The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-08-28 00:00:00

BY THE AUTHOR OF

" Allan Thornton," "Effie Baird," " Almost ti
Criminal," " Leonora's Legacy," dv.

CHAPTER XXV.
EN ROUTE.
It. 'is the little rift within the lute
Which now and then will make the music mote,
And ever widening, slowly silenc3 all.--TENNYsom.
"ARE you disappointed in me, aunt ?"
Beryl asked the question suddenly of Mrs.Ather-
stone after they were comfortably ensconced in the
hotel where they were to dine after leaving the ship.
"Disappointed, my dear! Why ?" asked Mrs.
Atherstone, looking up.
" Because you look at me so sadly. There is some-
thing triste in your face; it is very natural you should'.
be. I have been so differently brought up, you know..
to your family, but I will try to mend; I will, indeed..
should not like to shock you with my gazteLerie."
"My dear child, there does not seem anything to.
fiend; I am most agreeably disappointed, I can assure,
YOU. You are as like an Atherstone as I have ever
Seen, and that's not saying a little, for the women of
the Atherstone blood are thorough-bred to a Inarkect
degree. Perhaps you do not quite understand all that;
that means to English ladies and gentlemen."
"Yes, I do, aunt," and a slight flush rose on Beryl's
Pale cheeks. "I remember my father—he was a gen-
tleman; and my dear mother was no lese a lady,
though she was not received by you."
"So I have heard, my dear. Pardon me if I have
touched upon anything to give you pain. I enly I
thought V.:at, as you had left England so young--:"
"I had become a naturalised Australian. I suppose.
Oh, no. I was never allowed to forget England, or
that I came of `gentle blood.' You will find I have
done-no discredit to my mother's teaching. I hope to
Prove myself a true Atherstone in more than face."
"That I am sure you will," struck in Neel, who was
regarding his cousin with undisguised eternisation and
delight. He was, as his mother had been, most
agreeably disappointed in this cousin, who had come
from over the sea to take the place he had one day
hoped to fill, and to cut off all chances of succession '
to the Atherstone acres. Like most young men of his
age, he liked Bohemian society now and then, and
therein he had met actresses of various grades, and
formed his opinion of what his cousin was likely to
be from his knowledge of them.
He expected to meet a loud-voiced, free-mannered
girl, with bold eyes and a bolder tongue, who did not
disdain to aid her beauty with coy appliance that came
to hand and who formed her society manners and
Customs upon the very stagiest of stage models.
Instead of this, there had arrived a large-eyed,
q)iritu
elle girl, a lady in every respect, dressed with
quiet gsod taste, and so completely an Atherstone in
appearance, that his heart warmed to her at once. He
had seldom seen such beauty as hers. Now that she
Was recovering from the agitation of the n eeting
With her unknown relations, and her face was lighting
Up into something like life, it was wonderfully at-
tractive, and made his heart go pit-a-pat in a most
Unsatisfactory, yet by no means unpleasant, fashion.
He was a handsome, manly fellow was Noel Ather-
atone, very like Beryl's father had been on that day
at Drizzleton-on-the-Willows, when he had drifted
into his Pate by falling in love with Beryl Joyce; and
his young cousin looked at him with approving eves.
"You'll bear the Atherstone honours right well,
Cousin Beryl," he repeated.
" l'm so glad you think so," she replied, simply;
"and that aunt here was satisfied with me. I was
half afraid."
"You need not have been, my love," Mrs. Ather-
stone said, with a half-sigh. "You will create a
tremendous sensation even in Warwickshire, and our
girls are all voted pretty."
"Yes, pretty," -Noel said. "Lily is pretty—beauti-
ful, some folks say—but she'll look a very humble
Lilly indeed by the side of Beryl."
The mention of her daughter's name brought tears
to Mrs. Atherstone's eyes.
"Pocr Lily! Poor child !" she said.
" What is the matter ? Is she ill?" asked Beryl.
"No, my dear, no," said the lady, wiping awaythe
tears that fell now unchecked. "She is quite well,
and waiting at home with her little heart full of love
and joy—bless her. We shall take a quiet grief home
to her, Beryl."
"By the news we shall have to take her. I may
well be triste, Beryl; it was very bitter for me to see
Yonder ship come in without the bright lad that went
out to fetch you home. Poor old Mr. Carson's grief is
ours, my dear—we share it with him."
lieryl did not quite understand, and looked at Mrs.
4tlierstone enquiringly.
„ "His son was to have been ours too," she replied to
the question in the girls eyes. "Lilly loves him cc
dearly that I dread to think how she will bear the
news of his non-arrival."
Beryl turned very white at the words.
"Is Lilian, my cousin, engaged to Mr. Carson?" she
asked.
"She is. Nothing but her youth stands in the way
of their union. We think our pretty bird too young
to fly away from the nest just yet. But don't cry
about it, my love; it is no fault of yours—only a
Most untoward accident, that is all."
For Beryl had burst into a storm of passionate
tears, almost hysterical in their vehemence, declaring
She was most unfertunate, most unhappy—that she
seemed to bring nothing but trouble and sorrow with
her; and that she would rather have died a thousand
times than have come home to bring grief to those she
hoped would love her.
"Why did you ever seek me out ?" she sobbed. "I
never thought to inherit Atherstone Grange, never
coveted it. It would have been better in my cousin's
keeping, and Lillian's lover would never have perilled
his life in seeekine for reel r'
"Ills life, my °dear" said Mrs. Atherstone, in
amazement. "I sincerely hope nothing so dreadful
as death has happened to him. Of course Mr. Carson
naturally takes the very gloomiest view of the case
but I see nothing in the matter but a provoking
blunder, myself."
"Nor I," echoed Noel. "Melbourne is a big, busy
Place; is it not ?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, he was called ashore by someone, and
has missed his time, or his way, or both; and nothing
was more natural than that his absence should piss
Unnoticed in the confusion of the Psyche's starting.
When a passenger has taken his berth, and shown
himself on board, it is no one's business to look after
him."
I am afraid I incline to Mr. Carson's view of the
case," said Beryl, recovering herself a little, and
striving to suppress her tears. "Melbourne is c
• Wicked place, a very Gomorrah of pollution and evil,
and it is horrible to think that he may be murdered
there, lying in some foul hiding-place, unowned,
While his friends are heart-broken ever his loss at
home."
"My dear child, what frightful notions,' exclaimed
Mrs. Atherstone. " Hows you must have brooded over
things during the voyage."
"1 did—l did, Auntie. What could Ido but
brood? It seemed as though there were nothing but
death and misery round me everywhere. I thought
and thought atout it till I was nearly mad—till I
could have jumped over the Psyche's side, and taken
my perplexity and grief into the blue water with poor
Ursula Rhodes."
"We must cure all that, dear Beryl." said Noel.
"You won't want to drown yourself when you see
Atherstone; it's a place worth living for, I can tell
you. Depend upon it., we shall see Graham Carson
alive and well when the next ship comes in from
Melbourne."
"Do you think so?"
There was something hollow in Beryl's voice as
she spoke, and the grey pallor of her face was terrible
to see.
"I do. Knowing the ways of young men, I believe
him to be safe and sound on his road home at this
minute. I only wonder he has not telegraphed. You
Will be glad to see him, will you not ?"
"Glad l Oh, yes, I shall be very glad to see Mr.
Graham Carson," Beryl replied, in a dreamy sort of
way. "Anything is Letter than suspense. y 91.1.,
know."
" Anything I Well, I should imagine the sight of
anyone for whose safety you fear was a great deal
better," returned the young man, with a surprised
look; but I won't allow you to talk about such
dismal things any longer. Here's dinner. You must
be hungry to have got into such a dreadful state of
mind. Let us talk of something else. Mamma, dear,
make her eat something. Sho would look so very
different after a good dinner."
rernaps he was right, and Beryl's agitation was
Partially the result of weakness and languor. Any.
way, she brightened visibly as the dinner progressed,
and by the time it was over she seemed herself
again.
"You are giving my mother brevet rank," her
cousin said, as they sat toying with their dessert.
They had asked Mr. Carson to dine with them, but
the shock of his son's non-arrival had made him unfit
for company, lie declared, and he begged to he ex-
cused. He had a lit tie business to attend to in South-
ampton, but would join them in time for their journey
the next morning.
"How?" queried Beryl, answering his question by
another.
"lii calling her aunt. She is not really your aunt,
you know."
"No, I suppose not; but I am not quite clear about
it. I thought Mr. Atherstone—your father I mean—
She stopped, for she really was puzzled. She had
heard all about the Atherstone family tree, but not
lately, and she, was by no means sure what was the
relationship between the Rev. Norton Atherstone's
family really was.
"My father and your grandfather were first
cousins—that is the exact kinship; consequently you
and I are not even second cousins quite, and my
Mother there is—"

"There, then, let me be just what Beryl likes to call
33:1e," Mrs. Atherstone said, laughing. "1 daresay it
t%)ee more natural to her to ray aunt than cousin to
1.42 old woman like me."

"It seems more like mother," returned the girl,
with a kiss; "and I have no mother now. I should
like to call you so if I may."
Mrs. Atherstone returned the caress, and said she
would be whatever Beryl chose, and from that time
forward she was always " auntie " with the heiress.
_ _

They retired early, for they were to start in good
time the next day, so as to reach Atherstone by day-
light; but Beryl did not go to sleep or even to bed for
some time. She sat by the window, looking out over
the water, and listening to the waves as they dashed
with a gentle plash against the stones of the quay
below. She was thinking of all that had befallen her
—of her long, lonely voyage, and, above all, of Dr.
Twist.

"That man hates me, and I fear him," she solilo-
quised; "though why it should be so, I cannot think.
I never did the slightest thing to offend or wrong him
that I know of, and yet I am sure he would work me
mischief, if he could. Phew! What nonsense! What
harm can an obscure ship's doctor do to Miss Ather-
stone of the Grange? Pm hipped and nervous, or
such a notion would not enter my head."
She bad read the paper which the doctor had
written anent the death of Ursula Bodes, and had been
rather relieved to find that it contained nothing but
a stiffly-worded statement of facts. She scarcely
knew what she had dreaded, but the doctor had
behaved so strangely to her all through the voyage
that she feared an indefinable something she could
not describe. But there was nothing in the paper
that he could not just as well have told anyone rice
voce—a plain story of what had happened—nothing
more.

Beryl thought it over, and then went to her toilette
table, and let down her hair, till it hung round her in
feathery and wavy masses that would have driven a
painter wild at his inability to produce anything half
so beautiful.

"I think I shall make a sensation," she murmured,
as the glass sent her back a lovely image of herself;
"I have the Atherstone beauty, there's no doubt of
that. I never used to think about it when I was in
Melbourne; but it will be useful and profitable here.
'Miss Atherstone, of Atherstone Grange, presented by
Lady Dash, on her arrival in England.' Is that the
formula at the drawing rooms, I wonder. I think it
is, or something like it. And fancy me—Beryl Ather-
stone, the Australian actress, trailing up to the foot of
the throne, all satin and lace, and touching the Queen's
hands with my lips. I can't fancy it! It is all some
dream; and I shall wake up soon in the old Melbourne
lodging-house, and find there has been no fortune, no
voyage, no death, no terror and worry, the old mono-
tonous life, the old hard work, and incessant wear and
tear."

She put up her hands wearily, and brushed the hair
off her forehead. The red streak of the scar on her
temple was plainly visible on her white skin.
"No; it's all true," she muttered; "it's no dream.
I am 13ery1 Atherstone, the chid who was so nearly
killed by the crashing down of that scene. How long
it seems ago; but I remember it perfectly. I haven't
forgotten anything that happened in those old times,
I think."

Mr. Carson joined them at breakfast. He was
go with them to the Grange, to see Beryl take posses-
sitm of the property of which, but for him, she would
have been irrevocably deprived fourteen years before.
He had recovered himself somewhat from the shock of
the preceding day, and was inclined to look at matters
in a much more cheerful light; but his heart was
aching sadly at the uncertainty and suspense which
he must still endure for some time.

" I have telegraphed to Melbourne," he said, when
they had sat down.
"Telegraphed I"

" Yes, my dear young lady," he said, with a look of
astonishment at Beryl, who had set down her untasted
cup of coffee, and was stnring at hinn with
what looked to him like terror, and who had turned
very pale. "What else could I do? There is no other
way of getting news."
"No, I suppose not; but who have you telegraphed
to? Who knows anything about it ?"
"The police."
"The police! You have sent to them r
"I have." _

" AQ-iiiry will search for him?"
"I hope they will have no occasion. Why, you
Look quite frightened at the bare mention of that
respectable body of men. I merely sent to the head
of the police for the simple reason that I know no
one in Melbourne. Does it seem so very terrible to
you?" •
"It all seems very awful and mysterious," replied
Beryl, with a laugh. "I don't mean the police—they
are very necessary out there, I can assure you; but
the way in which messages are sent ali over the
world in that way. Just fancy standing at a tele-
graph machine and talking to someone ten thousand
miles away. It takes one's breath away to think of
it."

It seemed to have taken Beryl's appetite away, for
she made but a poor breakfast, though she drank her
coffee with feverish eagerness.
"I didn't sleep very well," she said, in answer
to her aunt's remarks and enquiries. "It isn't to be
wondered at, auntie, dear, is it ?"
"Well no," Mrs. Atherstone replied. "You
have been excited and agitated; but I want you to
have some strength for what is to come."
"What more is there to come ?" asked Beryl, in-
nocently.
"The triumphal arches, and the brass bands, Miss
Atherstone," said Noel, laughing; "and the tenantry,
and the happy peasantry, round-eyed and dimple-
faced, and the general saturnalia which is going to
ensue when you arrive at the Grange. You don't
fancy your subjects will let their new queen ascend
the throne without some demonstrations of thei
loyalty to you ?"

CHAPTER XXVI.
AT ROME.
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand
amidst the tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the Pleasant land,---HEmktrg.
BERYL looked up at her cousin with a dismayed
face.

"You don't mean that there will be any fuss, do
you?"
"A pretty considerable fuss, judging from the pre-
paration that was going on when we came away,"
Noel replied.
"But why? I am a stranger. Nobody knows me,"
said Beryl. wondering.
"You are an Atherstone, and that is enough for the
Lillington people," Mrs. Atherstone remarked; " but
there is a deeper feeling underneath the demonstration
they are going to make."
" How ?"

wrhe recollection of your father, my dear. The
elder people all knew and liked him, and your
grandfather's conduct to him was looked upon as harsh
and arbitrary by most people."
"My grandfather acted as he thought right, no
doubt?
" Yes ; but you se.:; that it was prejudice. Your
mother' profession--"
"My mother was a lady, auntie. Don't let us talk
of her," said Beryl, with a flushing face. "I would
rather have gone to my new home quietly; but if I
am to be welcomed for my father's sake, I thank those
who take so much trouble heartily." •
She looked pleased, but still she had no idea of the
magnitude of Atherstone Grange, or the nature of
the welcome that awaited her. She seemed interestA
in her in,irney and the places they passed, remember.
ing the names of some of them in a vague kind of
cva y.
Everything seems like a dream to me," she said.
"I seem to tecollect so many of the names indistinctly,
as though I had been to them in my sleep."
" Ab, I remember that," she exclaimed, as the train
bore them across the Avon within sight of Warwick
Castle. "I was there with mamma, before poor papa
died, when we were in the Birmingham Theatre. A
good matty of the company came over to see it. I
remember the Vandyke picture. and Guy's porridge
pot. How everything seems to come back to me as I
bee it again, to be sure."
"You are very near home, then, Beryl," said Mrs.
Atiterstone.

"Yes, I remeniaber someone saying so to mamma,
but she would nbt let them talk before me. Beryl
knows nothing,' she said, *and I do not wish her to.'
Oh, if she had only lived to see this day !"
"Would it have pleased her, do you think r'
"To see me acknowledged—nothing more. Mamma
was singularly free from anything like greed or am-
bition."

They wer% driven from Warwick to Lillington, and
Beryl was electrified at the station to see an elderly
man in livery come up and touch his hat to the
party.
" Ah, here you are, Curtis," said Mrs. Atherstone.
"Punctual, I see. This is your mistress, Miss Ather-
stone."
The man bowed low before the lovely face, which
flushed up at the sight of him, as if unaccustomed to
such homage, and said respectfully that the carriage
was waiting.
"The carriage !" said Beryl, in wonderment. Ilf.r
wildest ideas had not soared beyond a cab, or at most
a brougham, in which to finish her journey.
"Yes, my dear, the carriage," said her aunt,
am used.
" Mine ?"
" Yours ; and let me give you a word of advice
about that same old family ark. Get rid of it., and
choose a new one. It is not fit for a beautiful young
lady to go about in. Your grandfather very seldom
used it; he nearly always rode."
"1)3 you call that an ark, auntie, dear ?" asked
Beryl, pointing to the equipage, which, indeed, was
far too fine for notions of modern elegance.
"I do, in eked. It might contain all toe animals that
Noah and his family contrived to squeeze into their
building, and it's about as ugly."
"It looks splendid to me, aunt," said Beryl, laugh.

ing.
"Yes, that is it," said Noel, turning up his nose at
the carriage, with its bedizened harness and gaudy
decorations. "It's too splendid for ordinary morta's
—it must have been built in the year one. The
taste of the present day inclines to the quietest
colours and no decoration. Nothing on earth should
have tempted me into such a conveyance ha cl I not ,
beep firmly convinced that old Curtis and his colleague
'Danielvthere, would have broken their hearts it an •
Atherstone had come, to take possession in a hired
vehicle."
" How you do run on, Noel," his mother said
laughing% "But hs is right, Beryl, The Atherstons

carriage nas been the laughing stock ot all your
grandfather's friends for many a day. You'll have to
get another."
Beryl took her seat in the post of honour in the
carriage, feeling utterly bewildered by her new
dignity, and they drove off through the pretty country
which lies between the old town, with its lonely
river and ancient castle, and the quiet rural
Lillington, nearly every acre of which belonged to
her.

Noel watched her varying face as she looked out of
the window on either side.

"You are looking at your own kingdom, your
Majesty," he said, in a jesting tone. "All these fair
lands from the edge of this plantation belong to you.
When we have reached the brow of the hill we shall
see the Grange. Look, Beryl, out of this window—
all those people are your tenants—they have come out
to welcome you."
"Tell Daniels to open the carriage door," Mrs.
Atherstone said, "they will expect to see Beryl.
Don't look so pale, my dear—they are only going to
give you a right hearty Warwickshire welcome:"

" Don't geE nervous, little woman." said Noel, " I'll
hold you—bless me, you are shaking like a leaf; look
there, Beryl, there's the Grange, and these are the
people."

- Beryl's face turned very white as she looked down
upon the peaceful valley where the old Grange stood,
a flag flying from one of its grey turrets, and the
sunshine lighting up many windows into a streak of
flame—as if in welcome to its new mistress. At the
same moment the carriage drove right into the midst
of the crowd outside the park gates, and a wild ring-
ing cheer burst from hundreds of throats. A crowd
of horsemen gathered round there, and the conse-
quences might have been serious, but that Curtis
knew what was coming and had his horses well in
hand.

"Never mind their staring, Beryl," Noel said, feel-
ing how she was trembling; "they've come out on
purpose, you linow. Egad! we've no reason to be
ashamed of our bonnie Australian flower."

Beryl strove for composure, though her lips were
quivering as she moved in return for the greeting she
received.

"Eh, but she's a beauty!" someone exclaimed, as
the heiress arose in the carriage that they all might
see her, and the blunt bon, homie of the remark cid
more to restore her composure than anything else
could have done. She laughed and nodded to the
speaker, and somehow or other felt herself ea rapport
with the surroundings at once.
From the park gates to the house it was like a
royal progress through one long crowd, who thronged
the roadway to see the squire's grandchild come
home. The old stretched their necks to get a glance
of" Master Leonard's child," and thorght of the time
when Master Leonard, with the grass grown over his
grave these fourteen years, was but a child himself,
playing about the old park, with no thought of the
dark future which sent him to die in a sPcond•rate
lodging in Birmingham ; the young pressed forward
to took at her. as one on whom fortune had showered
her choicest blfssings. There were triumphal arches
and wreaths of flowers, bands of music, and scattered
blossoms in such profusion that it was literally cn a
path of roses that Pierce Atherstone's granddaughter
walked into her new home. •

A shout louder than any that had gone before went
up from the crowd as Beryl stepped over the thresh-
hold of her new home and turned to bow her ac-
knowledgements of welcome. A grey-haired hand-
some gentleman received her at the door and kissed
her with fatherly kindness.
"We have brought her home, Mr. Atherstone," Mr
Carson said, and she knew that it was her uncle
whose arms were about her. A fair girl, and a troupe
of younger children gave her cousinly greeting—
and Beryl scanned her cousin Lillian's face earnestly,
e.nd made mental note of her delicate beauty. But
1-Ally's eyes were heavy and her pretty lips
tremulous; the telegram which had told of Graham's
non-arrival had made this day of rejoicing a sad one
for her, and her tears burst forth afresh when Mr.
Carson kissed her.

" Oh, where is he? What has happened to him ?"
she asked.
"Nothing, I hope," he said, trying to speak cheer-
fully. "I trust and believe that he is safe, and that
another fortnight will see him back in England. Try
and not think about it, my child, or think that it is
all some unlucky accident. I have come to think it—
you see I can laugh at my pain now."
But his voice shook, and there were lines as of an
added ten years on his face, and it was only by a
mighty effort that Lillian struggled back into any-
thing like composure.
Perhaps it was as well that Beryl's arrival gave her
no time to brood, and the bustle of the heiress's intro-
duction to her home and her servants drove away the
gloomy fancies from her mind. She felt the sym-
pathy, all unspoken though it was, that came to her
in her mother's kiss, and strove to be cheerful with an
eagerness that was pitiable to see.
"I must not say anything to her now, poor child,
or she will break down." Mrs. Atherstone thought;
but she longed for the time when all these festivitit,s
should be over, for the day at least, and she could
clasp her daughter to her heart, and sympathise with
her and talk to her as only a mother can. Chap 26
But that might not be till the day was quite done
—there was dinner to come first, and the evening to
be got through before they could go to their own rooms
and relax the strain upon their nerves. Mr. and Mrs.
Atherstone, with their eldest son and daughter, were
staying at the Grange; it had been settled so soon as
the telegram had been received announcing the death
of Beryl's mother. Mr. Carson had advised it—the
young lady would feel very forlorn, hethought, unless
there was someone there to receive her. The news of
the death had caused them very mingled feelings—to
a certain extent they were relieved; there could he no
awkwardness now in receiving the woman whose ex-
istence the old squire had so persistently ignored, and
on the other hand they all felt sorry not to see one of
whom save, for her prejudiced father-in-law, they had
heard nothing but good. It seemed so hard that she
should die just as the reward of all her sorrow and
meek endurance was coming to her, and leave her
child to come home alone.

Beryl was conducted by her aunt to a dainty little
suite of rooms, all hung with the freshest of chintz,
and adorned with fragrant flowers.
"I had these done up for you, my dear." Mrs
Atherstone said. "The house is slightly old and
musty, and the state apartmeni s are the least bit
gloomy. You can remodel it all for yourself now
you have come home. I thought you would like tiles°
rooms, at any rate, for the present."
"Like them!" exclaimed Beryl, looking round
with rapture, "they are splendid! I never saw any.
thing so beautiful in all my life. You'll think
me very hoydenish and rude, I dare say but if you
could have seen our apartments in Mrs. Dalton's house
(that's the landlady we lived with in Melbourne, you
know)—her drawing rooms they were, too--you
wouldn't wonder at my going into an ecstatic fit over
Clem."

"I am glad you like them, my child; but moderate
your transports— here's your maid. Come in, Patty;
Miss Atherstone has none too much time to dress far
dinner."

_
A pretty fresh-looking girl entered the room and
curtseyed to her new mistress.
"I'll leave you now, my dear," Mrs. Atherstone
said, as Patty opened a box and began to unpack it.
"By the way, have you a dinner dress? I never
thought of asking you before."
"I have a crape dress, auntie. Will that do ?"

_ .
"Oh, yes, for to-day. Madame Elise will be down
from London to-morrow. She will bring something
with her and give directions about its being made ,ip
for you."

"'Madame Elise! Who is she ?"
"A West-End milliner, my dear."
"And she is coming here about my dresses ?"
"Surely you don't want to go about in a costume
out of the village dressmakers, do you, child?"
"I'm sure I don't know. It is all so strange, so
wonderful. I must be dreaming."
"Not a bit of it. I asked madame to engage a maid
for you."
"Is not this my maid?" asked Beryl, touching
Patty's plump cheek with a caressing finger. I
thought you said so."
"Only for the present, dear. Patty is a good
girl, and will do her best, but she has had no ex-
perience."
"I think I should like to keep her. I have not
learned to be a fine lady yet, and a lady's maid would
be mistress—not me. I'll see how Patty does betore
I have anyone else."
And she smiled on the delighted girl in such a way
that she hardly knew what she was doing, though she
managed to acquit herself in such a way that Beryl
expressed herself very much pleased with her indeed.
Certainly the result of her labours was perfect;
perhaps the heiress had never looked better
than in the transparent crape dress which set off the
dazzling fairness of her skin as nothing else could have
done.

A few guests had been invited to meet her, and they
were.one and all astonished as much by her evident good
breeding and perfect ladylike nature as by her
exceeding beauty. It seemed impossible to believe
that this fragile-looking creature, with her elegant
manners and perfect grace of form and feature, could
ever have had to do with the paint and tinsel, the
shams and unrealities of the stage. She had won the
hearts of all, and, when the day came to an end at
last, though her face was pale with uneasiness, there
was a triumphant sparkle in her eyes which was very
natural under the circumstances.
When she left the drawing-room Mr. Carson followed
her.

"One word, my dear," he said.
"Twenty, if you like," che answered.
"I don't believe I have ever congratulated,you yet,
he said, kindly. "I do, from my heart., and wish you
health and long life to enjoy your possessions.
However, that's not what I have to say; what time
will suit you for a business talk with me ?"
Whatever time you like, Mr. Carson ?"
you come to me in the library at eleven,
then?"

"Yes. But what business is it ?"
"Only to introduce you to your property—to
make you acquainted with your possessions—that is
"I think it's all a fairy tale, Mr. Carson, and thatj
shall wake to-morrow in Melbourne, thinking how
shall get my part into my head, or whether the stago-
manager will give me half an hour's grace at re-
hearsal, if I steal the time to read it over.'

"so, you won't, You have done with the stage

and its miseries for ever, unless you like to set up a
private theatre of your own here. The Grange is biz
enough."

"No thank you," said Beryl, with a little shrug.
"I've had too much of the real thing to go in for any
imitations of it. So my possessions won't turn to
withered houses and dry sticks during the night, eh,
Mr. Carson ?"

"Not they, my dear; they are as real as yourself.
Good night. God bless you! If the old man could see
you now, and know what is passing here, I'm sure he
would bless every lucky accident that prevented his
signing that unjust will."
(7o be continued.)