The two ladies received the explanation of his absence—a river-trip with a friend—with chilling indifference. To Miss Penelope nothing was of any importance except the decorations of the banqueting hall, while Lady Constance had the evidence of her own eyesight. He was compelled, therefore, to return to London the next day in the same unhappy state of mind. To distract his thoughts, he threw himself heart and soul into the preparations for the festive event; and even Jasper Vermont himself could not have worked harder.

The announcement of the fancy dress ball to be held at Barminster had made something like a sensation; for not only was the magnificence of the Castle well known, but the fact that it was so seldom used for festivities of any kind lent importance to the occasion, and had roused society, both in town and country, to the height of expectancy.

Preparations were carried on apace. The whole Castle was to be lighted and decorated, regardless of expense, while even the servants' dresses were to be manufactured by the masters of their craft, and approved of by heraldic authorities, in order that the right effect of the period, that of two hundred years back, might be maintained. Never had a ball been carried out with such a wealth of detail.

Throughout all this, and during the many visits which Adrien found necessary to make to Barminster, journeying backwards and forwards in his great car, Lady Constance maintained a smiling, gentle demeanour; but she allowed him no opportunity for explanation, seeming rather to avoid his presence. Even Lord Barminster, watching his two dear ones closely, was not blind to the gravity of the situation; but he trusted to Constance's love to make matters right in the end.

At last the eventful night came. The temporary stables which the village carpenters had been erecting close to the ordinary ones were rapidly filling. Cars and carriages stood side by side, as guests from town and the surrounding districts arrived; and the air resounded with the clatter and rattle of the horses' hoofs and carriage wheels, mingled with the hooting of motor horns.

Within the Castle all was light and mirth. Ripples of laughter and the buzz of conversation went on incessantly, as the guests arrived in their varied and gorgeous costumes.

The walls of the great reception rooms had all been covered with priceless tapestry, and as far as possible made to represent the ball-room of Antony Leroy, two hundred years ago. But the guests themselves had not been asked to keep to any period of history or fashion, and, therefore, it was the most incongruous crowd that had ever gathered within the walls of Barminster Castle. Never were dresses more regal or more magnificent, alike in materials, colour and decoration. Cavaliers in silks and satins, with plumed hats and jewelled swords; Crusaders in glittering mail and silver armour. Alsace peasant girls mingled with Carmelite monks and Sicilian nuns. Shakespeare's characters were legion—Portias, Cymbelines, Katherines and Shylocks, all laughed and jested together, their identity concealed beneath their black velvet masks. It seemed as if every character and fable had risen to throng the halls of Barminster Castle that night.

Up in the gallery above the great ball-room a famous orchestra poured forth melody, and the guests were awaiting the entrance of their host as a signal to start dancing.

The last visitor had arrived, when Lord Barminster and his sister came from the entrance hall, where they had stood so long. The old man had merely donned a domino over his evening dress and carried his mask in his hand; but Miss Penelope had had her elaborate dress copied from a picture of Lord Antony's wife, which hung in the Picture Gallery. The gown was composed of soft grey satin, over which hung a veil of gold chiffon embroidered with pearls. An embroidery of gold wheat-ears sown with pearls decorated the bodice and the long, grey satin train; this, together with the family diamonds, made Miss Penelope an imposing figure, even in that bevy of fair women and gorgeous gowns.

Immediately behind them came Adrien and Lady Constance. The latter had chosen to represent "Miranda," and her loveliness seemed almost supernatural. The pale gold of her hair and the perfect shell-pink of her complexion were set off to advantage by her gown, which, simple as it was, yet showed by that very simplicity the hand of the master by whom it had been designed. It was of palest green satin, edged with chiffon in such a way as to represent the crested waves, relieved here and there by pink sea-shells and tiny wreaths of seaweed; while her only ornaments were pearls, the gifts of her guardian. It was little wonder that Adrien had been unable to express the admiration he felt, when he looked upon her fair beauty, which was now, however, covered by a velvet mask.

He himself had taken the character of Charles the First, and, with his dark, deep eyes and melancholy face, fully looked the part of the unhappy monarch. There was a faint murmur of admiration as he entered, for every detail had been so carefully copied, from the lace collar to the jewelled order across his breast, that it was as if Van Dyck's famous picture itself had stepped down from its frame.

Unconscious of the attention they provoked, Adrien led Lady Constance out to the first dance, and opened the ball with her.

Miss Penelope was in the seventh heaven of delight, when some little time later Adrien came up to her.

"What a magnificent sight, is it not, Adrien?" she said excitedly. "I knew it would be a success; but really the dresses are wonderful. Then the mystery is so delightful. I can't recognise any one now under the masks. Look, who is that?" She glanced towards a lady dressed as Undine, who seemed to float by them, so light were her movements, on the arm of a Mephistopheles.

"That," said Adrien, whose quick eyes readily penetrated the majority of the disguises, "that is—yes, I cannot be mistaken—Ev—Lady Merivale."

His voice dropped slightly as he spoke the name; for he had not expected that she would accept Miss Penelope's invitation, and was surprised by her presence.

"Who is the Mephistopheles?" asked his aunt.

Adrien glanced after the couple rather puzzled.

"I don't know," he admitted frankly.

"It is something, a shadow only, like Mr. Vermont," suggested Miss Penelope.

"It cannot be he," said Adrien, "he is not coming to-night."

Lord Barminster, who had approached in time to hear this speech, looked affectionately at his son, and Adrien caught the glance and understood it. But without making any comment, he went in search of his partner for the next waltz.

Meanwhile, Undine and Mephistopheles had seated themselves in the deep recess of one of the alcoves.

"May I get you an ice, madam?" asked the Mephistopheles in a queer, strained voice.

Undine turned her face towards him, and her eyes flashed curiously through the mask.

"You may," she replied, also disguising her voice, "if you will tell me who you are."

"That I dare not," was the guarded reply. "My name is never mentioned in ears polite, you know."

Undine smiled.

"Since you will not tell me your name, perhaps you can tell me mine without the asking."

"I can, madam. You are—Lady Merivale, who is so fond of the river."

Undine started, her face turning suddenly pale.

"I—what do you mean? Who are you?" she asked, as she peered at him with straining eyes, seeking to pierce the clever disguise.

"Mephistopheles!" was the calm retort. Then, as if to turn the subject, he continued lightly: "It is a fair scene, and a fabulous one."

Undine began to have a slight suspicion as to whom her companion might be, and was far from comfortable in her mind. The hit at the river might have been only a chance one; but this was doubtful, if Mephistopheles turned out to be either Mortimer Shelton or Jasper Vermont, as she half feared.

She strove to conceal her uneasiness.

"The best should be happy and satisfied to-night," she said; "it is a great success."

"Yes, happy!" agreed the demon, nodding his horned head, "but not satisfied. That will never be till he sees the marriage of his beloved son——" He stopped short.

"With Lady Constance Tremaine," finished Lady Merivale, in a low voice, from which all attempt at disguise had gone.

Mephistopheles nodded again.

"You have guessed aright, my lady," he said. "See! there they are together. A handsome pair; an admirable match. Yet it is sad to think——" He stopped again.

"What?" cried Lady Merivale, grasping his scarlet-clad arm in a fierce grip.

"It will never be!"

His companion trembled with suppressed eagerness.

"What do you meant?" she exclaimed. "Can you prevent it?"

"I both can and will," was the quiet answer. "But, come, let us seek a more retired spot."

He drew her almost forcibly out of the recess into the shadow of some palms, as Adrien Leroy, with a partner on his arm, approached the alcove.

"Oh! Mr. Leroy," said Lady Chetwold, as they passed, "can you tell me who this latest arrival is?"

"I have not seen her," said Adrien rather wearily; his eyes were bent on Lady Constance, who had left him and was now dancing with Lord Standon.

"Oh, there she is!" exclaimed his voluble little companion. "Such a magnificent Cleopatra, isn't she?"

She drew his attention to a tall lady who was looking rather anxiously and constrainedly about her. Her dress certainly deserved the name of magnificent. It was made for the greater part of apricot-coloured satin, with gauze and tinselled chiffon fulled over it; from the shoulders was suspended a long train of imperial purple velvet, on which was embroidered in dull green, various Egyptian symbols. Her jewels too, which were abundant, consisting chiefly of diamonds and large emeralds, made her a regal, though almost theatrical figure. Yet, as her eyes met the steady regard of Adrien's, she looked nervously round as if to make her escape.

Lady Chetwold felt Adrien give a slight start, and looking up, she saw that his lips had grown stern, and even through the mask detected the angry gleam in his eyes.

"Do you know her?" she whispered.

"Yes!" he said. "But it would be a breach of confidence to betray her, Lady Chetwold."

At the close of the dance he surrendered the little lady her next partner, and went in search of the Cleopatra. He soon espied her, seated in one of the recesses, and strode across to her. She started to her feet as Adrien approached, then sinking back into her chair, she looked up at him defiantly.

At that moment the band struck up the music for the cotillion, and the mass of colours shifted in dazzling movement, as, amid the rustle of silks and the ripple of laughter, the dance commenced.

Adrien was engaged to Lady Constance for it; but in the height of his anger he had forgotten the fact.

"Ada!" he exclaimed in a low voice full of suppressed indignation. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? You've no business here."

"No business here! Oh, haven't I?" she answered harshly, her bosom heaving, and her bejewelled hands clenching.

"No," he continued, standing in front of her so that she should not be seen by the dancers. "You know that as well as I do. How did you come?"

"On my legs," retorted the lady defiantly. "They're good for something else besides dancing in your theatre, Adrien. You're an unfeeling brute to speak to me like that after the way you've treated me. Do you think I'm going to be thrown aside like a worn-out glove, just because you want to marry that grand swell of a cousin."

"Silence!" said Adrien in a tense whisper, and grasping her arm almost savagely. "Keep your mask on, and come with me. If you are discovered, I will not answer for the consequences."

She rose sullenly, but abashed by his unusual vehemence, for never yet had she seen him moved from his polite calm; and opening the door at the end of the room, he led her away from the brilliant ball-room.

"Now," he said as he closed the door and removed the mask from his face, "what does this mean? There is something more in your presence than I can understand. Whether I marry or not, it can be nothing to you, Ada; you have the money, which is all you care for."

"No, I haven't," she retorted loudly, "and you know it!"

He held up his hand with a gesture of contemptuous command.

"Speak quietly, if you can," he said, "or I leave you at once. Do you mean to tell me you have not received the deeds?"

"I do," she replied sulkily. "It ain't no use your carrying it off in this high-handed way, because I ain't going to be deceived by it! You promised me that you'd make me an allowance of a thousand a year, and give me the theatre when you left me. Well, you've left me right enough, but where's the money? That's what I want to know."

"I gave the deed to Jasper," said Adrien, looking down upon her with distaste, and vaguely wondering how he could ever have endured such a woman near him.

"You gave it to Jasper, did you?" said Ada, pulling or rather tugging off her mask viciously, as she spoke. "Hang me if I didn't think so all the time!" she exclaimed with a sudden change of tactics. "That Jasper's a thief. I heard you say something about those deeds, and Jasper told me a long rigmarole that you wouldn't sign them. Whether that's true or not, Heaven only knows. Jasper's a bad one, an' he's sold me. He's got the coin, and I'll split on him, as I threatened. No, it's no use your trying to make me hush up, I will speak out. I'll show you what a fool he's made of you, you who have been so good to him; I'll tell you a thing or two as will open your eyes a bit wider than they are now. I'll—"

"Be quiet!" said Adrien. "Not another word—there is some mistake. Jasper has forgotten, he has some reason for not giving it to you. He shall explain directly I can reach town. You shall have the money and the theatre, that I promise you; you know I have never broken my word yet. Now you must go. Every moment you stay increases your danger. My father is old-fashioned perhaps, but he would regard this as the greatest insult, and would punish it severely. You are no fool, Ada. How could you have done such a mad thing? Hush! slip on that domino." He pointed to a black masque cloak, and rang the bell. "Get away as quickly as possible," he went on as, now thoroughly subdued, she put on the cloak. "You shall have the money, I swear it."

On the servant entering, he hastily gave directions for her to be driven to the station; then without another word to her, he returned to the ball-room, just as his father's voice was heard inquiring for him.

"Ah! there, you are, my boy. I wondered if anything had gone wrong. Are you ill?" He gazed keenly at Adrien's pale, unmasked face.

"No, sir, it is rather hot though in this dress," he returned hurriedly, hating even the very semblance of a lie. "I believe Constance is waiting for me," he continued. "Ah, yes, there she is. The ball is going off well, don't you think so?"

His father nodded.

"Yes," he said, "your friends are pronouncing it to be a success. Mr. Paxhorn declares it is a vision of the period. But Constance is waiting."

Replacing his mask, Adrien made his way to his cousin, who, as usual, was surrounded by a small group of courtiers. She glanced up as he approached and, with a smile to the rest, took his proffered arm. As he looked at her sweet face, a thrill ran through him at the purity of her beauty—so great a contrast to that of the woman he had just dismissed that he loathed the very thought of ever having touched her hand. In that moment, the love he bore Constance welled up passionately in his heart, refusing to be suppressed, and again he tore off the velvet mask.

When the girl raised her calm eyes to his face, the ardent look in his startled her, and she determined to at least listen to any explanation he wished to give her. "Where have you been, Adrien?" she said gently. "I thought you had forgotten me."

"No!" he answered sharply, "that would be impossible; but I was called away. Do you care for this dance? Or, would you give me just a few moments with you alone on the terrace?"

Her eyes softened.

"Yes, if you like, Adrien," she said gently. "I am really tired now, and longing for the air."

"Come, then," he said; and catching up a silken wrap that lay on one of the seats, he threw it tenderly over her.

Together they passed out on to the terrace, and seemed to have slipped into another world, so great a contrast was the peaceful moonlit valley beneath them to the brilliant, heated ball-room they had just left.

As the curtained door swung behind them, Jasper Vermont, alias Mephistopheles—his scarlet costume now changed to ordinary evening dress, and covered with a long black domino, similar to that which Ada had donned—shot a sharp glance after them; then, with a sinister smile, he left the room by another exit, and made his way into the grounds. Keeping well within the shadow of the trees and shrubs, he crouched down, directly under the terrace where Adrien had led Constance; here, motionless and scarcely breathing, he listened with eager ears.

"It is hot," said Constance, removing her mask, and letting the wrap fall back from her shoulders.

"All the more reason you should be careful," said Adrien, replacing it gently.

She smiled, as she gazed up at him.

"You look very tired," she said softly. "This ball has been a strain on you, has it not?"

"Not more than usual," he returned. "At any rate, it will be my last for some time to come."

"Your last!" she echoed, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes. "What do you mean, Adrien?"

"I am going away after to-night," he said hoarsely; for the sight of her beauty was goading him almost to despair.

"Going away!" she hardly breathed the words; her face had paled in the moonlight, till it looked almost unearthly. "Why?"

"You ask me why?" he murmured, his forehead damp with the force of his emotion. "You, who know how I love you—worship your very shadow!"

She trembled under the passion of his gaze.

"Adrien!" she exclaimed, in low, reproachful tones. "Why do you speak to me like that, when I know how little your words really mean?"

"Little!" he cried with suppressed passion. "Ah, Constance, why are you so cruel to me? Why do you so misjudge me, when I would gladly die to serve you?"

The earnestness in his tones was unmistakable; but she kept her face turned from him, and he knew only from the quick-drawn breath that she had heard him.

"Constance," he pleaded, "look at me, dear. Give me this one chance. I shall never trouble you again."

"You have no right——" she began tremulously.

"No right to tell you I love you. Do you think I don't know that?" he burst out. "It is just that very knowledge which has burnt itself into me, and seared my very soul."

"What knowledge?" she asked, forgetful, in the suddenness of his attack, the tactics she had adopted with regard to Lord Standon.

"The knowledge of your engagement," he answered hoarsely. "Ah, Constance, be merciful. Surely not even Standon himself would grudge me these last few moments."

"What has Lord Standon to do with me?" she asked, looking him full in the face with steadfast eyes.

He stared at her in amazement.

"Is he not your accepted lover?"

His voice betrayed his agony of spirit; and, hearing this, she relented. Holding up her left hand, the third finger of which was bare of rings, she said quietly, almost, indeed, demurely:

"This does not look like it, does it?"

The light of hope, new-born, flashed into his face. He sprang forward eagerly.

"Constance!" he cried. "My darling! You will try to care for me then——?" He would have taken her in his arms; but she held him off at arm's length.

"No! no, Adrien," she interrupted sadly. "Because I am not engaged to Lord Standon, is that any reason why I should love one who treats me so lightly?"

"I treat you lightly, you—the one woman I have ever truly loved? Constance, whatever sins I may have committed, you are my first love, and you will be my last. I am not worthy to touch your hand, as pure as it is white, but will you not forgive me the folly of my past life, and let me live in hope that I may do better? I swear from this day forth to cast off the old life, with all its emptiness and folly, and lay the future at your feet."

As his passionate words ceased, she turned to him.

"Adrien, I do not know what to think," she said in low, troubled tones. "I wrote to you last month—that day we came up to London, believing that perhaps you had learned to care a little for me; but when you deliberately spent the day with another woman, sooner than with me, what am I to think?"

"What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.

"I saw you," she returned simply, "when we were at the station, auntie and I, on the twenty-second——"

"The twenty-second!" he echoed, through blanched lips.

"Yes, you were at Waterloo Station with some one, I did not see her face. But what does it matter now? If you had cared——" She stopped abruptly.

"I do care," he reiterated passionately. "Heaven above knows that; but I do not hope to make you believe me. Constance, I can give neither you nor any living being the explanation of that awful day. But I swear to you that the meeting was unsought by me. I could not help myself. I do not know how all this has come about. I understood from Standon that—that he was engaged to——"

"Muriel Branton," interrupted Constance softly. "He told me himself."

For a moment Adrien stared at her in stupefaction.

"If I had known we were at cross-purposes!" he exclaimed. "I see it all now—when it is too late," and sinking down on the stone seat he buried his face in his hands.

For a minute there was silence, broken at last by the rustle of Lady Constance's dress as she came timidly towards him.

"Adrien," she murmured, very low indeed, but not so low that he did not hear.

He looked up, gave one swift glance at her blushing face, then, with an incoherent cry of delight, caught her in his arms.

"My darling!" he cried. "I love you. Believe that, though I failed you so."

No further words were spoken—none were needed; then Adrien said gently:

"Darling, before we return, tell me, just once—let me hear it from your own lips, that you love me; for I can scarcely believe I am awake."

"It is no dream, Adrien," she said, her face flushing and quivering with pent-up emotion. "I love you, dear."

Again he clasped her in his arms and neither heard a step behind them. It was not until a warning cough roused them, that Adrien started, and became aware of the presence of Mr. Jasper Vermont.



CHAPTER XXII

While the preparations for the ball at Barminster Castle had been going on apace, trouble and confusion reigned in the little village on the banks of the Thames.

No sooner had Mr. Jasper Vermont taken his departure, than poor Lucy Ashford sank on the floor of the shop, and burst into a flood of tears. So great had been the strain that she was completely unnerved, and had quite forgotten the likelihood of her husband's return from Richmond, as well as the mysterious disappearance of Jessica, who had not been seen in the house since the arrival of Adrien Leroy and his unconscious burden.

This sudden realisation of all the presentiment of evil which Lucy Ashford had ever in her mind, had burst on her like a thunderbolt. She had known always that the man, Mr. Jasper Vermont, who knew her secret, was alive; but never before had she been actually threatened with its betrayal. Her father, Mr. Harker, had always stood between her and that dreadful possibility.

Presently, she jumped up and called to Jessica. Then she remembered that the girl had disappeared from the time she had sent her from the room. Fearful that Vermont might yet change his mind and return for the night, she ran to the door, calling out Jessica's name in a paroxysm of nervous terror, which finally, on receiving no reply, ended in a severe attack of hysterics, in the midst of which her husband returned and found her.

With an exclamation of alarm, he raised her from the floor and bore her upstairs to the bed on which Lady Merivale had lain such a short time ago. He was greatly puzzled by the disordered appearance of the room, and his first thought was of burglars. He gave no time to this, however, but hastened to get his wife into bed, then rushed out for a doctor. When he returned with him it was found that Lucy had relapsed into a state of fever, and was talking deliriously, of an inn at Canterbury, an individual of the name of Johann Wilfer, and most of all, making plaintive appeals to Jasper Vermont not to betray her.

As the next day Jessica had not returned, Ashford found all his work cut out for him, to see after the shop and the children, as well as his wife. A kindly neighbour came to his rescue; but John insisted on nursing Lucy himself, while the woman remained downstairs.

At first, the husband paid little attention to the wandering, incoherent sentences of his wife; but as the first excitement died down, and they began to take distinct form, he bent over her, and learned the one error of her life. Naturally, poor John recoiled in horror; the whole thing seemed so incredible, so impossible to believe. Yet, when he had had time to reflect, he saw that this explained all the little strangenesses in his wife's conduct and manner; her intense nervousness at the sight of any stranger; her reticence as to her youthful days; all this was borne in on his mind, and he realised that he had been deceived. His wife, in whom he had so trusted, had loved another before him; and at the bitter truth, John Ashford utterly broke down, and, hiding his face in the counterpane, sobbed like a child. Tears sometimes are Nature's own medicine, and do more to soften the heart than any words. After the first shock had worn away, Ashford commenced to look back on the happy days he had spent with Lucy; the way she had worked with him, and for him. These thoughts did their healing work, and accordingly, a few days later, when Lucy Ashford returned to consciousness, she found her husband's eyes gazing into hers with only pitying tenderness in their depths.

"John," she said faintly, "have I been ill?"

"Yes, dear," he replied gently.

Something in his saddened tones, or perhaps strange intuition, told Lucy that her secret was no longer hers alone.

"John!" she cried, her voice shaking with terror and weakness. "You know all!" And she hid her face in her hands.

Her husband bent over her tenderly and kissed the thin cheek.

"Yes, dear," he said. "You've told me all. Why didn't you trust me before?"

She looked at him in wonder, hardly believing the evidence of her own ears. Was this all the reproach and anger he would deal out to her? Could it be possible that, knowing all, the man she had loved, yet feared, solely on this account, would not only forgive but take her into his heart again? As if in answer to her bewildered thoughts, John's arm was around her neck, and his kiss of forgiveness fell upon her lips.

Presently, she looked up, with a look of ineffable peace and gratitude on her face.

"John," she said, "send for poor father; it will be new life to him to know that this dreadful weight is off my heart, and that you, knowing what a bad woman I have been, will still call me your wife. Oh, fetch him to me soon, dear, that he may be happy too."

Her husband kissed her again, and without another word left the room. Giving some directions to the neighbour who was still in the shop, he set out at once on his journey. He drove into Hampton and took the first train to London, where he intended to tell his father-in-law the whole story, and learn what details he could; for he did not wish ever to bring up the subject again, so far as Lucy was concerned.

Now it happened that Mr. Harker was late at the office that night, bending, sad and wrinkled, over his interminable papers; the whole business connected with which was so repugnant to him. Sigh after sigh escaped his thin lips, as he read the piteous appeals, and knew that he must refuse them; must deal out fresh misery against his will. It was hard to be the tool of such a merciless fiend; to be the servant of such a master of deceit, villainy and fraud; but so greatly did the father love his child that he would scarce have hesitated in committing a murder had Jasper Vermont set that crime as a price of his forbearance and silence. He would have purchased his daughter's safety and happiness with his heart's blood, if need be.

Unconscious of the release that was so fast approaching, he worked on, setting in order the various accounts which Vermont would require to be laid before him on the following day; and entering in a book concise histories of the debts and difficulties which placed dozens of Jasper's acquaintances within his power.

A knock at the door startled him, and roused him from his task. Hastily shutting the ledger before which he was seated, and covering the deeds and documents with a large sheet of paper, the old man rose and opened the door.

It was his son-in-law, John Ashford, and at the sight of his round, kindly face, Harker staggered back, and clutched at the table.

"Lucy!" he gasped out. "Is she ill?"

"All right! All right!" said John reassuringly, but in a quieter voice than his usual jovial one. "Don't be frightened. But when she says 'Go and fetch father,' you see, I come and fetch you directly."

Mr. Harker was not to be deceived by this attempt at a jest.

"She is ill!" he cried, the perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

John nodded.

"She is better now," he said. "But I should like you to come down at once. We shall catch a train to Hampton Court, and I have a trap waiting for me there." Without any further explanation—for after thinking the matter over, he had determined that Lucy herself should break the news to her father—he helped the old man, still trembling and shaking, to put on his coat, and to lock up the office; and it was not until they were well on their way, that John told him how he had found his wife a fortnight ago, lying unconscious on the ground.

Mr. Harker's troubled face darkened, and his thin hands clenched and unclenched themselves, for he knew Mr. Vermont only too well, and the thought had already crossed his mind that this sudden illness was in some way due to that gentleman's interference.

Outside Hampton Court station they found the horse and cart for which John had arranged; and the two men got in silently and started off once more. They were within a short distance of their destination, when John pulled up the horse with an exclamation of astonishment. They were in a narrow lane, with barely room enough for the cart to pass along, and almost within a yard of the horse's hoofs stood the figure of a young girl.

Ashford recognised her in an instant; with a shout of warning, he threw the reins to his father-in-law and, leaping to the ground, caught the girl by the arm.

"Jessica!" he cried reproachfully. "What are you doing here?"

She looked up at him in silence, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I am coming back to you," she said at last, in a low voice, "if you will have me? There was some one I wanted to see again in London, or I would never have gone; for, oh! sir, I know how good you and Mrs. Ashford have been to me."

John appeared relieved.

"I thought you weren't one of the sort to go off and leave my Lucy just because she was ill and wanted extra help," he said, in a tone of relief.

"Ill," repeated Jessica, with a look of bewilderment. "She was not ill when I left her. It was the other lady who was ill."

John, of course, knew nothing of Lady Merivale, and gazed at Jessica as though she had taken leave of her senses.

"I don't know what lady you mean," he said; "but my wife has been very ill for the past two weeks, and asking for you often. You see, I thought you had run away and left her."

"I will drive back with you, please, sir, if you have room for me. I didn't know Mrs. Ashford was ill," said the girl, humbly following him, as he turned towards the trap.

He lifted her up, and fastened her in securely.

All this time Mr. Harker had taken no notice of the little episode, save to wonder slightly at the delay. But directly he caught sight of the vivid, dark beauty of the girl, he started.

"Who is this?" he asked John, who was hurriedly driving on again.

"A poor girl whom Lucy has befriended," he replied. "Why, did you think you recognised her?"

Mr. Harker shook his head. She strongly resembled some one he had seen; but, for the moment, he could not call to mind who that person was.

"What is her name?" he inquired.

"Jessica," replied his son-in-law. "She doesn't seem to know any other."

They drove on in silence, broken presently by Mr. Harker, who had stolen another glance at the silent girl.

"A wonderful likeness," he murmured. "I could have sworn that was Ada Lester, the actress, as she used to be."

He relapsed again into silence, and John was too much wrapped up in his own thoughts to question him further.

They reached the little shop at last, and Jessica ran lightly and quickly up to the bedroom. She was welcomed warmly by Lucy, who had grown to like the girl, and had been greatly upset by her absence.

"I'm glad you have come back, dear," she whispered, as Jessica bent over her. "Where have you been?"

"To London, dear Mrs. Ashford. I did not know you were ill. I came back with Mr. Ashford."

"John!" exclaimed Lucy, the colour rising in her face. "My father as well?"

"Yes," said the girl. "I will call them."

She did so, and a moment later John and Mr. Harker entered the room.

"Here he is, dear, you shall tell him the news yourself, while I take the horse back," said the kindly John. He bent over and kissed her; and Lucy followed him with wistful, adoring eyes, as he went out accompanied by Jessica.

The next half-hour was an affecting one for father and daughter. Harker could hardly believe the good news; for so long had they tried and succeeded in keeping the truth back from Ashford, that it seemed incredible indeed that he had forgiven freely and wholly. Mr. Harker looked a different being when, after kissing his daughter affectionately, he left her and went down to the little parlour.

John was sitting smoking his pipe; but he started up when the old man entered.

"What is the matter?" he said, as he looked at his pale face. "Is she worse?"

"No," said Harker. "She is better, thank Heaven! John Ashford," he continued humbly, "I have come to beg your forgiveness for the pain we have caused you. I knew my girl to be a good girl, although she had once been so foolish. I knew she would make you a true loving wife, in spite of her sin. It was I who overcame her scruples, and bade her marry you. I did it for the best. I did it that she might be happy; for I knew how she loved you, and she so feared to lose your love and respect. She tells me you have forgiven her, but can you forgive me?"

John grasped his hand.

"Of course I do," he said heartily. "You did it for her so I have nothing to forgive. If my poor darling had only plucked up courage and told me all, the hour we were man and wife, she would have learned how dearly I loved her, and it would have saved you both many unhappy years."

Tears of gratitude stood in Harker's eyes, as he returned the handclasp.

"Heaven bless you, John," he murmured. "Not many men would be so merciful. We will never speak of this again. You will not repent your generosity."

"What are you going to do?" asked Ashford; struck by something unusual in the old man's voice.

"I am going back to London," said Harker, smiling grimly, as in anticipation of a pleasant task. "I have work to do, an account to settle now—for Lucy and myself. You don't know all yet, John; you don't know, you never will know, all that Lucy and I have suffered."

He paused as if overcome by his emotion; then continued in trembling voice:

"We have been slaves all these years, trembling and shrinking under a villain's nod and frown. I've sold myself to a demon, who, in consideration of my services—of my body and soul—promised to keep his talons from my poor Lucy. He discovered her mistake; and he threatened to let the whole world know, to tell you all, if I did not bind myself to do his villainous work. I have done it for years. I have endured shame and agony unspeakable, that my darling's secret might be safe. I have been his tool and his scapegoat. I, an old man, on my way to the grave, have earned—and rightly earned—the names of usurer and thief. All this I have done and suffered that he should never blight my child's happiness by his presence. He has broken the contract. He came down here that night you went to Richmond, and, with his fiendish ways and threats, nearly killed her. Well, now his power has gone. Thanks to your generosity, your forgiveness, Lucy is free, and I am free. Now I take my turn, and for every tear he has wrung from my darling's eyes, I will wring a groan from his black heart."

John had listened to him with intense surprise. He knew his father-in-law was in business in the City; but he did not know that the business of "Harker's," for which he had a great respect, had anything to do with moneylending. Still he refrained from asking any questions; and seeing that Mr. Harker was practically exhausted by the excitement and the news, persuaded him to spend the remainder of the night with them, and travel back to town in the morning.

After reflection the old man agreed to this; and it was a very happy little party that met at the breakfast-table next day.

Mr. Harker, unable to sleep, had let his thoughts go back to Jessica; and in the silence of the night a picture had arisen before his eyes; a theatre in which a dark-eyed young girl was dancing, amidst a crowd of others. In his delight at having a clue he cried aloud, "Ada Lester, at the Rockingham!" The more he thought of it the more sure he felt that this girl must be the daughter, or at least some connection, of the well-known actress.

On questioning Jessica, all the information he could obtain from her was that which she had given Adrien Leroy. Johann Wilfer was the boundary of her existence. Harker remembered the name as that of the man from whom he had bought the picture, and he also knew now that he it was who had been responsible for Lucy's early sin. But he was not to be shaken from his belief that in some way Jessica must be related to Ada Lester, and he asked the girl whether she would travel up to London with him, and trust herself to his care.

Jessica looked up into his lined face.

"Yes," she said simply, "if you won't give me back to Johann."

Harker readily promised this, and, amid many smiles and wavings of hand from the assembled Ashford family, the two started on their way.

On reaching London, Mr. Harker's first visit was to the Casket Theatre, which Jessica at once remembered as the one before which she had kept watch for Adrien Leroy; and with that recollection came the memory of the roll of papers which she had picked up. She related this little incident to Harker; and undoing the bag in which kind-hearted Lucy had put some clothes for her, she found the papers and gave them to him.

Harker looked them over, and gave a cry of joy; for he realised at once that they delivered his arch-enemy into his hands—no miracle from Heaven itself could have done more. Jessica did not understand the reason for his excitement, but she was quite content to let the papers remain in his keeping.

At the theatre he inquired for Miss Lester; and, it being matinee day, he found that the popular actress had already arrived. It took time and money to convince the military-looking door-keeper that it was absolutely necessary to take an urgent message to Miss Lester, but eventually this was done, and Mr. Harker, with Jessica—-who was almost dazed by the strangeness of her surroundings—found themselves in Miss Lester's dressing-room, a few minutes before she was due on the stage as Prince Bon-Bon.

Mr. Harker at once hastened to apologise for the intrusion; but, in the midst of his words, he broke off short, for Jessica and the actress were gazing at one another in a mutual recognition. Jessica remembered her at once as the lady who had been with Adrien Leroy; then came the earlier memory, which had so puzzled her on the night she had seen the actress entering the theatre.

"Jessica!" exclaimed Miss Lester, blankly, and she turned on the astounded Harker. "What's the meaning of this?"

The few minutes were nearly up, and the call-boy and the dresser had met in several consultations with regard to the difficulty of getting Miss Lester on to the stage in time, before Mr. Harker's explanations were through.

Ada, now thoroughly assured as to her own future, thanks to her recent visit to Barminster, was quite willing to look after her niece better than in the past; especially as her presence formed a strong link in the chain of evidence the actress intended shortly to bring against Jasper Vermont. She assured Harker that she would take care of the girl, and with this he was content; then, leaving Jessica in her aunt's charge, he made his way to his own office, prior to taking a journey down to Barminster Castle.



CHAPTER XXIII

The unexpected appearance of Jasper Vermont startled both Lady Constance and Adrien.

"Jasper!" exclaimed Adrien, almost sternly, drawing the silken wrap around Lady Constance as if to shield her from all eyes but his own. "I did not expect you here to-night."

"No," answered Jasper. "I have travelled post-haste to try and save you from heavy trouble; the matter is so pressing that you must give me my way and attend to it at once. I am sure Lady Constance would forgive this intrusion, if she only knew of what serious importance it is to you, and, indeed, to us all."

He moved forward as he spoke; and the light of the full moon falling on his smooth, clean-shaven face, showed it so ghastly white, so moved by strong emotion that Lady Constance started back a step, while Leroy himself stared in surprise.

"Good Heavens!" he said, "whatever is the matter to make you drive down in such a state? What is wrong? Is it the theatre?" A faint contemptuous smile crossed his face as he thought of Ada.

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Vermont, scornfully. "The theatre! No, Adrien, there's not a moment to be lost. I must speak with you at once. Don't look at me like that. You do not grasp what imminent peril is hanging over you."

"Peril!" gasped Lady Constance, springing forward and placing her hand on Adrien's arm, her movement showing, perhaps unconsciously, the state of her feelings towards him more than anything else could have done. It was as if she wished to share with him any approaching pain.

Jasper glanced at her from beneath his lowered lids—the sort of hungry look one would imagine a starving wolf might cast at a lamb.

"Serious peril!" repeated Lady Constance.

"Of what kind?" asked Leroy, still with that faint smile on his lips, and quite unmoved by Jasper's solemn face. Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued scornfully: "Peril! My dear Jasper, what danger can I be in? This is not the Middle Ages, and there are no assassins waiting around, are there? However, let me take Con—Lady Constance back to the ball-room again, and then I will enjoy, or at any rate listen to all you have to tell me."

Jasper Vermont smiled bitterly, and took out his watch, which had been a present from Leroy.

"Adrien," he said slowly, "you have ten minutes between you and dishonour!"

Adrien turned round sharply, and half raised his arm as if to strike, while such a stern look crossed his face that Lady Constance scarcely recognised it as the same which, but a few minutes ago, had gazed on her so lovingly.

"Adrien!" she cried, almost shuddering at the tense anger shining in his eyes. "He must be mad!" She turned proudly on Jasper. "That is sufficient, Mr. Vermont. Pray leave us at once. If this is a jest, I consider it is in extremely bad taste."

Jasper bit his lip at her words, but did not shift his ground.

"No," said Leroy, "it is no jest, dear; there is something wrong, I feel sure. I will have a few words with him in private." He led her gently towards the door, and with pale face and trembling heart, Lady Constance re-entered the ball-room she had left so happily, seating herself near the entrance in one of the many alcoves. She was overcome by a nameless fear, and that horrible feeling of utter helplessness which overwhelms one as in a heavy cloud, and darkens the horizon for us all when weighed down by suspense.

Suddenly she determined to seek Lord Barminster, and had risen to do so, when she heard not only the voices of Adrien and Vermont, but another also, a strange one, talking not loudly but very sternly. Hardly knowing what to do, she was about to return to the terrace to ascertain what was happening, when fortunately her uncle approached with Mortimer Shelton. She went quickly to meet them, and told them her fears.

Much surprised, both Lord Barminster and Mr. Shelton accompanied her; and they found the voices were issuing from one of the small anterooms adjoining the terrace. Within this room, which was far removed from where the dancing was going on, they discovered Adrien Leroy, unmasked and very pale, staring at a blue paper which had evidently been given to him by the man standing at his side—an inspector of police.

"What is the matter, Adrien?" asked his father, and seeing that Jasper Vermont was also present, he turned his eyes to him inquiringly. But Jasper seemed wishful to avoid his glance, and only shook his head.

Adrien handed back the blue paper, still without speaking, then turned, as if to address his father, who was looking sternly from one troubled face to the other, while behind him stood Lady Constance and Mortimer Shelton. But before any one could utter a word, the inspector came forward, and addressing Lord Barminster, said quietly:

"Sorry, my lord, to have to do this at such a time but I am here in the performance of my duty. I should be glad if we could go to a more private room, where I could explain to your lordship without your guests being informed of the matter."

Lord Barminster was about to sharply retort when Shelton, who seemed to realise the seriousness of the affair, touched him lightly on the arm.

"I think, sir," he said earnestly, "it would be as well to hear what this man has to say quietly, as he suggests."

Lord Barminster controlled his feelings, recognising the good sense of the suggestion, and turning coldly to the inspector, said:

"Perhaps it would be best, Inspector. Kindly come this way."

At the end of a small passage outside the anteroom, the door opened into a smaller room, which at one time had been used as a study, and was noted for its impenetrability as to sound. Here they entered; and Lord Barminster, asking all to be seated, bade the inspector proceed with such explanations as he had to offer.

"My lord," he said respectfully, "the explanation is a very simple one, and in deference to your lordship, to make it as private as possible, I have left my men outside the Castle. I, unfortunately, hold a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Adrien Leroy on a charge of forgery."

An exclamation of horror burst from all, except Adrien and Jasper; but the speaker continued:

"In performance of my duty, I arrest him, in the King's name." He touched Adrien lightly on the arm as he spoke.

Lord Barminster drew a long breath, but still hoping against his better judgment that the affair was what its originators considered, a practical joke, he restrained all appearance of anger.

"Come," he said, "this may be an excellent jest; but whoever is responsible for it must surely realise that it has gone far enough."

"This is no jest, sir," said Adrien, and he looked at Mortimer Shelton, who sat, white and bewildered, opposite to him.

"I am arrested on a charge of forging Shelton's signature to a bill for ten thousand pounds."

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed his friend, starting up in horror. "But it is impossible that they should think you—"

"Shelton," continued Adrien steadily, "has written a letter saying that the signature is a forgery."

"I wrote last week, not knowing; but, of course"—he laughed scornfully—"it is all a mistake, which can soon be rectified. The idea of coming to you for such a thing! I hope you don't believe, my dear Adrien, that I had any hand in this monstrous accusation?"

"Of course, I know that," replied his friend, holding out his hand. "But the writing has a distinct resemblance to mine, I admit; and two witnesses are ready to prove, so the inspector tells me, that they saw me enter the office of a certain 'Harker's,' I think it is, where the bill was signed, and also that my motor was standing at the door. While a third witness, a clerk at the office, has filed an affidavit that he actually saw me writing on the bill, there. All this, father"—turning once more to the old man—"passes a jest."

"Yes, indeed," replied Lord Barminster sarcastically; "for a Leroy, who can command a hundred thousand pounds by a stroke of his pen, to forge a bill for ten thousand pounds is not a jest, but simple madness. The charge is some insolent conspiracy."

Almost unconsciously, he fixed his glance on Jasper Vermont, who, during the whole time, had sat motionless and silent. It seemed as if he guessed, intuitively, that that smooth individual was at the bottom of it all. Then he turned his grey eyes to Adrien's calm face, and from his to the white one of Lady Constance, whose eyes were flashing with anger at the mere idea of any one doubting Adrien's honour.

There was a moment's silence, broken by Shelton, who rose and grasped his friend's hand.

"Adrien," he said, in a voice charged with emotion, "Adrien, I can bear this no longer. Give this foul accusation the lie. I know, my dear fellow, as surely as I know that I did not write it myself, that you had nothing to do with the accursed signature. But, for Heaven's sake, tell the others so too."

Adrien returned the friendly clasp with a smile that lit up his whole face; then looking round, he said quietly:

"I did not write it; I know nothing of it."

Lord Barminster rose from his seat at the sound of his son's voice, and put his hand on Adrien's shoulder; then, as if half ashamed of his pardonable emotion, he turned to the inspector.

"You hear, sir, Mr. Leroy knows nothing of the matter."

"That, my lord," returned the inspector respectfully, "would not justify me in leaving here without him. I fear he must accompany me; my instructions under the warrant are too strict. Mere denial is, of course, a common matter, and a usual one—begging your pardon, my lord"—for the old man had started indignantly.

"I should suggest, my lord," continued the inspector hurriedly, "that an alibi would be of the most service. I do not say for one moment that Mr. Leroy did commit the forgery; but, of course, he will be able to prove where he was on the twenty-second of last month, at three o'clock."

Shelton's face brightened. He wheeled round on his friend.

"Adrien," he exclaimed, "tell us where you were on that day; not to satisfy me, you know that, but to get this folly over."

Leroy gazed sadly at him, but remained silent; and Shelton grew hot, and then white with irritation, at this inexplicable silence.

"Think, my dear Adrien," he said in a quick, impatient voice. "Were you at the club, or your chambers, or Park Lane—where were you? Come, you can't have forgotten."

He stamped his foot in his impatience; for although he would have laughed to scorn any assertion of his friend's guilt, it annoyed him that a shadow should remain on Adrien's name for a single instant, and especially when a few words from Leroy himself would end the matter.

But Adrien made no indignant protest, such as might have been expected.

"No," he said at length, "I have not forgotten where I spent the day of the twenty-second——"

"Then, for Heaven's sake, man, speak out," exclaimed Shelton in excitement.

"I cannot," answered Adrien with a sigh. "I gave my word to keep secret certain events that happened on that day. They took place far away from the City, but I cannot reveal where. Those who say they saw me in London are lying, and I could easily disprove their statements; but you would not have me break my word?"

There was an awful silence, as he finished speaking. Not one present but realised the gravity of the situation, and the futility of putting further questions.

At this point the inspector turned to Lord Barminster.

"My lord," he said almost gently, "I'm afraid I must ask Mr. Leroy to come back with me—and at once; but for the sake of all here, it can be arranged so that your guests shall remain ignorant. There are not many hours before the morning now."

This was indeed true, for time waits for no man, be it spent in pleasure or in crime. "I would suggest that Mr. Leroy and myself return to London; and if he will give me his word of honour not to attempt any escape, I will dismiss my men, who were sent down with me altogether against my will."

"Certainly, you may rely on my not offering any resistance," was Leroy's reply, with a faint smile at the idea called up by the inspector's words. "I should like to change my things to something more suitable." He glanced down at the velvet and lace of his King Charles costume; all this seemed like a dream from which he must awake to find himself back in the ball-room.

"Certainly, sir," agreed the inspector, who seemed honestly reluctant to make the business any more unpleasant than necessary.

"I will come with you," put in Lord Barminster suddenly.

"I also," said Mortimer Shelton. "I will come up with you, and change into something more fitted for the journey."

Turning to Lady Constance, her uncle besought her to return to the ball-room, and thus prevent any remarks being made as to the absence of himself and Adrien. Bravely, as was to be expected of her, she turned obediently; and with a few whispered, loving words to Adrien, left the room, followed, almost unnoticed, by Jasper Vermont. He was quite satisfied with the success of his plot, but had no desire to come into contact with Lord Barminster, if he could avoid it.

Meanwhile, having ordered refreshments for the inspector, Lord Barminster prepared to accompany his son to London. The arrangements took but a short time; and when the three men, accompanied by the inspector, silently entered the car which had been brought round, the ball was drawing to an end. Carriages and motors were driving away, filled with tired but happy guests, who little guessed that their host and his son were also being driven away—but to a police-station.

Outside the Castle gates the inspector stopped to dismiss two or three plain-clothes officers who were awaiting him, telling them to return to London by the first train.

"I would suggest," he said quietly, as the car rolled through the quiet country lanes, "that we wait together in London until the court opens; and when I have delivered up my charge, you can go before the magistrate, and obtain bail, in whatever amounts are required. Mr. Leroy would then be able to return to Barminster until the actual trial—if, of course, such should be necessary."

"A very sensible idea," agreed Shelton. "Thank you, Inspector. When this matter is satisfactorily cleared up, you will not lose by your sympathy, nor by the way you have conducted the business."

Lord Barminster was also pleased at this suggestion, and, on their arrival in London, the whole party went straight to Barminster House for breakfast, after which the four walked down to the court, where application for bail was made and accepted in two sureties of ten thousand pounds each from Lord Barminster and Mortimer Shelton; then Adrien found himself free until the day of trial.

They returned to their town house, where his father telephoned to the family solicitors. Within half an hour the head of the firm arrived, and was put in possession of such meagre details as Adrien could furnish, without disclosing his doings on the fateful date, the twenty-second. The lawyer's face was very grave as he listened.

"It will not be an easy task, my lord," he ventured to say to Lord Barminster as he took his departure, "but I will do my best, and will have opinion of the highest counsel obtainable."

They were soon ready to undertake the return journey, and before parting with the kindly inspector, Lord Barminster very warmly thanked him. All felt that they had been spared a great deal of humiliation by the way he had so far conducted the case. At the Castle they found that nothing was known of the affair. Miss Penelope had retired to her own rooms to recover from the fatigue of the ball, while Constance was quite serene, strong in her loving faith in Adrien and content to ask no questions.

Jasper Vermont had also left Barminster, but had sent a note in which be stated that he was working in his friend's interest, and hoped to unearth the mystery of the conspiracy. This sounded plausible and meant nothing—which was thoroughly characteristic of Mr. Vermont.

The cases at the Central Criminal Court were fortunately light ones, and did not take long to settle, so that the interval between the acceptance of bail and the date of the trial was a short one. There was, of course, great excitement in the fashionable world over Adrien's sensational arrest, but this the young man wisely ignored; taking refuge at Barminster Castle from the curiosity and sympathy of friends and reporters alike, and resolutely refusing to be interviewed.

One thing—so characteristic of him—Adrien did at once. Notwithstanding his own cares, he remembered his promise to Ada Lester at the ball, and instructed the solicitors to prepare a deed by which the money and the rights of the Casket Theatre should be made over to her, and settled on her at once; at the same time, ordering that the papers should be handed to her personally, thus providing against any mistakes or interference on the part of Jasper.

This kindly thought completely turned the scale of Ada's gratitude in his favour. Rejoicing at the blow which she knew this would be to Mr. Vermont, and in ignorance of his last treachery to Adrien, she determined to show him up in his true colours at the first opportunity.

Meanwhile, as the day of the trial approached, Lord Barminster and Mortimer Shelton became more and more anxious.

The solicitors had briefed the finest and best known barristers for the defence; but one and all agreed that unless Adrien could prove an alibi, only a miracle could save him from conviction.

On the actual day Adrien Leroy took his place in the dock, listening through the day with unwearied calm to the long speeches made by the counsel on both sides.

Witness after witness was called; but none could shake the evidence of Harker's clerk, who swore to seeing Leroy actually sign the bill in question, on the twenty-second of the preceding month.

Towards the end of the case, when both judge, jury and counsel were tired out by the conflicting statements, a note was sent to the barrister for the defence by a veiled lady, who had sat in the back of the court during the whole day's proceedings.

He opened it carelessly, but after a swift glance at the few lines which it contained, his face brightened. Resuming his usual confident tones, he desired that a new witness might be called, namely Lady Merivale.

At the name Adrien started forward, but it was too late. A lady in black, pale but composed, entered the witness box, and was duly sworn. Calmly she gave her evidence, stating that she had visited her aunt, Lady Rose Challoner, at Hampton Court on the twenty-second of the previous month, and while there had met Mr. Adrien Leroy. He had rowed her up the river, and as an additional witness she could produce one of the boatmen to whom she had spoken while at Hampton, and who had watched them start.

After this there was little more to be said. The miracle had indeed happened! It was clearly a case of perjury on the part of Harker's clerk, for whose arrest the judge ordered a warrant to be issued.

On the delivery of the verdict in Adrien's favour, Lady Merivale left the court. She did not glance at Leroy, nor indeed anyone present, but walked blindly out. She knew that not only had she restored the man she loved to freedom and to honour, but in all probability ruined her own social position. For Jasper Vermont's veiled threats at the Barminster fancy dress ball could not be ignored, and now that she had deliberately gone contrary to his wishes in disclosing where Adrien had spent the fateful twenty-second of May, she could not but doubt that Vermont would make use of the mysterious power which he had hinted he held over her. What this power was she could only surmise, for, of course, she was in ignorance of Jasper's connection with "Harker's Ltd." But she had an uncomfortable feeling that Adrien's freedom had been purchased at considerable danger to herself, and the thought haunted her unpleasantly.



CHAPTER XXIV

Mr. Harker, having arranged things to his liking at Lawrence Lane, returned to Miss Lester and reminded her of her promise to assist him to unmask Jasper Vermont. He found her more than willing to accompany him to Barminster, and accordingly it was arranged that they should travel down together on the following day, accompanied also by Jessica. Upon the rare occasions that Vermont and Harker had met during the past week the latter had made no sign of his recently acquired emancipation from Jasper's rule, and that gentleman was in blissful unconsciousness of the sword hanging over him.

Arrived at Windleham, the nearest station to Barminster, Mr. Harker left the two women at the little hotel facing the railway, there to await his return or instructions to come on to the Castle. Then he made his way to Barminster. Here he delivered a note into the care of the footman, bidding him to take it to his master without delay. In it he had begged Lord Barminster to grant him an interview on important personal business, hinting that by so doing he might avert future peril for Adrien and himself.

In a very short time the man returned, with the message that Lord Barminster would see him at once; and Mr. Harker was shown into the Blue Room, in which Adrien Leroy had been arrested little more than a week before.

"His lordship will be with you in a few moments," said the man as he left the room.

Almost immediately Lord Barminster appeared, accompanied by Mortimer Shelton. Harker rose respectfully and rather nervously, but Lord Barminster at once put him at his ease.

"Pray be seated, Mr. Harker," he said politely, as he and Shelton set the example. "This is my son's friend, Mr. Shelton, and I should like him to be present at our interview."

Mr. Harker bowed.

"I presume you are the Mr. Harker into whose possession came the forged bill?" continued his lordship.

"As a mere servant—yes, my lord," answered Mr. Harker. "I have become aware of the identity of the man who committed the actual forgery, and also of the fact that he is now preparing to bring further trouble on yourself and Mr. Adrien Leroy."

Lord Barminster started as if to speak, but Mr. Harker continued:

"Fortunately, I am able to avert this, because I have brought the forged bills with me; and I will explain all fully, if your lordship will hear me through. It will take some little time, but I ask your patience."

Lord Barminster nodded and said quietly:

"Go on."

With a dry cough, Mr. Harker opened the little black bag he invariably carried with him, and drew from it a roll of papers. With slow precision, the old man unfastened it and looked across at his listeners.

"Five years ago," he commenced, "my master—for, as I said before, I was merely a servant, a machine, acting under instructions—ordered me to buy up any bills bearing your son's name. Furthermore, I was to lend the money to any amount within my master's credit to those who brought his name as guarantee. I did so, and every bill and liability which was contracted either in his own name or in yours, my lord, by Mr. Leroy, fell into the hands of this man, who carried on the business under cover of my name. He posed as the friend of Mr. Leroy, and by means of forgeries, and cooked accounts, he has managed to acquire control of your entire revenue."

"Jasper Vermont!" exclaimed Shelton involuntarily; while Lord Barminster leaned forward eagerly.

Mr. Harker bowed his head. "You are aware," he continued, "that all matters of business, even the tradesmen's bills, passed through his hands. That confidence he has abused, to how great an extent I alone can prove; for I was his tool and slave, and held his secrets. Not a bill was paid without his receiving his commission and adding to its amount. He it was who lent the money to Mr. Leroy's friends, after he had procured his name with which to back them; and he it was who, behind the screen which I supplied, gradually, yet surely, drew your son into his net. What object he had, besides that of gain, I know not; but he certainly desired his utter ruin in wealth and honour, and compelled me to help him in his schemes. Among other bills we held was one, presumably, indorsed by Mr. Mortimer Shelton——"

Shelton started up; but Lord Barminster said quietly:

"Let us hear the whole story first, Mortimer."

"That signature was a forgery," continued Mr. Harker, "double forgery indeed; for it imitated Mr. Leroy's handwriting as well as that of Mr. Shelton."

"I knew it," murmured his lordship in a low tone. "But pray continue, Mr. Harker."

"The double forgery," went on the dry voice, "I now know was executed by my employer's hand; but instructions were given in the name of the firm to charge Mr. Adrien Leroy with the crime. The particular day was fixed on the twenty-second simply because my master had found out that Mr. Leroy had been somewhere else, and in the company of a lady whom he knew Mr. Leroy would never betray. But this part you already know from yesterday's trial. False evidence was brought to bear, in the statement that your son had been in our office, and it was only owing to a plea of illness that I escaped being made a witness also. This was but one forgery, and I have here large numbers of bills all forged by the same hand, and which, if presented, will amount to more than the sale of three such estates as this could liquidate."

Lord Barminster uttered an exclamation of horror.

"I will leave them here with you," went on Mr. Harker, "and when the scoundrel has been unmasked, you need have no fear of any future danger. In my master's chain of villainy there was a single flaw; but that flaw has broken the whole chain. The poor tool, whom he had had so long beneath his thumb, whom he had trodden under his foot remorselessly, suddenly regained his freedom—which he had bartered for the safety of his only child."

He raised his head and looked steadily into the stern eyes of Lord Barminster.

"My child and I," he continued, "are now freed from the chains that bound us, and are willing to bear any results that may follow from this exposure. Besides these bills, my lord, I have additional proof. A young girl whom I have brought with me was fortunate enough to see Mr. Vermont——"

Lord Barminster's face shone with triumph, as the actual name of his master at last fell from Harker's lips.

"—My master—drop a roll of papers. These she picked up, and later, when by a strange coincidence she was befriended by my daughter, showed them to me. They clearly prove, by the many attempts to imitate the writing, whose hand it was who eventually committed these forgeries."

"I knew it!" cried Shelton, unable to keep silence any longer. "I knew we should catch the snake! But, pardon my interrupting you, Mr. Harker; you see, Mr. Leroy is my best friend."

Mr. Harker inclined his head and proceeded steadily.

"These forged deeds I will now, my lord, hand over to your charge, if you prefer it. But if you will have sufficient confidence in my efforts to save you from further trouble, I will hold them at your command until after Vermont is dealt with, in order not to implicate you in any way; for, of course, these bills belong to Vermont, until either he gives them up voluntarily, or they are confiscated by law."

"Keep them in your possession," said Lord Barminster quietly. "It would not do for them to be in my hands just at present. I will have confidence in you, and you shall have no cause to regret this day's work, I assure you."

Mr. Harker looked at him gratefully.

"Thank you, my lord," he said. "Your confidence is not misplaced; indeed, it is not my fault that you have not been placed in possession of the real facts of the case before this. I certainly think it would be best for me to retain them for the present. I would suggest now that we arrange a plan by which Jasper Vermont shall expose his villainy in the actual presence of your son; otherwise, we shall have difficulty, perhaps, to convince him on my bare word."

"That's true enough," put in Mortimer Shelton. "Adrien is so set on the man, that even with these proofs we shall hardly convince him of his treachery other than from Vermont's own mouth."

"Yes," said Lord Barminster with a sigh. "I think you are right. But how is this to be managed?"

"I have brought with me the girl, Jessica, to whom I referred just now, and her aunt, Miss Ada Lester," said Mr. Harker. "Both of them will be able to assist us, and I would suggest to your lordship that they be sent for, and brought into the Castle quietly. We should then be able to confront Vermont."

"Certainly," agreed Lord Barminster; and, crossing the room, he rang for his own confidential man.

"Simpson," he said, when the servant appeared, "I want you to drive down, yourself, to the station."

"The Windleham Hotel, your lordship," interrupted Mr. Harker respectfully. "I think, too, if your lordship would have no objection, a short note from me would be advisable."

"Certainly," agreed Lord Barminster. He directed Harker to a small desk, then turned once more to the waiting servant. "Bring the ladies back with you. Take them into the Octagon Room, and ask them to wait there." Then, as Mr. Harker came forward with the note, he added, "Give this to a Miss Lester."

"Yes, my lord," said Simpson, and taking the letter with a deep bow, he departed on his mission.



CHAPTER XXV

Lord Barminster conducted Mr. Harker to the Octagon Room, so named from its peculiar shape.

"If you will wait here," he said courteously, "I will have some refreshment sent up to you and the ladies, when they arrive."

"Thank you, my lord," returned Mr. Harker gratefully.

Seating himself, he waited patiently for the arrival of Miss Lester and Jessica, secretly congratulating himself on the success of his interview. The time passed quickly; and, while waiting, Lord Barminster and Mortimer Shelton held a hurried consultation with him as to the best method of exposing Vermont. Long before they had finished, Miss Lester and her niece had arrived, the former flushed with excitement and triumph at the prospect of at last, as she expressed it, "getting her own back" with Jasper.

Lord Barminster and Shelton descended to the terrace, where they found Lady Constance; and almost immediately after came Adrien, with his inevitable companion, Jasper Vermont.

Lord Barminster had already arranged for his three visitors to be in the morning-room, which opened on to the terrace, as they would there be within call, and also within earshot.

"A word with you, Mr. Vermont," began Shelton sternly.

Jasper smiled, as usual, and turned towards him.

"As many as you like, Mr. Shelton," he said smoothly.

Mortimer looked at him steadily; then he said in a voice which was hard as steel:

"Mr. Vermont, Lord Barminster has kindly allowed me to speak first. We have every reason to believe that you have had some connection with this affair of Harker's notwithstanding your profession of friendship for Adrien."

Mr. Vermont drew himself up proudly.

"I?" he said indignantly. "What should I have to do with moneylending?"

"Be careful," said Shelton sternly, "there are not people wanting who will fight for Leroy's honour even as it were their own."

Vermont smiled cynically.

"Indeed, Shelton," he said, "it is hardly for you to speak. After all, it was you who nearly ruined Adrien by your denial of the bill, not I."

Lord Barminster strode forward.

"You cowardly rascal," he exclaimed furiously; but Mortimer placed himself between them.

"My lord," he said, "leave him to me. If force is necessary, I will punish him."

Jasper smiled.

"You wrong me, Shelton," he said gently; "and not only me, but Adrien, whom you pretend to care for. I have stood his true friend, as he knows, and have done my best to keep trouble from him, when, indeed, none other could have done so. But I suppose this is all the gratitude I can expect from you for the discharge of friendship's duties. Adrien will no longer be of the fashionable world, you think, after yesterday's case; and it is high time to get rid of his humble friend, Jasper Vermont."

Adrien, who had been talking to Lady Constance, now glanced appealingly towards Mortimer; but with a gesture, as if to silence him, Shelton turned to Vermont again.

"Friend!" he exclaimed bitterly. "A pretty friend! But no more of this. I advise you to leave the Castle while you are safe, for we have sufficient proof here to send you to penal servitude."

"Yes," Lord Barminster repeated, "leave the house at once. If I find you within my grounds an hour hence, I will thrash you within an inch of your life, old man as I am."

Jasper Vermont's face grew livid with anger, and something approaching fear as well; he clenched his hands so tightly that the carefully manicured nails dug deep into his flesh. But with characteristic insolence he tried to brazen it out.

"Your grounds?" he exclaimed, in virulent scorn. "Your grounds, my lord! First tell me where I shall find them. You have no grounds. Barminster Castle is in the hands of a moneylender; these lands, as far as the eye can reach, are the property of Mr. Harker, the City capitalist, by right of countless bills and deeds which your precious son has made over to him."

With an exclamation of pain and astonishment, Adrien gazed on the man whom he had so loved and trusted. There was no mistaking the bitter hatred that was in Vermont's tones. At last, his eyes were being opened to the man's true character.

Lord Barminster regarded him steadily.

"You're mad!" he said quietly.

"Oh, no, no!" laughed Vermont. "It is not I who am mad, but you, who foolishly handed over your wealth to your son before it was his by right. You should have let him wait till death had removed you, before you gave him full power over Barminster. Such lavish expenditure as his would empty the coffers of a nation. His folly has melted every stone of your precious Castle in the cup of pleasure, and has poured out the costly draught at the feet of his friends and parasites. Friends? He has never had any—leeches, perhaps, who have sucked him dry of all his possessions, and then deserted him."

"Speak for yourself, you cur." cried Shelton, "since it is you, and your dishonest management of his estates, that have brought him to this pass."

Jasper smiled sardonically.

"Say rather that it is I who have constantly warned him against every fresh extravagance, knowing full well what must happen. Ask him yourself, if you doubt my word; ask him whether I have not implored him, time and time again, to relinquish at least some of his many ruinous pleasures and follies; to deny himself at least one expenditure."

Adrien turned his dark eyes to his father's stern face.

"Sir," he said gently, "I really do not see why this scene should continue. If any explanations are necessary, Mr. Vermont shall give them to me."

Vermont turned away with a scornful laugh, but Shelton grasped his arm.

"One minute," he said, "before you sneak away."

"Keep your hands off me, you moneyed fool," cried Vermont, wrenching himself free from the other's grasp. "I know nothing about this City business, you must apply to Harker himself. It is your name that is forged, not mine—though I suppose you want to screen the real criminal and fix on me as a scapegoat."

Shelton was about to retort, but Adrien intervened.

"Tell me one thing," he said quietly. "What has been your motive for all this? I cannot believe that gain was your sole object. What harm have I ever wrought you, Jasper? Something else must have inspired your conduct. I ask you to give me the reason."

There was a dead silence as the gentle words were spoken. Jasper raised his eyes to the pale face of the man he had so basely betrayed, and bit his bloodless lips in dogged silence.

At this moment a commotion was heard at the lower end of the terrace. Some of the servants were trying to prevent the approach of a man, who was striving to get nearer to the little group. But he was too strong for them; with a bound he had freed himself from their restraining arms, and sprang forward, as if about to strike at Adrien. But Shelton thrust himself forward and bore him back.

"Who is this? Are we to have all the scum of the earth in here? Do you know this man, Leroy?" he asked hotly.

"Yes, I do," answered his friend in the low, restraining tones so habitual to him.

"Yes, I should just think you do!" exclaimed the man, struggling to push past Mortimer's outstretched arm. It isn't likely as you'll forget Johann Wilfer, Adrien Leroy, nor me you either."

"This is too much!" cried Shelton, now thoroughly enraged at this fresh interruption, and again he made as if to thrust the man away.

"Stop," said Adrien, glancing almost sadly at Constance, who smiled lovingly back. "Let him speak, since he is here. Come, sir, why have you forced your way in like this? What do you want of me?"

"What I asked a month ago," replied Wilfer. "I want my niece, Jessica. I want her, an' I'm agoin' to have her, so you'd better own up where she is."

Adrien turned to the others, who were standing silent in their astonishment.

"This man," said Leroy, "has a fancied grievance against me; I know nothing of where this girl is, or what has become of her."

"That's false!" retorted Wilfer. "He does know where the girl is; he took her from her home, and she hasn't been seen since."

Lord Barminster glanced at him coldly.

"My good man," he said, "you heard what my son said just. You had better make inquiries of the police. Mr. Leroy has not seen your niece."

"That is not quite true," put in Adrien gently, "I have seen her."

Lady Constance raised her pale face, and looked at him with startled but trusting eyes.

"P'raps you'll say you didn't take her to your rooms next," said Wilfer.

"I don't deny it," replied Adrien calmly. "I found her on a doorstep, starving with hunger, fleeing from a drunken uncle, as she said. There was nowhere else to take her, being late at night; so I took her to my chambers and fed her, then gave her into the charge of Norgate and the housekeeper until morning, when I learned that she had disappeared. That is all I can tell you about her; for I have not seen her since."

"But I have," came a voice—a woman's voice—behind them, "and I have brought her here."

The little company turned round, and Adrien started as his eyes fell upon the three new-comers.

"Ada," he cried. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"No intrusion this time, Mr. Leroy," she said firmly. "I am here by your father's own invitation."

Jasper, who during Wilfer's outburst had made no effort to go away, now, at the sight of Miss Lester—who looked around her triumphantly, for this was just the kind of scene she enjoyed—made an effort to slip past; but he was held prisoner by Shelton.

"Quite right, Miss Lester," said Lord Barminster, courteously. "Perhaps you will tell us what you know of the young lady." He glanced kindly at the shrinking figure of Jessica, who stood with adoring eyes fixed on Adrien.

"Well, I ought to know something of her," was that lady's retort. "I'm her aunt. I paid that man"—pointing at Wilfer—"to look after her, and a nice way he's done it, turning her out to starve, while he got drunk on my money. You get off," she turned on the astounded Johann, "and don't you let me hear any of your complaints, or I'll have something to tell the police."

At the sound of the hated word "police," Wilfer turned, and mumbling some incoherent words, slunk away. His game was up, and seeing him vanquished, Miss Lester now took the centre of the stage, as it were, and turned her attention on the scowling Jasper.

"You waste your breath with that skunk," she exclaimed, pointing a bejewelled finger at him. "He's too tough a fox for you gentlemen. I'm one of his own sort, and I'll show you what he's made of. Jasper, my fine friend, you sold me as well as Mr. Leroy there, and I'm going to cut up a bit rougher than what he has." She turned to Adrien, who had been standing bewildered by this fresh interruption. "You want to know what his little game is? Well, I'll tell you. He wanted your money first; then, having ruined you and put you out of the running, he meant to have a try for your sweetheart."

Adrien turned on her almost fiercely, and glanced at Constance, who motioned him to be silent.

"That surprises you, does it?" continued Ada. "Some of you ladies and gentlemen are as blind as bats. I could see his little game months ago. That was his object; and he didn't care what he did to gain it. But he went a bit too far when he tried to do me!"

She turned to Jessica, and, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder, drew her forward.

"You want to know who this is? Well, it's just as I said before. She's my niece. I don't think anybody, looking at the two of us, will deny the relationship, either. She takes after her mother. And now you want to know who her father is?"

Again she paused to heighten the effect of her words; but before an answer could be given, a girl's cry of horror rang out, and Jessica suddenly flung herself in front of Adrien. Jasper Vermont, for the first time catching sight of Harker, and realising at last that the game was up, indeed, had made a sudden movement, once more wrenching himself free from Shelton. Something glittered in his hand; then came a flash, a report, and with that one scream of agony, the lifeless form of Jessica fell into Adrien's arms.

In an instant, all was in confusion. Jasper Vermont, with a mocking laugh, had sprung over the stone balustrade, and was running across the turf in the direction of the stream which, lower down, spanned the race-course, and, even at this time of the year, was almost a foaming torrent. Attracted by the sound of the shot, the servants had approached, and now set off in hot pursuit.

But Jasper Vermont was fleet of foot, and when he had gained the top of the rising ground he turned for one second to laugh again. But the laugh died on his lips, as a voice—audible even above all the hubbub and confusion—the shrill voice of Ada Lester, screamed:

"You villain. You have murdered your own child!"

Those who were in pursuit saw him suddenly stagger, as he realised that the girl, whose identity he had that day learnt for the first time, had received the bullet he had intended for Adrien Leroy.

With a short, sharp cry, like that of a wounded animal, he missed his footing, fell backwards into the stream, which at this point was both wide and deep, and was carried away; drowning before the very eyes of the man who had so loved and trusted him, and whom he had so bitterly wronged.



CHAPTER XXVI

The suddenness of the tragedy which had taken place postponed all further discussion.

The sunlight, streaming through the latticed windows of one of the rooms in the Castle, shed its rays on the still form of the young girl, who had given her life for the man she loved so well.

Beside the bed knelt Adrien Leroy, his face buried in one hand, the other resting upon the still one that lay, white as marble, on the silken coverlet. He had come, overwhelmed with pain, from the scene on the terrace, to pour forth a passionate grief and remorse over this young life that had been so generously given up to save his.

It mattered nothing to him that the dead girl was the daughter of the man whom he had befriended, and who had used his generosity only as a means by which to betray him; it mattered nothing that his grief might even now be misconstrued by the tongues of the uncharitable. He knelt in the deepest humility by the dead girl's side, deeming his life all unworthy to have been saved at such a cost; and while he implored the pardon of the great Creator for the follies of his past life he called on the Almighty to hear the vows which he now made—that for the future his steps would be in wiser paths.

When he arose from his knees his face had lost all its old languid self-possession; there was a graver, more earnest light in his eyes, and as his lips pressed the hand of the dead girl they muttered a farewell vow, which was never to be forgotten from that hour till his last.

Lady Constance, bravely overcoming her own pain and horror at the double tragedy—for Jasper's body had been recovered and brought back to the house an hour after the death of Jessica—had retired with poor, remorseful Ada to her own rooms, where she did her best to soothe and comfort the unhappy woman. Overwhelmed with remorse at her previous neglect of the girl, Ada blamed herself bitterly for not watching her enemy more closely, and thus protecting all concerned from danger.

Meanwhile, the last painful duty had to be done. In the Blue Room were seated in expectant silence Lord Barminster, Mortimer Shelton, and Mr. Harker. On the table lay the papers which Mr. Harker had brought with him, amongst them the all-important roll which Jessica had rescued from the streets. The three men were waiting now for Adrien, with patient respect, knowing the cause of his absence.

Presently the door opened, and the young man entered. Lord Barminster held out his hand without a word, and his son, as silently, grasped it; then, with a sigh, he seated himself at the table, prepared to learn to what extent he had been robbed by the man he trusted so fully.

Without comment, Shelton passed him paper after paper, all drawn up in the clear writing of Mr. Harker; Adrien, with deep humiliation, examining them all. With another sigh he dropped the last one upon the table and looked up.

"It is like some hideous dream," he said in a low, shocked voice. "Jasper Vermont, then, was not a traitor to me, but a forger and thief. I can scarcely believe it—though, of course, it is impossible to get away from these proofs. He must have even bribed that jockey to lose the race, as the man hinted. That he could so have used my trust and confidence to gain money, and by crime, when he could have had it for the asking, seems past belief."

His father looked pityingly at him; he knew only too well what a blow this was to the young man.

"I believed in him to the last," continued Adrien, in the same low tones. "I believed him true, in spite of all your warnings."

He turned to his friend.

"Shelton," he said, "I cannot thank you as I should like, nor indeed you either, Mr. Harker. I am deeply grateful to you all for what you have done for me. Truly a man should take heed of his self-conceit, lest he fall, as I have done."

He dropped his head on his hands, and his father turned to him affectionately.

"You do not ask if the evil this man has worked can be remedied, Adrien," he said, in a softer tone than he had ever been known to use. "You do not ask whether anything can be regained?"

"I am willing to pay the penalty of my folly," said Adrien, in a low tone; "and if only it can be arranged that you, too, do not suffer, I shall not mind."

"Not even if it should leave you penniless?" asked his father.

Adrien raised his head with a mournful smile.

"But for one reason, I am indifferent," he said.

His father's face lit up.

"Yes," he said, "I think I know that reason. Mr. Harker, will you be so good as to place Mr. Leroy in possession of the facts which you have already given me. I am almost too tired to speak, after the strain of these last few hours."

Adrien looked at him remorsefully; for the old man had indeed undergone much suffering during the last eventful weeks.

Mr. Harker laid a small book upon the table.

"This will do so better than I can, gentlemen," he said. "It is a list of the various investments in which Mr. Jasper Vermont placed the wealth he had so fraudulently amassed. His expenses were small; and the investments which were made with Mr. Leroy's money, and which he had hoped, of course, to put to his own use, amount to a large sum. When realised, they will cover the enormous embezzlements, when the forged bills are destroyed."

Adrien took up the book and glanced through it.

"Is this true?" he said, with an earnestness that all present understood. "Am I still a rich man?"

"The statement is correct, sir," returned Mr. Harker respectfully. "You will find that you have in reality benefited by his cunning and astuteness, even after the racing debts are fully paid."

Adrien laid the book on the table.

"I am grateful," he said gravely. "But I would leave this room penniless, and gladly, if by so doing I could bring one life back to us." Then, almost overcome by his emotion, he abruptly left the room.

On the morrow, despite all efforts to hush the matter up, the news went flying through the land. Adrien Leroy, the well-beloved of Vanity Fair, had been betrayed by his friend and confidant. Great was the sensation when all the facts came out into the full light, and it was known that Adrien had been saved by the traitor's own daughter, who had given her life that his might be spared.

Mr. Harker was well rewarded for the part he had taken in exposing Jasper Vermont, and preserving the Leroys from the pitfalls and ruin he had dug for them. All the forged bills were promptly burnt, and there remained only those real amounts that Adrien had signed, and which, all put together, only amounted to but a minute fraction of the supposed sums owing by the young man.

Jessica was buried in Windleham churchyard; the funeral was attended by all the Leroys, as well as by many of the countryfolk, for her sad little story had become known. Ada Lester was also present; she paid her last visit to the neighbourhood of Barminster on that day, and, with a tact most unusual to her, refrained from attracting any attention so far as the Leroys were concerned.

Well placed now in money matters, and proprietress of the Casket Theatre, she settled down to learn the art of acting as well as dancing, and eventually married her business manager. She also undertook to look after her sister, who, however, died shortly afterwards, without ever regaining her memory, or learning of the fate which had befallen the man whom she had once loved, or the daughter of whose existence she had forgotten since the day of her birth.

It took some time to settle up all the details of "Harker's Ltd." Jasper Vermont had died intestate; and although advertisements were inserted in various papers, seeking his next-of-kin, no answers were received. The money, therefore, reverted to the Crown; and Mr. Harker, taking up his real name of Goodwin, settled in Kingston with his daughter and her husband, who now, thanks to Lord Barminster, owned a flourishing business.

Lady Merivale never visited Barminster Castle again. She had succeeded in convincing her husband of the harmless nature of her flirtation with Adrien, and patiently bore the brunt of his very natural resentment at the publicity accorded to his name at the trial; though he acknowledged that under the circumstances she could have done nothing else but come forward to exonerate Leroy. Then her ladyship retired into the country with her husband, who was greatly gratified in the dutiful interest she showed in him and his farm. All love of intrigue seemed to have died out when her flirtation with Adrien ended, nor was it ever revived.

Society also lost its fashionable monarch, as far as Leroy was concerned. The vow that he had registered beside the dead body of the girl who had so loved him, was religiously kept. He disappeared from his former place in the world of amusement, and the devotees of pleasure knew him no more.

After the funeral, he stayed on at Barminster Castle for a time, with his father and Lady Constance; but, with the consent of both, he departed a few months later for Africa, on a big-game shooting expedition. Living the simple but arduous life of the hunters and trappers, he sought to bury the folly of the past, and restore his hopes of a brighter and better future.

One day, about six months after the death of Vermont, Lord Barminster sat in the dining-room of Barminster Castle. His eyes, their expression no less keen, but far more gentle than in former years, were bent, sometimes on the cheerful fire, sometimes on the calm face of his ward, where she stood in the deep embrasure of the window, gazing out over the snow.

THE END