things went very smoothly at gore hall after durham had established lucy as its mistress during the absence of

bernard. the girl herself firmly believed that her cousin was dead and assumed deep mourning. she had been fond of

bernard in a sisterly way, and felt his loss deeply. it was her outspoken affection that provoked a quarrel between

her and julius, and which led to the breaking of their engagement. lucy had a high temper, which had been kept in

subjection during the life of sir simon. but now that she tasted the sweets of power she was not disposed to allow

julius to treat her as he chose.

mrs. gilroy came back from her visit to the lawyer in rather a dejected frame of mind. she saw that she had gone

too far and had given durham an inkling as to the possibility of michael having masqueraded as bernard. the

housekeeper had thought her position unassailable, knowing that she had married walter gore; and although there was

a flaw in the circumstances upon which she built her claim, yet she trusted to her own cleverness to conceal this

from the too-clever lawyer. but, apart from this, the fact that he suspected someone of passing himself off as

bernard startled her, and opened an abyss at her feet. on leaving the office she judged it best to lower her crest

for the moment and to wait patiently to see what would transpire. mrs. gilroy was a well-educated woman and very

astute, therefore she hoped to gain her ends by craft if not by force. so far she had failed, but she did not

intend to abandon her claim for one failure.

as it was, she came back to the hall and behaved herself much better than she had ever done before. she was

respectful to lucy, and did not display her impatience of commands that she had hitherto done. no one could have

been meeker, and although miss randolph did not like or trust the woman, she had no fault to find with her in any

way.

lucy suffered severely from the shock of sir simon's tragic death, and from the supposed death of sir bernard. in

fact, the matter so preyed on her nerves that she became prostrate, and dr. payne had to be called in. he was a

handsome and popular young doctor who had practiced in hurseton. as this was the first time he had been called to

the hall, he was naturally very pleased, and was very attentive.

"a complete rest is what you need," he said to miss randolph. "i think you should keep to your bed as much as

possible, and i will give you a tonic. naturally you suffer from the terrible circumstances of sir simon's death."

he thought a moment and then continued, "a cheerful companion would do you good. shall i ask miss malleson to come

over."

"is she cheerful?" asked lucy languidly. "i fear not, doctor. she was engaged to my cousin, and his death has made

her sad."

"probably, but she bears up wonderfully. but that she is in mourning one would hardly guess she had sustained such

a loss. was she very much attached to mr. gore?"

"yes. i never saw a more attached couple. did you ever meet him?"

"once at miss plantagenet's. you know i am great friends with the old lady. i often visit her, not professionally,

for she is as healthy as a trout in a pond."

"is alice—miss malleson also well?"

"in very good health, and appears resigned to her loss."

"i should have thought she would have felt it more," said lucy, perplexed. "alice has such a tender heart."

dr. payne was doubtful. so far as he saw, miss malleson was remarkably cheerful under her sorrow. "she is

philosophic, miss randolph, and that is wise. i think, however, if you would have her over to see you, it would do

both her and yourself good."

"i shall write a note to her to-day," said lucy. "i am very fond of her, and we get on very well together. poor

alice. i wish bernard had lived, so that he could have married her."

"from what i read in the papers it is just as well mr. gore did not live," said payne, rising to take his leave.

"if he was guilty—"

"ah!" said lucy, raising herself with animation from the sofa upon which she was lying. "if he was guilty. there it

is, doctor. i do not believe he was. bernard had a high temper, but he could not always control it, and was a

kind-hearted boy. he is innocent i am sure."

"how are you sure, my dear lucy?" asked a third voice, and she looked up to see julius standing in the doorway. he

came forward. "forgive me if i heard a few words of your conversation. but i have just come in. dr. payne, i hope i

see you well."

"quite well," said the doctor, who did not like beryl, thinking him, in schoolboy phrase, "a sneak." "i am just

going, mr. beryl."

"are you ill, lucy?" asked beryl, with affection.

"i have an attack of nerves," she replied pettishly. "poor bernard's death has shaken me."

"it is just as well he did die, though."

"i have been saying that," said payne; "but i must take my leave. i will come and see you again, miss randolph, and

remember what i told you. rest and cheerful company—miss malleson's for choice."

he departed smiling, and they heard him gallop off. when the sound of the horse's hoofs died away, julius, who was

looking out of the window, turned abruptly to lucy. "why do you think bernard is innocent?" he asked.

"because, if he is guilty, his action gives the lie to his whole life, julius," she replied, raising herself on her

elbow. "i can't believe he killed my uncle."

"sir simon is not your uncle," said beryl, jealously. "you are only a distant relative."

"perhaps my marriage with you may make me a nearer one."

"if we ever do marry," said julius, gloomily.

"so far as i am concerned i should like to break the engagement, julius. we were never suited to one another."

beryl's vanity was hurt. "why did you accept me then?"

"what else could i do? it was sir simon's wish that we should marry, and, owing to my circumstances, i had no

choice in the matter. during his life i was merely a puppet. but you do not care for me."

"i do. i swear i do."

"although you swore for an hour, i should never believe you. there is only one thing in this world you love,

julius, and that is money. you told sir simon about bernard being in love with alice, that the poor boy might be

disinherited."

beryl did not deny the charge. "i believe you are in love with bernard yourself," he said.

"no. bernard and i are like brother and sister. but he is dead, so you need not cast stones at his memory."

"are you sure he is dead?" asked beryl, warming his hands.

lucy sat up on the sofa and pushed the loose hair back from her forehead. "why do you say that?" she asked sharply.

julius stared at the fire. "i can't understand durham's attitude," he said evasively. "he must know that bernard is

dead, seeing that the coat and hat were found on the banks of the river. no man could have lived in the cold and

the fog. yet if durham was sure he would not hold the estate against bernard's coming."

"mr. durham requires proof of the death," rejoined lucy, sharply; "and until then, he is bound to administer the

estate according to the will. as bernard's body has not been found, there is always a chance that he may have

escaped."

"i sincerely trust not."

"ah! you always hated bernard."

"on the contrary, i speak for his good. what's the use of his coming to life when he must suffer for his crime?"

"i don't believe he committed it," said lucy, doggedly.

"you have no grounds for saying that," said julius, pale with rage.

"i don't need grounds," retorted the genuine woman. "bernard always was as kind-hearted as you were—and are, the

reverse."

"i am not hard-hearted," snapped beryl. "i always do good—"

"when it is to your own benefit."

"not always. for instance, i am down here to get a small boy a post with miss plantagenet as a page."

"that is very good of you," said lucy, scornfully.

"ah, you see i can do a kind action. this boy is a grandson of lord conniston's housekeeper, mrs. moon."

"at cove castle," said lucy, with some color in her face. "i know."

"do you know lord conniston?" asked julius suspiciously.

"i have met him once. he seems to be a most delightful fellow."

"what a delightful speech for a lady," said beryl. "conniston is a scamp. i heard he enlisted in the lancers."

"it shows how brave he is. every man worth calling a man should go to the front."

"perhaps you would like me to go," sneered julius.

"you would never have the pluck," said lucy, quickly. "all your ends in life are gained by cunning, not by

bravery."

"lucy, if you talk to me like that—" began beryl, and then restrained himself with an effort. "it is no use our

quarrelling. let me show you that i am not so careless of others or so hard-hearted as i seem to be. miss

plantagenet wants a page. i found this lad in london selling matches. he was a messenger boy at a tobacconist

called taberley, and lord conniston got him turned out of the situation."

"i don't believe that."

"it is true. the boy told me himself. he will tell you if you like to see him."

"i don't want to see him. lord conniston is too kind a man to behave in that way. he was fond of bernard."

"and that makes him perfect in your eyes," said beryl, looking savage. "see here, lucy, conniston has left the army

—so you see he is not so brave as you think."

"he left so as to seek after bernard," said lucy, quickly. "mr. durham told me so."

"to seek after bernard," said julius, slowly, "and i believe bernard may be alive after all."

"in which case you would give him up to the police."

"no," said julius with an emotion which did him credit, "i should never betray him. lucy, if you can find out from

lord conniston or durham that bernard is alive, let me know and i'll see what i can do to help him."

"how can you help him when you believe him guilty?"

"i might help him to escape. i don't want to see him hanged."

"he won't be hanged if lord conniston and mr. durham can save him."

"ah!" julius started to his feet. "then he is alive."

"i can't say. i have no reason to think he is. but i am hoping against hope," said lucy, rising. "i merely state

what was said. mr. durham and lord conniston both told alice that bernard was innocent."

"they will find it difficult to prove that," sneered beryl, with a white face. "i believe the fellow is alive after

all. if he is i'll make it my business to find out where he is."

"and then?" asked lucy, starting up and facing beryl.

"then it depends upon bernard himself."

"ah! you would make him pay money to save himself."

"i have a right to a portion of the estate."

"you have not," said miss randolph, clenching her fists and all her languor gone. "bernard is the owner of gore

hall and of all the property, and of the title also. if he is alive, as i sincerely hope, his name will be

cleared."

"and then you will throw me over and try to become lady gore."

"i throw you over now," said lucy, losing her temper and coloring hotly. "how dare you speak to me like this,

julius! i will no longer be bound to you. i never loved you, but i have always tried to see the best side of you.

but you have no good side. you are a mean, cowardly serpent, and if bernard is alive i shall do my best to defend

him from your snares."

"but lucy—"

"don't speak to me, and don't dare to call me again by that name. i give you back your ring—here it is!" she

wrenched it from her finger. "now leave the house, mr. beryl. i am mistress here."

julius looked at the ring which she had thrown at his feet, and laughed. "you take a high tone," he said

sneeringly. "but remember that if bernard is dead the money goes to charities—"

"so much the better. you do not get it."

"nor you either. you will have to turn out of this luxurious home and live on the pittance sir simon left you."

"would i be better off if i married you?"

"i think you would. i have not much money now, but i will have some—a great deal some day."

"by blackmailing bernard," said lucy, indignantly.

julius picked up the ring and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket calmly. "we don't know that bernard is alive.

but the fact of conniston leaving the army and from durham's attitude i shrewdly suspect he is, and in hiding. i

shall find out where he is, and then it depends upon him whether he is hanged or prefers to live abroad on a

portion of his money."

"the lesser portion. i know the price of your silence," said lucy, vehemently. "you will want the hall and a large

income."

"all i can get," rejoined beryl, quietly. "and you have refused to share my fortune with me."

"yes. i will have nothing to do with you. and remember that if i catch you plotting i will tell mr. durham."

"you can tell him the whole of this conversation," snarled beryl. "i am not afraid of durham. if bernard is alive,

he'll have to pay up or be hanged."

"he is innocent."

julius shrugged his shoulders and walked to the door. there he paused to utter a final insulting speech. [pg 164]"i

don't know whether you intend to marry bernard or lord conniston," he said, "but i wish, which ever it is, joy of a

spitfire."

"and an honest woman," said miss randolph, wrathfully, for the reference to conniston touched her nearly; "but you

go too fast. you can't yet prove that bernard lives."

"i go to do so," sneered julius, and bowed himself ironically out of the room, leaving lucy furious both with him

and with herself.

she was angry with herself because she felt that in speaking of conniston she had colored. and as a matter of fact

she greatly admired the young lord, even though they had only met once, for conniston was one of those irresistible

men who appeal to women. lucy thought—but it matters little what she thought. all she knew was that her engagement

to julius, which had always weighed on her conscience, was at an end. "i am free now—free," she said, stretching

her hands. "oh, what an escape i have had from that wicked man. he has shown his hand too plainly. i will put mr.

durham on his guard, and"—here she blushed—"and lord conniston."

julius, walking towards the bower, was also angry with himself. as lucy thought, he had shown his hand too clearly.

"it would have been better," he considered, "to have held my tongue. i should have done so had she not goaded me

into speech. she will tell durham and that interfering conniston and put them on their guard. well"—he laughed and

looked at the small boy trotting beside him—"i am equal to both."

the boy was a handsome, innocent-looking little fellow, rather undersized. with his clear skin, his fair [pg 165]

hair and wide blue eyes he looked like the conventional picture of a cherub. no one would have suspected that such

a childish creature was a born criminal. but his mind had not yet had time to work on his face, and the mask of his

childhood—for he was only thirteen—concealed his evil nature successfully. in a few years, when his passions

worked their way through the mask, his face, now so smooth and innocent, would be wrinkled and sinful. his mind

would have marked plainly its signet on the smooth surface. but at present he looked charmingly innocent, although

he already knew much more about life than was good for him. julius, in order that the lad might make an impression

on miss plantagenet, had dressed him in a new suit, and pleased with himself—for much of the boy remained in this

precocious criminal—young jerry trotted along smiling.

"jerry," said beryl, looking down, "mind you are nice to the old lady."

jerry tossed his fair curls and looked roguish. "oh, that's all right, mr. beryl. all old ladies take to me. they

think i'm a kind of holy bill, and i let them think so. it pays."

"jerry, you are a young scamp of the worst."

the boy chuckled as though he had received a compliment. "i like doing things," he explained frankly; "it's fun.

when i was with old grandmother at the castle i hated doing nothing. if it hadn't been for victoria—the girl i

told you about—i should have left long before. i'm going to marry her."

"you know nothing about such things," corrected the respectable mr. beryl, severely.

"i know a jolly sight more than you think," said the urchin under his breath and producing a cigarette.

julius took it from him. "miss plantagenet must not think you smoke, jerry. she is most respectable."

"and dull," said jerry, putting his hands in his pockets. "lord! what a bore stopping with her will be. but i can

nip over and see victoria when i like."

"and keep an eye on lord conniston as i told you."

"i'm fly," said master moon, and began whistling.

julius looked at him with satisfaction. he intended that the boy should remain in the neighborhood so as to keep

watch on conniston—whom since he left the army so unexpectedly he suspected—on durham, and on alice malleson. for

this last reason he was introducing him into the house. if bernard were alive—as julius began to suspect—he would

come to one of these three people, and then jerry would at once become aware of the fact. then it would remain with

bernard whether to be hanged or to surrender a large portion of the property which beryl thought rightfully

belonged to him. how he came to this conclusion it is difficult to say.

miss berengaria was as usual in the garden looking after the well-being of some white chrysanthemums. she raised

her head when she saw her visitors, and a look of annoyance crossed her face when she saw mr. beryl.

notwithstanding durham's advice, she found it difficult to keep her natural dislike of the young man in abeyance,

and but for the sake of alice she would have refused to let him enter the bower. as it was, and with great

diplomacy—so great that it deceived even the astute beryl—she asked him to come into the house. luckily alice was

out of the way, having gone to pay a visit. but she was expected back momentarily, and miss berengaria wished to

get rid of julius before the girl returned. she might be able to conceal her real feelings, but alice being so

young and impulsive might show her dislike too plainly and put beryl on his guard.

"who is this you have here?" asked miss plantagenet, putting on her spectacles and surveying jerry with admiration.

"what a pretty lad!"

"he is a lad i wish you to help," said beryl, blandly. "last time we met, miss plantagenet, you mentioned that you

wanted a page."

"not exactly a page," said the old dame, rubbing her nose, a sure sign she was perplexed. "merely a boy to see

after the fowls, and to wait about the house when necessary."

"i love fowls," said jerry sweetly, and looking as innocent as a babe, "and dogs and things like that."

"you seem a nice lad. who is he, mr. beryl?"

"a poor boy who sold matches in london."

"but i didn't always," piped jerry, shifting from one leg to the other in feigned embarrassment, and playing his

part perfectly. "i lived with grandmother at cove castle."

"that's lord conniston's place," said miss berengaria, more perplexed than ever. "what were you doing there?"

"i lived with grandmother. my name is jerry moon."

"oh! and how did you come to be selling matches?"

"his lordship got me a situation at a tobacconist's," said the child-like moon, "and then he got me turned off."

"why? that is not like lord conniston."

"you had better not ask the reason," interposed julius; "it is not to lord conniston's credit."

"but i must know the reason," said the old dame, sharply, "if you want me to take the lad into my service."

jerry in answer to a look of beryl's began to weep ostentatiously.

"i saw his lordship dressed as a soldier," he snuffled, "and i told mr. beryl. his lordship was so angry that he

got me turned off, saying i was ungrateful."

"you should always hold your tongue," said miss berengaria, angrily. "you had no right to tell what lord conniston

wished kept secret. it was only a freak on his part. he left the army at my request."

"at your request?" said julius, looking at her directly.

forearmed as she was, miss berengaria, with the consciousness of bernard's secret, flushed through her withered

skin. however, she did not lower her eyes but turned the conversation defiantly. "let us keep to the matter in

hand. do you want to enter my service?"

"yes, sweet lady."

"don't talk like that, child. call me ma'am."

"yes, ma'am," said jerry, submissively. "mr. beryl—such a kind gentleman, ma'am—said you would help me."

"i will so long as you are honest."

jerry thrust his tongue in his cheek, but julius answered, "i can vouch for his honesty," he said. "but he talks

too much."

"he must hold his tongue here," said the old dame, severely, and shaking her trowel at the boy. "where are his

clothes?"

"i have none but what's on," cried jerry. "the kind gentleman got them for me, ma'am."

"you are a better christian than i thought," said miss berengaria, looking at beryl. "well, you can stay here, boy.

go to the kitchen and tell the servants to give you something to eat."

jerry grinned, and ducked towards the door. "good-bye, jerry," said beryl, kindly. "don't forget me."

"if i do may i be—oh no, kind lady—i mean, ma'am—i won't swear. i never did, having been to sunday school. yes,

ma'am, i'm going," and jerry in answer to an imperative wave of his new mistress's hand disappeared. miss

berengaria turned to beryl.

"he certainly has a long tongue," she said severely. "i must see that he doesn't swear or smoke or indulge in any

of those wicked things. i hope he will do your recommendation credit, mr. beryl."

"i hope he will," said julius, and felt a strong inclination to thrust his tongue in his cheek also. then he took

his leave and the old lady watched him go.

"what is this for?" she asked herself, and went inside to write a report to durham.