The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-02-27
VII.

Leila Leigh was french governess At
st. Martha's College. She had plenty of
work from dawn till dusk in these short
November days. She had classes before
breakfast, classes after breakfast, half a
dozen music pupils; she gave lessons IN
water ~colors, she taught embroidery, she
toile6 necessarily but, after the q O'Clock
tea. her time was her owl. Then she
might write letters, or read novels, or sew
for herself, or practice on the piano or
the harp. On both Instruments LionePs
beautiful sister was a proficient.
On the evening when the attempt at an
elopement from the sac red precincts of st.
Martha's was frustrated by the opportune
arrival of Messrs- Cummington and How
Ter. Leila was not writing letters nor
reading fiction, nor trimming hats. She
sat idly enough before a bright fire, which
glowed On the hearth in her small apart
ment-n neat little room, where the plain
ness of the school furniture was clothed
and adorned by the fine taste and delicate
h~andiwork of the poor little teacher.
BY 10 o'clock everybody in st. Mar
tha's was in bed and all the lights were
ont. 1t was Z o'clock when Leila sat be-
fore her coy fire. Her cheeks were flush
ed. her eyes shone, her heart beat fast.
In her hand was a note received that day.
1t was not signed, 1T there was a mono
gram at the top, and a coronet. The note
came from Beryl Court The writer of
the note was Arthur Calthorpe, heir to
the Earldom Of Beryl. Tears fell upon
that little note. Leila read it, folded it
up. read it again, then sat looking into
1900 n N a lfff1a crt1Ian
rap at the door,
Come in" said Leila and there ran
IN a little, white woman about twenty
seven, with heavy plaits of brown hair,
and wearing a green dress.
"Oh. Miss Gregsoni" said Leila, get
ting up and Offering the little lady a chair.
Il am sorry, bat / had forgotten all
about it."
Nevertheless, dear, you must tell me
this story !; l am sure there is a great deal
in it. l am writing a novel, and / feel
convinced there are the elements of a plot
IL the strange history of your youth and
YOUR handsome brother"
Miss Gregson took out a p~ocketbook
and pencil, prepared to make notes on
what Leila Leigh had to relate. Leila
iOOkeQ QOWu ~ LIZ AAllic Gole lOlQtQ III
her hand, then once more at the fire.
Then she began her tale.
Mamma died the day I was born, and
her loss saddened all my fathers life,
wrapped him in a gloom from which he
never emerged for a single day. Mamma
died In Normandy, in a little village call
ed st. Pierre des Montagnes, 1 was put
out to nurse with a family Of good Nor
man peasants, and papa went away with
my brother Lionel. When 1 was seven
years cd, papa came back to st. Pierre
des Montagnes with Lionel. After awhile
1 went home to Chateau M~oreauville, a
gloomy old mansion four miles out of
St. Pierre.
my father took possession of Chateau
Moreauville-that is to say, he rented it
from the proprietor, who was absent in
Italy. Papa was tired of wandering
around the world. lie was a writer Of
scientific and philosophical subjects, and
lie earned a few hundreds yearly. Some
of this money he saved; but be was very
anxious about the education of his chill
dren, and very ambitious that Lionel
should shine in some department Of sci
epce or literature. He was taken with an
illness. 4 slow fever, not violent, but lin
GERM. prostrating. By dint of care and
watchfulness. he began to recover. In
the midst Of October, just when the for
est was golden, and the scarlet %gerani-
ums, which ran wild in the uncultured
gardens, were abloom and ablaze, papa
came down into the drawing room. We
had a large fire, and we crowded about it
Lionel, papa and myself. How pale
and gaunt was that dear face which we
loved so tenderly, and yet which always
seemed to me awful. with the shadow OF
n secret, which looked out now and anon
from the depths of his mournful eyes
Suddenly ne spoke.
MY children, I nave lone you an in
Justice. When / die there will not be
more than five hundred pounds LEFT, after
my debts are paid, and neither of you
nave finished your education. | had hoped
TO live until Lionel was a man; then 1
would have told him the story of his
mother, and l would have asked him to
u land, gold. title, for her sake
Title! cried Lionel, starting to his
feet 'Oh, father, who are you?
Then papa struck the gold-headed
stick vigorously against the iron crate.
Strength seemed to come into his feeble
hands. fire seemed to fash out OF his
sunken eyes,