The Yale expositor., 1896-07-03
CHAPTER XI.-fCoNTrNuEpl


as forlornly as Walter had done.
Lady Annabel at last turned to her
daughter.
"We will return home at once, my
love, If you wish, and l will commission
our kind friend, Viscount Somerset. to
make inquiries concerning the artist.
1t is but proper that we should seek out
your gallant preservers. / will also
write to your uncle to come up from
Bath to receive him. You know how
eagerly he always sought after trace
Of these Vernons."
Walters lips writhed while he vowed
mentally the name should yet stand
proud and high even in aristocratlc
London So in sullen silence he watch
ed the group pass on toward the en-
trance out of sight. He rose up then
and strobe through the crowd.
The name of Lady Annabel Collin
wood arrested his attention once again.
The speakers were Immediately in front
of him.
Lady Annabel? Oh. no, that is the
Hon. Mrs. Dacre-she that was former
ly Annabel Marston, Of Lincolnshire,
distant relative, however, of Lady Col
linwood 's-she in the violet bonnet and
gray pelisse, mean"
A strange look of revengeful ire flash
ed over the gloom of Walters face as he
followed the direction given, and found
the lady indicated-she that was once
Annabel Marston of Lincolnshire.
She was a fair woman, with dark
and rosy cheeks, whose beauty was so
we'll preserved one might have easily
believed her only thirty. She was talk
ing gaily with gentleman in uniform,
and her clear, joyous laugh came must
cally to Walters ears. He ground his
teeth.
"She is happy, the traitress, and my
wretched, ruined father sleeps in his
ocean grave eXiled by her from his ma
tive land" muttered he, as like a mad
man he tore his way to the street, and
hurrying to his lodgings, flung himself
into chair and dropped his head upon
his hands. For short time he sat thus.
and then rising, he unlocked small
box and took from thence a closely
written manuscript, which he perused
attentively. Only the last of 1t Is essen
tial to the thread Of our story:
"And now, Walter, you have the key
to the mysterious sadness Of my whole
life-the dark secret that has eaten like
the Spartan's vulture through my heart,
finding it's way only with my death 20
your knowledge. / do not fear, my son,
that you will be harsh to your fathers
memory 1 know you will see that,
dreadful as was my sin, it was nothing
to the web of wickedness that was
wound around me-to the terrible
atonement my life has made. Most Of
all, you will receive consolation in know
ing Toms Bible was the means of rec
onciling my soul with Heaven-of
bringing to my restless, sorrowful
heart the peace for which 1t had so
long sighed. We are nearing the
land every day-the land which for ten
long years l have known only in my
dreams; but shall never set foot upon
DIT. Too surely has the hand OF death
laid hold upon me. l heard you anx-
iously inquiring of the ships surgeon
the other day II there was nothing to
help my cough. could have answered
what he evaded. Do not grieve for me;
I shall be happy-so happy to lay off
this cumbersome garment of flesh,
these blind eyes Of doubt. For you
my son, leave a rich legacy of expert
ha
that shipwrecked my peace and good
name. have no fear for your future.
know your artist name will be honora-
ble-that the wealth fail to leave will
be more blessed won for yourself One
solemn charge only give you-that is,
to seek out, when once more you come
to mingle with your countrymen in
England, and speak with Annabel Mar
ston-her name may be changed now.
I few from England the very morning
after that wretched day. have avoid
ed all knowledge of the changes time
may have brought, but you can easily
find her. Tell her all that you have
learned from these pages-of the utter
horror that followed my happy parting
with her; of the murdered spectre that
strobe everywhere at my side; of all
the gloom and ruin that terrible day
flung upon me; and then show her how
peace and forgiveness came. Give her
Toms Bible; she will find all the places
marked that refer to her guilt and mine;
and say to her the last messasa Of the
man she wronged so terribly was utter
forgiveness, and an earnest petition
that she would also seek the only foun-
tain that can wash away such sin. 9th
er directions you will find in another
place. / am exhausted, and must rest
now"
Walter read 1t through, as have said,
and then with groan he said:
"Oh, my dead father, have seen at
last the woman for whose love you per-
lied so much! She is admired and hon.
ored and happy, and you, her innocent
victim, are lying in your unknown, IN
honored gravel"
Presently his long, quivering sigh
gave way to a more cheerful tone.
"One thing at least may comfort me,
though all else be disheartening-Elea
nor Is unchanged. She remembers me