"Why, certainly; what else should you do with it?"

"But Mr. Jasper will need it, will he not?"

"In what way?"

"Won't he need a lawyer to help him? I know it costs so much to get a lawyer for mother has told me so. We must do all we can to save him."

A mistiness came into Lois' eyes as Betty uttered these words. She suddenly stopped, put her arms lovingly around the girl, and tenderly kissed her.

"You precious dear," she cried. "How sweet it is of you to think of him, and I am most grateful to you. But I do not think you need worry about paying the lawyer. I am sure Mr. Westcote will look after that."

"Oh, do you think he will?" and the girl breathed a sigh of relief. Then her face clouded, and that worried expression again came into her eyes.

"What will they do with Mr. Jasper?" she enquired.

"I can't say," was the low reply.

"Will they keep him in prison a long time, or will they——?"

"Don't say that word!" Lois cried, clutching Betty firmly by the arm. "I know what you were going to say, and I can't bear to hear it."

They were walking slowly now along the narrow path, bordered by waving grass. Birds sang in the trees to their left and butterflies flitted here and there over the broad fields. It was a scene of peace and contentment. Nature was in her most attractive mood and seemed to care nothing for the cares of struggling humanity. At any other time Lois would have rejoiced in the beauty around her and would have revelled in the glory of earth and sky. But now it was otherwise. How could she be happy when her heart was so heavy? She knew the cause, and she was not ashamed to confess it to herself. In fact, it brought a slight ray of comfort to feel that she was suffering with him.

They had almost reached the house when a boy was seen approaching. He carried a note in his hand, which he gave at once to Lois.

"It's from Mr. Forbes," he explained, "and he told me to hustle, and take an answer back as quick as I can."

Lois read the note, which simply stated that she was wanted at the telephone.

"Tell Mr. Forbes that I shall be there shortly," she told the boy, at the same time handing him a coin for his trouble in carrying the message.

Hurrying into the house in order to leave word with the maid where she was going in case any one should call, Lois started with Betty for the store. There was no more loitering now as she was anxious to learn who wanted her on the phone. It was rarely that any one called her up, and she was hoping that it might be Margaret to tell her that she was coming back that evening.

On their way they came to the grove at the top of the hill not far from the Haven. Here Betty stopped, and stood as if hesitating what to do.

"I think I shall leave you, Miss Lois," she said.

"What, are you not going with me to the store?"

"No, I guess not. I will see you later. I want to go to my room now to think something over."

She was trembling as she said this, and Lois wondered what was the matter with her. Then an idea flashed into her mind. Was she afraid to go past the artist's tent? she asked herself. There could surely be nothing else which would cause her to leave her and go to the loneliness of her own room. She said nothing to Betty, however, of her thoughts, but bade her good-bye and hurried on her way.

Coming at length to the spot where Bramshaw had been living, she glanced to the left as if expecting to see him. But no sign of him did she see, and great was her surprise to find that his tent was gone. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that she had not seen aright. But, no, there was no mistake. Bramshaw had gone, and had taken all his belongings with him. This was strange, and as she walked along she began to muse as to where he had gone and the purpose of his hasty departure. Had it anything to do with the murder of old David? she wondered.

Lois was thinking of these things as she reached the store, where she met Andy Forbes.

"Do you know what has become of the artist?" she enquired.

"Isn't he up the road?" Andy asked in reply.

"His tent has been removed, and so I suppose he has gone with it."

"Gone!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Why, when did he go?"

"I haven't the least idea."

"Well, I guess there must be something in it after all," Andy mused as if to himself.

"In what?" Lois questioned, wondering what the man meant.

"I'll tell you in a minute, Miss Sinclair, but you'd better read this first," and the storekeeper handed her a piece of paper. "It's the telephone message," he explained.

Lois took the paper in her hand, and read. It was from Mr. Westcote, containing a request that she should go to the city the next day if she possibly could, as he wished to see her on important business.

"Why didn't you send this with the boy?" Lois enquired, somewhat annoyed. "It would have saved my coming here."

But Andy did not notice her annoyance, for something seemed to be troubling him.

"Would you mind coming into the house?" he asked. "My wife will look after the store for a few minutes. There is an important matter I wish to speak to you about."

Opening the door to the right, he ushered her at once into a small sitting-room. It was a cosy place, and here she found Mrs. Forbes, a bright-eyed little woman, seated at the window facing the road, doing some sewing. Lois knew her very well as one of the quiet thoughtful women, of Creekdale, and who was of such great assistance to her husband.

"It is too bad to disturb you," Lois apologised, when Andy had asked her to look after the store for a short time.

"Oh, I do not mind," she pleasantly replied. "I am so glad you have come, for I have been most anxious for Andy to have a talk with you. Sit down, please," and she motioned to a chair.

Andy did not sit down but walked up and down the room, as was his custom when greatly excited. Presently he paused and looked keenly into Lois' expectant face.

"It's something very serious I've got to tell you, Miss Sinclair," he began. "In fact, it's so serious that I have been doubting for some time whether I should tell anybody about it. But when I told my wife this afternoon she advised me to tell you, and so that's the reason why I asked you to come here."

"Has it anything to do with the murder case?" Lois asked, now much interested.

"Yes, I believe it will have, and that is what makes me so worried, because I don't want to get tangled up in that nasty affair."

"Tell me what it is," Lois suggested, impatient to learn what it really was.

"Well, it has to do with that envelope."

"Oh!" Lois was more interested than ever now.

"Yes, that's what it is about. You see, Randall came to the office one day last week, and there was a letter for him from his company. I know that much about it for their name was on the top left hand corner. Randall opened the letter right in the store and dropped the envelope on the floor, and didn't pay any more heed to it. I've seen him do the same thing several times and so I didn't pay any special attention to it. Now, Randall hadn't been gone very long before that artist came for his mail. There was nothing for him and he seemed very surly and said a few cuss words about people not writing. As he was standing there talking I saw him stoop and pick up the envelope Randall had dropped. He didn't know that I saw him doing it, for I was busy with the mail though I was watching him all the time out of the corner of my eye, for I never liked the fellow. I saw him glance at me, and when he felt sure that I didn't notice what he was doing he slipped that envelope into an inside pocket of his coat."

When Andy began his story Lois was sitting with her hands clasped before her and her eyes fixed full upon his face. But before he had finished she had risen to her feet greatly agitated.

"Are you sure that is the same letter that was found by David's side?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I couldn't swear that it was," Andy slowly replied. "Anyway, it looks very much like it, and the name of the company is on the left-hand corner, just as it was on the one which Randall dropped on the floor and Bramshaw picked up."

"It must have been the same one," Lois emphatically declared. "Oh, I am so thankful that you have told me this. I am sure it will go a long way toward saving Mr. Randall."

"I can't swear though that it's the same envelope," Andy repeated.

"But you will be willing to swear to what you have just told me, will you not?" Lois asked.

"Sure. I'd swear to that any time and anywhere."

"Thank you," and Lois breathed a sigh of relief. "I feel quite certain that it will be valuable evidence."

"Now, I wonder what that chap wanted that envelope for?" Andy mused.

"To leave it by old David's body, of course, and to throw the blame on Mr. Randall."

"Yes, that no doubt was his idea. But why did he want to do that? And if he committed that deed, why did he do it? What object did he have in murdering an innocent old man who never injured anybody, as far as I know?"

"That is the puzzling thing which must be solved," Lois replied. "But I must go home now, Mr. Forbes, and I thank you very much for what you have told me this afternoon."

She left the store with a lighter heart than she had entered it, and walked briskly up the road. She somehow felt that what Andy had told her would be of great value in freeing Jasper and bringing home the crime to the right person. But something more must be done, and she knew that it would be quite necessary to find the motive which prompted Bramshaw to pick up that letter and to commit the deed.

As Lois came to the road leading to the Haven, she found Betty waiting there for her. The girl seemed brighter than she had been since the night of the murder, and Lois wondered what was the cause of it. Had she heard some good news? she asked herself.

"Oh, Miss Lois," Betty cried, "I have been waiting a long time for you and I thought you would never come. May I go home with you?"

"Certainly, I shall be delighted to have you. But you look brighter, Betty, than you did when I left you. Have you heard anything new?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Lois, I have," the girl replied. "The captain told me that he has gone away."

"Who?" Lois enquired.

"The artist! Just think of that! He has cleared out, and taken everything with him."

"Why should that make you so happy, Betty?"

"Because he can't hurt me now."

"Why, did he ever try to hurt you?"

"Oh, yes, he said he would kill me if I told on him."

"Kill you!" Lois exclaimed, stopping short. "If you told on him! I do not understand you."

"Hush," and the girl raised a warning finger and looked apprehensively around. "Don't speak too loud. I am really afraid yet. But I know he can't hurt me because he has gone."

"No, he won't hurt you, Betty. I will see that he doesn't. Tell me when he said he would kill you."

"The night I went to meet Mr. David."

"Oh!"

"Yes, I was hurrying along the road just up there when I heard some one coming toward me. I was sure it was Mr. David, and so I rushed up to him and called out his name. Instead of Mr. David it was the artist, just think of that! My, he was surprised when he found who I was. He was so excited that he caught me by the arm so hard that I cried out with pain and fear."

"He did?"

"Yes; and he said he would kill me if I ever told that I had met him there on the road that night. He said that nothing could save me from him, and oh, how he did curse and swear what he would do. He made my blood run cold."

"And did you promise that you wouldn't tell?" Lois asked.

"No, indeed I didn't! I jerked myself suddenly away from him and ran home as hard as I could. He ran after me, but he didn't catch me. I was so afraid to look for Mr. David after that. I stayed in the house till near midnight before I went out again."

"So that was what was troubling you so much, was it?" Lois asked.

"Yes. I was afraid that he would kill me. I guess I'm a coward anyway. But when I saw the constables take Mr. Jasper away this afternoon I made up my mind to tell you all about it. I don't mind now if the artist does kill me if I can save Mr. Jasper. Anyway, I am glad that he has cleared out."

"Don't be afraid, Betty, he will not hurt you at all," and Lois put her arms lovingly around the girl. "I am so thankful that you have told me this. Come, now, and let us go home."



CHAPTER XXIX

LOIS GOES TO THE CITY

Betty's story filled Lois with still greater hope, and she was anxious to see Jasper's lawyer that she might tell him what she had learned. For most of the night she thought about the matter, and she tried to find some reason why Bramshaw should commit the murder. She thought, too, of Jasper, and wondered how he was bearing himself in his lonely cell. She longed to speak to him and tell him of the discovery she had made. She knew that his mental suffering must be great, and she did want to help him to bear his trouble.

Lois learned from her father and Dick upon their arrival from the city what a strong feeling was abroad against Jasper. People condemned him in no measured language, and denounced him as a dastardly villain who deserved the severest punishment. Mr. Sinclair told of the conversation he had with several people along the road, and how all were loud in their severe denunciations. Even the city papers, following the popular cry, had editorials about the murder. Though they did not mention Jasper by name, yet their allusions were so pointed that no one could mistake their meaning. All united in condemning the criminal and declaring that the deed was all the more abhorrent owing to the age of the murdered man and the friendly relations which had existed between him and his suspected assailant.

All this was very hard for Lois to endure. It annoyed her to think how willing people were to condemn a man and judge him worthy of death before he had received a fair trial. She had a secret satisfaction, however, in the information Andy and Betty had imparted to her. It buoyed her up with the hope that it would greatly assist in freeing Jasper and clearing him entirely from all blame. It was only natural that she should desire to see the ones who condemned him so severely put to an ignominious silence. She smiled almost bitterly as she thought how they would come about Jasper with their smooth, oily words of congratulation when he again came into their midst.

In the morning Lois went to the city with her father and Dick. She enjoyed the ride in the fresh air and she was somewhat sorry when she alighted from the car in front of her father's office. Dick wanted to drive her around to Mr. Westcote's house as he was most anxious to see Margaret. He had not met her for two days, and to him it seemed a very long time. But as Lois had some shopping to do, she preferred to walk.

"I'll be around this afternoon, though," Dick told her.

"Oh, I know you will," was the laughing reply. "Shall I tell her?"

"Yes, do, Lois. She's great, isn't she?"

"She certainly is, Dick. But I must hurry away now," she added as she saw that her brother was anxious to talk more about Margaret.

It did not take Lois long to do her shopping, and she was just leaving the store when she met Mrs. Dingle face to face. Had she seen her sooner she would have made a desperate effort to escape her. But there was nothing for her to do now but to submit with the best grace possible.

"Oh, isn't it lovely to see you, dear," Mrs. Dingle effusively cried, as she gave her a peck-like kiss upon the right cheek. "We have been talking so much about you lately. Sammie is fairly crazy to see you, and you must be prepared for a visit from him as soon as he learns you are in town. I am so thankful that I have such a dutiful son. He is quite a comfort to me, and I am sure any woman would be proud to have him for a husband. There are so many bad men these days that we appreciate a good one when we find him. We knew that you would come back to the city."

"What made you think that?" Lois enquired as Mrs. Dingle paused an instant for breath.

"To get away from that horrid country place, of course, where that terrible murder was committed. I hope they have that villain securely locked up."

"What villain?" Lois asked.

"Why the one who killed that poor old man for his money."

"No, he is not locked up yet."

"But I heard that he is. Surely he hasn't escaped!" and Mrs. Dingle held up her well-gloved hands.

"No, he isn't in prison yet," Lois calmly replied. "But there is an innocent man there, though, I am sorry to say."

"Do you mean that uncouth fellow Sammie was telling me about?"

"I am not referring to any uncouth fellow, Mrs. Dingle, but merely to Mr. Jasper Randall, a gentleman and a friend of mine."

"Oh, I didn't know that," and Mrs. Dingle looked her surprise as well as her embarrassment. "All I know is what Sammie told me."

"What did Sammie tell you?" Lois voice was sharp as she asked the question.

"I can't remember all. But he said that he was brought up on a farm, had to work his way through college, and that sort of thing, you know. As he is not of our set, of course I did not pay much attention to what Sammie told me."

Lois was both angry and disgusted at this woman. Oh, how she longed to tell her something that she would not soon forget. How she was tempted to place Jasper and Sammie side by side and compare them; the one an insignificant, brainless, useless, overdressed nincompoop; the other a strong, self-reliant, masterful man, fighting against fate with face to the front and head erect.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Dingle," she said, "I am in a great hurry this morning. And I am afraid if I stay I may say something to hurt your feelings. Mr. Randall is a friend of mine, and I have great respect for him. I have always made it a point of being loyal to my friends, and adversity is the test of friendship."

Mrs. Dingle stared in amazement after Lois. She could not understand what had come over the girl, and at luncheon she discussed the matter with Sammie.

"You must see her at once, dear," she told him. "It would not do to lose her, for her father is very rich and she is his only daughter. I am afraid she thinks a great deal of that uncouth fellow who has been arrested."

"Hm," her son grunted. "Don't you worry one bit. Spuds'll be fixed all right. The noose is hanging over his head and just ready to drop, I was talking to some of the fellows to-day and they say that he's a goner, and that nothing can save him. Oh, by the way, Ma, I saw Bramshaw to-day."

"You did!" his mother replied in surprise. "Why I thought he had left the city."

"So he did; but he's back now all right."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Just as he was coming out of the C. P. R. ticket office. He was in a great hurry and had no time to stop and talk."

"You must find out where he is staying, Sammie, and invite him to come and see us. He is a very distinguished young man, you know; an artist of wide reputation, and it makes a favourable impression to have such a man visit us. He is a gentleman, and not like that uncouth man who committed that terrible crime at Creekdale."

"But I don't believe he'll be here long, Ma," Sammie replied.

"Why, what makes you think that?"

"I guess he's leaving the city. He must have been at the office getting his ticket when I met him. No doubt he is going on this evening's train."

"He is visiting some of the big cities, no doubt, Sammie. A man like that could not be expected to remain in a small place like this. People must be anxious to see the man who has painted such famous pictures."

"Have you seen any of them, Ma?" her son asked.

"Oh, no. But he has told me about them, and they must be great from what he said. He has sold a great many at large prices, but the most valuable he keeps in his mansion in England, so he informed me. He said that he regretted that he had not brought several with him, but the risk was too great, and the pictures were so big that it was difficult to transport them so far."

"H'm," Sammie grunted, as he went on with his luncheon, and nothing more was said then about the artist.

Lois found Margaret at home and they had luncheon together. There was only one topic of conversation, and Lois told of the information she had received from Andy and Betty Bean.

"Have you any idea what your father wishes to see me about?" she asked. "I am quite curious to know."

"I really don't know," and Margaret shook her head. "He generally tells me his secret plans because he knows that I will not divulge them."

"You will go with me to his office this afternoon, will you not?"

"Certainly, if you care to have me. Father generally gets his luncheon out and is somewhat late getting back to his office. Wait a minute, dear, while I phone and tell him you are here."

Margaret was gone only a few minutes, and when she returned she resumed her seat at the table.

"Father will be back in his office at one-thirty," she began, "and he says that I may go with you. Lois, I have something important to tell you." Here she dropped her voice and looked apprehensively around the room. "Since you told me about that letter and Betty's fright I have been doing some serious thinking. You say that Sydney Bramshaw has left Creekdale?"

"Yes. He cleared out, tent and baggage."

"Have you any idea where he is?"

"No. But I am afraid he is far away by this time."

"Well, he isn't. He's in the city now."

"In the city!" Lois repeated in surprise.

"Yes. I met Sammie Dingle on the street this morning, and he told me that he met Bramshaw coming out of the C. P. R. ticket office."

"Oh!"

"Yes, that's what he told me. I did not think anything about it at the time, but I see things in a different light now. He must be planning to leave the city on the evening train, and if he once gets across the Border it will be difficult to find him. You should tell father all you know, and I am sure he will take action at once."

"And will he have Bramshaw arrested?" Lois asked.

"What else will there be to do? It would not do to let him escape with such evidence against him. It will be necessary for him to explain about that letter and his suspicious actions and threat to Betty. We have really no time to lose. My, I am getting interested and excited."

"For my part," Lois replied, "I believe he is the guilty man. But I cannot understand the motive of his crime. If we knew that it might lead to greater discoveries. You see, in reference to that envelope it will be merely one man's word against another. Andy will swear that he saw him pick up an envelope which Mr. Randall dropped on the floor, but he cannot swear that it is the same one that was found by the side of the murdered man. Bramshaw will also swear that he never met Betty that night on the road. His lawyer will not overlook anything, mark my word. It will be only circumstantial evidence after all, and it may not have much effect."

"Keep up courage, Lois," Margaret encouraged. "You have accomplished a great deal in a short time, and I know that father's lawyer has not been idle."

"Has he found out anything yet?" Lois eagerly asked.

"I am afraid not. There has not been much time, you see. But he is a very able man and will leave no stone unturned. But, come, dear, it is time for us to get ready. We must not keep father waiting as he is very busy these days."



CHAPTER XXX

A STRANGE COMMISSION

Robert Westcote did not go to his luncheon the day of Lois' visit to the city. He intended to go but was unexpectedly detained. He had been very busy all the morning in his office. His lawyer had been with him for some time, and when he was at last alone he turned his attention to a type-written manuscript lying on the desk before him. This consisted of several sheets of legal paper, attached to which was an official seal which had been recently broken. This was the third time that Mr. Westcote had read it and when he was through he sat for a while in deep thought. He paid no attention to the click of the typewriters in the adjoining room, and so engrossed was he that he did not at first hear a tap upon the office door. When it was repeated, he started from his reverie and called to the visitor to enter, thinking that perhaps it was one of the clerks. It was not his habit to be caught off guard, for he prided himself upon his alertness and strict attention to every business detail.

The office door slowly opened, and instead of a clerk, there stood before him a man dressed in rough working clothes. He recognised him at once as one of the men employed at the falls, and whom he had met on several occasions. It was Mr. Westcote's kindness and courtesy which always won for him the hearty support of his employees. They knew that they would receive justice and consideration at his hands and that he did not look upon them with contempt and as inferior beings. Mr. Westcote at once arose from his chair and held out his hand.

"Why, Dobbins," he exclaimed, "this is a surprise. I did not know you were in the city. How are things going on at the falls? Nothing wrong, I hope? Sit down, please," and he motioned him to a chair.

"The work is going on all right, sir," Dobbins replied, as he took the offered seat. "But I have come to see you, sir, on very important business. It has troubled me so much that I have not been able to sleep ever since Randall was arrested."

"Oh, I see, it has to do with that murder case, has it?" Mr. Westcote asked, now greatly interested.

"I wouldn't like to say that, sir," and Dobbins twirled his hat in his hands. "But it might throw some light upon the matter. You see, somebody killed old David. That's certain, isn't it?"

Mr. Westcote nodded his assent.

"Well, if you knew for sure that somebody had tried to but a short time before, it would make you rather suspicious of that somebody, wouldn't it?"

"I should say so!" Mr. Westcote exclaimed. "But do you know of any one who made the attempt, Dobbins?"

"You can judge of that, sir, when you hear what I have to say. It was this way. The day of the big wind I was sent to the shore to get a piece of mill belting, which was to come from the city on the afternoon boat. I had almost reached the brow of logs on the edge of the clearing when I stopped to get a drink from that little spring by the side of the road. I sat down for a minute or two under the shade of a small thick fir tree to fill my pipe, when happening to glance to my left I saw a man running up the road. I at once saw it was that artist fellow, and curious to know what he was running for I moved back a little behind the fir so's he couldn't see me. He stopped right by the logs and peered down the bank. Then he looked cautiously around and, picking up a stick, he pried loose one of the logs lying on top, and which was almost ready to go anyway. As soon as he had done this, he dropped the stick and ran like a streak of lightning down the road, and that was the last I saw of him."

"Well?" Mr. Westcote questioned as Dobbins paused and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a big red handkerchief.

"This is the part, sir, which I am ashamed to tell," the man continued. "I heard the crash of that log down the bank and the splash in the water. Then there fell upon my ears a shriek of terror. I knew it was a woman's voice and I leaped from my hiding place and peeked down the bank. And there I saw old David and that girl Betty Bean standing there frightened almost out of their senses. Say, I wasn't long getting back under cover again, for I knew that if they saw me they would say for sure that I had rolled that log down the bank on purpose. I didn't dare to go to the shore on the road so I cut up through the woods and came out another way. I didn't dare to say a word about it for fear I might get into trouble. But when young Randall, who is a chap we all think a lot of, was arrested for the murder of that old man I couldn't sleep a wink. If that artist fellow tried to kill old David once he would try again, and put the blame off on some one else. At last I could stand it no longer and so made up my mind to tell you all I know. You can judge now, sir, for yourself."

Mr. Westcote was greatly excited at this story, though outwardly he remained very calm. Twice during the narration he had glanced at the manuscript lying upon the desk, and once he had reached out his hand as if to pick it up. For a few seconds he remained silent when the story was ended. Then he rose to his feet and reached out his hand.

"Dobbins," he began, "I wish to thank you for what you have told me to-day. You have done a good deed by thus unburdening your mind. Will you be willing to swear to what you have just told me?"

"Swear! Indeed I will. I'll swear on a dozen Bibles any time and anywhere."

"That's good," Mr. Westcote replied, as he bade him good-day. "We shall need you before long, if I'm not much mistaken, so be ready."

Dobbins had scarcely left the office when Lois and Margaret arrived.

"My, how the morning has gone!" Mr. Westcote remarked as he greeted Lois with a hearty shake of the hand. "I suppose we had better get down to business at once, as no doubt you wish to go home this afternoon. I hope you will pardon my sending for you and giving you all this trouble."

"I do not mind in the least," Lois replied, "for I am sure it has something to do with the murder, and I am so anxious to learn whether you have found out anything new."

"Only something this morning, Miss Sinclair, which may be of considerable value. I trust that we may unearth more in a few days."

"Oh, don't wait for a few days, Mr. Westcote," Lois pleaded. "You must act at once, this very afternoon, if the criminal is to be caught."

"How can we, Miss Sinclair," was the reply, "when we are not sure who the real criminal is?"

"But I know, and I think you will agree with me when I tell you my story. Listen."

Lois then related what she had heard from Andy Forbes and Betty Bean. She told her story well and Mr. Westcote was keenly interested not only in what she told him, but in the animated look in her eyes and the varying shades of expression which passed over her fair face. He considered Jasper a lucky fellow in having such a beautiful woman striving so hard for his release.

When Lois had finished, Mr. Westcote turned to his desk and drew the telephone toward him.

"What you tell me, Miss Sinclair," he said, "is very valuable, and I must see my lawyer at once. Excuse me a moment."

After he had called up the lawyer and asked him to come at once to his office, he hung up the receiver and sat for a few seconds lost in deep thought.

"Yes, we had better do it at once," he remarked as if to himself. "It will not do to run any risk."

"Do what, Father?" Margaret enquired.

"Have that Bramshaw detained. I have received some additional information to-day, and with what Miss Sinclair has just told me it should be enough to arrest any man. Now, I must come to the question I wish to speak to you about," and he turned to Lois. "You have told me your story and in return I shall relate one perhaps of a more startling nature."

"In connection with this same affair?" Lois eagerly asked.

"It has a direct bearing upon it. It has to do with the mystery which has been surrounding the life of old David."

"And does it clear it up?"

"Wait, please, until I am through, and you can judge for yourself," Mr. Westcote smilingly told her.

"I shall be as patient as Job," Lois replied, as she settled herself in her chair as comfortably as possible.

"My story might seem strange to you," Mr. Westcote began. "In fact, it has always seemed strange to me, and sometimes I think that I shall wake up and find it nothing more than a dream. Well, without going into details, which would not interest you, it is sufficient to say that I came to this country over two years ago on one of the strangest commissions ever given to man. I was handed two sealed papers numbered 1 and 2, with strict orders to break the seal of paper Number 1 only upon my arrival in Canada, and then I should find my instructions in reference to Number 2."

"What were the instructions?" Lois eagerly asked, as Mr. Westcote paused for a few seconds as if considering how to proceed.

"That will come later," he replied. "I must tell you about Number 1 first. You promised to be patient, you know."

"Excuse me, I know I did," Lois smilingly confessed, as she glanced at Margaret, whose eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"I was naturally anxious to know what my orders were," Mr. Westcote continued, "and shortly after my arrival here, I broke the seal of Number 1. Then I learned that I was to search for an old man who was living in this country under the name of David Findley. No effort or expense was to be spared. Money would be provided without stint through one of the city banks. When the old man was found he was to be kept in complete ignorance of the fact that I had been searching for him. The hard part was that I should undertake to assist him in such a way that he should not have the slightest idea that anything was being done on his behalf. There was not to be the least semblance of charity, and whatever was done for him had to appear to be the natural payment for value received. If the old man had any special hobby or scheme, no matter how wild, so long as it was legitimate, I was to undertake to see that it should be carried out, no matter what the expense. If the scheme proved feasible, so much the better, and strict business methods were to be used to make it pay. But if not, the old man's every lawful wish was to be gratified. One of the strict instructions was that he should be induced as soon as possible to make his will. This was to be done in such a way as to arouse no suspicion, but that he should consider it as a matter of business detail, so that his fond scheme, or whatever it might be, would not suffer in case of his death.

"You can readily understand, Miss Sinclair, the magnitude of the undertaking. At first I thought that I had been made the victim of a madman, and was tempted to return to England at once, and have nothing to do with the affair. But the amount of money placed at my disposal in the bank settled all scruples and started me forth upon my strange quest. I even began to enjoy the adventure of the whole thing, and the mystery attached to it lured me on. I searched far and wide for David Findley and at last, owing to an accident to my auto, located him at Creekdale, living as a pauper. By the description given in paper Number 1 I knew that he was the man for whom I had been searching. After that, matters moved along very smoothly. He had a fond scheme, too, which served my purpose splendidly. He was wrapped up in the idea of converting the water of Break Neck Falls into light and power for the benefit of the entire community. I consulted with the best engineers, and they said the scheme was most feasible, and so we began work. David was paid a sum of money for his plans, which satisfied him, and he was made Honorary President of a company which has never really existed. The money at my disposal made everything easy. You know the rest, and why should I go further into details? It would be unnecessary for me to tell you of the faithful and excellent work of Mr. Randall. He has been of great assistance to me, and without his aid my task would have been much harder than it has been."

When Mr. Westcote paused Lois looked enquiringly into his face.

"May I speak now?" she asked. "I have been very patient, have I not?"

"Indeed you have, Miss Sinclair," and Mr. Westcote smiled. "You may ask anything you like."

"Surely you have not told me all. I thought you had merely begun when you stopped. Who was David Findley, anyway, and what does paper Number 2 contain? I am most curious to know the end of this strange story."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you a very important thing," and Mr. Westcote laughed. "My instructions in paper Number 1 told me not to open Number 2 until after the old man's death. Then I should learn all about him and the mystery of my strange commission would be solved."

"Do you know yet?" Lois eagerly asked. "Have you broken the seal?"

"Yes, I broke it this morning, and have read the contents of the paper three times. I am going to read it to you now, for that will be better than if I tell it to you in my own words."



CHAPTER XXXI

PAPER NUMBER TWO

Mr. Westcote was about to begin the reading of the manuscript lying before him, when his lawyer was announced.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said, "I must speak to Dr. Turnsell at once."

"Suppose we go out for a while, Father," Margaret suggested. "You will wish to see him privately, I suppose."

"Remain just where you are," was the reply. "It is not necessary for you to leave."

When they were alone Lois and Margaret discussed what Mr. Westcote had just told them.

"Isn't it strange?" Margaret began. "Did you ever hear anything like it before?"

"No, I never did," was the reply. "But did you know about it?"

"Oh, yes. Father told me, of course, but I had to promise that I wouldn't say a word about it. And I didn't, did I, not even to you? I longed to tell you all I knew, but that would not have been right."

"I wonder what that paper contains," and Lois motioned to the desk. "It, no doubt, will explain everything. I wish your father would hurry back."

"Here he is now," Margaret replied. "He wasn't long with Dr. Turnsell."

"I am afraid that I shall have to leave you young ladies for a while," Mr. Westcote informed them as soon as he had closed the door behind him. "My lawyer wants me to go with him. It is too bad as I wished to read that paper to you."

"Why cannot we read it ourselves?" Margaret asked. "You surely will not keep us in suspense any longer."

"Why, certainly," was the reply. "That will do just as well. Strange that I never thought of that. Suppose you read it, Miss Sinclair," and he handed the manuscript to her. "I shall come back as soon as I can, so you had better wait here until I return unless I am too late."

"Hurry up, Lois," Margaret urged, when they were once more alone. "I can't wait another minute."

Lois was nothing loath, and in a clear, well-modulated voice she began:

"I, Simon Dockett, feeling keenly the weight of years, and knowing that my days on earth are but few, desire to unburden my soul and make amends as far as possible for a grievous wrong I have committed. That wrong can never be fully rectified in this world. If money could do it, then it would flow like water; if a troubled conscience and a wearied and a burdened soul could atone for what I have done, then surely I have made atonement enough. They greatly err who say that a man can sin and yet have peace of mind. I tell you it is hell; yes, hell here, and hell in the world to come.

"I have heaped up riches in my life, enough to satisfy the most avaricious. But at what cost have I acquired them, and of what comfort are they to me now? I am old, lonely, and menials serve me because of my money. How much better are my so-called friends? They fawn upon me with their lips, but deceit is in their hearts. They laugh at me behind my back, and joke about 'Old Dockett' and his money. In all the world there is none who loves me, but many who hate me. One especially there is who desires my death, thinking that he will get my money. That is part of what my riches have cost me, though not all.

"I have a brother, and when we were young our hearts were as one. He was gentle and thoughtful, while I was rough and impetuous. My one object was to make money for self, his, to assist others. Once I loved him as my own soul. But gold got into my heart and changed everything. I became a machine, nay, more, a brutal thinking machine, with gold as the one object in life.

"All natural affections died in me, and I think I would have betrayed my parents for gold, but thank God they were beyond my power. My only brother, Henry, however, was not, and him I betrayed, deceived and ruined. All that he had became mine, and I considered it shrewd business. He left England and I was glad that he was out of my sight. I have never seen him since, but I have kept track of him.

"Had my brother cursed me when I robbed him, it would have been easier for me in after years. But he reproached me not, except with his eyes, and the look that he gave me as we parted has haunted me ever since. I tried to forget what I had done to him, and plunged deeply into business. But all in vain. I could not banish the wrong I had committed, and my brother's face with the reproachful eyes was ever before me day and night.

"At last I could endure it no longer, and so resolved to make what amends I could. I found out where my brother was living, wrote to him, and sent him a considerable sum of money. He returned it, and that made me angry. But I knew that my brother was right, and I also learned that he would starve rather than accept a penny from me or help in any form.

"For several years I made no further attempt to assist him. But the remorse gnawing at my soul could not be silenced. I reasoned that I had done what I could to rectify my wrong, but that gave me no peace. Finally I resolved that I would help him in such a manner that he should never know that I had anything to do with it. I knew that he was living in Eastern Canada, but just where I was uncertain.

"After weeks of careful consideration I made arrangements that all that I possess should go to my brother Henry after my death. In the meantime I planned with my solicitors that a man of exceptional ability and unimpeachable character and integrity should be sent to Canada, backed with sufficient money, to find my brother and to devise some means of assisting him, and carrying out his every legitimate wish without his ever knowing that I was behind the scheme.

"I have also provided that he should be given two sealed papers, the first setting forth his instructions, which he is not to open until his arrival in Canada. He will then learn that this second which I am now writing must not be opened until after my brother's death, should he outlive me. If he should die first then this paper is to be returned to me with the seal unbroken. The man chosen for this special undertaking must not know anything about me, and he is not to have the least idea who my brother really is. When I am dead, my solicitors will notify the man so that he may break the seal of this paper immediately after my brother's death.

"My solicitors have full knowledge of my business affairs, and they will continue to manage them after my death. In case of my brother Henry dying without having made a will, they have full instructions as to the disposal of my property. Only one other living relative I have, and he is my sister's son, Melburne Telford. He cherishes the hope that my money will go to him after my death. In this, however, he is mistaken, for I have taken a great dislike to the young man. He is absolutely worthless, and travels over the country as an artist. I have given him considerable money at various times, for my dead sister's sake. But he has been very ungrateful, and lives a most evil life. He believes that my brother Henry is the only one who stands between him and my money. But I have so arranged that he shall not receive one penny of it, though he is not aware of the fact.

"I have now done all in my power to make amends for past wrongs to my only brother. I should like to see him again, and to hear from his own lips words of forgiveness. But that can never be. People have called me hard, and good reason have they had for such an opinion. But they have not known all. When I am gone and this story is told, perhaps they may think somewhat differently of me. But whether they do or not will not affect me then. I have made my bed, and so I must lie in it.

(Signed) "SIMON DOCKETT, Liverpool, England."

When Lois had finished, she laid the paper upon the desk and remained silent for a few seconds. The last part of the confession was what interested her most of all. She felt sure that Melburne Telford was none other than Sydney Bramshaw. But how was she to prove it? Where could the person be found who could identify him? she asked herself.

"What do you think of the story?" Margaret asked, as she studied Lois' face in an effort to divine her thoughts.

"It is most interesting," was the reply, "and it explains things I could not understand before. But how are we to prove that Sydney Bramshaw is really Simon Dockett's nephew?"

"Perhaps father may know more about it than we do," Margaret suggested. "He must have received notice of Simon Dockett's death."

Lois was about to reply when a sudden thought flashed into her mind, which caused her face to flush with excitement.

"What is it, dear?" Margaret questioned, noticing her agitation.

"Don't press me for an answer, please," and Lois rose to her feet. "I shall explain everything to you later. I must get home at once. A new idea has come into my mind, which makes me very restless."

As she was standing there, Mr. Westcote entered. His face bore a worried expression which Lois and Margaret were not slow to notice.

"Have they caught him?" Lois eagerly asked.

"No, not yet, but he will be taken no doubt at the station. You have finished reading the paper, I see," and he glanced toward the desk. "What do you think of it?"

"We have found it most interesting, but some of it quite puzzling."

"What part?"

"Where it speaks about Simon Dockett's nephew. Who is Melburne Telford, do you think?"

"Ah, that is where the present trouble lies, Miss Sinclair. I firmly believe that this Sydney Bramshaw is the man, but how are we to prove it without bringing people all the way from England? I thought there was a man in the city who could identify him, as he had done business with the Dockett Concern, as it is commonly called in England. My lawyer and I hunted him up this afternoon, but he told us that he never knew before that Simon Dockett had a nephew. Now if we could only unearth some one who knows that Sydney Bramshaw is in reality Melburne Telford then our case is complete."

"I believe I know the right man," Lois remarked in a low voice. "He is living at Creekdale, and if you will take me there at once we can have a talk with him. I know he will assist us all he can, and we can depend upon what he says."

"We shall go at once," Mr. Westcote replied. "I shall order the car immediately. You had better come too, Margaret."

Lois was now in a great whirl of excitement, and she could hardly wait for the arrival of the car. Mr. Westcote told the chauffeur to make good time, and though they travelled fast it seemed to Lois a long time before the Haven appeared in sight.

The captain and Mrs. Peterson were greatly surprised when the car swung up to the Haven and the young women and Mr. Westcote alighted. The captain was lying in his big chair upon the verandah with his wife knitting by his side.

"Well, this is a surprise," he exclaimed as he shook hands with his visitors. "I thought you were all in the city, and had forgotten your country friends."

"Oh, we can never forget you, Captain," Lois smilingly replied. "We have come on purpose to see you, and so you should feel very much elated and be on your best behaviour."

"Sure, sure, indeed I shall. But what do you want to see me about?" he enquired. "Has it anything to do with that murder case? I am most anxious to hear the latest news."

"I have come to ask you to get your thinking-cap on," Lois replied.

"My thinking-cap! Why, bless your heart, it's always on, day and night."

"That's good, Captain. But first I wish to ask you a few questions."

"Drive ahead, then, I'm ready."

"You have often sailed to Liverpool, have you not?"

"Sure. Know the place well."

"You knew also of the Dockett Concern there, didn't you? I have heard you mention that name."

"Yes, indeed I did. Knew old Simon Dockett himself, and saw him often. My, he was a cranky cuss, if ever there was one. He had a whale of a tongue, and knew how to use it."

"Did you know anything about his family?"

"Not much. He never married, as I guess no woman would have him. But I know for sure that he has a nephew. He sailed once on my ship, and that was the first time I met him. He was a gay one."

"Do you remember his name?" Lois was much excited now.

"Sure; it was Melburne Telford. I couldn't forget that for if he told it to us once on that trip he told it a hundred times. He was always boasting that he was the nephew of old Simon Dockett, and that he was to fall heir to his wealth."

"Have you ever seen him since, Captain?"

"Not until he struck this place, travelling under the name of Sydney Bramshaw. I knew him, though he didn't know me," and the captain smiled as he ran his hand over his bearded face. "I didn't have this then. At first I couldn't exactly make out where I had seen the fellow before, but when I remembered I gave such a whoop that the women folk thought I had gone out of my mind, and came running in to see what was wrong."

"So that was the matter with you that day, was it?" Mrs. Peterson asked as she paused in her knitting.

"Yes, that was it, and poor little Betty thought I had something in my head like 'Mr. David,' ho, ho!"

"But why didn't you tell us who Sydney Bramshaw really was?" Lois asked.

"At first I thought I would. But then I decided to await developments, and see what the fellow was doing around here, and why he was sailing under another name. If I told what I knew it would have been gabbled all over the place in no time, and the chap would have been looked upon with suspicion. He seemed to be harmless enough, and so I thought I might as well hold my tongue for a while anyway. But since he's gone and you've asked me point blank about him, I can't see any harm in telling what I know."

"Would it surprise you, Captain, to learn that Melburne Telford, alias Sydney Bramshaw, is David Findley's nephew?" Mr. Westcote asked.

"His nephew!" the captain exclaimed. "Old David's nephew!"

"Yes, that's who he is, and David and Simon Dockett were brothers."

"Good heavens!" the captain ejaculated. "What's the meaning of it all, I'd like to know?"

"Let me tell you," Mr. Westcote replied. "It is only right that you should know."

As briefly as possible he related the story of the two sealed papers, the captain and his wife listening with the keenest interest. He told also of Bramshaw's suspicious actions.

"And do you mean to tell me that old David was murdered by his nephew?" the captain asked in amazement when the story was finished.

"It looks very much like it, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does. My, my, who'd have thought such a thing!" and the captain leaned back overcome by what he had just heard.

Before the visitors left, Mrs. Peterson spread a little table with a spotless cloth, and brought forth some of her fresh bread, cake and preserves.

"It is no trouble, I assure you," she replied in answer to Lois' remonstrance. "You must have a cup of tea before you leave, and I thought it would be nice out here on the verandah."

"That looks good to me," Mr. Westcote remarked as he drew his chair up to the table. "I haven't eaten a bite since morning. I was all ready to go to the restaurant when Dobbins came to see me, and then you girls arrived. If this keeps up much longer I shall be a skeleton. But I must not remain too long," he added, as he consulted his watch. "I must be back in the city before the C. P. R. leaves."

"May I stay with Lois?" Margaret asked.

"Why yes, if you will not be in the way."

"She must stay," Lois replied. "I could not get along without her now. You will keep us informed, I hope, of how you make out."

"Yes, I shall write to-night, and if anything of great importance turns up I shall let you know at once."



CHAPTER XXXII

THE TABLES TURNED

The agony of mind that Jasper suffered in leaving his cabin and meeting the people of Creekdale on their return from old David's funeral was only a part of the trial he endured on his journey to the county jail. On the wharf, while waiting for the arrival of the steamer, he was subjected to the pitiless stares and gibes of men, women and children. News of the arrest had spread from house to house, and people had flocked to the wharf to have a last look upon the suspected man. Jasper stood with his face to the river watching the steamer off in the distance, which was rapidly approaching. The actions of the crowd disgusted him. There was not one friendly voice lifted up on his behalf. Jim Goban strutted up and down keeping close watch upon his prisoner, and gloating over his task. He was having his revenge now for the blows he had received on the day of David's release.

When once on the steamer Jasper believed that he would be free from all curious eyes. In this, however, he was mistaken. There were many on board and all soon learned that the "terrible murderer" was in their midst. Jasper was kept down below near the engine room and it was remarkable how most of the people on that boat found it necessary to pass him quite often. He could hear some of their comments as they moved away.

"What a bad face he has," a woman remarked.

"Yes," her companion replied, "he surely does look like a desperate character. Wasn't it awful for him to kill that poor old man?"

Jasper's face was really hard and stern; how could it have been otherwise? Where was all their Christian charity? he asked himself. Where was the spirit of justice? Those people knew that he had not yet received a fair trial, and why were they so willing and eager to believe him guilty?

Old Simon Squabbles was on board, and though he said nothing to Jasper, he expressed his views to several men a short distance away.

"It's nothin' more than I expected," he boasted. "I knew he would soon reach the end of his tether after the experience I had with him. I had him workin' fer me, an' when I wouldn't pay him fer loafin' in the potato patch, he got as mad as blazes an' said things I wouldn't like to repeat."

Jasper endured such remarks without a word. He did not feel like making any reply. In fact, he realised how useless it would be, and the less said the better.

The limit of his bitterness was reached when a woman approached and began to speak to him about his soul, and the danger of hell fire. She dilated glibly upon the awfulness of sin, and even offered to pray for him.

"Keep your prayers for yourself," Jasper retorted, stung almost to fury by her impudence. "You'll do more good if you pray for these snivelling hypocrites," and he motioned to those standing around him.

"Isn't it awful!" and the woman held up her hands in horror. "You should be afraid to speak that way, and you in such danger. Read this, poor man," and she held forth a tract she had been holding in her hand.

Jasper glanced at it and read the heading, "Flee from Hell Fire." He took it, and then crushing it in his hand, threw it from him.

"I've had enough of this," he cried, "and I'll stand no more. Leave me alone, is all I ask. Hell can be no worse than what you people are dealing out to me now."

Jasper's look and attitude caused those near him to shrink back, and during the rest of the voyage he had peace from the clatter of tongues, at least.

It was a great relief to him when at last he was lodged in the cell of the county jail. Here he was alone and free from all curious eyes, and he had time and quietness for thought. His heart was nevertheless heavy as he sat there in his solitude. He brooded over all that had taken place, and the one and only ray of brightness which came to him in his misery was the thought of Lois and the vision of her standing where he last saw her with such deep sympathy expressed in her eyes.

The following day Mr. Westcote's lawyer came to see him, and they had a long talk together. Dr. Turnsell was greatly impressed by Jasper and the straightforward manner in which he told about his visit to David the night of the murder.

"We shall do the best we can for you," the lawyer informed him as he bade him good-bye. "We have tried to get you out on bail, but so far have been unsuccessful."

This visit somewhat encouraged Jasper. He knew that able men were working for him and that Mr. Westcote would spare no money on his behalf. As he sat there in his cell he thought over his past life and of the many struggles he had made to succeed. He brooded over the injustice he had received from so many simply because he was poor and forced to fight his own battles against almost overwhelming odds. "And is this the end?" he asked himself. "Will all my efforts amount to nothing?" He thought of several of his college companions, sons of rich men, who knew not what it was to fight in order to win their way, and who were now occupying important positions in life. He knew what they would say about him now. "Poor Spuds," would be their laconic comment. "He was always an odd one, anyway." Yes, that was the way they would talk, and then dismiss him from their minds.

The afternoon slowly passed, and after a while he rose and paced up and down his small room. He looked through the barred window and saw the clouds sweeping across the "long savannahs of the blue." How precious freedom seemed to him, and he longed to be once more in the open. He thought of Lois, and wondered if she were thinking of him. Perhaps she was out on the river in her little boat watching those same clouds. There would be no one near now to rescue her should the water get rough.

Jasper was interrupted in his reverie by the entrance of the jailor. He carried a letter in his hand, which he gave to the prisoner, and then retired and bolted the door.

Jasper glanced at the writing and his heart gave a great bound as he at once recognised Lois' handwriting. Quickly he tore open the envelope and drew forth the letter.

"Dear Mr. Randall," it began, "I am sending you this little note to remind you that all your friends have not forgotten you, and that we are doing what we can on your behalf. Keep up courage. I am very hopeful now and feel sure that everything will turn out right. I know you are innocent, and am confident that you will soon be free. Good-bye.

"Yours in haste,

"Lois Sinclair."

Next to Lois herself nothing could have been more welcome to Jasper than that letter. He pressed it fervently to his lips, and read it over and over again. It brought a great comfort to his burdened heart. He was sure now that Lois was thinking of him and doing what she could for his release. He wondered what she had discovered, and mused much upon the words "I am very hopeful now."

Jasper slept well that night and awoke in the morning greatly refreshed. He wondered what the day would bring forth, and as he paced up and down his room in order to get a little exercise, he squared back his shoulders and held his head high. He felt fit and ready for battle and longed for activity of some kind. As the morning hours wore slowly away he became restless and impatient. The silence of his room was affecting his nerves, and he thought with a shudder of men who were condemned for life to solitary confinement. What more horrible punishment could be meted out to any man? He was sure that he would go mad in a few days.

Jasper could eat but little of the meagre dinner the jailor brought him. He was hoping that there would be a letter or some message for him, and when there was none he felt sadly disappointed. How long would it be before he had any word from the lawyer? he wondered.

He was brooding at the table when the door again opened and to his great joy and surprise Mr. Westcote entered. Jasper sprang to his feet and seized the hand held out to him.

"Are you quite repentant now?" Mr. Westcote smilingly asked.

"Quite," was the reply. "I think this dose will do me all my life. I am willing to do anything you ask me, even to blacking your boots."

"That's good, so obey me at once and leave this confounded hole."

"What, go with you?"

"Certainly. What else would have brought me here but to take you away?"

"To the court-room, I suppose," was the bitter rejoinder.

"Not at all. But come now, and I will explain everything on our way to the city. My car is just outside."

How good Jasper felt to be once again out of doors, and he expanded his chest and inhaled great draughts of the fresh air.

"My, that's great!" he exclaimed. "It will take me a long time to get the poison of that cell out of my lungs, and——"

"The bitterness out of your soul, eh?" Mr. Westcote quietly asked, as Jasper paused.

"Yes, that's what I was going to say. But I'm afraid it will be a much harder thing to do. I've been the sport of fools so long that the bitterness of my soul has become a chronic disease."

"Tut, tut, don't talk that way any more," Mr. Westcote chided. "Jump on board now, and let us be off. I'll tell you something that will sweeten your soul and make life worth living."

To Jasper it seemed almost like a dream as he leaned back and listened to what his companion told him about the net of evidence which had been woven about Sydney Bramshaw. He did not mention Lois in connection with the affair, but related the incidents of the letter, the threat to Betty Bean, and old David's narrow escape from the falling log. He told him also about the two sealed papers, and who David Findley and Sydney Bramshaw really were.

"This is certainly remarkable!" Jasper exclaimed, when Mr. Westcote ceased speaking and took a cigar from his pocket. "But where is Bramshaw now?" he asked. "Surely he has not been allowed to escape."

"Indeed he hasn't. He's in the city jail, that's where he is."

"Oh, I see." It was all Jasper could say.

"Yes, he was arrested last night as he was about to board the C. P. R. for New York. His grip was searched and letters of a most incriminating nature were found. Why, the fellow must be a fool to have kept them with him. Almost any man in his right mind would have destroyed them at once."

"How did he take his arrest?" Jasper enquired.

"At first he put up a big bluff and threatened all sorts of things. But after a night in the lock-up and a thorough grilling this morning, he broke down and begged for mercy. He was confounded by the net which had been woven about him, and the look of terror in his eyes was really pathetic."

"And has he confessed to murdering old David?" Jasper eagerly asked.

"Not exactly. But he has come so near to it that not the shadow of a doubt is left about his guilt. I believe that he will confess all shortly in the hope that he may escape the death penalty by doing so."

Jasper remained silent for a while apparently studying the scenery as they sped on their way. But he saw nothing of tree, flower or rich rolling meadows. His thoughts were elsewhere, and his next question revealed the working of his mind.

"To whom am I indebted for the collecting of all that valuable evidence?" he questioned. "Some one must have been very busy."

"You are indebted to several," was the reply. "But Miss Sinclair has been the most active."

"So I imagined," was all Jasper said and he once more lapsed into a silence which he did not break until the car drew up before Mr. Westcote's office. He knew now that Lois cared for him, and his heart thrilled with joy as he thought of the efforts she had made on his behalf. How he longed to see her and thank her for what she had done.

The surprise which came to Jasper upon his speedy release and vindication was nothing compared to the shock he received when Mr. Westcote told him about old David's will.

"Surely he has not left everything to me!" Jasper exclaimed.

"No, not all; merely half after a few bequests have been disposed of. Then you and Miss Sinclair are to share alike."

"I don't seem to comprehend it all yet," and Jasper placed his hand to his forehead in a bewildered manner.

"It's only natural that you shouldn't. It will take you some time to grasp the significance of the bequest which has been made to you. Your responsibility will be very heavy, but from what I know of you I believe that you will be equal to the undertaking."

"I shall do the best I can," Jasper replied. "I am too much dazed at present to think it carefully over. For a man to be freed from all suspicion of a terrible crime, and then to find himself heir to a vast fortune all in one day is enough to turn any one's brain."

A knock sounded upon the office door, and Dr. Turnsell at once entered. He shook hands with Jasper and heartily congratulated him.

"I have come to tell you," he added, "that Bramshaw has made a full confession of his crime. He is a nervous wreck, and this morning he broke down completely."

"I am very thankful that he has confessed," and Jasper gave a sigh of relief. "Wasn't it lucky that he was caught before he got over the Border?"

"You have to thank Miss Sinclair for that," Mr. Westcote replied. "But for her prompt action I am afraid we would be frantically searching for Bramshaw now."

"And I would be still in jail," Jasper mused.

"Undoubtedly. Now, it seems to me that Miss Sinclair should be informed of what has happened as soon as possible. Suppose we slip up and tell her?"

"That will be great," and Jasper sprang to his feet. "When can we start?"

"At once. The car is waiting outside. I knew that you would be anxious to go, and so ordered the chauffeur to be ready."



CHAPTER XXXIII

THE REAL HAVEN

Lois rose early that morning and attended to numerous household affairs. It was necessary for her to keep busy, as her mind was always calmer when her hands were employed. She had the feeling that the day would be an unusual one, and that much would happen before its close. She could not rid her mind of this idea, and she mentioned it to Margaret over the breakfast table.

"Do you believe in premonitions?" she asked.

"In a way I do," was the reply. "Strange things happen sometimes, you know. I, too, have a peculiar feeling this morning that we are to hear great news today. Everything is so still just now, with not a leaf nor a blade of grass aquiver. See how the fog rests upon the river through which the sun is trying to break. There will be a heavy wind this afternoon, mark my word. I have often noticed it to be so. It is the rule rather than the exception. And it may be the case with us. The quietness of the morning may give place to excitement before night."

"You are quite a philosopher," Lois laughingly remarked.

"Not at all, dear. I am merely an observer, and I notice that what happens in nature around us is often true in our own lives. The law which governs the waves of the ocean affects in a similar manner the ripples of a tiny pool. I am going to make a prophecy now."

"Let it be a good one."

"Certainly. I am going to predict that this afternoon will bring us the excitement of joy, and that there will be a happy company seated at this table for dinner. How is that for a prophecy?"

"I hope it will come true," Lois replied with a smile.

"Do you care for a walk this morning?" she asked.

"No, I think not. I have some needle-work to finish, and I do so like that shady corner of the verandah. But don't you stay in on my account."

"I'm afraid I couldn't content myself in any one place this morning," and Lois gazed thoughtfully out of the window. "I am so restless that I must be on the move. I shall visit the Haven first and then go for the mail. We should hear something from your father."

Lois enjoyed the walk up along the shaded lane, and when she was almost to the main highway she sat down under a large tree and looked out upon the river. The last trace of fog was slowly lifting and not a ripple disturbed the surface of the water. She longed to be out there in her boat and made up her mind to go for a row during the afternoon. She thought of the day Jasper had rescued her and Margaret. What was he doing now? she wondered. Perhaps he was sitting in his lonely cell thinking of her. The thought brought a flush to her cheeks and a sweet peace to her heart. No doubt he had received her letter, and that would tell him that she had not forgotten him.

She found the captain in his accustomed place upon the verandah.

"You are early this morning," was his salutation as he took the pipe from his mouth.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked, as she sat down by his side. "Wouldn't it be a pity to stay indoors a morning like this?"

"Sure it would. But you are lucky to be able to walk about. Look at me; nothing but a cripple who must stick to this one place with never a chance of moving around."

"But you don't need to, Captain. People come to see you, and you know all that is going on. You held quite a reception yesterday afternoon."

"Indeed I did. And I have been thinking very much about what I heard. It is wonderful. I do hope they have caught that rascal."

"Have you seen Betty lately?" Lois enquired.

"We expect her to-night. She is coming to stay a few days with us. It will be good to have her here again, for we miss her very much."

"Have you any idea what she is going to do?"

"Her mind is set upon being a nurse, so I understand. She'll make a good one, mark my word. The way she took to old David and looked after him was a marvel."

Mrs. Peterson now came from the house and joined in the conversation.

"You must excuse me, dear," she apologised, "but I haven't had time to dress up this morning. Betty is coming to-night, and I want to get some cakes and pies made."

"You won't have to work so hard when you get your money," Lois replied. "I suppose you have heard nothing more about it?"

"Only that we're to get a thousand a year. Isn't it wonderful! It seems that it must be all a dream. At first we couldn't understand where so much money was to come from. But after what Mr. Westcote told us it is all clear. Betty and her mother are to get the same amount each, so I believe. Poor old David! We little realised what he would do for us when we took him to board. I did hear that Mr. Jasper is to come in for a large share. I hope he does, anyway, for he deserves it."

"Have you heard who will get the balance of the money, property, or whatever it is?" Lois asked.

"Why, certainly. Don't you know?" Mrs. Peterson asked in astonishment.

"No, I have not the least idea."

"Well, isn't that strange! Why, the bulk of the property is to go to you and Mr. Jasper."

At these words Lois' eyes opened wide with amazement, and she felt that she had not heard aright.

"To me?" she gasped.

"So I understand. We didn't mention it to you, thinking that you knew all about it. But isn't it wonderful what strange things have happened in such a short time?"

Lois made no reply, for her mind was too much agitated. She wished to be by herself that she might think over this remarkable piece of news. Bidding the captain and his wife good-bye, she walked slowly down the road toward the store. Surely there had been some mistake, she reasoned. Why should anything have been left to her? What had she done to merit it? She wished that David had not done such a thing. It would mean a great responsibility, and she did not feel equal to the task.

Reaching the store, her attention was diverted for a time by the brief note she received from Mr. Westcote telling of the arrest of Sydney Bramshaw. This was very gratifying news, but she longed to hear some word about Jasper, and whether he would be released. This and what Mrs. Peterson had told her about the will occupied her mind all that afternoon. She was unusually silent, and Margaret was afraid that she was not well. She spent a couple of hours upon the river, but the water becoming rough she was unable to remain out any longer.

"Your prediction has come true, Margaret," she said when she had reached the house. "It is very rough out there now. You were quite right as regards the water, but I guess that is about as far as it goes. It is almost dinner time and here we are just as quiet as we were this morning."

"There is plenty of time yet," and Margaret looked up from her work with a smile. "I have had such a delightful day," she added. "See, I have done all this," and she held up a piece of needle-work for inspection.

"I wish that I could settle down to something definite," Lois sighed. "I have never been so restless in all my life as I have to-day. I have the feeling that something wonderful is about to happen, and that a great change is to take place in my life. If I were superstitious I should be quite uneasy."

"Is it a feeling of dread?" Margaret asked.

"No, not at all. I cannot explain it, for I never experienced anything like it before."

This conversation was suddenly interrupted by a long succession of raucous honks up the road, and in a few seconds a car swung around the corner of the house and stopped before the verandah.

Lois had risen and stepped forward. But she stopped short in amazement when she saw Jasper in the car, seated by Mr. Westcote's side. Her father and Dick were in the front seat, but she hardly noticed them. Jasper was free! That was the one idea which filled her mind. It seemed almost too good to be true. Just what happened next she was not altogether certain. She welcomed them all and listened to their voices, but she seemed to be living in a dream from which she would suddenly awaken. She took her place as usual at the head of the table, but made so many mistakes that Dick laughed at her.

"What's the matter, Lois?" he enquired. "You're surely strong on hot water. You've given me a cup of it instead of tea, and the rest you poured into the milk pitcher."

"Did I do that?" Lois asked in surprise. "Well, I guess I'm rattled, anyway. You have told me so many things during the last half hour that my brain is all in a whirl."

Jasper was as much excited as Lois, though outwardly he remained calm. He said very little, and let Mr. Westcote tell how their car had broken down and but for the timely arrival of Mr. Sinclair and Dick they would not have been able to reach their destination. He recalled his feeling of dismay when they were stalled, and he feared that he would not be able to see Lois that night. He did want to tell her how grateful he was for what she had done for him. But now he was near her and yet he had not told her. He had thought over the proper words he would say, but when he had taken her hand as she met him at the verandah steps, he did not utter them.

After dinner they all went out upon the verandah, and what a delightful time that was. It was a happy company, and for a while all cares were banished. It was a balmy evening, the wind of the afternoon having subsided, and all nature was hushed in repose as the shades of night began to steal over the land. It was the hour of enchantment, and while Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Westcote discussed matters relating to the work at the falls, Dick and Margaret strolled slowly down to the river.

Jasper and Lois thus found themselves sitting alone on the verandah steps.

"Suppose we pay a visit to the Haven," Jasper suggested. "It is a perfect night for a walk, and I know the captain and his wife will be glad to hear the news. Your father won't mind our leaving him, will he?"

"He won't realise that we have gone," Lois laughingly replied. "He is very happy just now."

Jasper and Lois were in no great hurry to reach the Haven. Their hearts were happy, and as they walked slowly along Jasper told Lois all that had happened to him since the day of his arrest.

"I can never thank you enough for sending me that letter of encouragement, and what you have done for me," he told her.

"Don't try to do so," Lois replied. "It was a joy to me to be able to do something."

They were standing beneath a big maple tree, and Lois was plucking at a wild flower she had just picked. Jasper suddenly reached out, caught both her hands in his and held them tight.

"Lois, Lois," he breathed, and his voice was intense with emotion, "I want you for my very own. I cannot live without you."

"Oh, look, you have crushed my flower," Lois remonstrated, while a nervous little laugh escaped her lips.

"That is too bad," and at once Jasper released her hands and placed his arms around her.

"Lois, I love you," he murmured. "I have loved you for years. Can you love me in return?"

In reply Lois lifted her flushed face to his and their lips met. The seal of their betrothal was set, and their young hearts were as one. Time to them was nothing now in the rapturous joy of their sweet pure love. Their past doubts, cares and trials were all ended. They had started forth to reach the Haven nestling on the hill and they found on the way the real Haven which they had long been seeking—the enchanted Haven of Love.

THE END