The Secret
.WAS always on the lookout fur curious or
remarkable things; lml ed, nt th.it time of
my life, I may be said to have been a dili
gent student of 1 1 1 - nrp;ip fs. Conse
quently, Winn old Anthony G.iyfb Id died at
Borminsti r, nml the urious circumstances
attaching to his life and to his death were
chronicled, I was one of too first to be In
terested. I saw a possibility that that strange house In
which he had lived and tiled might have a fascinating In
terest for certain morbid readers of illustrated papers; and
I determined to go down to Kocmlnsti r and net some pho
tograph If possible. I did not know then what curious
happenings were to follow hard upon my resolve.
Briefly, tine newspapers chronicled the fact of the death
of a certain Anthony Oayflcld, of Stone House, Koemln
stcr. Incidentally they mentioned that his death, In all
probability, would close an old romance that had caused
the house to be pointed out to visitors. The old romance
was this: That, years before, t lie beloved wife of this
Anthony Oayfteld had died suddenly In her chair In her
loom: that the man, broken hearted, had caused the house
to be stopped, as It were, from that moment, Just as her
life had stopped; that more than twenty years after her
deatli the clocks still pointed to the hour at which she
had died the rooms remained the same, covered In dust
and cobwebs, and Ion since fallen Into decay. The man
himself. It was said, had been seen many and many a
time walking nlniut the grounds which surrounded the
house, clad In the garments he had worn on that fatal
day. more than a score of years b. fore. Now It happened
that he, In his turn, had died amVhad gone to meet the
woman he had so loved; and the house was to be under
tiiat ban no longer.
My friend Knoch Voyce cordially Indorsed the sugges
tion that I should go down to Roemlnster;' he expressed
a wish to accompany me, and it Is scurcely necossary to
add that I eagerly embraced his offer.
Life and death, my dear Kattenbury," he said In his
whimsical way, "are such ordinary, commonplace things,
generally speaking, that If one can find something out
of the common it Is as well to see It, apart from business
reasons. In this world of small affections, I like to think
of a man who severs his connection with the world the
moment that that person who was all his world has passed
out of It. Let us then go and worship at the shrine of
Antiiony Oayflelils love."
W e went to Koemlnster accordingly. It Is a delight
fut, sleepy old cathedral town, with quaint old houses and
comfortable old Inns. Stone House stands Just outside the
town, and Is surrounded by gardens which, under proper
management, would be beautiful; when we saw them they
were a neglected wilderness. I asked Knoch If he knew
to whom the property now belonged. Enoch had a way
of picking up scraps of information, and he answered me
readily enough.
" It all goes to a brother of the dead man and I be
lieve It Is a valuable property too plenty of money In safe
securities. The dead man had a son who Is cut off with
t lie proverbial shilling."
" What the son of the woman he loved left out of
the will?" I asked. In some astonishment.
" Yes," replied Enoch, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
" It would appear that our dead friend had one soft corner
In his heart snly. and (hat was for his wife. The son dis
appointed him In some way ran contrary to his desires
anil has paid the penalty. The brother takes everything."
We were destined to see that brother soon. Coming
to the house a square stone building, with no possible
pretensions to architectural beauty we rang, and stated
our errand. After a little delay we were ushered into a
Irirely furnished little room at one side of the hall, and
found ourselves in the presence of one of the sleekest
loot ing men I have ever met. And this sleek looking In
dividual waa the fortunate brother Jacob Oayflcld.
We had expected to encounter some opposition, and
I had looked to Enoch Voyce to plead our cause, as usual
Hut for once I found that there was no opposition to be
met; that Jacob Oayfteld, while exhibiting a chastened
sorrow for the death of his brother, yet took a certain
pride In that story connected with the house, and was
only too willing to allow me to take photographs. He
stipulated, however, with a little modest cough, that Ida
name should be mentionel freely when the photographs
were reproduced.
He accompanied us himself over the place, and I am
bound to say that the general effect upon us both was
saddening in the extreme. How any one could have lived
in such a house passed my comprehension cobwebs and
dirt and dust were everywhere, the plaster had fallen from
the ceiling, and the paper hung rotting from the walls.
Whatever had been broken during that desolate time had
remained broken a witness to the miserable perversity
of one man. Perhaps I should say that that man had
been burled beside the woman he hud loved some two
days before our arrival.
Our sleek looking friend proved garrulons. He showed
us everything, nnd took us everywhere alxiut the house
and grounds. Above all, he took us Into the room In
which the woman had died, and In which Anthony Oay
fteld had passed the remulnder of his life. That room
was a little more comfortable than the others in that a
in
The Confounding of All False Girls.
HE sallow little curate cousin wltJ the
Tl crooked mouth had willingly consented to
I escort Mrs. Campion and Marlon from their
I bouse la the Woodlands to the lHirrand agri
cultural show. The old phaeton, which naa
not been used for yeurs, was renovated for
the occasion, and the still older pony clipped
and burnished and newly shod. It was to be
Marlon's first glimpse of the outer world, for since Mr.
Campion's death his widow had lived In absolute retire
ment. The girl was oddly excited; as the farm lad was finally
preparing the vehicle she walked restlessly to and fro In
the great, faded drawing room, whose windows opened U
a dock grown lawn and a garden full of wornout flowers.
Gervase, the cousin, sat on a stone bench beneath an elder
tree, chewing the end of an unllghted cigar.
Marlon's beauty was wonderful the loveliness of a
young, high bred girl fresh, fragrant, flowerllke. None of
the coarseness of the country maiden about her, although
withal she suggested a spray of apple blossom. Daintiest
white, with a cunning hint of color where color should be,
deep blue ryes, and a laughing mouth with teeth perfect
in shape and purity. A girl with poor prospects (the great
farm lay gainst the moor heather and moss cropped up
yearly in the meadows), yet endowed with a natural gift
that might bring her a power almost ouecnly.
At last, glancing from the window, Marlon saw her
cousin and beckoned for him to approach. The grudging
admiration In his eyes made her smile.
" By Jove, cos," he said, " you've turned Into a woman
all at once! I'd no Idea that a new gown could make such
a difference. Yet it's as simple as anything I've ever seen
you wear."
She leaned over the sill. " You mustn't belittle It," she
said. " It came from the most fashionable place, and It
has cost more than I dare tell you."
The curate frowned. " 1 can't understand my aunt,"
he said. " She seems to have grown extravagant all of a
sudden."
Marlon's expression became pleading. " O, Gervase,"
site said, " you shouldn't begrudge my pleasure. You know
that I've never been seen among other girls, that mamma
and I have lived Just as if we were In a convent, fur longer
than I can remember."
The curate trembled beneath her soft glances.
" I didn't mean anything disagreeable, Marlon," he
said. " You've surely a right to some chang." He drew
out a heavy watch that hud belonged to his grandfather.
"Twelve o'clock! I'll just step round to the stable yard
and hurry things up."
When she was alone again she drew a folded note from
her bosom, where It had lain warm ugalnst her heart, and
opening it read the contents for the twentieth time; the
writing was large and 111 shapen, the Ink had been blotted
so carelessly that some of the words were scarce decipher
able. " My tieautiful Marion," It said. " Since our lust meet
ing I have thought of you by day and night. I wish by
all that's sacred that you and I were side by side, u ver to
Ik parted that you were mine and that all the world
might know It. And today there won't be a moment w hen
my mind's not fixed on you.
"I saw your mother yesterday. I had not meant to,
but my feelings got the better of me, I wante d to t . 1 1 her
how I love you. But there was something about her I
can't tell what that stoppe-d even one word of what I feel
so deeply. She wus cold, too; I could see that 1 a not
Welcome.
t "I know that you love me you must love me. when
my own love's so powerful. And just to show me how
much you do love mi, lie gracious to me at the show.
" Yours till de-ath. Jason Wright "
When she had re-folded the sheet she lifted it to Its nest
of the Stopped Clock. By tom gallon.
; " 1 ? iO, - ",' 7 'Pel
.&t3Bm2!rv&l .-?Sv cv'J 'A' LA I rr1--
f msJf V v ( ;viA r f c I
' " "-.i r - V X-'-y . --wjr Ij , V".' JJ ;- TvV-;
chair had been kept dusted, and a table ready for use,
but nothing else had been disturbed.
" You will find everything In the house the same," said
our guide. In a hushed voice. " You will observe that
the clock Is stopped at a liflle over a iiuarter past seven
the moment at which my unfortunate sister-in-law died.
All other clocks In the house are stopped at the same
moment. From the fact that both my brother and his
wife died In this room for both were discovered dead In
this chair, though with more than twenty years' lapse
between those deaths this Is the most interesting room
In the house."
1 arranged my camera to take a photograph of It of
the fireplace beside which that mourning man had sat for
all those years, until death mercifully stepped in and
closed his sorrow. It required, of course, a long exposure,
and I left the camera there while we visited other part
of the house and grounds. And always our guide talked
quite freely.
" My brother had a great affection for me," he said,
mournfully turning up his eyes, and shaking his head
" a great affection Indeed. I was with him frequently. I
was with him at the last. There are those who have
not hesitated to say that I used an undue influence over
him, to Induce him to give me his property; but that Is
false. It was his constantly expressed wish that I should
have everything."
"And he left his son quite out of his calculations?"
asked Enoch.
" His most unworthy son was remembered at the last,
but only as one who had offended and who could not pos
sibly be forgiven. ' Tell him,' said my brother, that I
leave all I possess to one who will know better how to
look after It and to carry out my wishes.' Those were
the very words used by my brother at that time. Be
side, his mind had been made up for years; the will In
which everything was left to me was made some five
years ago."
"At the time young Bailey Gayfleld ran away from
home," broke In Enoch Voyce. Then, as he saw a look
of surprise In the eyes of Jacob Gayfleld, he added:
" You see, I know the story pretty well; I've heard it from
several lips."
" Bailey was a most unnatural and ungrateful son,
who did much to break his father's heart," said our guide,
shaking his head sorrowfully.
I took my camera away finally, having secured some
excellent results; and Enoch and I returned to our Inn.
We were staying at an old fashioned place called " The
Swan with Two Necks," for I had made up my mind t'.iat
I would take a few views of the charming old city of
Koemlnster before going back. And while we stood In
the coffee room waiting for our lunch a young man en
tered and, taking no notice of us, walked across to the
window looking on to the High street, and began drum
ming upon the panes with Impatient fingers. I took no
particular note of him until I observed presently, as our
lunch was placed upon the table, that Enoch Voyce had
got Into conversation with him and was inviting him to
take a seat at the same table.
again; but after a moment's deliberation opened her werk
box and hid It beneath the skeins of silk. It was herflrst
love letter, and must be carefully preserved. In the crowd
she might lose It, strange feet might trample It into the
ground.
As she closed the lid llngerlngly she heard the sound of
her mother's approach. Mrs. Campion fluttered In, almost
as fair and fragile In middle age as when she had willfully
blinded herself to class prejudice and married a yeoman.
She had loved her husband, and their wedded life had been
cloudlessly happy, but she had never forgotten that she
wus the daughter of a baron, although from the first she
had resigned her place In society. Today, since this was
her girl's first appearance In public, her pride had risen
to fever heat; she moved as gracefully as if she were play
ing cynosure at one of the assemblies she had known In
youth. Two stirks and three ewes had been sold for their
gowtis and hats; she wore dove colored silk and a black
lace mantle the latter brought from Spain by a great
uncle who had won a victory In the Peninsular war; .
Marlon wore soft white muslin that clipped tenderly the
curws of her budding figure.
The mother's state-lines called forth a fitting response;
Marlon dismissed forever the last marks of hoyden. Mrs.
Campion took her gloved hand and drew he r to a mildewed
mirror, where they gazed upon their reflection. Then she
turned abruptly and kissed her daughter on the cheek.
"You must know, child," she said, '"that you are
lovely. Today I am to have my little triumph God knows
if I shall ever have another! There will be folk at Par
rand who remember me before my marriage they shull
see that the child I have borne has lost nothing by my
withdrawal. My d-ar one, when you are as old as I, you'll
know what my heart says."
The lad brought the phaeton to the terrace, and Ger
vase held open the door while they entered, then followed
and toeik the reins. An Imaginative student of history
might have compared the party with two court ladles of
different generations, accompanied for contrast's sake by
an Insignificant dwarf. When the highroad was reached
Marion, half turning, gave a little cry of pleasure.
"O, mother, there's Jason Wright on Bluebell! she's
to win two competitions."
A young farmer drew up aside the phaeton. He was
big and fair, with a bright yellow mustache. The sight of
their gala costume abushed him; he could only stammer
out a greeting. Mrs. Campion wished him good fortune;
today there was an almost Imperceptible shade of cold
ness In her voice. Marlon's eyes biased with delight as she
contemplated the well groomed man and mare; the curate
frowned and averted his face.
Jason rode on again. Marion leaned sideways and
watched him disappear behind a limestone crag that jutted
through the trees. Her mother touched her gently on the
arm.
" You must cultivate more reserve, my dear," she whis
pered. " It Is unwise to display too great an Interest In
such a trivial matter. Of course we all wish that Mr.
Wright may wlu; still, such open eagerness is Indiscreet."
And after that, for the remainder of the drive, Marion
sat In elegant composure, and her mother understood
that she was learning her first leuit in worldllnesa. At
the fore-court of the Ashford Arms they alighted, and when
the ostler had b-d the pony across the road to the great
stable yard, Gervase conducted them to the coffee room,
where, by Mrs. Campion's instructions, he had re
served a table. The other partakers of lunch cast many
admiring glai.ces ut the two women; near the end window
a shriveled old pian and his stout, overdressed wife were
so entranced that they forgot to eat and did naught but
whisper und gape. Mrs. Campion's gaze swept over the
other folk present, half In the hope of seeing some one
associated with her past; but although a goodly number
of gentry mingled with the bourgeois, she recognised none.
The young man courteously declined. He had lunched
already with his wife, he added with a smile; she had
but Just gone to her room. Knoch Voyce 1 gan to draw
him out a little as to the reason for his stay In so quiet
a place as Uoemlnster: we were both a little surprised to
hear the young man say heihad been born in the place.
"Just outside tlie town," he added; "an old fashioned
place called Stone House."
"Then you are Bailey Oayflcld!" exclaimed Knoch.
" Why, how In tiic world did you know that?" asked
the other.
" Because we have been looking over the liouso that
should have been yours this morning, and because wo
know your story," I broke In.
" You do well to say it should have been mine!" ex
claimed young Oayfleld bitterly. " I don't mind who knows
it. All the world may know it. I've been cheated out
of my birthright 1 and my dear wife."
" You mean that your father has left the property
to your uncle, when It should have come to you?" sug
gested Knoch, going on calmly with his lunch.
" I mean nothing of the kind!" exclaimed the boy sav
agely. " My father made a will in my favor only a couple
of weeks before he died. That will was witnessed, and
was kept by the old man under his pillow. At his death
It could not be found; and the earlier will, leaving every
thing to my uncle, of course takes effect."
" That is rather a grave charge to bring against any
one," I said. "I understood that your father had cast
you off, S d had refused to have anything to do wilu you."
" Yes; but at last, feeling his end coming, the poor old
fellow sent for me to come home. I found my uncle In
stalled as his chief adviser; Indeed, it was with diffi
culty that I was able too see my father at all. But one
day, during my uncle's absence, he made the will of which
I have spoken, and it was witnessed by two of the old
servants."
" Well, they can be brought forward to swear to that,"
said Enoch quickly.
" They have been got out of the way," replied young
Oayfleld; "sent away by my uncle beoause they protested
about the will they had witnessed. In any case, unless
(he document can be found all the swearing in the world
Is useless; It will simply be suggested that my father re
pented at the eleventh hour, and destroyed the will."
" Is th.it probable?" asked Enoch Voyce.
"Certainly not!" replied Bailey Oayflcld. "He died
in my arms almost at all events, I was with him half
an hour before the time when he crept out of his bed
and downstairs to the chair wherein he was found dead."
At that moment the door opened, and a young girl
came in Just the Sort of young girl, to tell the truth,
that I should have expected this nice boy to have mar
ried. He introduced us after first laughingly asking
for our names and we fell to talking again about
the will, although we all agreed sadly enough that
nothing could be done. Finally I left them chatting
with Enoch Voyce, and went off to develop my plates.
I thought a great deal about the youngster and the
lost fortune. I am bound to say .t I had uncon
W WWWTWWWWSWWW''WWW WW WW WW WW WW www
Marion found her manner Imperative; s.ie behaved with
tlie dignity of one accustomed to command. Tlie best
wines were brought, and the supply of napkins, which the
head waitress had long since declared exhausted by the
exccHS of visitors, was miraculously reple-nislii d.
When the meal was finished they passed again to tlie
sunlit streets of the market town, and amidst a great
crowd made their way through the turnstiles to the show
ground. There Mrs. Campion shunned examination of
the prize beasts, and Iee1 the- wav to the flower marquee,
where they sauntered from one gorgeous stand to another,
admiring tlie lilies ami orchid and ferns from the hot
houses of the Peuklund landowners.
As Marlon stopped to examine a eiuster of white
bloom, she felt a soft touch on her sleeve, and turning,
saw Jason Wright for the second time. Her eyes sparkled
brightly; a pretty flush reise to her cheeks.
" I scarce dare speak to you, Marion," he said, in a low
voice. " Bve every one stares they forget to look at the
flowers when you are by."
Mrs. Campion's back was towards them at that mo
ment. " I wish you luck once more," said Marlon.
Wright tore a bunch of blue ribbons from his button
hole. " Wear my colors," he pleaded, " and the mare
will have no chance of losing."
She fastened the knot at her throat; Wright moved
away, for Mrs. Campion was coming slowly towards them,
accompanied by an elderly man, tall and handsome, with a
wonderful distinction In his high bred, clean shaven face.
Gervase followed servilely, like a cowed lackey. Tlie pride 1
that hud lain dormant for so many years in tlie widow's
heart was now magnificently apparent.
"The duke of Ashford," she said, "my daughter
Marlon."
The girl knew his story of a brief but marvelously
happy married life of twenty years spe nt unmated. Her
lips curved charmingly as iie bent over her hand in courtly
fashion. Tlie onlookers hung back, watching eagerly,
" I consratulate you, Mrs. Campion," lie said, slowly,
" I had not thought thut our country could produce such
perfection nowadays."
Then, bowing ouce more, he passed on to take his place
on the top of the Ashford family coach. Marion s eyes
met Wright's, und read there both anger and rese ntment.
Mrs. Campion took her arm and drew her to the ope n air.
"I remember him as Lord Charles Oreenlowe," she
said. " He married shortly before- I did. I have always
thought lilm the handsomest man I ever knew save your
dear father. Now, let us go to tlie grand stand, child;
this walking to and fro tires me and I want to rest."
The folk outside parted to make way for them; they
passed between two rows of enraptured faces. Marlon
heard their amazed acclamations, und h, r blood began to
course with subtle quickness. She affected unconscious
ness; she ussumed an ulr of indifference thut peered her
mother's. They were last to reach the platform reserved
for the use of the gentry. As they ascended to their places
Ihe others rose and watched Intently, und began to whis
per concerning (he ir identity.
It was not until they wire seated that Mrs. Campion
observed Marion's blue ribbons. She did not pause to
deliberate, but to lit towards her and murmured In her ear:
" My dear, you unde rstand iny triumph now these
pe-ople are ready to mob you as the beautiful Gunnings
were mobbed. Today you must do all that I wish you
must mar my happiness with neiihlng. Mr. Wright's
colors compromise you; we don't want the rumor that you
ure devote-d to him. Believe me, you will du barm to
yourself."
Marion's hand rose slowly to her throat; she loosened
the knot and crushed It in her palm. In another moment
her mother's Aug. rs had deftly removed It and dropped It
out of Bight. Its loss brought a curious pang to the girl;
already a cloud passed over her happiness. But Mrs. Cam
sciously ranged myself on his side, rmlitly or wrongly,
because I had taken a curious dislike to the other
num. The slec kness of Jacob Oayfleld had got upon
my nerves, and I had a ridiculous feeling that I would
do anything to discover that lost will, If by any chance
it was to be discovered. I mentioned my feelings to
Knoch Voyce, and my old friend cordially Indorsed them.
"Tliere Is In all these matters," he said, "a large
element of chance, and when you deal with chance
you have to reckon temperaments and character and
u great deal besides. Now, I believe the boy's story."
he went on. "and I think that in all probability we
have a rascal to deal with in the person of Jacob Oay
fleld." " Tliere is not the slightest doubt of that," I said.
" But what can we do?"
" I scarcely know at present." was the thoughtful
response; " but If by any chance the man now dead
did not destroy the will. It undoubtedly exists."
"Why do you say that?" I demanded.
" For several reasons," replied Knoch. " In t'.ie
first place, while this man might hide It, he would be
afraid to destroy It; I refer, of course, to our friend
Jacob. To tear it up, or to burn It. however carefully,
would be dangerous; a scrap of paper, or the ashes
of u scrap of paper, have betrayed a man to his undoing
before this. On the other hand, if it Is hidden, it Is
hidden in that house; and it would be a tall order to
ask any one to find it. I'm afraid it's hopeless, unless
Jacob Oayfleld betrays himself. Let's think no more
about It. How are the photographs coining out?"
This was on the day following the taking of the
photographs; and. as the light had been remarkably
good. I had already got some rough prints. Enoch
Voyce looked nt them carelessly if. Indeed, he ever
did anything carelessly and handed them back to me.
Nothing more was slid at the time, but late that night
Enoch Voyce suddenly announced his intention of go
ing out. As it was evident he deslreel that I should
accompany him. I got my hat. and we set out together.
Perhaps I was not altogether surprised when I
found that he was making straight for Stone house.
I put a question to him once or twice, but could get
no satisfactory reply; so that at last we walked on to
gether In silence. Coming to the house, we turned Into
the grounds, and went cautiously forward over the
rank grass and amid the heaps of fallen leaves of
many past seasons. Coming to thfc house Itself, we
made out that it was apparently in total darkness, and
all locked up. I had begun to think that we had had
our walk for nothing, when, turning an angle of the
house suddenly, we found ourselves facing a window,
at the slelc of which a little shaft of light pierced the
darkness. Enoch Voyce laid a hand on my arm and
crept forward; an instant later he silently beckoned to
me to Join him.
Peering through the crack left between the blind
and the window frame, I could see Into a room; and in
that room, at a table, sat a man looking over a wallet
of papers. I saw that one paper seemed to Interest
lilm particularly; he held It balanced In his hand, and.
SO
By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST.
pion divine-d naught of this, her face being turued towards
a scarlet and black coach that stood nearby, whence my
lord duke, who wore his gold eye glasses, ever and anon
cast long looks in their direction. She had known of him
as a confirmed misogynist since his young wife's death,
ye t her heart told her that his admiration of her daughter
was already shaking his principles. If she could have
found any fault with the girl's demeanor she would have
instilled motherly advice; but, apart from the Tact of the
great love sin Lore for her only child, she saw naught
that was not suj i rb and perfect.
The Darrand brass bund began to play stridently, and
one by one the iiorses entered the ovul. Marlon watched
all with faint Interest; her excitement hud faded, and she
seemed lost In a curious dream. The sight of Jason Wright,
however, riding on ills chestnut mare, and bowing re
peatedly to the clamorous multitude, brought her to her
self; her bosom began to rise and fall more freely.
His face was haggard now beneath the sunburn, and
his curly yellow hair was all disheveled; a fixed, unmovlng
smile displayed his teeth. She note-d again the supple
ness of his athletic figure, the becoming style of his new
riding clothes. As he passed the grand stand her hand
rose once more to her throat, this time to conceal the dis
appearance of his token, then she lowered her parasol be
fore hi r face. Jason had donned another bunch of ribbon,
taken from Bluebell's decorations. He acknowledged the
ladies with a jauntily familiar air, but quailed perce ptibly
before Mrs. Campion's surprised look of nonre cognition.
" Mr. Wright forgets himself," she said, icily. " I be
lieve that he is inebriated. A man to be ignored."
Bluebell won the- trotting competition: her master rode
past with the ticket or tlie first prize hanging from his
tee th. Again he twilled ills cap; this time Marion looked
through 11 1 ii t unflinchingly. She turned to her mother.
" A beautiful mare," she said, quietly.
Mrs. Campion did not reply; tlie duke of Ashford waa
ascending the red carpeted stairs. Soon he stood before
them, a gallant figure, hat in hand. "I saw a seat un
occupied," he said, "und I venture to beg the privilege
of Joining your party."
The lady moved slightly and made room for him be
tween herself and Marlon. Gervase sat biting his nails;
afterwards he reflected upon this day as the most dis
agreeable ef his life. He hud been waiting for two years
to eleclure himself ids cousin's lover, and hud believed the
lime was come for u proposal. After a few words with
Mrs. Campion, the duke turned towurds Marion.
"This is the most Interesting of the Peuklund shows,"
In- remarked. " and I have come for many years, but never
h ive I had the honor of seeing you."
Marion smiled frankly. "All. no," she Bald. "This Is
my first sight of the outer world. I have never stirred
beyond the Woodlands. But tills year my mother t.iought
that I was old enough."
Mrs. Campion watched her with languid appreciation
"The old life was stirring in my blood," she said. " 1
founel that I had no desire for my daughter to play the
rustle! till her old Hge."
" Had you withheld lu r longer you would have sinned
against humanity," he responded, in a low, earnest voice
thut none save she could heur. "It Is selfish to keep such
beauty from the gaze of others. By the Lord! I thought
the type had died out forever. You cannot understand how
fascinating toe sight is to me."
She accepted Ills homage us her daughter's due, and
made hi demur to his outspikcn praise. Tlie hurdle
jumping began now, and they ceased talking. Jason
Wright rode past on Bluebell; this time his eyes were
sullenly averted. He had seen the duke's approach; his
heart was glowing with fury.
'A neighbor of ours In the Woodlands," observed Mrs.
Campion. " I'nless 1 am mistake n he has been drinking
heavily. But 1 confess I never saw a better horseman."
although I could not see his face at the moment, I
seemed Instinctively to guess who he was, and what
was the paper he held. A moment later he Kvamd
bat k In his chair, and 1 had a full view of his face In
the light of the candle upon the table. It was Jacob
Oayfleld. with his eyes turned upon the celling, and the
eiUe of the folded paper tipping thoughtfully against
his lips.
We watched him. fascinated. There was nothing
we could do; be cause tei raise an alarm would mean
he Immediate destruction of the paper. If It should
I rove to be the one In which we were Interested. Once
1 saw him lower It towards the candle flame, until It
was almost scorched; then he drew It hastily back.
Finally he thrust all the papers, with that exception,
Into the wallet, and locked the wallet In a drawer;
then, with that paper In his hand, stooHd and blew out
the candle With that action the picture faded and we
were left In the darkness.
Once outside in the road again, Enoch spoke. " He
has made up bis mind, as I thought, not to burn it,"
he said. " Home whe re ill that housu It Is hlelden; yet,
if he once thinks that any emo Is on the) track of It,
the life of the paper may be numbered by seconds.
How to find it ami yet nut let him know that search Is
being made, that Is the pretty problem we havo to
face."
When we reached the inn again, Enoch Voyce asked
for another sight of the photographs; he scratched his
chin thoughtfully over them for quite a long tune. In
answer to my questioning, however, he would say
nothing; ho merely thrust u completed print Into his
pocket anil nnnouueed his intention of calling on
Jacob Oayflcld the next morning with It. I bail too
much respect for the astuteness of my old friend not to
know that be had lighted upon some solution of the
niste'ry. I waited with what patience I might until
tlie- morrow.
Jacob Oayfleld received us as charmingly as be
fore. He appeared delighted to know that we had taken
so much Interest In the house and in tlie curious story
attached to It.
Knoch Voyce assured him of our gratitude to him
and asked that we might once more have the pleasure
of seeing some of the1 rooms Knoch. for his part,
wished to carry away a strong remembrance of so re
markable n house.
A little surprised, but still perfectly courteous, Jacob
Oayfleld led the way.
We went Into two or three of the rooms and I saw
Enoch Voyce looking about him sharply. Once, Indeed,
he fixed his keen eyes on Jacob Oayfleld with such a
murderous look, when that gentleman's attention was
called to something else, that 1 felt for a moment that
my old friend had made up his mind that the man carried
that paper with him and that he wus about to tear It from
him. However, nothing desperate happened until we came
Into that room in which old Anthony Oayflcld had died.
Nothing had been disturbed there, so far as we could sec;
yet Knoch Voyce lingered, on one pretext and another,
until even Jacob Oayfleld began to show signs of impa
tience. He looked at his watch and frowned and coughed.
Anil still Knoch Voyce went on asking foolish questions
and talking about the dead man and about young Bailey
Oayfleld until even I felt that we were outwearing our
welcome. But at last he said something which struck me
ns curious.
" When the late Mrs. Oayfleld died her devoted husband
stopped all the clocks at the moment of her de-ath," he
saitl slowly.
" Yes I have already told you that." said Jacob Oay
fleld. with open Impatience. "And now, gentlemen, I must
really ask you to excuse me; I have a great deal to at
tend to."
" One moment, sir," said Enoch, standing before the
fireplace and holding a forefinger up at the man. " Every
clock In this house points at this present minute to seven-'
te'en minutes past 7; a photograph taken of this room by
my friend here shows this clock actually at that time."
lie swung round suddenly and pointed to the clock. " Look
at that!" he crled.
The man started and made a sudden movement to
wards him; Enoch cried out anil raised a warning hand.
" Kee p off!" he crie'd. " This clock differs from the
photograph. In that the minute hand points to nineteen
and a half minutes past 7, instead of seventeen past. Since
this photograph was taken some one has accidentally
touched the pendulum and started the clock; then stopped
It again, two and a half minutes later."
" You leave my business alone and get out of the
house!" exclaimed Jacob Oayfleld. roughly, advancing to
wards him; but at a sign from Enoch I stepped forward
nnd held the man back.
Knoch had turned the clock round and dexterously
wrenched off part of the back; that back appeared to be
double, and from It there fell a foldi'd paper. Jacob Gay
fleld was struggling fiercely, but I bad him In a tight grip;
for one so mild and courteous his language was awful.
" This," said Enoch Voyce, examining the paper, " Is
the last will and testament p rfectly legal and straight
forwardof the late Anthony Oayfleld, leaving all to his
dear son. Bailey Gayfleld. I will take it to the young man
at once."
essssssssssssssssscessss
Bluebell leaped the hurdles as cleanly as If they had
been nonexistent; the water Jump she cleared again and
uguln. Jason dismounted near the Judges and strutted
about like a ruffled but victorious1 game cock. Of course
he won the first prize again; from the first everybody had
known that ho would. Marching from--the course with
another ticket hanging from his teeth, the desire to show
off rashly made him raise a hurdle two feet higher, and
let the mare jump riderless. And as she crouched like a
cat she trod heavily on his right foot, then cleared the top-
most bar us easily us ever.
She came back to him, and he hobbled away by her
side, one hand holding the bridle, the other plucking and
casting to the wind every shred of blue ribbon. The sight
of his lameness made Marion rather faint; but she dis
played no outward sign. Mrs. Campion, fearful of the
crush, declared he-r Intention of leaving the pluce before
the tandem driving began, and the duke helped the ladles
to descend.
The crowd of standing folk fell back as before, leaving
a clear passage. At the cud Marion saw Jason enter a
refreshment booth, und, later, as sho passed, she looked
through the upen doorway, to see lilm leaning against the
bar, holding above his head a great Jug of foaming beer.
"To the confounding of all false girls!" he cried.
Marion paused and stepped behind her mother for a
few moments. The drinkers laughed; Gervase clenched
his fists. A plump wench from a moorland farm stood
beside the fellow; he slipped his disengaged arm around
her waist and kissed her boldly on the lips. Then Marion
hastened on, her heud thrown back more proudly than
ever.
Near the gate they were met by Lady Augusta Green
love, the duke's unmarried sister, a tall, old lady with a
thin, sharp cut face. Possibly he had bidden her welcome
the Campions, for she had left all their guests on the
roach. She made no pretense of uonrecognitlon, but shook
hands with Mrs. Campion as If their last meeting had
been but a few days ago; then, after a pleasant word with
Marlon, she drew the lady aside.
" I urn glad. Indeed, to see you among us agnln," she
said. " Were It not for your daughter, I could not believe
that so many years have gone by. You have changed so
little, and I used to regard you as the most beautiful girl
in the county."
Mrs. Campion smiled. " I was never so beautiful as
Marion is." she said. Lady Augusta looked aguln at the
girl, to whom the duke was tulkiug In a low voice. " She's
astoundlngly like what Ashfoid's poor wife was except
thut she's lovelier," she said. " Now I must go back; but
remember, dear Mrs. Campion, that now you have returned
to us, we shall not let you go."
She left them; but the duke Insisted upon escorting
them to the old posting house and waiting until they en
tered tlie pnaeton. He held Marlon's hand longer at part
ing ill. m the acquaintance warranted. The mother's class
prejudices were rampant at lust; poor Gervase realized
that he would soon be Installed In his proper place. Mrs.
Campion divined rightly that her daughter's beauty wus
destined to lift her to high estate; already she saw herself
tlie- grandmother of u young duke.
" My sister will give herself the pleasure of culling
upon ou ut once," he said, "and If you cure to gra e
'.iinsilale- with your pre se nce, you vslll give me great
he light. The twelfth is only a week hence, and the house
wdl be full of entertaining folk. Believe me, Mrs. Cam
pion, I shull be proud beyond measure to show my other
guests such two such beuutiful women. You will meet
many old friends."
Mrs. Campion reeklessly made up her mind to sell
more of her stirks and all her ewes. They should not
make parade of poverty.
" We shull be most happy," she replied. ' I answer
both for Marion and myself."