Evening star., 1914-06-28

a had rather not talk of my brothers
death-even to you" Troy answered. And
it struck him oddly, as he spoke, that he
should say 4even to you" Yet somehow it
seemed natural at may be different in the
future" he went on; abut it would do no
good now: only harm"
Every WE'LL as you like" said the older
man. @But when you have heard what
have to tell of your mother you'll give me
the sequel to my story, the end which you
know and I don't"
IVES," Troy agreed 4But it's not merry
: tale. Hyou loved her, it will make you
sad."
3Yet had rather hear it than anything
else in the world. Not day has passed in
all these years that haven't asked myself
Where is Margaret now-Margaret, who,
ought to have been my Margaret Is she
happy1 Is she living, or has she passed out
of this world?' When my daughter told me
your full name yesterday, then I hoped
should have the answer to those questions
through YOU"
3Does Lady Daura know the story Of
you and my mother2" Troy asked quickly.
If Lord Gorme said yes, it would account
perhaps for Daura's offer of friendship
friendship in such unfriendly circumstances.
slant, that the answer might be yes, because
the girls kindness could thus be explained
in sweet and womanly fashion. She need
no longer be for him a subtle, beguiling
creature, white witch. But the answer
was no.
3My daughters have never heard me
speak of Margaret Cameron" Lord Gorme
answered. at was better not. They
wouldn't have understood. They love to
think of their mother, whom married years
after l lost Margaret. They would believe
me disloyal, if they knew, and that would be
to misjudge me. l was loyal to all my wife
wished or expected of me; but she didn't
care, or want to care, as Margaret and
cared for each other. AS it was with me, SO
it was with Elinor. There was someone else
been given her way. Your mother was a
Cameron, you know, and our families had
hated each other ever since there we're
Camerons and Scores. 1t was case of
Romeo and Juliet over again-and those
were the names Margaret and l had for each
other. I was soldier in those days. We
met first at ball in Edinburgh, where was
stationed. 1t was love at first sight for both
of us-and the difficulties we foresaw added
zest and romance. But they were even
greater than we expected, especially for
Margaret. Neither of us had penny, and
Margaret was devoted to her father, an in
valid. She dared not let him know what
was going on. We both trusted to luck 1t
seemed as if all must come right if we waited.
But someone sent her father an anonymous
letter, betraying the secret we thought no.
body knew. Margaret confessed, and, think
ing her fathers life in danger, promised to
give me up.
at was just at this time that Robert Troy
came to Edinburgh, with letter of intro
duction to some relatives of Margaret's. He
was very rich, and-I don't know much of
American politics-but already he was
man of importance, and bade fair to rise
higher. Perhaps he was fascinating too
People said So Anyhow, Margaret was en-
gagged to him within month after breaking
with me-and it was by her fathers death
bed that she married. l sent back all her let
tiers as she asked me to do,-the letters used
to keep in this silver box,-and 1 never
heard of her again after she went to America;
that is, l never heard anything personal.
What the world knew of your father, l knew
that was all: never anything of Margaret"
3You knew that my father lost all he had
in national panic?' Troy said.
Il heard that the bulk of his fortune went.
But Margaret's old friends believed that
something was saved. She never wrote,
however, never came back to Scotland; for
by that time all her near relatives were dead.
4 r