The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-12-17 00:00:00

little prospects too, ma'am, I shan't be dependent on
the ferry boat, SOL` the baskets, when Mary comes to
me.'

_
'lndeed, I am glad to hear it,' Mrs. Churchill re-
marked. 'What is it, Barney?'
*l'm not just at liber;37 to say yet, ma'am.' the ferry-
man replied. Alter lam married to Mary you will
know all about it and all Hiilford too, for that matter,'
he added with a laugh,
I don't want to be inquisitive, of course; she said,
• and I ana very glad to hear it, Barney. I ought to be
very glad Mary is going to settle herself so comfort-
ably I suppose, but do you know you will put me to
considerable inconvenience; I shall have to get some-
One to fill her place, and that will not be easy.'
lam sorry for that. ma'am,' Barney said, and I
don't see how it is to be mended. I can't spare Nary
anyway.'
'lt was all settled on the day when Mr. Jarvis went
to Hilliard to tell Mrs. Churchill that he had news of
Phyllis; and as Norah stated, Barney was in the
kitchen paying a visit to his lady love, and looking
extremely sheepish when he was summoned to the
parlour there to hold converse with the lawyer.
'o it's all over with you, Barney, I hear,' Mr.
Jarvis said, you have really fallen a Victim tea pretty
woman.'
To a good one, sir,' was Barney's instant reply,
looking his visitor full in the face as he spoke, with
honest pride in the girl he had won lighting up his
fearless eyes. 'I am afraid it is Mary that is the
victim, and not me. She gives up a deal; I don't.'
'Well, I don't know; I think it is about equal. I
hope you'll be very happy, Barney; I am glad you
happened to be here. I wanted to speak to you.'
Mrs. Churchill is very kind,' Barney remarked, 'she
lets Mary see me whenever she wants to—and I am
afraid I want to see her pretty often. Have you heard
anything, sir. I beg your pardon if I make too bold
in asking, but everybody knows about it, and—'
'Aye, I suppose so. I have news, Barney—bad
news; he has married her, my poor child; I would
have rather have seen her in her grave
It might have been worse, air. I beg your pardon
for even thinking such a thing, let alone saying it;
but that man is the devil ! I know by what hap-
pened to me. He can make people do whatever he
likes, and a woman would be like a reed in his
hands.'

It is a frightful power.'
fs it witchcrift, sir I have sometimes thought
it might ha.'
'lt is what has often done duty for witchcraft in
the world's history,' Mr. Jarvis said sadly; 'lt is a
mesmeric power that some minds can obtain over
others. This man has it in a marked degree, and I
have no douht has worked incalculable mischief before
now by the exercise of it. lie has worked enough to
me and mine, heaven knows.'
There was a weary sadness in the voice that showed
how much the events of the past few months had
told on the strong-minded lawyer; and Barney noted
It.
Maybe things will be better than you think, sir,
he said; and Mr. Jarvis sighed, and said he hoped they
might be, but he was afraid.
I didn't come to talk to you of my own sorrow,
Barney,' he said presently; 'I wanted to know about
that man Donovan, what is he doing?'
Making a feel of himself, that's what he's doing,'
Barney.said wrathfully ; he's just bringing all Scotland
Yard about his eats, is Phil.'
And a fine confusion there will be if he does,' Mr.
Jarvis said; can't you stop his mouth, Barney.
Get him away somewhere, or something. Where's the
boy?'
• Meaning Jack, sir r
'Yes.'
Oh, he's safe and welt enough. There's nothing to
be got out of Jack; he's as saucy as ever.'
When did you see him last?'
About a week ago, sir, and he had the impudence
to tell me that I had cut him out, that he meant to
marry Mary himself; he is getting too clever, is Jack.'
'He has held his tongue, you think It is not he
that is setting this mischief about?'
No, I'll take my oath of that,' Barney said. Jack
is grateful if he is saucy, and he wouldn't speak till
leave was given him to do so, no matter what they
did to him. It's his father's confounded chatter and
drink that has made them on the alert.'

We must stop it, Barney. I don't want anything
Ecid or done yet ; the time is hardly come.'
I doubt we can't, sir. He has been blabbing all over
the town how he got the money from Mr. Gayford for
bolding his tongue about something, and he makes it
pretty clear what that something is—and there has
been a strange man down here more than once lately
asking q estions and prying about without giving any
account of himself—and altogether it looks bad.'
Is it true about the money?'

True that Phil Donovan got any? You wouldn't
need to ask it, sir, if you saw him and his family.
They are all dressed up and living on the best, and
they have bought furniture, and Phil is always drunk
and boasting that when what he has is gone he can get
as much more as he likes by asking for it.'
• And what is his secret—do you know?'
Yes, sir. I made that out the very first time Phil
got drunk after he got the money. It is the suit of
clothes that nearly got me hanged—a copy of what
I was wearing just then—cap and all so like that
people swore they had seen me in the wood. And
there's more; there something or other that proves
who it was that wore them—something with a name
on it. Phil was sharper than I took him to be, and
he had been on the watch till be found what he
wanted. It's a pity he did not make a wiser use of
it.'

It was all true. There was a detective, as Barney
said, prowling about' and Mr. Donovtes family, and
himself too, had been subjected to a pretty severe
questioning without the slightest idea that they were
being watched or suspected. The Hillford murder'
was a puzzle to the authorities, for reasons best known
to themselves, and they were working steadily and
quietly to the unravelling of the clue. They oonnected
it, whether rightly or wrongly, with all that had
happened to the persons most interested in Frank
Hatherleigh and his doings. Miss Ramsay's disappear-
ance was to them part and parcel of the same thing,
and they were quietly investigating the whole affair.
Their emissaries even now were perfectly well aware
of the whereabouts of Horace Gayford. They had
only missed him for a moment on the night of his
hurried flight from Hillford, and they were prepared
to stretch forth the long arm of their secret power,
and place a hand upon him when it seemed good to iio
so,

Mr. Jarvis, astute lawyer that he was, was still pro-
foundly ignorant of what was going on in this direc-
tion, and they had no intention of enlightening him.
Mrs. Donovan had been the chief instrument in their
enlightenment. Ignorant and gossiping, she had
fallen into every trap set for her, and told everything
she knew. She was vain and foolish, and when a
fine gentleman admired her baby—which might have
been cleaner, though hardly smarter—when he passed
by, she was ready to talk to him for an hour, and
answer every question he put to her.
Yes, Phil, had had a deal of money from some one,
and not before they wanted it, and it was in return
for something he had done—she could not rightly say
what—and he was to have more; and it was quite
true that her boy Jack was doing very well—almost
too proud to know his mother now, Jack was. He
was Mr. Stone's boy. Yes, she knew Mr. Stone. He
was a nice gentleman enceigh, but never looked a
body in the face as a person might say. He was
always muffled up about the mouth as if he was afraid
of catching cold. He was very intimate with Barney
the boatman, she had heard—he went there. She
didn't know much of Barney himself; he was stuck
up, and thought a good deal of himself, since they
tried him for murder and he got off.
The genteel gentleman went away, and forthwith
turned into one of the keenest detectives in the pay of
Scotland Yard, and reported sufficient to his chief to
supply a motive for the arrest of Horace Gayford for
murder directly he set foot where they could touch
him. He would come back. They were sure of that,
and indeed he had already become possessed by a
restless spirit that would not let him stay anywhere.
Poor Phyllis, loving him to distraction, and ending
excuses for all that he said or did, could hardly un-
derstand the strangeness of his behaviour. She had
seen nothing in the church to warrant his fright. Her
thoughts were far enough away from Mr. stone, and
if she had recognised him she had no cause for the
terror that his presence, real or fancied, seemed to
inspire.
She was willing to go anywhere. She did not mind
where he took her, and the Rhine was very lovely, and
just what she had wanted to see all her life long. So
down the Rhine they went, but before they rewshed
the second stopping-place on their journey, which
Horace Gayford had decreed should be Bingen, where
be had promised to show her the Rats' Castle, poor
Phyllis understood his terror, and why she
had been made to marry him as she did.
She loved him—even in the first moment of
sick horror, and she loved him still but it was
a love so mixed with fear that she dreaded to meet
his eye, and shrank from the caresses that had hitherto
been as life to her. It came about in this wise. They
stopped at St. Goar, that she might be shown the
Rheinfele and the Lurley, and go across the river to
Neubruckhausen, where her husband, Horace, once in
his boyhood spent a small time at school. He seemed
to want to propitiate her, to leave no stone unturned
to make her believe she was very dear to him, and
she was happy. Earth was heaven to her, poor girl,
and the man who had lured her away from her home
and friends the brightest angel in all the shining
host.
He was really ill when they reached the quaint old
little town, and fit only to lie down in a darkened
room and wait for the throbbing of his temples to
cease; and his wife ministered to him and fondled
him till he went to sleep, and she watched by him
patiently, hoping that the rest would refresh him.
She did not know that he had hardly closed his eyes
in sleep since the night when she came to him at Mrs.
Brown's house, that such rest as he had taken had
been with his brain busy and on the alert, and that
his days had been one long apprehension. He had
simulated an interest in what she did, and cheerful-
ness when he talked to her. She thought him over.
fatigued, perhaps, but had no idea of anything more
serious.
It waS growing dark as she sat by his side as he
lay on the sofa, and she would not ring for lights lest
she should disturb him. Presently he moved restlessly,
and spoke.
'Helen, my darling!
sahadmbr stung. Helen!
surely. WhPahtylieslesnta?rteNd
not told her he loved her above all earthly things_ ? It
otasHieflen 811 1.

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