Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-02-09

know about They must have descended from
Sir Guilbert. who was made prisoner by the
Moors while on q pilgrimage of grace, after
the murder of his two elder brothers. was res
cued by the Spanish Amirale, and married
Dona Dolores. his daughter The name has a
spanish form now, as You mention here a.
| Don pedros di Manos Pesantos' Most inter
estlng And then the kidnapping. the opium
den, your arrival in China-wonderful And
the orancn OF the family you found there also,
tnose must have come from a certain Charles,
Younger son in the time of Queen Anne. who
took 70 trade-of course trade was quite re-
| spectacle then-gentleman adyenturer you
know-he went to the Chinese seas and never
came back. supposed to be lost, must have
founded that branch in China"
i thought the old gentleman would never
| stop; my brain was Keeling with such a string
| anything to do with it?
was Just going to assure him that had
never written any such letter. when the sheet
ne had been reading futtered to the ground
ana M STOPPING to pick it up. to my horror
| saw that it was written on nv paper There
| was the crest in gilt-the doubled fist of the
Heavyhands-and the address, "a Velasquiz
Stndlos, South kensington;" there was no mis-
taking it. l was bewildered; what could it
meanf The writing was not mine certainly.
by Jove! 1t was Akers'; could it be that he had
/ actually had the cheek to write an answer to
that note, as he said he would? Could this be
my "long-lost relative" this old lunatic who
had been boring me so? Confourd that fell
low Akers with his silly jokes! He shall pay
for this nice mess he has got me into, for the
ola gentleman seems very decent. though quite
mad about ancestors and family, and has
swallowed all Akers' publishing letter like
gospel. And fine yarn" it must be. Lon
don slums '--shipwreck on Pacific islands
wonder. am I responsible for? I must ex-
| plain at once
May ask if I am speaking to Mr.. G. Heavy
hand!' ask most respectfully.
ITO be sure, to be sure" said the old gentle
man. beamingly. Il was so pleased with your
answer to the letter wrote you about"
But. my dear SIR" l cry, in desperation. for
tell you
Yes of course. that is Just what want, you
must explain it all to me. But have no time
now; you must come to me--come down to my
place In Kent, make long stay, and We can
work together. am at the last volume of the
great work; you shall help me and we shall get
1t all cleared up. Now, must be of. Rita is
| waiting for me in the carriage"
Rita! Could it be? No; impossible!
my niece, you know" continued Mr.. Heavy
| hand making for the door; better come down
with me and be introduced. Stop! here is the
address; come d>yn to us on Saturday-we
shall be delighted" and away he trotted down
| stairs. without giving me a chance to accept
| or refuse his invitation.
OF course l could not accept. It was mon
strous; must explain, and rushed after him
down stairs; but he was already getting into a
victoria that was waiting when reached the
door. and in that Victoria, lovely as the day,
sat Rita-my Rita--Miss Mostyn
MY dear, this is Mr.. Hubert Heavyhand"
| cried the old gentleman. too busy arranging
his rugs to notice our confusion; lone Of the
family you know. He is coming down to US
on Saturday; delightful, Ell? Don't foget," to
me. come on an early train. Drive on, John"
And away we drove, without my having got
out one word of the explanation" and leav-
ing me committed to accept the invitation
had not been allowed to refuse.
| Rltas smile was very roguish as she nodded
Eau revoir :" was she laughing at my confu-
| sion? l wondered if she knew about the letter,
and grew hot at the thought that she would
take that precious production for mine. What
was to be done? might write and tell my en-
| thusiastic relative-if such he were-for Of
course, 1 could not accept his hospitality under
false pretenses; but Rita-what should do2
CHAPTER II.
She flesh is weak, all the more SO when there
is no gr>at willingness on the part of the spirit
to counterba>2nce it. So it was in my case; all
| my good intentions of writing to Mr.. Heavy
hand to explain are forgotten. and blush to
say that Saturday sees me entering his hospita-
| BILE doors-an impostor! assure myself that
would not eat of his salt under false pretenses
otherwise the hearty welcome / receive had
been gall and NORWOOD to my sensitive spirit
But how Is one to arise and testify in the
middle of garden party, such as find in full
swing when / arrive? 1 had to accept the
| situation and make the best of it-no great
| hardship, except for consciences sake, for the
! shady lawn is bright with pretty girls and
| Rita herself is dream of summer in her yir-
| ginal white just touched with vivid green.
What joy to paint her so against the background
Stunning tennis hang about her dainty
tea table. seeking an opportunity to re-
| proach her for not having told me that poor
dear Uncle George" was Mr.. Heavyhand.
How should l know" she says, laughing,
that he had written to you? Though might
| have known that he would hunt you up sooner
or later; he is always on the track Of some new
| relation"
But must explain" begin. But she goes
| on. Poor, dear, he gets dreadfully taken in
sometimes"-I feel that my guilty looks must
betray me-'he was SO pleased by your letter,
and came rushing up to town to see you at
once; it was quite relief to me when found
it was you, real Heavyhand for he is always
| being so disappointed with his trouuailles."
The "blush upon nay brow" may have passed
| for conscious merit, but / am ready to sink
| into the ground. How is my guilty confession
| to be made in the face of such confidence?
However. am relieved to find that Rita knows
nothing OF the nature OF the letter.
| The tennis party prolongs itself till late in
the June twilight-starry and perfumed-and,
most Of the guests staying after dinner, there
is some impromptu dancing in the big old
fashioned drawing-room, and stake the good
| the gods provide" and am happy. Tomorrow
shall be cast out from Paradise, for ere I
sleep my mind is made up; the first thing in
| the morning my confession shall be made.
| But alas! 1 reckoned literally without my host.
! Tomorrow" being Sunday, that worthy
! gentleman would not hear a word about 'busi-
ness as he calls his great work; not word
was allowed to say when preached the SUBJ
ject, but was trotted off to church, new ex-
| perience-with my secret heavy on my soul.
Then followed a glorious June afternoon of
| ''dalliance in the shade" forgot all about
| being an impostor-"Uncle George was hay-
| ing his afternoon nap in the library-watching
Rita swinging in her hammock under the big
cedar on the lawn; for began to think, to
hope-but won't make fool of myself-Rita
was not unkind to me; that is all shall say,
| yet.
But at dinner fate overlook me. for there
| appeared on the scene an "old family friend"
| to whom Mr.. Heavyhand presented me as q
| newly-found relation-as indeed might be in
| some way, for all I knew, for he had never
| given me a chance to say who I really was.
| The cold eye and doubtful smile Of the Family
| friend" struck a chill to my soul. felt I was
detected, seen through at once. known for the
impostor that was. What if he should expose
4