The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-09-07

which opened with click that made
him start nervously, but the cottage re-
manned wrapped in darkness and slum-
Der. Not till he was well on the road to
Penzance did he stop suddenly, with a
stifed exclamation of anger.
In his agitation he had forgotten one
thing-t lock his door from the inside,
which would have been prudent meas
ure for many reasons. But it was toe
late now to go back.
Olive st. Maur had gone to bed ON her
return from Trevarrock bay, pleading a
headache.
To bed, but not to sleep. She tossed
about on her snow white pillow, her
mind full of suspicious and restless fan
cies, and found the night oppressively
hot, in spite of the open window, through
which the night fragrance of the jasmine
stole subtly.
Her ears, preternaturally sharpened,
caught every echo without-the distant
roar of the sea against the low, red
cliffs. the sleepy chirp of a bird in its
hest, the t1nflie OF sheep bell III d Iar
meadow. Then, suddenly, an unwonted
sound made her start up with thrill Of
something very like terror, though her
nerves were of iron.
A step. slow and stealthy, in the gar
den on the gravel; the noise of the gate
latch being softly raised.
She jumped out Of bed and ran to the
window, raising the blind cautiously and
peeping out at the side. What she ex-
pected to see she could hardly haze told,
but what she did see almost stunned her
with surprise and bewilderment.
A tail figure, apparently muffied in a
long, black cloak, had just stolen out Of
the gate, and by the outline sharply de-
fined against the moonlight Olive knew
it to be Harold Darlington.
The light was too uncertain to see the
wig and beard; could she have done so,
she would have been still more mystified.
Her brain whirled as she strained her
sight to watch his movements. What
could be his motive for thus leaving the
house stealthily in the dead of night?
With bare feet she stole quietly down
stairs and listened at the door of Harold's
room. All was silent Had he been in
it and asleep she could have heard his
breathing. for the head of his bed was
close to where she stood.
With heart beating to suffocation
she opened the door gently and looked
in. A food Of white moon rays lit up the
room and shone on the bed. One glance
told her it had not been slept in. The
chamber was empty.
A candle and match box stood on the
table She struck q light and made a
sharp inspection. There was nothing to
repay her curiosity, for Harold had
locked up and put away the rouge and
other things after using them.
II must make haste up stairs again, for
if were to be caught it would be too
dreadful, !" Olive muttered, moving away,
her dusky cheek cri1nsoning.
AS she turned to go her eye fell on a
crumpled ball of paper in the fender,
and she picked it up quickly. attracted
by the writing she saw on it.
part of letter-and in a womans
handr' she said to herself, and she de-
hberately unfolded it, but, looking round
with a shiver, decided to return to her
own room before reading it. There she
Strengthened the bits of paper and soon
mastered their contents.
'All has blown over" What could be
the secret Of such strange words: And
Beatrice" who was shea sister? No.
Olive was certain of that, though she
knew nothing of Harolds family his
tory. A sweetheart? Hardly; there was
something in the tone Of the letter in
consistent with that theory. Only a
mans wife would write to him in such
vein-familiar, half affectionate, yet
censorious. The red blood rushed to her
brow.
GLOW he has lied to usl But he shall
be punished. hold one strand of the
clew in my hands now; it shall be hard
if do not track the thread to its end"
Noting the address stamped on the pa
per, a fashionable street in Kensington,
she carefully locked up the letter in hel
desk. Then putting on her DRESSING
gown, she seated herself at the window
and watched for Harold return with the
patience Of q tigress crouching for a
spring.
Hours passed. The morning dawned
gray and cold, and the fresh chilly breeze
made her shiver, but she did not relax
her vigilance.
At last it was rewarded. Harold Car
rington-pale, haggard. with the drag
cling steps Of a man mach fatigued-calne
slowly in sight, and treading softly ovel
the dewy grass, got in at his bedroom
window, and closed it after him.
But at every step the mystery seemed
to deepen. When he went ont he had