The Spectator., 1916-04-11

the thunderous knocking at the door The old maid felt her heart stop beating for a moment. Who could it be, at this time of night? Then the thought came swiftly that perhaps the parent of some one of her charges was i'll and this was the summons. Still ing her fears, she went resolutely to the door and opened it.
 Who is it?" she called
 No one answered. She cupped her hand to her ear She could hear the chatter of horses dimly.
 "Well!" she exclaimed; rather an grily, too.
 She was in the act of closing the door when the light from the hall dis covered to her the bundle on the steps. She stopped and touched 1t. Good heavens, it's a child." She picked the, bundle up. A whim- per came from 1t, tired little whim- per of protest. She ran back to the reception room. A founding! And on her doorstep, It was incredible What In the world should she do? It would create a scandal and hurt the prestige of the school. Some one had | mistaken her select private school for a farmhouse. It was frightful. Then she unwrapped the child. It was about year old. dimpled and golden haired A thumb was in its rosebud mouth and it's blue eyes looked up trustfully into her own. Why, you cherub" cried the old maid, strange turmoil In her heart. She caught the child to her breast, and then for the first time noticed the thick envelope pinned to the child's cloak. She put the baby into a chair and broke open the envelope.
 Name this child Florence Gray. will send annually liberal sum for her support and reclaim her on her eighteenth birthday. The other half of the inclosed bracelet will identify me. Treat the girl we'll, for l shall watch over her in secret"
 Into the fixed routine of her hum drum life had come mystery, tan talking, fascinating mystery. She had read of foundlings left on doorsteps from paper covered novels confis- cated from her pupils-but that one should be placed upon her own re spectable doorstep! Suddenly she smiled down at the child and the child smiled back. And there was nothing more to be done except to bow before the decrees of fate. Like all prim old maids, her heart was full of unrequited romance, and here was something she might spend its floods upon without let or hindrance. Al ready she was hoping that the man or woman who had left it might never come back.
 The child grew. Regularly each year, upon a certain date, Miss Harlow received registered letter with money. These letters came from all parts of the world; always the same sum. always the same line-I am watching
 Thus seventeen years passed; and to Susan Farlow each year seemed shorter than the one before. For she loved the child with all her heart. She had not trained young girls all these years without becoming adept in the art of reading the true signs of breed ing. There was no ordinary blood in Florence; the fact was emphasized by her exquisite face, her small hands and feet. her spirit and gentleness. And now at any day, some one with broken bracelet might come for her. As the days went on the heart of Su- san Harlow grew heavy.
 Never mind. aunty,' said Florence; T shall always come back to see you"
 She meant it, poor child; but how was she to know the terrors which lay beyond the horizon?
 
 The house of Stanley Hargreave, in Riverdale, was the house of no or dinary rich man. Outside it was sim pie enough, but within you learned what kind of man Hargreave was. There were rare Ispahans and Saruks on the floors and tapestries on the walls. and here and there fine paint ing. The library itself represented fortune. Money had been laid out lavishly but never wastefully. It was the home of a scholar, dreamer, wide traveller.
 In the library stood the master of the house, idly lingering some papers which lay on the study table. He shrugged at some unpleasant thought. settled his overcoat about his shoul' ders, took up his hat, and walked from the room. drowning slightly. The but Ter, who also acted in the capacity of valet, always within call when his master was about, stepped swiftly to the hall door and opened it.
 q may be out late, Jones' said Hargreave.
 Yes, sir"
 Hargreave stared into his face keen ly, as If trying to pierce the grave face to learn what was going on be- hind it.
 How long have you been with me-"
 Fourteen years. sir"
 aco,,,n aaxv ohall uood you"