"I left Miss Levison with her father, your honor, and that was the last time as ever I saw my master alive," concluded the valet, trembling like a leaf.

"I presume that Miss Levison will be able to corroborate this part of your testimony. Where is Miss Levison? Let her be called," said the coroner.

The family physician, who was present at the inquest, arose in his place and said:

"Miss Levison, sir, is not now available as a witness. She is lying in her chamber, nearly at the point of death, with brain fever."

"Lord bless my soul, I am sorry to hear that! But it is no wonder, poor young lady, after such a shock," said the kind-hearted coroner.

"But here, sir," continued the doctor, "is a witness who, I think, will be able to give us some light."



CHAPTER IX.

AFTER THE DISCOVERY.

"Sir, if you please, I request that this witness be immediately placed under examination," said Lord Arondelle, who sat, with pale, stern visage, among the spectators, now addressing the coroner.

"Yes, certainly, my lord. Let the man be called," answered the latter.

A short, stout, red-haired and freckle-faced boy, clothed in a well-worn suit of gray tweed, came forward and was duly sworn.

"What is your name, my lad?" inquired the coroner's clerk.

"Cuddie McGill, an' it please your worship," replied the shock-headed youth.

"Your age?"

"Anan?"

"How old are you?"

"Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew's Eve, at night."

"Where do you live?"

"Wi' my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone."

"Well now, then, what do you know about this case?" inquired the clerk, who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant, preliminary answers of the witness under examination.

"Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa', and doctor here, he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just," replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.

"But tell us what you saw."

"Aweel, then, your worship, I had been hard at wark a' the day, and could na get awa to see the wedding deecorations. But after my wark was dune and I had my bit aitmeal cake and parritch, I e'en cam' my way over the brig to hae a luke at them."

"Well, and what did you see besides the decorations?"

"An it please your worship, as I cam through the thick shrubbery I spied a lassie, standing under the balcony on the east side o' the castle wa'."

"At what hour was this?"

"I dinna ken preceesely. It may hae been ten o'clock; for I ken the moon was about twa hours high."

"Ay, well; go on."

"I hid mysel' in the firs and watchit the lassie; for I said to mysel' it wair a tryste wi' her lad, and I behoove to find out wha they were. Sae I watchit the lassie. And presently a tall gallant cam' up till her, and they spake thegither. I could na hear what they said. But anon the tall mon went his ways, and the lassie bided her lane under the balcony. I wondered at that. And I waited to see the end. I waited, it seemed to me, full twa hour. The moon was weel nigh overhead, when at lang last the gallant cam' on wi' anither tall mon. And they passed sae nigh that I heard their talk. Spake the gallant: 'I would na hae had it happened for a' we hae gained.' Said the ither ane: 'It could na be helpit. The auld mon skreekit. He would hae brocht the house upon us, and we hadna stappit his mouth.' And the twa passit out o' hearing, and sune cam' to the lassie under the balcony. And the three talkit thegither, but I just couldna hear a word they spake. And sae I went my ways home, wondering what it a' meant. But I thocht nae muckle harm until the morn when I heerd o' the murder."

"Would you know the tall man again if you were to see him?" inquired the coroner.

"Na, for ye ken I could na see a feature o' his face."

"Would you know the girl again?"

"Na. I could na see the lass ony mair than the gallant."

"Nor the third man?"

"Na, nor the ither ane."

"Did you hear any name or any place spoken of between the parties?"

"Na, na name, na pleece. I hae tuld your honor all I heerd. I heerd no mair than I hae said," replied the witness.

And the severest cross-examination could not draw anything more from him.

The officials put their heads together and talked in whispers.

This last witness gave, after all, the nearest to a clue of any they had yet received.

The notes of the testimony were put in the hands of the London detective then present.

"Allow me to remind you, sir," said Lord Arondelle, "that this interview testified to by the last witness, was said to have taken place between ten and twelve at night, and that there is a train for London which stops at Lone at a quarter past twelve. Would it not be well to make inquiries at the station as to what passengers, if any, got on at Lone?"

"A good idea. Thanks, my lord. We will summon the agent who happened to be on duty at that hour," said the coroner.

And a messenger was immediately dispatched to Lone to bring the railway official in question.

In the interim, several of the household servants were examined, but without bringing any new facts to light.

After an absence of two hours, the messenger returned accompanied by Donald McNeil, the ticket-agent who had been in the office for the midnight train of the preceding day.

He was a man of middle age and medium size, with a fair complexion, sandy hair and open, honest countenance. He was clothed in a suit of black and white-checked cloth.

He was duly sworn and examined. He gave his name as Donald McNeil, his age forty years, and his home in the hamlet of Lone.

"You are a ticket-agent at the Railway Station at Lone?" inquired the coroner's clerk.

"I am, sir."

"You were on duty at that station last night, between twelve midnight and one, morning?"

"I was, sir."

"Does the train for London stop at Lone at that hour?"

"The up-train stops at Lone, at a quarter past twal, sir, and seldom varies for as muckle as twa minutes."

"It stopped last night as usual, at a quarter past twelve?"

"It did, sir, av coorse."

"Did any passengers get on that train from Lone?"

"One passenger did, sir; whilk I remarked it more particularly, because the passenger was a young lass, travelling her lane, and it is unco seldom a woman tak's that train at that hour, and never her lane."

"Ah! there was but one passenger, then, that took the midnight train from Lone for London?"

"But one, sir."

"And she was a woman?"

"A young lass, sir."

"Did she take a through ticket?"

"Ah, sir, to London."

"What class?"

"Second-class."

"Had she luggage?"

"An unco heavy black leather bag, sir, that was a'."

"How do you know the bag was heavy?"

"By the way she lugged it, sir. The porter offered to relieve her o' it, but she wad na trust it out o' her hand ae minute."

"Ah! Was it a large bag?"

"Na, sir, no that large, but unco heavy, as it might be filled fu' o' minerals, the like of whilk the college lads whiles collect in the mountains. Na, it was no' large, but unco heavy, and she wad na let it out o' her hand ae minute."

"Just so. Would you know that young woman again if you were to see her?"

"Na, I could na see her face. She wore a thick, dark vail, doublit over and over her face, the whilk was the moir to be noticed because the nicht was sae warm."

"You say her face was concealed. How, then, did you know her to be a young woman?"

"Ou, by her form and her gait just, and by her speech."

"She talked with you, then?"

"Na, she spak just three words when she handed in the money for her ticket: 'One—second-class—through.'"

"Would you recognize her voice again if you should hear it?"

"Ay, that I should."

"How was this young woman dressed?"

"She wore a lang, black tweed cloak wi' a hood till it, and a dark vail."

A few more questions were asked, but as nothing new was elicited the witness was permitted to retire.

Other witnesses were examined, and old witnesses were recalled hour after hour and day after day, without effect. No new light was thrown upon the mystery.

No one, except Cuddie McGill, the saddler's apprentice, could be found who had seen the suspicious man and woman lurking under the balcony.

Certainly Lord Arondelle remembered the "dream" Miss Levison had told him of the two persons whom she mistook to be himself and Rose Cameron talking together under her window. But Miss Levison was so far incapable of giving evidence as to be lying at the point of death with brain fever. So it would have been worse than useless to have spoken of her dream, or supposed dream.

The coroner's inquest sat several days without arriving at any definite conclusion.

The most plausible theory of the murder seemed to be that a robbery had been planned between the valet and certain unknown confederates, who had all been tempted by the great treasures known to be in the castle that night in the form of costly bridal presents; that no murder was at first intended; that the confederates had been secretly admitted to the castle through the connivance of the valet; that the strong guard placed over the treasures in the lighted drawing-room had saved them from robbery; that the robbers, disappointed of their first expectations, next went, with the farther connivance of the valet, to the bedchamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, for the purpose of emptying his strong box; that being detected in their criminal designs by the wakeful banker, they had silenced him by one fatal blow on the head; that they had then accomplished the robbery of the strong box, and of the person of the deceased banker; and had been secretly let out of the castle by the valet.

Finally, it was thought that the man and the woman discovered under the balcony by Cuddie McGill on the night of the murder, were confederates in the crime, and the woman was the midnight passenger to whom Donald McNeil sold the second-class railway ticket to London, and that the heavy black bag she carried contained the booty taken from the castle.

On the evening of the third day of the unsatisfactory inquest a verdict was returned to this effect.

That the deceased Sir Lemuel Levison, Knight, had come to his death by a blow from a heavy bronze statuette held in the hands of some person unknown to the jury. And that Peters, the valet of the deceased banker, was accessory to the murder.

A coroner's warrant was immediately issued, and the valet was arrested, and confined in jail to await the action of the grand jury.

An experienced detective officer was sent upon the track of the mysterious, vailed woman, with the heavy black bag, who on the night of the murder had taken the midnight train from Lone to London.

Then at length the coroner's jury adjourned, and Castle Lone was cleared of the law officers and all others who had remained there in attendance upon the inquest.

And the preparations for the funeral of the deceased banker were allowed to go on.

In addition to the long train of servants there remained now in the castle but seven persons:

The young lady of the house, who lay prostrate and unconscious upon the bed of extreme illness or death; Lady Belgrade, who in all this trouble had nearly lost her wits; the Marquis of Arondelle, who had been requested to take the direction of affairs; the old Duke of Hereward, who had been brought to the castle in a helpless condition; the family physician, who had turned over all his other patients to his assistant, and was now devoting himself to the care of the unhappy daughter of the house; and lastly the family solicitor, and his clerk, who were down for the obsequies.

Beside these, the undertaker and his men came and went while completing their preparations for the funeral.

There had been some talk of embalming the body, and delaying the burial, until the daughter of the deceased banker should view her father's face once more; but the impossibility of restoring the crushed skull to shape rendered it advisable that she should not be shocked by a sight of it. So the day of the funeral was set.

But before that day came, another important event occurred at Lone Castle. It was not entirely unexpected. The old Duke of Hereward, since his arrival at the castle, had sunk very fast. He had been carefully guarded from the knowledge of the tragedy which had been enacted within its walls. He knew nothing of the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, or even of the banker's presence in the castle. His failing mind had gone back to the past, and he fondly imagined himself, as of yore, the Lord of Lone and of all its vast revenues. The presence and attendance of all his old train of servants, who, as I said before, had been kindly retained in the service of the banker's family, helped the happy illusion in which the last days of the old duke were passed, until one afternoon, just as the sun was sinking out of sight behind Ben Lone, the old man went quietly to sleep in his arm-chair, and never woke again in this world.

A few days after this, in the midst of a large concourse of friends, neighbors and mourners, the mortal remains of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward and Marquis of Arondelle, in the peerage of England, and Lord of Lone and Baron Scott, in the peerage of Scotland, were laid side by side with those of Sir Lemuel Levison, Kt., in the family vault of Lone.

The reading of the late banker's will was deferred until his daughter and sole heiress should be in a condition to attend it.

And the family solicitor took it away with him to London to keep until it should be called for.

The crisis of Salome's illness passed safely. She was out of the imminent danger of death, though she was still extremely weak.

The family physician returned to his home and his practice in the village of Lone, and only visited his patient at the castle morning and evening.

Now, therefore, besides the train of household servants, there remained at the castle but three inmates—Salome Levison, reduced by sorrow and illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was "of the most straitest sect, a Pharisee" of conventional etiquette, nevertheless implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the heiress, and the reading of the father's will.

The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily consented to stay.

But Salome's recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.

Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost the memory of its cause—her father's shocking death. Thus she had no new grief or horror to experience.

No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to allude to it.

The occasion was this:

On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent for the young duke to come to her.

He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.

He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her former self she had faded.

As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked, that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her away.

He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and then sat down next her.

After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and asking:

"Has the murderer been discovered yet?"

"No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch," answered the young duke, in a low voice.

"Where have they laid the body of my dear father?" she next inquired in a low hushed tone.

"In the family vault beside those of my own parents," gravely replied the young man.

"Your own—parents, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone before, but—your father—"

"My father has passed to his eternal home. It is well with him as with yours. They are happy. And we—have a common sorrow, love!"

"I did not know—I did not know. No one told me," murmured Salome, as she dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.

"Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible. Yet I did think, they had told you of my father's departure, else I had not alluded to it so suddenly. There! weep no more, love! Viewed in the true light, those who have passed higher are rather to be envied than mourned."

Then to change the current of her thoughts he said:

"Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?"

"Yes, if it concerns you," she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.

"It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love. You are of age, my Salome?"

"Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday."

"Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance—an onerous and responsible position."

"But you will sustain it for me. I shall not feel its weight," she murmured.

"There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would gladly relieve me of the dear trust," said the duke, with a smile. "We must, however, be guided by your father's will, which I am happy to know is in entire harmony with your own wishes. And that brings me to what I wished to say. Kage, your late father's solicitor, is in possession of his last will. He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your presence at its perusal. But he only waits for your recovery and a summons from me to bring it. Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down," concluded the duke.

"My father's last will!" softly murmured Salome. "Send the telegram to-day, please. To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing from him."

"There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you, and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the will, in the case of his, the writer's, sudden death," gravely added the duke.

"A letter from my dear father to me? A letter from the grave! No, rather a letter from Heaven! Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at once, dear John," said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her pale, transparent cheek.

"I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal importance with the will—though no lawyer would think so," said the duke.

"You know its purport then?"

"No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison."

As he spoke the door opened and Lady Belgrade entered the room, saying softly, as she would have spoken beside the cradle of a sick baby:

"I am sorry to disturb your grace; but the fifteen minutes permitted by the doctor have passed, and Salome must not sit up longer."

"I am going now, dear madam," said the duke, rising.

He took Salome's hand, held it for a moment in his, while he gazed into her eyes, then pressed it to his lips, and so took his morning's leave of her.

The same forenoon he rode over to the Lone Station, and dispatched a telegram to the family solicitor, Kage.



CHAPTER X.

THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.

Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received the duke's telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of the assembled household.

"The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his daughter?" inquired the duke.

"No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will recognize when you hear it read," answered the lawyer.

"Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it. Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?"

"None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker anticipated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in the event of his sudden decease."

"Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?"

"None that I have heard of."

"Or to the mysterious woman who was supposed to have carried off the booty?"

"None, Detective Keightley called on me yesterday for some information regarding the stolen property, and I furnished him with a photograph of that snuff-box given to Sir Lemuel Levison by the Sultan of Turkey—the gold one richly set with precious stones. Sir Lemuel had it photographed by my advice, for identification in case of its being stolen. And he left several duplicate copies with me. I gave one to Keightley. But the man could give me no information in return. The missing woman seemed lost in London. And the proverbial little needle in the haystack might be as easily found," said the lawyer.

The announcement of luncheon put an end to the interview.

The two gentlemen passed on into the smaller dining-room where Lady Belgrade awaited them. She received the solicitor politely and invited him to the table.

After the three were seated and helped to what they preferred, her ladyship turned to the lawyers and said:

"My niece understands that you have a letter for her, left in your charge by her father. She wishes you to send it to her immediately. Her maid is here waiting to take it."

"Pardon me, my dear lady, the letter must remain in my possession until after the reading of the will, when, for certain reasons, it must be read, as the will, in the presence of the household. Pray explain this to Miss Levison, and tell her that I shall be ready to read and deliver both at five o'clock this afternoon, if that will meet her convenience," said the lawyer, respectfully.

"That will suit her; but I hope the forms will not occupy more than an hour. Miss Levison is still extremely feeble, and ought not to sit up longer," said the dowager.

"It will not require more than half an hour, madam," replied Mr. Kage.

Lady Belgrade gave the message to the maid for her mistress. And when the girl retired, the conversation turned upon the proceedings of the London detectives in pursuit of the unknown murderers.

At the appointed hour the household servants were all assembled in the dining-room. At the head of the long table sat the family attorney and his clerk. Before them lay a japanned tin box, secured by a brass padlock. It contained the last will, the letter, and other documents appertaining to the deceased banker's estate. They were only waiting for the entrance of Miss Levison and her friends. No one else was expected. There was not the usual crowd of poor relatives who "crop up" at the reading of almost every rich man's will. The late Sir Lemuel Levison had no poor relations whatever. His people were all rich, and all scattered over Europe and America, at the head of banks, or branches of banks, in every great capital, of the almost illustrious house of "Levison, Bankers."

The assembled household had not to wait long. The door opened and the young lady of Lone entered, supported on each side by the Duke of Hereward and the dowager, Lady Belgrade.

Her fair, transparent, spiritual face looked whiter than ever, in contrast to her deep black crape dress, as she bowed to the lawyer, and passed to her seat at the table.

The duke and the dowager seated themselves on either side of her.

"Are you quite ready, Miss Levison, to hear the will of the late Sir Lemuel Levison?" inquired the attorney.

"I am quite ready, Mr. Kage, thanks," replied the young lady, in a low voice, and speaking with an effort.

The attorney unlocked the box, took out the will, unfolded and proceeded to read it.

The document was dated several years back. It was neither long nor complex. After liberal bequests to each one of his household servants, rich keepsakes to his dear friends, an annuity to the dowager Lady Belgrade, and a princely endowment to found an orphan asylum and children's hospital in the heart of London, he bequeathed the residue of his vast estates, both real and personal, without reserve and without conditions, to his only and beloved child, Salome.

After the reading of the will was finished, the attorney arose, came around to where the ladies sat, and congratulated Miss Levison and Lady Belgrade, on their rich inheritance.

"How could he do it?" thought the unconventional and weeping heiress. "Oh, how could he congratulate me on an inheritance which came, and could only have come, through my dear father's decease!" Then in a voice broken with emotion, she said:

"Thanks, Mr. Kage. Will you please now to read my dear papa's letter?—since you are to read it aloud, I think," she added.

"Such was the deceased Sir Lemuel's direction, my dear Miss Levison," said the lawyer. And returning to his place at the head of the table, he took the letter from the japanned box, opened it, and said:

"This letter from my late honored client to his daughter was committed by the late Sir Lemuel Levison to my charge to be retained and read after the will, in the event of a circumstance which has already occurred—I mean the sudden and unexpected death of the writer. The letter will explain itself."

Here the lawyer cleared his throat, and began to read:

"ELMHURST HOUSE, Kensington, London,

"Monday, May 1st, 18—.

"MY DEAREST ONLY CHILD: Blessings on your head! Nothing could have made me happier, than has your betrothal to so admirable a young man as the Marquis of Arondelle. Had I possessed the privilege of choosing a husband for you, and a son-in-law for myself, from the whole race of mankind, I should have chosen him above all others. But, my dearest Salome, the satisfaction I enjoy in your prospects of happiness is shadowed by one faint cloud. It is not much, my love; it is only the consciousness of my age and of the precarious state of my health. I may not live to see you united to the noble husband of your choice. Therefore it is that I have urged your speedy marriage with what your good chaperon, Lady Belgrade, evidently considers indecorous haste. She must continue to think it indecorous, because unreasonable. I cannot, and will not, darken your sunshine of joy, by giving to you now the real reason of my precipitation—the extremely precarious state of my health. Yet, in the event of my being suddenly taken from you, I must prepare this letter to be delivered to you after my death, that you may know my last wishes. If I live to see you wedded to the good Lord Arondelle, this paper shall be torn up and destroyed; if not, if I should be suddenly snatched away from you before your wedding-day, this letter will be read to you, after my will shall have been read, in the presence of your betrothed husband, your good chaperon and your assembled household, that you and they and all may know my last wishes concerning you, and that none shall dare to blame you for obeying them, even though in doing so you have to pursue a very unusual course. My wish, therefore, is that your marriage with Lord Arondelle may not be delayed for a day upon account of my death; but that it take place at the time fixed or as soon thereafter as practicable. In giving these directions, I feel sure that I am consulting the wishes of Lord Arondelle, the best interests of yourself, and the happiness of both. Follow my directions, therefore, my dearest daughter, and may the blessing of our Father in Heaven rest upon you and yours, is the prayer of

"Your devoted father, LEMUEL LEVISON."

During the reading of the letter the face of Salome was bathed in tears and buried in her pocket-handkerchief.

The duke sat by her, with his arm around her waist, supporting her.

At the end of the reading, without looking up, she stretched out her hand and whispered softly:

"Give me my dear father's letter now."

The attorney, who was engaged in re-folding the documents and restoring them to the japanned box, left his seat, and came to her side, and placed the letter in her hands.

"Thanks, Mr. Kage," she said, wiping her eyes and looking up. "But now will you tell me if you know what my dear father meant by writing of the precarious state of his health? He seemed to enjoy a very vigorous and green old age."

"Yes, he 'seemed' to do so, my dear young lady; but it was all seeming. He was really affected with a mortal malady, which his physicians warned him might prove fatal at any moment," gravely replied the lawyer.

"And he never hinted it to us!"

"He did not wish to sadden your young life with a knowledge of his affliction."

"My own dear papa! My dear, dear papa! loving, self-sacrificing to the end of his earthly life! never thinking of his own happiness—always thinking of mine or of others! My dear, dear father!" murmured the still weeping daughter.

"He thought of your happiness, and of the happiness of your betrothed husband, my dear young lady, when he committed that letter to my care, to be delivered to you in case of his sudden death, and when he charged me to urge with all my might, your compliance with its instructions. And now permit me to add, my dear Miss Levison, that to obey your father's will in this matter would be the very best and wisest course you could pursue."

"Thanks, Mr. Kage; I know that you are a faithful friend to our family; but—I must have a little time to recover," murmured Salome, faintly.

"Here, you may remember my dear Salome, that when I told you of this letter in the possession of Mr. Kage, I said that I thought I knew its purport from certain conversations I had held with your late father. He had hinted to me the dangerous condition of his health, and he had expressed a hope that no accident to himself should be permitted to postpone our marriage; and then he told me that he had left a letter with his solicitor to be read in case of his sudden death, and that the letter would explain itself. He concluded by begging me if anything should happen to him to necessitate the delivery of that letter to you, to urge upon you the wisdom and policy of following its direction. He could not have given me a commission I should be more anxious or earnest in executing. My dear Salome, will you obey your good father's wishes? Will you give me at once a husband's right to love and cherish you?" he added in a low whisper.

"Oh, give me a little time," she murmured—"give me a little time. There is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so weak and broken-spirited. Give me a little time, dear John, to recover some strength to overcome my sorrow."

Here she broke down and wept.

"I think we had best take her back to her room," said Lady Belgrade, rising.

Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.

Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties, and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl from the room.

The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were left alone.

The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.

The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.

It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her father's wishes.

Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it: Dr. McWilliams, the family physician, urged it: above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade, objected to it.

Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.

Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities—the impropriety of the daughter's marriage so soon after the father's murder.

Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.

The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome Levison. She contracted a serious cough.

Then the family physician, (so to speak,) "put down his foot" with professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.

"This is a question of life or death, my lady," he said to the dowager—"a question of life and death, ye mind! And not of conventionality and etiquette! Let conventionality and etiquette go to the D., from whom they first came. This girl must die, or she must marry immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian Archipelago. That is all that can save her. And as for you, my laird duke," continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, "as for you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie's scruples, and marry her out of hand, the de'il hae me but I'll e'en marry her mysel', and tak' her awa to save her life! Now, then will I tak' her mysel' or will you?"

"I will take her!" said the young duke, smiling. Then turning to the dowager, he added, gravely: "Lady Belgrade, this marriage must and shall take place immediately. You must add your efforts to mine to overcome your niece's scruples. Your ladyship has been working against me heretofore. I hope now, after hearing what the doctor has said, that you will work with me."

"Of course, if the child's life and health are in question: and, indeed, this climate is much too severe for her, and she certainly does need rousing; and as it has been three months now since Sir Lemuel Levison's funeral, I don't see—But, of course, after all, it is for you and Salome to decide as you please;" answered Lady Belgrade, in a confused and hesitating manner, for when the dowager went outside of her conventionalities she lost herself.

Salome Levison was again besieged by the pleadings of her lover, the counsels of her solicitor, and the arguments of her physician, all with the co-operation of her chaperon.

"I do not see what else can be done, my dear," she said to her protegee. "The ceremony can be performed as quietly as possible, and you two can go away, and the world be no wiser."

"As if I cared for the world! I will do this in obedience to my dear father's directions and my betrothed husband's wishes, and I do not even think of the world," gravely replied Salome.

"Now, then, to the details, my dear. What day shall we fix? And shall the ceremony be preformed here at the castle or at the church at Lone?"

"Oh, not here! not here! I could not bear to be married here, or at the Lone church either. No, Lady Belgrade. We must go up to our town house in London, and be married quietly at St. Peter's in Kensington, where I used to attend divine service with my dear papa," said Salome, becoming agitated.

"Very well, my love. But don't excite yourself. We will go. And the sooner the better. These horrid Scotch mists are aggravating my rheumatism beyond endurance," concluded the dowager.

It was now the last week in September. But so diligently did the dowager, and the servants under her orders exert themselves both at Castle Lone and in London, that before the first of October, Miss Levison, with her chaperon and their attendants, were all comfortably settled in the luxurious town-house in the West End.

The Duke of Hereward took lodgings near the home of his bride-elect.

As the marriage settlements had been executed, and the bridal paraphernalia prepared for the first marriage day set three months before, there was really nothing to do in the way of preparation for the wedding, and no reason for even so much as a week's delay. An early day was therefore set. It was decided that the ceremony should be performed without the least parade.

Since her departure from Castle Lone and her arrival at their town house, the change of scene and of circumstances, and the preliminaries of her wedding and her journey, had the happiest effects upon Miss Levison's health and spirits.

She recovered her cheerfulness, and even acquired a bloom she had never possessed before. And her attendants took care to keep from her all that could revive her memory of the tragedy at Lone.

One morning the Duke of Hereward came to the house and asked to see Lady Belgrade alone.

The dowager received him in the library.

"Has Miss Levison seen the morning papers?" he inquired, as soon as the usual greetings were over.

"No, they have not yet come," answered her ladyship.

"Thank Heaven! Do not let her see them on any account! I would not have her shocked. The truth is," he added, in explanation of his words to the wondering dowager, "I have important news to tell you. The mysterious vailed woman, supposed to be connected with the robbery and murder at Lone Castle, has been found and arrested. The stolen property has been discovered in her possession. And she—you will be infinitely shocked—she proves to be Rose Cameron, the daughter of one of our shepherds, living near Ben Lone."



CHAPTER XI.

THE VAILED PASSENGER.

We must return to the night of the murder, and to the man and woman whom Salome Levison heard, and did not merely "dream" that she heard, conversing under her balcony at midnight.

When left alone in her dark and silent hiding-place, the woman waited long and impatiently. Sometimes she crept out from her shadowy nook, and stole a look up to the casements of the castle, but they were all dark and silent, and closely shut, save one immediately above her head, which stood open, though neither lighted nor occupied.

She had waited perhaps an hour when stealthy footsteps were heard approaching, and not one, but two men came up whispering in hurried and agitated tones. She caught a few words of their troubled talk.

"You have betrayed me! I never meant, under any circumstances, that you should have done such a deed!" said one.

"It was necessary to our safety. We should have been discovered and arrested," said the other.

"You have brought the curse of Cain upon my head!" groaned the first speaker.

"Come, come, my lord, brace up! No one intended what has happened. It was an accident, a calamity, but it is an accomplished fact, and 'what is done, is done,' and 'what is past remedy is past regret.' If the old man hadn't squealed—"

"Hush! burn you! the girl will hear!" whispered the first speaker, as they approached the woman under the balcony.

"Rose, here; don't speak. Take this bag; be very careful of it; do not let it for a moment go out of your sight, or even out of your hand. Go to Lone station. The train for London stops there at 12:15. Take a second-class ticket, keep your face covered with a thick vail until you get to London, and to the house. I will join you there in a few days," said the first speaker, earnestly.

"Why canna ye gae now, my laird?" impatiently inquired the girl.

"It would be dangerous, Rose."

"I'm thinking it is laughing at me ye are, Laird Arondelle. You'll bide here and marry yon leddy," said the girl, tossing her head.

"No, on my soul! How can I, when I have married you? Have you not got your marriage certificate with you?"

"Ay, I hae got my lines, but I dinna like ye to bide here, near your leddy, whiles I gang my lane to London."

"Rose, our safety requires that you should go alone to London. You cannot trust me; yet see how much I trust you. You have in that bag, which I have confided to your care, uncounted treasures. Take it carefully to London and to the house on Westminster Road. Conceal it there and wait for me."

"Who is yon lad that cam' wi' ye frae the castle?" inquired the girl, pointing to the other man who had withdrawn apart.

"He is one of the servants of the castle, who is in my confidence. Never mind him. Hurry away now, my lass. You have just time to cross the bridge and reach the station, to catch the train. You are not afraid to go alone?"

"Nay, I'm no feared. But dinna be lang awa' yersel', my laird, or I shall be thinking my thoughts about yon leddy," said the girl, as she folded the dark vail around and around the hat, and without further leave-taking, started off in a brisk walk toward the bridge.

She passed through the castle grounds and over the bridge, and went on to the station, without having met another human being.

She secured her ticket, as has been related, and when the train stopped, she took her place on a second-class car.

Being very much of an animal, and very much fatigued, she could not be kept awake even by the excitement of her novel and perilous position, but, holding on to her booty, and lulled by the swift motion of the train, she fell asleep, and slept until eight o'clock next morning, when she was awakened by the stopping of the train and the bustle of the arrival at Euston Square Station. Her first thought was for the safety of her bag. With a start of dismay she missed it from her lap, where she had been holding it so tightly.

"An' it 's yer little valise yer a looking for, my dear, there it be at yer feet, where it fell, with a crash, while ye slept. An' there was anything in it would break, sure it 's broken entirely," said a kindly man, pointing to the bag upon the floor.

She hastily picked it up.

"Oh! if any one had known what it contains, would it have been left there in safety all the time I slept?" she asked herself, as her hands closed tightly upon her recovered treasure.

But the passengers were all leaving the train, and so she got out with the rest.

She was too cunning to take a cab from the station. She left it on foot and walked a mile or two, making many turns, before, at length she hailed a "four wheeler," hired it and directed the cabman to drive to Number —— Westminster Road.



CHAPTER XII.

THE HOUSE ON WESTMINSTER ROAD.

An hour's ride through some of the most crowded streets of London brought her to her destination—a tall, dingy, three-storied brick house, in a block of the same.

She paid and dismissed the cab at the door, and then went up and rang the bell.

It was answered by an old woman, in a black skirt, red sack, white apron, and white cap.

"Well, to be sure, ma'am, you have taken me unexpected; but I'm main glad to see you so soon. Come in, and I'll make you comfortable in no time," said the woman, with kindly respect, as she held the door wide open for her mistress.

"Any one been here sin' we left Mrs. Rogers?" inquired the traveller.

"No, ma'am—no soul. It is very lonely here without you. Let me take your bag, ma'am. It do seem heavy," said Mrs. Rogers, as she held out her hand and took hold of the handle of the satchel.

"Na, I thank ye. It's na that heavy neither," exclaimed the girl, nervously jerking back the bag, and following her conductor into the house and up stairs.

An unlikely house to be the shelter of thieves and the receptacle of stolen goods. There was a look of sober respectability about its dinginess that might have appertained to a suburban doctor with a large family and a small practice. An old oil cloth, whole, but with its pattern half washed off, covered the narrow hall—an old stair-carpet of originally good quality, but now thread-bare in places, covered the steps. This was all that could be seen from the open door by any chance caller. But upstairs all was very different.

As the girl reached the landing, the old woman opened a door on her left and ushered her into a bright, glaring room, filled up with cheap new furniture, in which blinding colors and bad taste predominated. Carpets, curtains, chair and sofa covers, and hassocks, all bright scarlet; cornices, mirrors, and picture frames, (framing cheap, showy pictures,) all in brassy looking gilt. Through this sitting-room the girl passed into a bedroom, where, also, the furniture was in scarlet and gilt, except the white draperied bed and the dressing-table. Here the girl threw herself down in an easy-chair saying:

"I'll just bide here a bit and wash my face and hands, while ye'll gae bring my breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am. What would you like to have?" inquired the woman.

"Ait meal parritch, fust of a', to begin wi' twa kippered herrings; a sausage; a beefsteak; twa eggs; a pot o' arange marmalade; a plate of milk toast, some muffins, and some fresh rolls," concluded the girl.

"Anything more, ma'am?" dryly inquired Mrs. Rogers.

"Nay—ay! Ye may bring me a mutton chop, wi' the lave."

"Tea or coffee, ma'am?"

"Baith, and mak' haste wi' it," answered the girl.

The old woman, smiling to herself, went out.

The girl being left alone, fastened both doors of her room, hung napkins over the key-holes, drew close the scarlet curtains of her windows, and then sat down on the floor and opened the bag and turned out its contents on the carpet.

Fortunatus! what a sight! Well might her fellow-passenger have heard a crash when the bag slipped from her lap to the bottom of the car!

About twelve little canvas bags filled with coins, and marked variously on the sides—L50, L100, L500, L1,000.

She gazed at the treasure in a sort of rapture of possession! How fast her heart beat! She did not think that there was so much money in the whole world! She began to count the bags, and add up their marked figures, to try to estimate the amount. There were two bags marked one thousand, four marked five hundred, three marked one hundred, and three marked fifty pounds—in all twelve little canvas bags containing altogether four thousand four hundred and fifty pounds.

What a mine of wealth! How she gloated over it! She longed to cut open the little canvas bags and spread the whole glittering mass of gold and silver on the carpet before her, that she might gaze upon it—not as a miser to hoard it, but as a vain beauty to spend it. How many bonnets and dresses and shawls and laces and jewels this money would buy? How she longed to lay it out! But she dared not do it yet. She dared not even open the canvas bags. She must conceal her riches.

She began to put the bags back in the satchel.

In doing so, she perceived that she had not half emptied it—there was something in each of the buttoned pockets on the inside. She opened the pockets and turned out their contents.

Rainbows and sunbeams and flashes of lightning!

Her eyes were dazzled with splendor. There was set in a ring a large solitaire diamond in which seemed collected all the light and color of the sun! There was a watch in a gold hunting case, thickly studded with precious stones, and bearing in the center of its circle the initials of the late owner, set in diamonds, and which was suspended to a heavy gold chain. There was a snuff-box of solid gold encrusted with pearls, opals, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, amethysts and sapphires, in a design of Oriental beauty and splendor.

There were also diamond studs and diamond sleeve-buttons—each a large solitaire of immense value, and there were other jewels in the form of seals, lockets, and so forth; and all those delighted her woman's eyes and heart. But, above all, the golden box, set with all sorts of flaming precious stones, with its splendid colors and blazing fires dazzled her sight and dazed her mind.

"I will keep this for mysel'," she said, as she put it in the bosom of her dress—"I will, I will, I WILL! He shall na hae this again. I'll tell him it was lost or sto'en."

Then she opened the satchel and began to put away the other jewels, until she took up the watch, looked at it longingly, put it in the bag, took it out again, and finally, without a word, slipped it into her bosom beside the box.

Next she trifled with the temptation of the diamond ring. She slipped it on and off her finger. She had large beautiful hands in perfect proportion to her large beautiful form, and the ring that had fitted the banker's long thin finger fitted her round white one perfectly. So, she took the jewelled box from her bosom, opened it, put the diamond ring in it, then closed and returned it to its hiding place.

Finally retaining the box, the watch and the rings, she replaced all the jewels and the money-bags in the satchel, and put the satchel for the present between the mattresses of her bed. While thus engaged she heard her old attendant moving about in the next room, and she knew that she was setting the table for her breakfast.

So she hastened to smooth the bed again, and snatch the napkins off the keyholes, and unlock the doors lest her very caution should excite suspicion.

Then at length she took time to wash the railroad dust from her face, and brush it from her hair.

And finally she passed into her sitting-room where she found the table laid for her single breakfast.

Presently her housekeeper entered bringing one tray on which stood tea and coffee with their accompaniments, and followed by a young kitchen maid with another tray on which stood the bread, butter, marmalade, meat, fish, etc., with their accompaniments.

When all these were arranged upon the table, Rose Cameron sat down and fell to.

Being a very perfect animal, she was blessed with an excellent appetite and a healthy digestion. She was therefore, a very heavy feeder; and now bread, butter, fish, meat, marmalade disappeared rapidly from the scene, to the great amusement of the housekeeper and kitchen maid, who had never seen "a lady" eat so ravenously.

When the breakfast service was removed, she went back into her bedroom, locked the door, and covered the keyholes as before, and took the satchel from between the mattresses, and opened it to gloat over her treasures; for she quite considered them as her own. Again she was "tempted of the devil." She thought of the fine shops in London, and the fine ready-made dresses she could buy with the very smallest of these bags of money.

"Why should I no'? What's his is mine! I'll e'en tak the wee baggie, and gae till the fine shops," she said to herself. And selecting one of the fifty pound bags, she replaced the others in the satchel, and put the satchel in its hiding place.

She got ready for her expedition by arraying herself in a cheap, dark-blue silk suit, and a straw hat with a blue feather. Then she carefully locked her bedroom door, and took the key with her when she left the house.

Her ambition did not take any very high flights, although she did believe herself to be a countess. She knew nothing of the splendid shops of the West End. She only knew the Borrough and St. Paul's churchyard, both of which she thought, contained the riches and splendors of the whole world. She went to the nearest cab-stand, took a cab, and drove to St. Paul's churchyard, (in ancient times a cemetery, but now a network of narrow, crowded streets, filled with cheap, showy shops.) She spent the best part of the day in that attractive locality.

When she returned, late in the afternoon, the canvas bag was empty and the cab was full, for Rose Cameron, the country girl, ignorant of the world, but having a saving faith in the dishonesty of cities, refused to trust the dealers to send the goods home, but insisted on fetching them herself.

She displayed her purchases—mostly gaudy trash—to the wondering eyes of Mrs. Rogers, and then, tired out with her long night's journey and her whole day's shopping, she ate a heavy supper and went to bed. Such excesses never seemed to over-task her fine digestive organs or disturb her sleep. After an unbroken night's rest she awoke the next morning with a clear head and a keen appetite, and rang for the housekeeper to bring her a cup of tea to her bedside.

While waiting for her tea she wondered if her "guid mon" would arrive during the next twenty-four hours.

And that revived in her mind the memory of her supposed rival. During the preceding day she had been so absorbed in the contemplation of her newly-acquired treasures in jewelry and money that she had scarcely thought of what might then be going on at Castle Lone.

Now she wondered what happened there; whether the marriage had failed to take place; but, of course, she said to herself, it had failed. Lord Arondelle would never commit bigamy—but how had it failed? What had been made to happen to prevent it from going on? And what had the bride and her friends said or thought?

Above all, why had Lord Arondelle, married to herself as she fully believed him to be, why had Lord Arondelle allowed the affair to go so far, even to the wedding-morning, when the wedding-feast was prepared, and the wedding guests arrived?

It must have been done to mortify and humiliate those city strangers who sat in his father's seat, she thought.

Oh, but she would have given a great deal to have seen her hated rival's face on that wedding-morning when no wedding took place?

No doubt "John" would tell her all about it when he arrived. And oh! How impatient she became for his arrival!

Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper with a cup of tea in one hand and the Times in the other.

"Good morning, ma'am. And hoping you find yourself well this morning! Here is your tea, ma'am. And here is the paper, ma'am. There's the most hawful murder been committed, ma'am, which I thought you might enjoy along of your tea," said the worthy woman, as she drew a little stand by the bedside and placed the cup and the newspaper upon it.

"A murder?" listlessly repeated Rose Cameron, rising on her elbow, and taking the tea-cup in her hand.

"Ay, ma'am, the most hawfullest murder as ever you 'eard of, on an' 'elpless old gent, away up at a place in Scotland called Lone!"

"EH!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, starting, and nearly letting fall her tea-cup.

"Yes, ma'am, and the most hawfullest part of it was, as it was done in the night afore his darter's wedding-day, and his blessed darter herself was the first to find her father's dead body in the morning."

"Gude guide us!" exclaimed Rose Cameron, putting down her untasted tea, and staring at the speaker in blank dismay.

"You may read all about it in the paper, ma'am," said the housekeeper.

"When did it a' happen?" huskily inquired the girl, whose face was now ashen pale.

"On the night before last, ma'am. The same night you were traveling up to London by the Great Northern. And bless us and save us, the poor bride must have found her poor pa's dead body just about the time you arrived at home here, ma'am, for the paper says it was ten o'clock."

"Ou! wae's me! wae's me! wae's me!" cried Rose, covering her ashen-pale face with her hands and sinking back on her pillow.

"Oh, indeed I'm sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am, if it gives you such a turn. I did hope it would amuse you while you sipped your tea. But la! there! some ladies do be so narvy!"

"An' that's the way the braw wedding was stappit!" cried Rose, without even hearing the words of her attendant.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Mrs. Rogers, not understanding the allusion of the speaker, "that was the way the wedding was stopped, in course. No wedding could go on after that, you know, ma'am, anyhow, let alone the bride falling into a fit the minute she saw the bloody corpse of her murdered father, and being of a raving manyyack ever since. Instead of a wedding and a feast there will be an inquest and a funeral."

"Was—there—a—robbery?" inquired Rose Cameron in a low, faint, frightened tone.

"Ay, ma'am, a great robbery of money and jewelry, and no clue yet to the vilyuns as did it! But won't you drink your tea, ma'am?"

"Na, na, I dinna need it now. Ou! this is awfu'! Wae worth the day!" exclaimed the horror-stricken girl, shivering from head to foot as with an ague.

"Indeed, I am very sorry I told you anything about it, ma'am. But I thought it would interest you. I didn't think it would shock you. But, indeed, if I were you, I wouldn't take on so about people I didn't know anything about. And you didn't know anything about them. You haven't even asked the names," urged the worthy woman.

"Na, na, I did na ken onything anent them; but it is unco awfu'!" said Rose, in hurried, tremulous tones.

Not for all her hidden treasures would she have had it suspected that she even remotely knew anything about the murder or the man who was murdered.

"And yet you take on about them. Ah! your heart is too tender, ma'am. If you are going to take up everybody else's crosses as well as your own, you'll never get through this world, ma'am. Take an old woman's word for that."

"Thank'ee, Mrs. Rogers. Noo, please gae awa and leave me my lane. I'll ring for ye if I want ye," said Rose, nervously.

"Very well, ma'am. I'll go and see after your breakfast."

"Oh, onything at a'! The same as yestreen. Only gae awa!" exclaimed the excited girl, too deeply moved now even to care what she should eat for breakfast.

When the housekeeper had left her alone she gave way to the emotions of horror and fear which prudence had caused her to restrain in the presence of the woman. She wept, and sobbed, and cried out, and struck her hands together. She was, in truth, in an agony of terror.

For now she understood the hidden meaning of her lover's words, when on the night of the murder he had said to her, under the balcony, "Something will happen to-night that will put all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage out of the heads of all concerned." And she comprehended also how the meaning of the fragmentary conversation she had overheard between her lover and his companion, as they approached her from the house: "You have brought the curse of Cain upon me." "It could not be helped." "If the old man had not squealed out," and so forth.

Sir Lemuel Levison had been robbed and murdered, and she—Rose Cameron—had been accessory to the robbery and the murder! She had lain in wait under the balcony while the burglars went in and slaughtered the old banker, and emptied his money chest. She had received the booty, and carried it off, and brought it to London. She had it even then in her possession!

She was liable to discovery, arrest, trial, conviction, execution.

With a cry of intense horror she covered up her head under the bedclothes and shook as with a violent ague. She had suspected, and indeed, she had known by circumstance and inference, that the money and jewels contained in the bag she had brought from Castle Lone, had been taken from the house, but she had tried to ignore the fact that they had been stolen. But now the knowledge was forced upon her.

She had been accessory both before and after the facts to the crime of robbery and murder, and she was subject to trial and execution. It all now seemed like a horrible nightmare, from which she tried in vain to wake.

While she shivered and shook under the bedclothes, the housekeeper came up and opened the door and said:

"Mr. Scott have come, ma'am. Will he come up?"

"Ay, bid him come till me at ance!" cried the agitated woman, without uncovering her head.

A few minutes passed and the door opened again and her lover entered the room still wearing his travelling wraps.

"Rose, my lass, what ails you?" he inquired, approaching the bed, and seeing her shaking under the bedclothes.

"It's in a cauld sweat, I am, frae head to foot," she answered.

"You have got an ague! Your teeth are chattering!" said Mr. Scott, stooping over her.

"Keep awa' frae me! Dinna come nigh me!" she cried, cuddling down closer under the clothing. She had not yet uncovered her face or looked at him.

"What is the meaning of all this, Rose?" he inquired, in a tone of displeasure.

"Speer that question to yoursel'! no' to me!" she answered, shuddering.

"Look at me!" said the man, sternly.

"I canna look at you! I winna look at you! I hae ta'en an awfu' scunner till ye!"

"What have I done to you, you exasperating woman, that you should behave to me in this insolent manner?" demanded the man.

"What hae ye dune till me, is it? Ye hae hanggit me! nae less!" cried the girl, with a shudder.

"Hanged you? Whatever do you mean? Are ye crazy, girl?"

"Ay, weel nigh!"

"But what do you mean by saying that I have hanged you? Come, I insist on knowing!"

"Oh, then I just ken a' anent the murder up at Lone Castle! Ye hae drawn me in till a robbery and murder, without me kenning onything anent it until a' was ower, and me with the waefu' woodie before me!"

"Rose, if I understand you, it seems that you think I was in some sort concerned in the death of Sir Lemuel Levison?"

"Ay, that is just what I be thinking!" said the shuddering girl.

"Then you do me a very foul and infamous injustice, Rose! Look at me! Do I look like an assassin? Look at me, I say!" sternly insisted the man.

"I canna luke at ye! I winna luke at ye! I hae lukit at ye ower muckle for my ain gude already!" cried the girl, cowering under the clothes.

"See here, lass? I say that you are utterly wrong! I had no connection whatever with the death of the banker! I would not have hurt a hair of his gray head for all that he was worth! Come! I answer you seriously and kindly, although your grotesque and horrible suspicion deserves about equally to be laughed at or punished. Come, look into my face now and see whether I am not telling you the truth."

"And sae ye did na do the deed?" she inquired at length, uncovering her head and showing a pale affrighted face.

"My poor lass, how terrified you have been! No, of course, I did not. But how came you to know anything about that horrible affair?"

Rose took up the morning paper and put it in his hands.

"Ah! confound the press!" muttered the man between his teeth.

"What did ye say?"

"These papers, with their ghastly accounts of murders, are nuisances, Rose!"

"Ay sae they be! But ye didna do the deed?"

The man made a gesture of impatience.

"Aweel, then sin ye had na knowledge o' the deed until after it was done, what did ye mean by saying that something wad happen, wad pit a' thoughts o' marriage and gi'eing in marriage out the heads o' a' concerned?—when ye spak till me under the balcony that same night?"

"I meant—I meant," said the man, hesitating, "that I would let the preparations for the wedding go on to the very altar, and then before the altar I would reject the bride! I had heard something about her."

"Ah! I thought ye did it a' for spite!"

"But Rose, I never thought you were such an utter coward as I have found you out to be to-day!" said the man reproachfully.

"Ay' I can staund muckle; but I canna staund murder!"

"It is not even certain that there has been any murder committed. The coroner's jury have not yet brought in their verdict. Many people think that the old man fell dead with a sudden attack of heart-disease, and in falling, struck his head upon the top of that bronze statuette, which was found lying by him."

"Ay! and that wad be likely eneuch! for na robber wou'd gae to kill a man wi' siccan a weepon as that," said Rose, who had begun to recover her composure.

Then the man began to question her in his turn:

"You brought the satchel safely?"

"Ay, I brought it safely."

"Where is it?"

"Lock the door and I'll get it."

The man locked the door. While his back was turned, Rose jumped out of bed and slipped on a dressing-gown. Then she put her hand in between the mattresses and drew out the bag.

"Have you examined its contents?" inquired the man.

"Na, I hanna opened it once," replied the girl, unhesitatingly telling a falsehood.

"Oh! then I have a surprise for you. Sir Lemuel Levison was my banker. He had my money, and also my jewels, in his charge. He delivered them to me last night a few minutes before I brought them out and gave them to you. You know I wished you to take them to London because—I meant to reject Miss Levison at the altar, and after that, of course, I could not return to the castle for anything. Don't you see?"

"Ay, I see! But stap! stap! Noo you mind me about the bag. When you brought out the bag that night, I heard you and a man talking. You said to the man, 'You hae brocht the curse o' Cain upon me.' Noo, an ye had naething to do wi' the murder, what did ye mean by that?"

The man's face grew very dark. "She cross-questions me," he muttered to himself. Then controlling his emotions, he affected to laugh, and said:

"How you do twist and turn things, Rose! One would think you were interested in convicting me. But I had rather think that you are a little cracked on this subject. I never used the words you think you heard. The servant had brought me the wrong walking-stick, one that was too short for me, and so I said, 'You have brought that cursed cane to me.'"

"Ou, that indeed!" said the credulous girl, "But what did he mean when he said, 'It could na be helpit. The auld man squealed?'"

"I don't know what he meant, nor do I know whether he used those words. Probably he did not; and you mistook him as you have mistaken me. But I am really tired of being so cross-questioned, Rose. Look me in the face, and tell me whether you really believe me to be guilty or not?" he said, in his most frank and persuasive manner.

"Na, na, I canna believe ony ill o' ye, Johnnie Scott," replied the girl.

And, in fact, the man had such magnetic power over her that he could make her believe anything that he wished.

"Now let us look into this satchel," he said, proceeding to open it.

He took out the bags of money.

"There is one bag gone! fifty pounds gone!" he exclaimed.

"Na, that canna be, gin it was in the bag. I hanna opened it ance," said the girl, unhesitatingly.

The man paid no attention to her words, but took out the jewels and began to examine them.

"Confound it! The watch and chain are gone, and the solitaire diamond ring is gone, and—" here the man broke out into a volley of curses forcible enough to right a ship in a storm, and said: "The jewel snuff-box, worth ten times all the other jewels put together, is gone! How is this, Rose?"

"I dinna ken. How suld I ken? I took the bag frae your hands, and I put it back intil your hands, e'en just as I took it, without ever once seeing the inside o' it," boldly replied the girl.

A volley of curses from the man followed, and then he inquired:

"Was the bag out of your possession at any time since you received it?"

"Na, not ance."

"Then that infernal valet has taken the lion's share of the prog! I wish I had him by the throat!" exclaimed the man, with a torrent of imprecations.

"What do ye mean by a' that?" inquired Rose.

"I mean, that servant I believed in has robbed me, that is all," said the man.

With her recovered spirits Rose had regained her appetite. She now rang the bell loudly.

The housekeeper answered it.

"Is breakfast ready?" inquired the hungry creature.

"Yes, madam; and I will put in on the table just as soon as you are ready for it," answered the old woman.

"Put it on now, then," replied the girl.

The housekeeper left the room.

Rose made a hasty toilet while her husband was washing the railway dust from his face and head.

And then both went into the adjoining parlor, where the morning meal was by this time laid.

After breakfast the man went out.

The woman remained in the house. She was in a very unenviable state of mind. She was not yet quite easy on the subject of the murder at Lone Castle. For although her husband and herself might have no connection with the crime, still they had undoubtedly been lurking secretly about the house on the very night of its perpetration, and therefore might get into great trouble. And, besides, she was frightened at having secreted the costly watch and chain, snuff-box, and other jewels, from her Scott, and then told him a falsehood about them. What if he should find her out in her dishonesty and duplicity?

She did not dream of giving up her stolen property. She would risk all for the possession of that precious golden box, whose brilliant colors and blazing jewels fascinated her very soul; but where could she securely hide it from her husband's search? At that moment it was with the watch and the diamond ring under the bolster of her bed. But there it was in danger of being discovered, should a search be made.

She went into her bedroom and looked about for a hiding-place.

At length she found one which she thought would be secure.

The gilt cornice at the top of her bedroom window was hollow. She climbed up on top of her dressing bureau, and reaching as far as she could she pushed first the snuff-box, (which also contained the diamond ring,) and then the watch and chain, far into the hollow part of the cornice, over the window.

There she thought they would be perfectly safe.

The next few days passed without anything occurring to disturb the peace of this misguided peasant girl.

Every morning the man who called himself Lord Arondelle, but who was known at the house he occupied only as Mr. Scott, and who professed to be the husband of the young woman—went out in the morning and remained absent until evening.

Every day the girl, known to her servants as Mrs. Scott, spent in dressing, going out riding in a cab, and freely spending the money that her husband lavished upon her, and in gormandizing in a manner that must have destroyed the digestive organs of any animal less sound and strong than this "handsome hizzie" from the Highlands.

On the Monday of the week following the tragedy at Castle Lone, however, Mr. Scott came home in the evening in a state of agitation and alarm.

"Where is that satchel with the money?" he inquired as he entered the bedroom of his wife.

She stared at him in astonishment, but his looks so frightened her that she hastened to produce the bag.

He took from it a little bag of gold marked L500, and threw it in her lap, saying:

"There, take that!" And before she could utter a word, he hurried out of the room.

She ran down stairs after him, calling:

"John! John! what ails you? What hae fashed ye sae muckle?"

But he banged the hall door and was gone.

"That's unco queer!" said Rose, as she retraced her steps, up stairs, feeling a vague anxiety creeping upon her.

"He'll be back sune. He has na gane a journey, for he has na ta'en e'en sa mickle as a change o' linnen, or a second collar," she said, as she regained her room, and sank down breathless into a chair.

The bag of gold he had left her next attracted her attention. L500—ten times as much as she had ever possessed in her life. The contemplation of this fortune drove all speculations about the movements of "John" out of her head. "John" was always queer and uncertain, and would go off suddenly sometimes and be gone for days.

"I winna fash mysel' anent him! He may tak' his ain gait, and I'll tak' mine!" she said to herself, as she resolved to go out the very next day and buy what her heart had long been set upon—a cashmere shawl!

The next morning's papers however contained news from Lone, which, had Rose taken the trouble to look at them, must have thrown some light upon the sudden departure of Mr. Scott.

They contained this telegraphic item, copied from the evening papers:

"The coroner's inquest that has been sitting at Lone, returned last night a verdict of murder against Peters, the valet of the late Sir Lemuel Levison, and against some person or persons unknown. The valet has been arrested and committed to gaol to await the action of the grand jury. It is said that he is very much depressed in spirits, and it is supposed that he will make a full confession, and save himself from the extreme penalty of the law by giving up the names of his confederates in the crime, and turning Queen's evidence against them."

Rose did not read the papers at all. They did not interest that fine animal.

She went shopping that day, and bought a blazing scarlet cashmere shawl. Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she was not troubled. She had a roast pheasant, champagne, and candied fruits for supper, and she was happy.

She went shopping the next day, and bought a flashing set of jewels.

Mr. Scott did not return in the evening, but she had another luxurious supper, and was still happy. In this way a week passed, and still Mr. Scott did not come back. But Rose shopped and gormandized and enjoyed her healthy animal life.

Then she felt tempted to wear her gold watch and chain when she dressed to go abroad. So one morning she put it on, and went out. She had not the slightest suspicion of the danger to which she exposed herself by wearing it. She was not afraid of any one finding it in her possession, except her husband. So she wore it proudly day after day.

One morning, about ten days after the departure of "Mr. Scott," the postman left a letter for her. It was a drop-letter. She opened it and read.

It was without date or signature, and merely contained these lines:

"Business detains me from you longer than I had expected to stay. Do not be anxious. I will return or send very soon."

Rose was not anxious. She was enjoying herself. Now after shopping and eating and drinking all day, she went to the theatre at night. The theatre—one of the humblest in the city—was a new sensation to her, and her first visit to one was so delightful that she resolved to repeat it every evening.

"I shanna fash mysel' anent Johnnie ony mair. He'll come hame when he gets ready," she said in her heart.

But weeks grew into months, and "Johnnie" did not come home.

Rose's five hundred pounds had sunk down to fifty pounds, and then indeed she did begin to grow impatient for the return of her husband. Suppose the money should give out before he came back?

One day, while she was disturbing herself by these questions, she went out shopping as usual. When she had made her purchases she looked at her watch, and found that it had stopped. She was too ignorant to know what was the matter with it. She only knew that when she wound it up it would not go.

So she asked the dealer from whom she had bought her goods to direct her to a watchmaker.

The dealer gave her the address of a jeweller not far off.

She took her watch to "Messrs. North and Simms, Watchmakers and Jewellers," and asked an elderly man behind the counter, who happened to be one of the firm, if he could make her watch "gae" while she waited for it in the shop. And she detached it from its chain and handed it to him.

Mr. North received the rich, diamond-studded, gold repeater, and looked at the tawdry, ignorant, vain creature that presented it, with astonishment.

Then he examined the initials set in diamonds, and a change came over his face. He went to his desk, taking the watch with him. He drew out a small drawer, took from it a photograph, and compared it with the watch in his hand. Then he placed both together in the drawer and locked it and beckoned a young man from the opposite counter, scribbled a few words on a card and sent him out with it.

Rose, who had watched all these movements without the least suspicion of their meaning, now moved toward the jeweller and said:

"Aweel then, hae ye lookit at my watch and can ye na mak it ga?"

"The spring is broken, Miss, and it will take a little time to repair it. You can leave it with me, if you please," replied Mr. North.

"Indeed, then, and I'm nae sic a fule! I'll na leave it with you at a'. If you canna mak it gae just gie it till me," she said.

Now Mr. North did not wish his customer to leave his shop yet a while. The truth was that photographs of the late Sir Lemuel Levison's watch and snuff-box, in the possession of his legal steward, had been copied and the copies distributed by London directory to every jeweller in the city, as a means of discovering the stolen property, and finally detecting the criminals.

Messrs. North and Simms had received a copy of each.

And when Rose presented the rich watch to be repaired, Mr. North had at first suspected and then identified the article as the missing watch of the late Sir Lemuel Levison. And he had locked it in the drawer with the photographs, and dispatched a messenger to the nearest police station for an officer.

His object now was to detain Rose Cameron until the arrival of that officer.

"Will you look at something in my line this morning, Miss?" he inquired.

"Na. Gi'e me my watch, and I will gae my ways home," she answered.

"I have a set of diamonds here that once belonged to the Empress Josephine. They are very magnificent. Would you not like to see them?"

"Ou, ay! an empress's diamonds? ay, indeed I wad!" cried the poor fool, vivaciously.

Mr. North drew from his glass case a casket containing a fine set of brilliants, which probably the Empress Josephine had never even heard of, and displayed it before the wondering eyes of the Highland lass.

While she was gazing in rapt admiration upon the blazing jewels, the messenger returned, accompanied by a policeman in plain clothes.

"Excuse me, Miss, I wish to speak to a customer," said the jeweller, as he met the officer and silently took him up to the farther end of the shop to his desk, opened a little drawer and showed him the watch and the photographs.

Then they conferred together for a short time. The jeweller told the policeman how the watch had fallen into his hands; but that the pretended owner, finding that he could not repair it while she waited, had refused to leave it, and insisted on taking it home with her.

"Give it to her. Let her take it home. She can then be followed and her residence ascertained. I think, without doubt, that we have now got a certain clue to the perpetrators of the robbery and murder at Castle Lone."



CHAPTER XIII.

A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SCOTT.

"Will ye gie me my watch or no?" exclaimed Rose, growing impatient of the whispered colloquy between the jeweller and the policeman in plain clothes, although she was quite unsuspicious of its subject.

"Here it is, madam," said the jeweller, with the utmost politeness, as he came and placed the watch in her hand.

She attached it to her chain and then left the shop.

The policeman sauntered carelessly toward the door and kept his eye covertly upon her.

She got into a four-wheeled cab and drove off.

The policeman hailed a "Hansom," sprang into it, and directed the driver to keep the first cab in sight and follow it to its destination.

Rose, as it was now late in the afternoon, and she was longing for her turbot, green-turtle soup, and roast pheasants and champagne, drove directly home.

Her housekeeper met her at the door with good news.

"A letter from the master, ma'am. The postman brought it soon after you left home," she said, putting another "drop" letter in the hand of her mistress.

"Is dinner ready?" inquired Rose, who was more interested in her meals than in her lover.

"Just ready, ma'am," replied the housekeeper.

"Put it on the table directly, then," said Rose, as she ran up stairs to her own room.

She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter to read it, at her ease.

It was without date and very short. It only informed her that the writer was still detained by "circumstances beyond his control," and enjoined her to wait patiently in her house on Westminster Road, until she should see him.

It was also without signature.

"And there's nae money in it. I dinna ken why he should write to me at a', if he will send me nae money," was the angry comment of Rose, as she impatiently threw the letter into the fire.

Her "improved" circumstances had not taught the peasant girl any refinement of manners. She did not think it at all necessary to change her dress, or even to wash her face after her dusty drive. But when dinner was announced, she went to the table as she had come into the house. And she enjoyed her dinner as only a young person with a perfectly healthful and intensely sensual organization could. She lingered long over her dessert of candied fruits, creams, jellies, and light wines. And when the housekeeper came in at length with the strong black coffee, she made the woman sit down and gossip with her about London life.

While they were so employed, "the boy in buttons," whose duty it was to attend the street door and answer the bell, entered the room and said:

"A gemman down stairs axing to see the missus. I told 'im 'er was at dinner, and mussent be disturbed at meals, which 'e hanswered, and said as 'is business were most himportant, and 'e must see you whether or no, ma'am, which I beg yer parding for 'sturbing yer agin horders."

"It will be a mon frae Johnnie Scott. He'll be fetching me a message or some money. Gae tell him to come in," said Rose, in hopeful excitement.

"Must I bring the gemman up here, missus?" inquired Buttons.

"Ay, ye fule! Where else? Wad ye ask the gentlemon intil the kitchen? And we had na that money rooms to choose fra!" said Rose, impatiently.

And indeed, in that great empty old house, she had but three to her own use—the tawdry scarlet parlor, which was also her dining room; the equally tawdry scarlet chamber; and the dressing-room behind it.

The boy vanished and soon reappeared, ushering in the policeman in plain clothes.

"You will be coming frae Mr. Scott, wi' a message?" said Rose, without rising to receive him.

"No, mum; haven't the pleasure of that gent's acquaintance, though I would like to enjoy it. I come to Mrs. Scott, however, and on particular unpleasant business. What is your full name, mum?" gruffly inquired the policeman, approaching her.

"And what will my name be to you, ye rude mon? And wha ga'ed ye commission to force yersel, on my company at my dinner?" indignantly inquired Rose.

"My commission, as you call it, mum, lies in this warrant, which authorizes me to make a thorough search of these premises for property stolen from Lone Castle on the night of the first of June last."

As the policeman spoke, Rose stared at him with eyes that grew larger, and a face that grew whiter every minute. And as she stared, she suddenly recognized the visitor as the man she had seen in the jeweller's shop, talking with the proprietor while the latter was pretending to be examining the watch she had put in his hand for repairs.

And now the whole truth burst upon her. The watch had been recognized by the jeweller, who perhaps had seen it in Sir Lemuel Levison's possession, or perhaps had had it in his own for cleaning, and he had sent for this policeman in plain clothes, who had followed her home, "spotted" the house, and then taken out a search-warrant. Fright and rage possessed her soul. And oh! in the midst of all, how she cursed her own folly in secreting those dangerous jewels in the house, and her madness in wearing the watch abroad.

"I hope you will submit quietly to the necessary search, mum. It will be the better for you," said the officer.

Then rage got the better of fright in Rose Cameron's distracted bosom.

"I'll tear your e'en out, first, ye—" here followed a volley of expletives not fit to be reported here—"before ye s' all bring me to sic an open shame! Search my house, will ye? Ye daur!" and here the handsome Amazon struck an attitude of resistance.