and brought the cloud which ac- companied the thought of Lord Alfred Pontifex upon me. I had tried to forget all about the latter and had almost succeeded. Mrs showed the young man in. He certainly was a very tine specimen of the genus man; but I had grown critical oilate. He would not have stood much chance, with nil his stalwart strength, against that nervous which I han. only that morning-, and which was wonderfully in my memory still, as though it were in front of me. George Forbes stood before me, twirling his hat in his hand. I pointed to a chair. I am very pipped to see you. Will you sit down, Mr Forbea? Why have you not come to see me I tried to compensate by the warmth of my welcome for the guilty consciousness which possessed me. and which MrsHedger had emphasised, in her own blunt way, tkat I bad forgotten his very existence. which MrsHedger had emphasised, in her own blunt way, tkat I bad forgotten his very existence. I am aft-aid that, in spite of my remonstrance at his non-appearance at No. 7, Hag'g-erstone Place, whose shelter lowed to him. I was aware that even now I did not know what to SHY to him. George, however, relieved me of any diSlculty on that score by going' straight to the piece of intelligence he had come purposely to communicate. He went off by the train this morning for the North. I thought you might like to know.' My understanding was quick enough now. There was a lady on the platform to see him off, and my mate who put his luggage into the compart- ment heard him say to her, Mind you keep a sharp eye on that girl, and write me if there is anything to tell. You know the address.' I turned very pale. Yes,' I said, George, I feel sure that was meant for me.' own way. Quite unintentionally I had stirred two masculine sympathies that day. It mightn't have been you, Miss, the gentleman meant. Bless you he's just the man to have lota of girls on the hop, as you may say. Anyone can see that with half !:n eye.' I urn I am quite certain that I must take it to myself. He has been in this neighbourhood since, and spoken to me.' Perhaps he lives about this way,' suggested Forbea, by way of administering all the comfort that occurred to him. Oh, no, he doesn't. I have found out all about him. His name is Lord Alfred Pontifex and he lives quite at the other end of London. Did he see you r-' No. I kept out of his way at the other end of the train.' What was the lady like ? That was the part of the story that puxzled me. Wlio could have been the feminine to help such a As yet my knowledge of the seamy aide of London swell life was obviously only very limited. Fat, i'air, and forty, Miss, I should say.' I had travelled with a lady only that very morning who answered to the description but of course it was in no way distinctive. There must be thousands of )inch women in London. George was twiddling with his cap. I suppose, Miss, you haven't thought again about that 'ere suggestion of mine P I was a blank again. What suggestion? George interpreted my look. I mean getting safe by taking up with me. I have heard of a tobacco shop. The 'good-will could be had cheap from the widow of the man what kept it, and——' I am always your friend, George, but you must not think again of my ever being anything I did hope Mary Ann was not listening to the proposal through the key-hole. "Some day, I shall see you with ever such a nice girl, and you will ask me to the wedding.' Poor George) he went away crestfallen enough but I have no doubt he has been truly thankful ever since. It wab the eleventh of August. To-morrow grouse shooting begau, but that fact was now of no further interest to me. I little thought Lord Alfred was going to the Moat House. [To BE CONTI-,UED.]

A VISIT TO TEE BIRMINGHAM…

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? DEATH OF ISAAC GORDON.

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