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FPUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABKANGEMENT.] 1 ux SEALED BOOK. BY ALICE LIVINGSTONE, Author of "The Silence of Maurice Aj'init&ge,' "A Man's Angel," etc. CHAPTER XX. THE ROOM OF MYSTERY. A sudden sensaton of terror seized coldly upon Grace as the door of tho room closed upon. her. She felt as if she were in tl. prison, and there was something- grim and irrevocable in the sound of the door aa it shut. She took a stop towards it., but stopped, ashamed of tier foolish few. There was surely nothing- to be afraid of. The room was large, and would bo gunny later in the Aay. Tho walls were covered with I ght papor of I pretty chintz pattern. The carpet and drape-rio, were of a soft, green shalfu, restful to tho eyes. The flimiture vvaa good, if rather sparse. There was a wdl-fiiLed book-shelf, and the diess-hig-tablo was supplied with everything which a girl who had loft home in haste without a travelling bag Would be- likely to need. A dressing-gown of grey cashmere had been hung over a, chair by someone thoughtful of the coming- guest's com- fort, and the atmosphere was pleasantly warm. Ncvcithelcss, there was souiel uing curiously un- oornol!ke, even desolate, about the big squaic room- Gracc siood looking round her, not knowing at first to what this effect must be attributed; but presently she realised that it was chiefly in the wndo-ws and the fireplace. The singularly small pa ne3 of the former were apparently get in iron frames, and the fireplace was filled up with -a board covered with paper to match the walls. The Warmth came- from pipes heated with strain. The girl could not imagine herself ever feeling at hemo in this room. The air seemed heavy with sadness, as if those who had lived hero b-o- fore her had suffered so much that tbe, in co-nee of their sorrow still lingered about the place, as the fragance of vanished roses may ding to a vase which is broken. She went to one of the wirrdows and looked cut through the lattice-work of small, square panes. In the distance sho caught a silver gleam of tho sea shin n.g far beyond- the trees of the park in a space between swelling downs, and she Was glad that the room was not en the floor be- low, for there the thick-growing trees would have shut her away from till sight of the water. Listening- for the sound of the eea. sho heard nothing. The deadly stillness of the houeo was oppressive, and she tried to raise the window It Was very heavy, but. an. effort pus-hod ic fup, and, with surprise, the girl saw a sheet of wine-netting foil up also, taking tho place of the gas-b as it toso, and conapletely^filling in the window. Toie seemed a. very strange thing. Grace had no. er seen anything of the kind before, and she- ild not understand its use. The netting, though thick, was not of a fine encugh mch to keep out insects, and, besides, this was not a marshy Country, where midges and mosqurtoes might be expected to abound. could net have been ar- ranged for sneh a purpose, and Grace could only Suppose that the people who lived th ere must have had tho wire-netting fitted on to the Window, to fiav:) with the raising of the sash, with tho View of preventing burglars from getting into (he house. She pulled down the top sash, and it also was followed by tho unrolling of a wire net.! Neither from top nor bottom could the window ?c opened without the ep&ce being instantly filled, with the thick metallic gauze. Grace went to the Other window, and made the same experiments, wlv'ch resulted in the same ?ay. Then she ex- amined the iii?do. shutters of white panted wood, which were laid back against the wall. Urifoldl- ing them, she discovered- that they were lined with thick cushions under quilted' white oIoth. When these shutters were closed, even if the windows Wei o left, open, no noise made in the rooni cdtifd be heard outside, no sound- without could reach the occupant within. The girl shivered in spite of the warmth. The room began to seem a horrible room. She- felt as if she were stifling. She lota get! to. cry oat for her mother. Would the time never pass? Would: her mother never come and vvelco~ivro her to this t strange hou('? A giekt restlessness had tttkenhofd of her. If she had known where her parents were. to be' fo-and she would have run out of the- room, and gono to Marie and Justin Ayimer. But they, as well as she, weic guests here, she reminded her- self. She had no idea in what port of the big' house their room-i were situated, and at this hour, in the morning She could not well %tart out irpon an exploring expedition, brcakii),g in, perhaps, upon the privacy of other people, Strangers to her.  She 'Stre to compose her mind by doing or- dinary, commonplace things, which might mako her feel more at homo in th:s curiously arranged room, She took off tho tam-o' -ehartter which •Gerald Darke bad giver* her, and the wig which' «heehatcd, ,although he had --aid that he-r mother had. sent it. She washed-away: the dust. cf travel ami traces of the accident, brushed her hair, and in ado n.)I"5lf frch Id sweet. Now there was nothmg more th?'s?)c need 'do. She ca.?utat<<t tba! quite an hb?!' Ttmst have paagcd sihc? her arrival. S?in t?6-!? was tbtt flight silence in tb ? L'ott? T!M 'brcalfa?tt wr?ch i had been promised her had not come. Tho re bad been -no,stimmotis from her mother. ,1'nto what ft sound sleep that dear 0Ile must have, fallen, to forgot all anxiety about her child's eom-ng, -when there was so much to say, toe—so much to tell tad to ask T'he girl wandered to the bookshelf and read the names df the vokimes. "Ttefc Was a Bible, Shakespeare, and a Tennyson; nothing el&e which she knew-or cared to icnonv. She tctok down -th?' Bffcle, and, sitting-by the window, an to read Jwftf favourite Phaofcer of "Ft. ,John-the fourteenth. It was the-favourite of her father and mot-he* a-s. A wefl. As she read, it ieenied as if the beautiful, and comforting words drew her nearer. to thoEe sho loved. Suddenly the flecp silence of -the -liofi^e -Wais broken, shattered with a c-ry from a distance— ti Ibag; wailing cty like that'<)? a -woV.rrded night- bird. Grace sprang up and Ifetarftd, her heai%-beikti^f qujokiy. Again the cry came-1—desolate, remote, despair- ing. She could not tell whether oi- 110 it had been uttered by a human "being. But w:*thmg- wac; certain; whatever the creature uught be W'aich uttered it, the cry was a wl of pain or -des^i ir, Sho oould bear the suspense no longer. Pries^- 'i ri* g,hiD- iper -ticart, she ran to the door and turned the terndie. But the door WOrrtd not open. It wars locked on the outside That this -sherald- really Hbe So seemed too had to fee troe. The girt believed she must. be mistaken. The door eoukl not have been deliberately fas- tened. It must have 'stuck. She had only 10 keep her hea,d, and by rwwl hy it would open cr, if she were not strong endugh, L-be could CaM, and isomcoho would come. Again and again she pnRed "strid ptteh-ed, aod even beat on the doer, which remained fast closed. Then, with a trembling voice, -she called— Ilm,ut,her-! -n-jotlic.r i Oh.-do COOKS I want to see you so much! I am shut in h-ere! Mother! please come!" 6 r. A'1 the borior .f tb.2 There WAS ho answer. ATI the honor of the rcom pressed upon tho girl, as if ad spirits CixJwdtd weeping behind her. She'"called to t-h man who had brought her to this houde, Which he said was his— "i\.fr. Darke, help mo! Mr. Dalke;" Silenoo alone rc-plicd-a silence even more ap- palling to her cars than the cry by which alone it for! yet been broken i -The gir's heart failed her. She could not think- calmly. She could not argue- out the possibilities ?' of he* situation, or to' herself what must be do no. Vr iex this scs^nTkig imprisc?mient a b,? j accident, 'whic? would be satisfactorily explained by and by, or had GeraJd Darke deceived and drawn her into a t-r-p" If lie had, what might it not moan for othcfs as well a,3 herself? Sho tried to recall ill had<Said to him in answer toTiis many qhjhs.. Had she re'veakrd toything W, any qlrli", iij?ire ?r father a?hd mother, pio-; v:ded the .strange story of their lives were true? She coiild not be sure, and in doubt la-v misery. In fearing for thefa, aiid thai in-sdvertently fshoi had brought luin upon their hoads, she forgot, for a time her own despefufe poskion. iHer beei 11* lay %io'.v in the tttetjey: t,hoa she had been deceived fromrtlie beginning-; that her father was 3% aofc Roysil Athefton, but had always been Justin tAylmer: t;ht. her mother was not Evelyn Mon-. tault" but Marie Ayimer, the singer. If she tni^lit believe that, nothing would matter much, for l Grace recollected at last that she did not even know the name of tins house. Gerald Darke had spoken oi it as his own place and a refuge for be dear friends. But to her it. was nameless.; nd she began to understand that it was no otdinary. house, that there was something myatervous and terrible about it. If Soh." had be-en imprisoned here deliberately, and for a purpose, God alone could help her now. Sir Campbell Montault and his daughter I)-ad noon on the eve of go ng away to pay a visit at the Duke of Northmiriister's country hduse in Kent, when Evelyn had flown off instead to tee her o:d governess, who wae in and alo>ne. At least, this wa-s what Evelyn's father believed. He had boon vexed at her going, they were duo next day at tho Duke's, and he feaied that' sonie accident- might prevent her from returning in time to start for Northmin&iep Park at the hour arranged tvelyn had insisted, however, and he had yielded t.he point, though none too good a sraoe. Ho thought his daughter was far too g-ood natured to this old woman, to whom she g>ave so many days of the year wti '-h, in his opinion, could bo spent far more profitably. It always seemed, roo, as if when Gerald Dark e was in Eng- lAnd, she contrived to he absent on these charit able visits oftener than at any other time. Far from guessing the true reason of Gerald's rc-sig- j nation as Viceroy ef India, he believed that ill- health, owing to the trying climate had boct) the folo factor which ended that brilliant pMee of l Darke s career, and he did not see why, when Gerald became Lord Wrendlebury—aa he must eeFore many years—he should not have tiH greater political honours. He was clever enough tor anything, Sir Campbell Montault thought, and might easily be Prime Minister, as uncle had been before him. All Gerald needed, his friend told himself, was an incentive to work, and Evelyn could give him that. incentive. The. ma.n's failure to win her kept him Vestlesfi atid dissatisfied, took his nrnd from everything olee; but if she would promise to marry him, and give the relvtrd ii-i4cr"t4al by years of unfailing devotion Gefaid would then turn his attention again to aim. bitious designs for the future. Gerald was aho :<¡kt.Y]; to No-i thminster FVrk. and theiefore Sir Campbell attached importance to the visit. When Evelyn did not come home in the morning of the day on which they were to start, he was vexed, and-would have telegraphed reminding her of the hour appointed for the journey; but, to hie intense annoyance, he had not the address. Once the goveinese, on whom Evelyn lavished so much kindnc-ss, had lived :11 a little house near "Olapham Common., but Evelyn had told him one day not. long -ago that Miss Lavender was going to move* Ho had staid, "Yea must give ml) the addfess of her new pfeco, ¡$ you go so often to spend Saturday to Monday. I might need to send for you in a hurry." Evelyn had agreed, but had changed the subject at thoè moment, or they had bcon ihtermp-ted^ and bonie- how Sir Campbell had never icmembered to ask again. About, noon a letter arrived from Evdyn, written hurriedly, a.nd, either by accident or de- sign, left without a date or address. "Dearest Father," it began, "do forgive m.e, but I can't go to the Duke's. There is illiiess and suffering here. It may he a matter of life1 or death. I cannot possibly leave. I am not myself. I was up all last night, a.nd theie is real truth in tho. excuse that I am too untveil for a visit of pleasure. I am very sorry, for I knfow, this will vex you; but, indeed, it can't bcbellkd, and I will try tiever to disappoint you in siicm a way again. The only thing to do ie to wire the Duchess that we are unavoidably prevented fiicili comin,?, of for you to go without h?. I don't know yet how ?ocli-i I shaH Lo ab'?. to 3?e you, but you need not be anxious. I shall write or wire every day, and you may be sure that I am safe. "Your loving "EVELYN. ■" With an exclamation of anger, Si.' Otanphell, looked at the envelopo. The postmark wxi-s }_<CKQ- don he couid not make out the district. Never in his life, perhaps, had lie baen iiO ten- raged by an act of his daughter's-. This was rank rebellion. She deliberately dieapp<?'ftrod into space, eo to epeak. and, taking advantage powerle^sness toíind her, calmly announced her intention of breaking an important engagement,: and re«iaining away as Ibng as she chote. Ofcee; or twice during the pa6t few months, Evefyii's- acts had aroused vague slTcpieiohs in her father's mind. She had laid the firp, already; now it -bttT6t into flame. Sir Campbell determined to punish his daughicr. If she were deceiving: him, she should repent 'it; and though he was helpless at the rrromerrt, he' deterrnii>ed to lay his hands -upog sorhg weapon which Avould frighten even a woman so coi-ir.Veotia and self-willed as Evelyn. He sent the Duchess of Nc-rhminster a long telegram, explaining that his. daughter had- Fud- denly fallen iifl, and that he could not leiiive her. His conscience oonga somewhat elastic one (for small sins, he did "not hesitate at these prevaricR'" tions and as ahe visit was not to K inade, hie time was ffee for other things. Had Sir Campl>eil Montault sot. been a piold inan, he was in a mood to have-a detecfi-Oo-fiv>rn some private agency to spy upon lEvelyn; but h'3,. could not bring biryself to confide his domestic, grievance's to an out^der. Ho looked up the last Address of Miss Lavendei*, tU retired governed 1 whom Evelyn'favoured *wiA eo much attention,' and,-when he foancl it, he -drove at oace to .C}a.p_1 ham Common m his electric brougham, had been restored to working1 Harder since the 'acri- dent of which lie had written to Gerald Darke. It was true that Laye-rtder had moved iàwa, from, her old home; but, fortunately for Sir Campbell, the pcopte who had taken her %oase, were able to tell hirrt where she had gone. They 'were 'g+c:if: nht)re«ed With the 'Stiistocvatic -ap- old imSfi who called in his grand electric Carriage, and were delighted to3 'oblige him. As i1.ma.tta- of fact, Misi, Lavefider. in asking her tenants to forward tetters, had re- marked ihcidcT>ef$}y that she would ."prefer they did not tdl strangers where.c-he had gone, le#<ehe; Vhoukl be trou?'?d with un('?sn'ab!e caHers; b?t the simple people were eo sare that a call from- Sir Campbell Montault would be a great honour, ■ even for a lacly like Mies, Lavender, that they made no difficulty about giving the addre-p. Sfho was living now at Stoke Mersdon, they1 !gib::y informed Sir Campbell, 'and wrote for Jrim the street and number. Delighted with 'sueoesA, he c'tftered his chauffeur to drive on at' once to the village they had named. The electric! brougham went quickly, and ha'rf an kotfrisffcer he", had stopped ^before :a pretty "tittle semi-detached cottage in a quiet, elm-shaded street cf Stoke, M4Jbdbn. ste ,• p-?d oi-it and op?ere a il it,, ga t 4, a As he stepped out and opened the gate, a. woman, dreseed 'for walking, appeared at the door. It was lone: since ho had-Been the governess whb had been a mother to Evelyn during all the yeate'of childhood and girlhood -betweenlee^'en ond, seventeen. Miss LaTenderhad visited her ex-, pupil from time to time, but for some years now sho had been delicate, and had not come to the house in Berkeley Square. Nevertheless, Sir Campbell a. once recognised the slender, some- what b- figure, dressed in 'black ae that of the governess, and a flash of anger irgwmt Evelyn, leapt to hu iarge black eyfe«. She -had 'f'.a!d that her refnatning tlvio from life or -dett^i," yet l>ere was Mks lurvender in ,ged-I eriuioh I"rllaltli to bo out 'walking. treeognhed him at the miomeij-fc. and came towards him, holding out her hand: Haiti onj "her pleasant-, -delicate faee he -#a-w- (or .he-! saw) ALWQM r?. well as surprise. She ^t-are.r Flt,- gTeeted -hnl1 -and flushed to rocU of her soft grey hair Rf she answered ;><i I questions concerning the estate of her health. i I am glad to and you-so'-well," sdid -Sir'Camp- j bell, adding diplomatically, I was driving thi-s way, and thought I would stop to inquire. When eliti -voii -batze my daughter with you iast?" 'I '? falte'rttl -t "ltlt some time ROW," falterefl Laven- der. Dear Evelyn is so good to givo nie any- thing of her society. I know how much khc is in demand. Would you come in, Sir Campbell, and letme-offer "ypu a cup-of tea?" a Sir Campbell thanked lwr, but refused. He could not, stay, he said,-and had only called on hie way to keep an engagement elsewhere. •' He bade Miss Lavender good-bye with feigned 1 cordiality, l^arvmg her evidently -fluttered. Had he guessed to she was goisg when lie 4net énù 'stopped hQr at L%c door, h0 4niig',It not been in -uoh hmfe to get away; 'but he had .felt that he t?u?t be ?Sbne, err he would 1<Me?a!I''i6C?- that he 'tiU'Et ?bo Zoiio, ? or be wotil-i must regret- t J He had lia:il an pt Miss Lavender, and forcing the peer woman in ^eer Wll bi1n '.w"'Mrt manner had a»sui"od him dlat she was in the secret- of Evelyn'^ 'Thereabouts. But, despite Lis testy temper, hiy obetimcy, and somewhat itn- ecrupuious ain-b.:t?OR3, Sir Cainplx'll Moj.-taalc \vas a gentleman to chs finger-tip> and he could hot torture a woman even to Sv-rve hie. own Ge-riald Dafke v/oilld have done it ofihesitatingly, but Evelyn's father could nut; and irckncw tliat voluntarily, she were brutally builleit into speaking, the pobr, frail old lady would not -betiiay hi« daughter's confidence. He had discovered half the secret for himsoit— that when Evelyn :d>eappeared slie did not always go to the house of her ex-governess. There a. mystery in her life, as he had sometimes sus- pected. To suspect the daughter of whom he was eo proud had been bad enough, but to know for a certainty that .-be was leading a do'ub!<> life was agony. In an hour, the haughty, hand-ome old man had grown year.5 older. Shut up :In hh e!œtn'c brougham, he Id his h?ad sjn? on b?a breast; and he thought of dH' years that were past, of the 'ovc he had iav?.h?d upon ins oeaut tiu r.velyn, of his hopes for her future, a sob v;a3 wrung from him bv an^uiih. What ww thia secret- of hers? Tiro other half—the darker half—clouded in mystery, he must wait ,io know but sooner or later she would come back, and then with her own lip^ .she would tell him ill, or ho wotild never lbok upon her face neeii/1. Wlieh he arrived home he was so pale that the footman who opened the door noticed the- eh an ye. and was startled. Mr. Darke has been waiting for you, "ir," he said, for half 3n hour. Shall I tell him that— Teil him noLong," broke in Sir Campbell. "I will see him. Where is he?" ™ "In the study, er. Gerald roso up to greet, the old man as he entered, and he, too, "vvas struck with the strained expression of the face and it* pallor. Is anything wrong?" he asked, with genuine concern for it was to the woman he loved that his thoughts fkw. Evelyn The oiixiorg que,ion, and tiie eager look tin Gerald's dark eyes too much for Sir Camp- bell's failing Gtrength. From Gerald, beyond fell o.' hens, ho w<?'d hide h'.? daug!tter's strange ) secret, while it. C0uld' lti,likn; but he WM jio longer mafte.r cf h'ra?if. He could- not answer. He turned away hi.i head, b?t ?emh! caw 4he q'uvenng of his features. Instantly he H¡tmi,R>(1 that Sir Campbc? h?.d di?ov?red ?Met!)!? of the truth—?rhapa a very iitt'e. yer something. I Now was the moraent for him to seize. Later, tiie old man be strong again; now. weak- ened by emotion, his broken spirit. wa« an instru- ment to be played upon by skilful ifngers. ForgiN-o trio," Gerald -exclaimed. if i can't .lpguing '-hg? has mlMl'vdYOH! You ha\e J fou?l out the thing that I have imowH for a Iotig "Jj time. t i nM. Sir Campbell started. i "Great heavens, Gerald:" he ejaculated, ''what] do you mean?*' I I mean tihr.t for years Evelyn has been in- volved in a love affair which she has concealed' from you, knowing that you would never give your consent to m?-riage with the man. While you have behoved her vieit'ng an invalid gov- erness, ahe has been with him and his people,, whoever they my be." You have l^eorcl thw stor,-v;,? I know it to be true. Yet { }<?? !?: and I would give ?y right hand to hav? her for my ,I wife." give *iy ;g?it hand t4o ier "c,.r n)y,? ''WLoiabht:ti-&n?" I I You have no 61:Ep, "None. I only feared there was a secret in her life. Oh, Ge-rel.d, if I could but have given her to you! If yoa wixll help iae, Sir Cawipbell, she shall be' mine yet." j "I would heip yon, if I eovtM, even tL) kiii ihe man who hfts -vobifed me of my tltltg-li ter. I would fight him as they still %ht on the other side of the Channel if he ivcal(I4 .,antl if I could come face to face with him. But th-il I promi-M you. S'r Campb-!). if ycu mill ?t.and:hv) rne, whatever happr?s—ff you ?-;? ,? ??\. author'ty with rv"lyn to iWcom'e m, w'ife—force :hT t<) h's, A ,I, if no other w?v—1. 'witt?ce to it ihate'ie is ?ree to m 1'1 rn', 'f 1: 1 Next, StttKby your bann.s shall be f-'M? in church marry yøulJ 1 Gerald smiled fe -v-eiled She shall t}>?.vry "me he eolioed. the two fr-e-t grg-x>d hamk (To bo continued.). {

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