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COYERNTON & CO., CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS, Branch, 469 St Lawrence Street^ MONTREAL, A HIDDEN FOE. r CHAPTER I. It is an early November day in the year 1862, in Bath. Fine rain is falling and leaden clouds hang low in the val- ley. A dull, murky depressing day anywhere, but more so in Bath than elsewhere. Given fine weather and a bright sun, and Bath is almost worthy of the praises that have been bestowed upon it. Seen from the railway on the other side of the valley its aspect is stately, with its terraces climbing the hill one upon another, its many patches of green foliage, its stately monotony of stone ; but viewed beneath a leaden sky, with a drizzling rain falling uninter- ruptedly, Bath is the most depressing of towns. Proud of beitig the only city in England constructed solely of stone, Bath has been content, save in its crescents and squares, to dispense with all architectural adornments ; its streets con- vey the impression that the houses were built in a solid wall, and the windows and doors were then cut out as with a knife, so bare, so dreary, so monotonous is their appear- ance. White as it is when first brought from the quarry, Bath stone is a greedy absorbent of dirt and soot. The houses facing south and southwest are exposed to the rains that fall so frequently that it would almost seem as if Nature spent herself in the vain endeavor to wash the city white, and retain something of the grey hue of the stone ; but the streets facing north are as black as if a mixture of soot and water had been rubbed into them ; while those looking east and west are banded with alternate stripes of black I H hi I « A HIDDBir FOB. and grey such as Londoners are familiar with in the lower portion of St. Paul's. But Bath is proud of its grimy blackness, and there are ordinances forbidding the scraping or painting of the houses. So impressed are the in- habitants with the idea that external dirt is an evidence of internal respectability that they make no effort to brighten the houses by window decorations, and nowhere else are dingy blinds the rule and clean blinds the exception as at Bath. The monotony of the streets is unbroken by bay or bow window or other projections, all is flat, regular, bare and ugly. Even the crescents and terraces, which are the pride of Batii, are monotonous in the regularity of their style and frippery of the architectural decorations, and these are in most cases fast beginning to crumble away and to fall in sooty fragments. But on a fine day, when it gets one, and beneath a bright sun, Bath, with its broad and well paved streets, its handsome shops and its stately stone work, is a city to be admired ; seen on such a day as that in question it is inex- pressibly dull and dreary. The band was playing in the pump room to a scanty audience. The bathing attendants were idle, for the gouty and rheumatic dared not venture out on a day like this, the streets were wellnigh deserted, the black fronts glistened with the wet, and the horses sent up clouds of steam as they struggled with their loads up the sharp ascent. Those pedestrians whom business compelled to be abroad hurried along under their dripping umbrellas. It was getting dusk now, and anyone passing down Royal Crescent who chanced to look up would have noticed the glow of a bright fire in the drawing-room of No. loo. A lady was sitting there alone looking into the fire, and indeed there was no temptation to look outside, the great meaningless columns between each house — columns which support nothing and whose sole object appears to be to limit the view of the inhabitants — confined the prospect to the gar- den in front, and to the tops of the leafless trees in the park below, beyond this the falling rain and the thickening gloom shut in the prospect. Mrs. Clitheroe, the lady gazing into the fire, was a woman of some forty-five years of age. Her figure was well formed, and would have been stately had it not been V A HIDDEN FOE, for its stiffness and the absence of grace in her curves. She was sitting there bolt upright, although in an easy chair, and indeed no one had ever seen her in a more com- fortable posture. Her hair was light and still untouched by age, her eyebrows were thin but regular, her eyes were cold grey, her lips thin and firmly set together, her nose well formed and straight. Mrs. Clitheroe was a leader of society in Bath and was a power there ; a woman who was respected rather than liked, and who owed her position as much to her own determined will and character as to the fact that she belonged to one of the oldest families of the county. A leading doctor of the place had summed up her char- acter to a small party of intimate friends, *' I would rather have Mrs. Clitheroe as a friend than as an enemy, for if she took a dislike to one she would never rest until she had driven him out of the town. I should call her a clever woman, as well as a determined one. I suppose she has never had any particular reason for going out of the beaten path, but if she had any object to gain I would back her to attain it by any means, and should be sorry to be the ma.i who stood in her path. I find her interesting as a study of character, but I would not marry her for the wealth of the Indies." And this appreciation of Mrs. Clitheroe's character was recognized by those who heard it to be a true one. The note which Mrj. Clitheroe twisted round her finger as she sat looking at the fire was a short one. " My dear Augusta, — I want to have a talk with you. Will you drive over at three o'clock to-morrow ? We can talk here more comfortably than at your place, where callers come in every five minutes. — Your affectionate brother, Algernon." Not a note such as would be thought likely to cause uneasi- ness, and yet it had made Mrs. Clitheroe thoughtful. What could Algernon want to speak to her about ? Had he heard that Philip and she were living beyond their income ? No, it could not be that. In the first place the excess was but a small one, and had it been large she knew Algernon well enough to be certain that he would not trouble himself to give any advice or opinion on her affairs unless specially asked for it. Besides, it would not be necessary to have a long conversation on such a topic. It was she who all her life had been the ad\ iser, if advice were necessary, and J HIDDEN FOE. she still retained the habit of the elder sister. If it were not that what could it be ? Mrs. Clitheroe's private opinion of her brother had al- ways been that he was rather a poor creature. As far as Bath was concerned he was socially a success. The Cor- byn estate was well kept up, and he held his proper place in the county. If he had married, and married well, as he might have done, he might have added another estate to Corbyn, and become one of the first landowners of the county, but he had never evinced the smallest inclination towards marriage. This had at one time been a very sore subject with her until, as time went on, the advantage to her son Philip, should Algernon always remain single, overpowered the feeling of regret that the old name of Cor- byn, which had for so many centuries held its own in that part of Somersetshire, should become extinct. Why Algernon should remain single was a question over which she had puzzled for many years. To marry was the natural thing for a man in his position to do ; it was, in- deed, almost a duty. So long as his father was alive she could understand his remaining single, but not afterwards. Rumor had never even once coupled his name with that of any lady. He had never shown the slightest preference for one over another, and his sister had once said, in a moment of irritation to her husband, " I believe Algernon does not marry because he likes himself so much that he has no liking to spare for anyone else." The thought had occasionally crossed her mind that Tie might in his younger days, when away from home, have got into some entangle- ment, have had some love affair, of which his friends knew nothing, and a year or two after his father's death she would not have been altogether surprised had Algernon at any time announced to her his intention of marrying some stranger of whom she had never heard. But that was ten years ago. Algernon was forty now, and, as everyone agreed, not a marrying man, and the succession of Corbyn Court to Philip Clitheroe seemed assured. Still, as she sat there, the thought of the possibility of such an event as his marrying came afresh into her mind. What she had wished for fifteen years ago would be intolerable now. " It would be nothing short of a cruel wrong to Philip," she said to herself; " but no, it can never be that ; Alger- non loves his own way and his own ease too much to risk W HIDDEN FOE. were putting himself out by marrying, besides, if he had the least fancy for one woman more than another I must have noticed it, for I know everyone he does, and he is at Bath every day. Still, I cannot understand this note ; he drops in here two or three times a week. What can he have to say that is so important that he should arrange for a special meeting in this way ? " However, as the question would be solved next day, Mrs. CHtheroe at last gave up puzzling over it, and rousing herself begpn to dress for dinner. The next afternoon she drove over to Corbyn Court. Her brother was in what he called his study, and there for an hour they were closeted together. Mr. Corbyn had much to say, and although it was seldom that he was inclined to admit that he could even possibly be wrong, his tone was apologetic, and he concluded his relation, to which his sister had listened in stern silence, with the admission, " I own that it was weak." ^ " Weak ! Weak is no word for it," Mrs. Clitheroe ex- claimed, in a tone of bitter indignation. " I consider, Algernon, that you have behaved infamously. I could not have believed it of you. That a Corbyn of Corbyn Court should fall in love with a schoolmaster's daughter is as- tounding ; that he should stoop so low as to marry her is contemptible ; that he should so act as to lead my son to believe that he should be his heir is infamous." Algernon Corbyn made no reply to this passionate out- burst. He had in fact expected it when he made his com- munication ; and indeed it was in no small degree due to the fact that he knew how it would be received by his sister that he had so long abstained from making it. The lead- ing traits in his character were a feeling of pride in his family, for the Corbyns of Corbyn Court had for centuries been magnates in that part of Somersetshire, and a shrink- ing from trouble or mpleasantness of any kind. He was a kind and liberal landlord ; not so much because he really interested himself in the welfare of his tenants as be- cause it was so much easier to say yes, than no, when a re- mission of rent was asked for on the ground of failure of crops or hardness of times. He was a fair man ; rather above the middle height. His manner was easy and gentle, but with a certain touch of haughtiness that impressed upon those whom he ad- 10 A HIDDEN FOE. dressed that it was Corbyn of Corbyn Court who was speaking. He was very popular in the county ; open- handed in his subscriptions to all the local charities and institutions, and a ^^ersonage of the first consequence in Bath. Had he chosen to stand in Parliament for that city everyone said that it would be a walk over for him, but he had no ambition that way, or indeed any other way that gave him trouble, and was seldom seen on the bench of Magistrates, and not very often at the Hunt. As one of the younger men at the Club remarked, ** Corbyn only needs one thing to be a capital fellow — he wants to be more of a man," and although the remark was considered as an impertinent one when applied to Corbyn of Corbyn Court, it was generally felt that it was not far from the mark. Mrs. Clitheroe differed much from her brother, the sole point of resemblance between tliem being their pride in the family. With him this took a passive form ; in her it was dominant and assertive. Her brother felt that her anger was not unreasonable, and from long experience he knew that in such a case it was best to take refuge in silence, but upon this occasion he was not allowed to shield himself thus. " What have you to say ? " she went on. " You must have something to say. I suppose it is a thing you have been thinking over for years ? " Philip is comfortably provided for," he said. " Philip will have enough to live on. He will not be a pauper, though the Clitheroe estates are not what they need to be ; but I should never have built on his succeed- ing to Corbyn if it had not been for your own con- duct. Have I not urged you scores and scores of times to marry? I wanted to see a Corbyn succeed you, as son has succeeded father for so long. It was only when it seemed evident that you were determined to die a bachelor that I began to look to see Philip come after you and unite the two estates in one. I am ashamed of you, Algernon, ashamed as well as angry. If I had been fool enough to suffer myself to be caught by a pretty face, and to have made a low marriage lilce this, I would have had the courage to face it. At any rate when our father died, which is fourteen years ago now, when this child must have been three years old, you had the opportunity of doing then m A HIDDEN FOE. It what you were afraid to do before, and to bring her home and acknowledge her if you ever intended to do so. The county might have thought you a fool, but knowing how proud our father was of the old name they would have made excuses for you. But what can they say of you now when they hear ? I am sure I do not know what they will say of you. I would rather you had committed a crime that had something manly in it than have gone on playing a mean cowardly part as you have done." " I think you have said enough and more than enough, Augusta," Algernon Corbyn said angrily. " I have put up with a good deal from you from the time I was a boy, but this is too much altogether. I am not going to listen to any more talk of this sort." " You may not choose to listen to it, Algernon," his sister said, rising, '* but what I say all the county will be saying as soon as they hear the news. Though they may not choose to say it to your face they will say you have behaved like a hypocrite and a coward, and that you have behaved badly to Philip, that you have behaved badly to this girl, that you have behaved badly to everyone." '' At any rate," Mr. Corbyn said, " I expect that you will say nothing of this matter at present, Augusta:. I have told it to you in strict confidence, and it will be time enough for you to ventilate your opinion on the subject when I return with my daughter." " You do not suppose," she said scornfully, ** that I shall be in any hurry to proclaim from the housetop that a Corbyn has disgraced himself — that is not my way. I may tell you my opinion myself, but when the time comes I shall probably fight your battle a good deal more effectually than you will fight it yourself. You do not suppose I shall let everyone see how disappointed I am that Philip is not to inherit Corbyn." So saying, without another word, Mrs. Clitheroe left the room, and taking her seat in her carriage with the single word " home," thought over the unexpected and unplea- sant news that she had just heard. It was a bitter disap- pointment to her, it was shocking that her brother should have acted a mean and cowardly part, and that a Corbyn should become the talk of the county. It was a bitter disappointment that Philip should be ousted from his posi- tion of heir of Corbyn. The Clitheroe property was not [ 19 A HIDDEN' FOE, I. \ II iH IM a large one. Her own expenses were considerable, and for years now Philip had been taught to consider himself as his uncle's heir. He had kept two or three good hunters, had traveled for some months every year, and had spent money freely, and on the strength of the expectations his mother had never stinted him, and tliere was already more than one mortgage on the Clitheroe estates. " Should she tell him at once ? " This was the question that she kept turning over in her mind as she drove home- ward; but she finally decided not to do so. *' He will hear it all in time," she concluded, " and it will not be such a great blow to him as it is to me. He has his father's easy- going disposition and will take it quietly ; as likely as not he will make a joke of it, and say it is a good thing that there is to be a mistress at Corbyn at last. It is a pity he has not a little more of my spirit, he is a Clitheroe all over." That was indeed the general opinion. Philip Clitheroe had taken after his father, who was one of the most popular men in the county, a genial, kindly, hard-riding squire, altogether without ambition and without prejudices ; an easy-going landlord and a generous friend who would have found it very hard to have made his income meet his expenditure had it not been that his wife was a good man- ager. Philip Clitheroe met his mother at the door. " You have got one of you headaches, mother, I can see that at once," he said, " you had better go and lie down. You know we have got some people coming to dinner. If you do not feel equal to it I will drive round at once and put them all off." "My head is not very bad, Phil, and a couple of hours rest will dome good. I have no doubt that I shall be able to take my place at the table." Philip Clitheroe went down to the club and played whist until it was time to return to dress for dinner. He had heard on coming downstairs that his mother was already in the drawing-room. " Are you better now, mother ? " " Much better, Phil ; " and, indeed, although Mrs. Clitheroe was always an excellent hostess, her guests that evening were unanimously of opinion that they had never known her in brighter or better spirits. " She is a very charming woman," old General Hum- i;hreys said to his wife as they drove home. " There are A HIDDEN FOE. H some people who do not like her, but, for my part, I think she is an uncommonly pleasant woman. 1 only won- der she did not put Philip in the Army. It is a bad thing for a young fellow having nothing to do, especially in a place like this. He would have made a first-rate soldier, and it would have kept him out of extravagance. However, I suppose he will come in for Corbyn some day ; but I have heard men who know what the Clitheroe property is worth, wonder how they do it all on its income." Mr. Corbyn's reflections after his sister had left him were not pleasant. He regretted now that he had not, as she said, taken the step of proclaiming his marriage when, at his father's death, he came into the property. People, of course, would have talked ; but they would not have talked as much then as they would now. He had certainly been foolish, and Augusta had perhaps a right to feel aggiieved about Phil. However, he did not think that Phil would himself take it to heart. Still, no doubt people in general would see the thing in the same light as Augusta had done, and would blame him more' than they would have done had he come forward and produced Constance at the first opportunity. He had always meant to do so before long, and had been putting it off for years. But the girl was seventeen now, and if it was ever to be done, this was the time for it. Seventeen years ! It did not seem as long as that from the day when, feeling an utterly broken-hearted man, he had laid her mother in her grave in the churchyard of St. Malo, and leaving her week-old infant in the charge of the people with whom they had lodged, hurried away from the scene of his loss. No doubt it had been a terrible mistake altogether, and yet even now he could hardly blame himself. He thought over those happy stolen meetings with Constance Purcell, of the long pleading before she consented to marry him without his father's consent, and of the year of perfect happiness he had spent with her wander- ing about the continent, until two months before her death they had settled down in the house on the hill looking down upon St. Malo. So far everything had turned out well. No suspicion had ever entered his father's mind. They had been fortu- nate in scarcely ever falling upon anyone who knew him at home, for they had kept away from the beaten path of ^ 14 A HIDDEN FOB, tourists, visiting the larger cities only at a time when the annual British exodus had come to an end. His father had, indeed, written grumbling letters r ':casionally at his son's long absence, but had been well enough content to hear from him that he was thoroughly enjoying his travels abroad. No one had ever connected the disappearance of Constance Purcell with him. He had been careful and cautious. Their intimacy had never been suspected. He had left home a week before she started to join him at the spot where he had arranged everything for their marriage, and her father and mother had no clue whatever to guide them in their search for her. At the time he left his baby-girl in the charge of the people in whose house she was born, Algernon Corbyn had no idea of leaving her long with them. He had formed no plans when he left, his sole idea then had been to get away from the scene of his loss. He had a feeling of aver- sion rather than of love to the helpless infant whose com- ing had been the cause of its mother's death, and after arranging for the payment of a monthly sum that amply satisfied those to whom he entrusted it he had hurried away, stayed for a week in London, and then gone home, where his father was much discontented to find that, after his long rambles on the Continent, he had returned de- pressed and in low spirits. From this, however, he was not long in rallying, for Algernon Corbyn was a thoroujihly selfish man, and he came in time to recognize the fact that the death of his wife had saved him from much trouble and inconvenience. He could not have extended his absence from home much longer, and then must at last have come the inevitable scene with his father, for his wife, although she had yielded to his prayer that their marriage should for a time be kept secret, was naturally fearless and high-spirited, and would never have consented to an indefinite postponement of the announcement of their marriage. As to the child, there was plenty of time for that ; at any rate at his father's death he would produce her. Her existence was a source of annoyance rather than a pleasure for him. He could not very well marry again so long as her existence was kept a secret, for to do so would be to lead to endless troubles and annoyances afterwards, and he therefore turned a deaf ear to his father's suggestions that it was getting high time he should think of taking a wife. -**-" A HIDDEN FOE, n When, three years after the birth of the child, his father died, he fully intended to carry out his intention to bring home the child and announce his marriage, but he had put it off from time to time. He shrank from the gossip and talk that the announcement would cause. Now that he was master of Corbyn Court, and was no longer under the influence of love, he was ashamed of the mesalliance he had made, and perhaps most of all he shrank from the bitter tongue of his sister. After all there v^as plenty of time. The child was comfortable and happy now, but she would be a great nuisance at tiie Court. She might, therefore, just as well remain for a bit where she was ; and so years went on and Constance Corbyn grew up at St. Malo. From time to time, at long intervals, he went over to see her, and it was after his last visit a few months before that he had come to the decision it was time he should bring her home. He was influenced in this decision by finding that she had since his previous visit grown from a somewhat gawky and unformed girl into a very pretty young woman, exceedingly like what her mother had been before her. He had paid liberally, and she had had the best masters St. Malo afforded. She carried herself well, with a pretty imperious turn of the head, and he felt that the Court need not be ashamed of her personally, and that her appearance would go far to make his position easier than it otherwise would have been. All the mothers with sons of a marriageable age would be on his side, although of course he should have a very unpleasant time ^ . Au- gusta. Things would not be so bad after all ; at a../ rate the thing had to be done some time, and no time could be better than the present. Therefore, after seasons of irresolution, he finally mus- tered up courage to take the final step, and resolved to get the worst of it over by breaking the matter to his sister. The result had been exactly what he had expected. Augusta had been exceedingly angry and exceedingly rude, but he knew enough of her to feel sure that when the affair be- came known and talked of she would be his most zealous ally. In the first place she would consider it necessary to support him for the sake of the family, and in the next, she would not for worlds allow anyone to suppose that she was disappointed at Philip having been ousted in his position as heir of Corbyn Court. A HIDDEN FOE, t I! I ' " She may scold," he said to himself, " but I can rely upon Augusta. If there had been anything to be done she would have fought tooth and nail against it. She has any amount of pluck, and what with her pride and her love of Phil, she would not have stuck at anything if she could have staved this off; however, now that she must see that she can do nothing, she will put a smiling face on it, and will go about hinting that, of course, she knew it all the time, and thought, upon all accounts, it would be much better that the matter should be kept quiet until the dear girl was of an age to take her place at the head of the Court. Yes, she is a remarkable woman, but I am heartily glad she is my sis- ter and lives at Bath, instead of being my wife and living here. "As to Philip, I am sure that he will take it well; of course, it is rather hard for him, and I will put him down in my will for a round sum that will clear him offand give him a fresh start, but, naturally, he must draw in his horns a little. I wonder whether Augusta will tell him this evening ; of course, she will understand that though she was to keep it a secret for the present, she could tell Philip, if she liked. If she does, no doubt he will be up here in the morning." But Philip Clitheroe did not make his appearance at the Court next day, and Mr. Corbyn understood that his sister for some reason or other had kept the secret to herself. " It is just like her. She thinks perhaps I may change my mind ; but she is mistaken if she does. I will start to-morrow morning. When I get to town I will hand over to Ferris the certificates of marriage and baptism and tell him the story. It is just as well that he should have the documents in his possession. Then I will cross in the morning by Calais and on to Paris, stop there a day or two and then go down to St. Malo." He touched the bell. " Haxell, pack my portmanteau to- night, I shall be away ten days or a fortnight. Order the dogcart to be here in time to catch the twelve o'clock up train." Now that the die was cast Mr. Corbyn was in high good temper ; he had got over the most unpleasant part of the business, and the rest seemed easy and more pleasant. He chuckled over the astonishment that would be created among his friends by the announcement, and of the sen- sation that would be made, when he introduced Constance A HIDDEN FOE, 17 at the first ball. It was now the 6th of November and the Bath season had fairly commenced. He would have her home before Christmas and give a ball himself and introduce her. Of course, it would be more pleasant if her people had been well born, but there was after all no absolute necessity that the facts in this respect should be known. He need merely say that he had been married many years beforie, and that his wife had died in her first confinement. Nobody would lave a right to ask questions on the subject. Ferris would have all the documents and proofs, and Phil and his mother would be the only two who would in any case be entitled to ask the family lawyer questions, so that no one really need know that Con- stance's mother was not a lady. His father's character was pretty well known, the mere fact that he had thought it ad- visable to keep his marriage a secret from him would not go far to show that there was anything to be ashamed of in it. So in the afternoon Mr. Corbyn went down to the Club, played a rubber two and was in excellent spirits. Driving back up the long hill to Lansdown, he leaned forward and spoke to the coachman. ** It is very cold this evening, Brandon.*' ** Very cold, sir, I should say by the look of the stars it is going to be a hard frost to-night." Indeed, by the time that they reached the top of the hill, and the horses broke into a trot again, the sharp sound of their hoofs showed that the frost had begun, and the road, which had that afternoon been soft and muddy, was already frozen. It was a bleak drive across the high ground, past the racecourse and on until they again began to descend into a dip. Another mile and a half and they reached Corbyn Court. The next morning the ground was like iron, it had frozen hard all night, and the thermometer v/as down at twenty. Mr. Corbyn was rather late in starting ; he had several letters to write, and matters that had better be arranged before he went away for a fortnight's absence. The last thing he did was to go to an iron safe where leases and papers of importance were kept. From an inner drawer in this he took out an envelope containing some papers, glanced through them to see that they were all correct, and placed them in the breast pocket of his coat. Then he put on his wraps, went out, and took 2 i8 A /HDD EN FOE, his seat in the dog-cart. He looked at his watch as he started. " We have run it rather close, Brandon ; it is a quarter past eleven already." " We shall do it, sir ; it is good going this morning ; and we slull be there with five minutes to 'jparc. Captain has done it under forty minutes before now." Mr. Corbyn looked at his watch once or twice, and found that Captain was doing his best, and that there was no fear of being behind his lime. Once arrived at the top of the long hill, Brandon applied the brake, for the hills are so steep round Bath tiiat even two-wheeled vehicles are often provided with brakes, and the trap proceeded with scarcely abated speed. The coachman checked him somewhat when they got fairly into the upper part of the town, for the road here was paved with flat stones, and it needed some care. Several vehicles were zigzagging up the hill with their drivers shouting and encouraging the horses, others were standing stationary, while the steaming and exhausted animals recovered their wind for a fresh effort to climb the cruel ascent. How it happened was never exactly known, Brandon always maintained that he had the horse well in hand, but that he must have slipped on an ice-covered stone. There was a sharp exclamation. Captain fell almost on to his head, and the two occu])ants of the dog-cart were sent flying through the air. Brandon went straight over the horse's head, and lay stunned in the middle of the. road. Mr. Corbyn flew rather to the left, and his head came against one of the stone steps leading from the raised footpath in front of Belmont into the road. s a quarter A HIDDEN FOE, CHAPTER II. A CROWD (juickly gathered round the fallen men and horse, and a policeman who was standing at the corner of the York Hotel ran up the hill to the spot, lifted the coachman into a sitting position, just as a gentleman who had seen the accident came out from one of the houses in Oxford- row with a jug of water. The policeman saw that the could be of no assistance here, and pushed through the crowd gathered round the other fallen man. They had turned him over, and one of them kneeling by his side was supporting his head. ** Why, it is Mr. Corbyn ! " the policeman exclaimed. " I am afraid it is all over with him," the man who was supporting Mr. Corbyn's head said, looking up. " He came with his head right against those steps." " He is breathing," the policeman said leaning down over him. At this moment a gentleman pushed through the crowd, saying, ** Make way, please, I am a doctor." A moment's examination sufficed to enable him to form an opinion. "A terrible fracture of the skull. There is not the slightest hope of his surviving it." " It is Mr. Corbyn, sir," the policeman remarked in awed tones, for that such an accident should befall Mr. Corbyn of Corbyn Court, one of the magistrates of the county, seemed terrible indeed to him. " Yes, I know him," the doctor replied. " Let me think. His sister, Mrs. Clitheroe, lives in Royal Crescent." " Yes, sir, I know the house," the policeman said. " He had better be carried there. Send down to the Police Station for four men and a stretcher. Now, how about the other ? " and he went to examine the coachman. He was still lying insensible. " I think he is only stunned," the doctor said, after examining him. '' Of course, there may be concussion of the brain, but that I cannot tell at present. He had better be carried down to the hospital at once." ito A HIDDEN For.. ii: i By this time two more policemen had come up ; these with some difficulty cleared the road of the crowd, cut the traces and got the horse on to his legs, removed the shat- tered dog-cart out of the way of the traffic, and placed the two portmanteaus, which had also flown out into the road, beside it. In a few minutes the men arrived with two stretchers. The doctor had already proceeded to the Crescent to break the news to Mrs. Clitheroe. The shock was a great one. Algernon was her only brother, and although she had always inwardly lamented that he did not come up to her ideal of what a Corbyn should be, she had yet never had any serious difference with him from his boyhood until that v^hich had occurred the previous day. AH Mrs. Clitheroe's affections were centered in her son. It was for his sake she had been so deeply angered the day before when she heard that another stood between him and Corbyn Court. Nevertheless the sudden news of the death of her brother came as a terrible shock to her, and was heightened by the fact that they parted in anger, for by the time that Algernon was carried to the house in Royal Crescent, the faint flicker of life which had remained had died out, and it was a corpse that was carried into the room upstairs. Ten minutes later Philip arrived breathless, the new^ having reached him at the club. " This is an awful shock, mother," he said as he entered the room in which she was sitting, " it must be terrible for you. I could scarce believe it when Dr. Vesey came into the club and told me. I am awfully so rry for uncle, it seems he was on his way to the station, for he had his portmanteaus with him ; they have brought them here and put them m the hall. I suppose he was a little late, and was driving fast to catch the train. It is a beastly hill, and on a sharp day like this as slippery as glass." " I had not heard that he was on his way up to town," Mrs. Clitheroe said, rousing herself suddenly. " He must have been, mother, and I suppose he was- going for some little time as he had two portmanteaus with him. I know when he runs up for a day or two he only takes one, for I have gone uj) with him half a dozen times." Up to this point Mrs. Clitheroe had scarcely thought coherently, her mind had seemed numbed with the sudden- ness of the shock. Algernon was dead^ had been killed i-i A HIDDEN FOE, at close to her door, they had taken him upstairs. This she had repeated over and over again to herself in a dull mechan- ical sort of way, but Philip's words turned her thoughts into a fresh channel. Algernon had said he meant to act at once, but that with him seldom meant much, and she had reckoned upon a fortnight or three weeks delay before ho set out to fetch this daughter of his. But for once he had evidently roused himself to carry out his intention, when he had been stricken down, and was on his way to France to produce the girl who was to rob Philip of his ii.heritance. Her brain was actively at work now. What would be the effect of this accident? Did this girl know that she was the heiress of Corbyn Court? Did anyone know save Algernon ? If not — and at this point Philip put his hand on her shoulder. "The shock has been too much for you, mother ; you had best lie down for a little time. Have you seen him ? " She shook her head. *' Dr. Vesey was within," she said, speaking for the f rst time, *' he went out when they brought him in, and came back, and said that it was all over. He made me go into the dining-room, as he said it was better that I should not see him at present." " Much better I should say, mother. It can do no good, and it will be a terrible sight for you. Later on you can see him, perhaps, but not at present. I shall not go up myself now." '' What are you going to do ? " she asked. " I do not know," he replied ; " I think," he went on after a pause, " I had better go to the coroner's and ask him if it will be necessary to have an inquest. Nothing can be done until we know that ; if he says no, I will see about the other arrangements. I suppose it is my business to look after them. If he says yes, there will be nothing else to be done till that is over. I will take a close car- riage and drive over to the Court ; likely enough they will have heard nothing there as yet about it." " No, Philip," his mother said, sharply ; " not yet. I would not go up to the Court, people might say afterwards that you were in a hurry to take possession." " No one would say that," he said, throwing back his head haughtily, and then with a change of tone, ** you are upset, mother, and not yourself, or I do not think you would have said that. I do not believe that anyone who 1^ I lli i!l I I ii A HIDDEN FOE, knows me would credit me with so mean a thought. Till you spoke, the thought of the difference this would make to me never once entered my mind." " No doubt you are right, Philip ; still I think it is better not to go there to-day, but see about the other arrange- ments. I will lie down for a bit." But Mrs. Clitheroe did not lie down. She paced rest- lessly up and down her room, her brain too busy for her even to sit down for a moment. At last she moved swiftly to the door, opened it and stood listening. No one was moving in that part of the house. As soon as she assured herself of this, she opened the door of the next room and went in. The body lay on the stretcher on which it had been carried up, the ends being placed on two chairs. The doctor had hastily thrown his handkerchief over the face before it was brought into the house, and it still lay there. Mrs. Clitheroe was at no time a nervous woman, and with scarcely a pause at the door she walked un to the side of the body. She had nerved herself to the task. The overcoat and the coat beneath it were both unbuttoned ; for Dr. Vesey had opened them when he first knelt beside the fallen man to see if his heart was still beating, Mrs. Clitheroe thrust her hand into the breast pocket of the undercoat and drew forth several letters. She glanced at the writing outside. One of the envelopes was larger than the rest, and a slight exclamation broke from her as she glanced at it. She replaced the rest, and with this in her hand returned to her room, locking her door behind her. She lighted the gas, for the short day was waning, and but little light made its way through the closely drawn blinds. Then she sat down and opened the envelope. It contained three papers only : the copies of the certifi- cate of marriage between Algernon Corbyn and Constance Purcell, and copies of the French official documents certi- fying to the birth and baptism of Constance Corbyn, daughter of Algernon and Constance Corbyn ; and to the death and burial of Constance Corbyn, wife of Algernon Corbyn, and daughter of William and Jane Purcell. Mrs. Clitheroe sat for some time with these papers before her. Should she destroy them? Was there anything to be gained by doing so ? Perhaps nothing in the end, but it would retard matters. Did Philip know of the existence A HIDDEN FOE, n of these papers he would doubtless want to relinquish everything at once, and give up the matter without a struggle. She did not wish that it should be otherwise ; he was a Clitheroe rather than a Corbyn, and would not take it to heart that this grandchild of a village schoolmaster should reign at Corbyn Court. Her destroying these papers would probably make no difference ; no doubt Algernon had left a will, and it would all come to the same thing. These documents were but copies of registers, and could be easily replaced ; still, if they were found at once — for there would no doubt be an examination into all papers and documents — there would be an end to the matter, while, if they were not forthcoming, there would at least be breathing time until the will was opened at any rate. She concluded at last, that they might as well be burned. She opened a desk which stood on the table ; took out a small memorandum book and noted down in it the name of the church where the marriage was performed, and those of the minister and of the witnesses to the cere- mony. She did this under a vague idea that the informa- tion might be possibly useful. Then she rose, twisted up the three papers and the envelope, and held them one by one in the fire that was burning in the grate. " I do not suppose it will be of any use," she said to herself; '* but if there should be a chance I will defend Philip's rights to the end." There was an inquest and a funeral, and Algernon Corbyn was laid in the old family vault, and Philip Clitheroe took possession of the Court as its unquestioned heir. No will had been found. The family solicitors, upon being com- municated with, were unaware that such a will had been prepared. It had certainly not been drawn out by them. Philip Clitheroe was really sorry for the death of his uncle, although he had never entertained any strong affec- tion for him. There was a lack of cordiality upon the part of the elder man that had kept his nephew aloof from him. " Uncle always shakes hands as if he did not like it," Philip had once as a boy complained to his mother. " I would much rather that he did not shake hands at all." " It is only his way,' his mother had said. " Your uncle was never a demonstrative man. The Corbyns have always had a quiet manner. You do not take after them, Philip." Well, mother, if you do not mind my saying so, I am (( I 1 1 A HIDDEN FOR. glad I do not. I wonder whether uncle when he was a boy always spoke as if he was measuring his words, and whether he ran or shouted like other boys. I should like to see uncle running and shouting." Mrs. Clitheroe did not even smile an approval, for a joke relating to a Corbyn of Corbyn Court was in her eye almost an act of irreverence. " I do not like such remarks, Philip," she said sharply. ** They are extremely bad form, to say the least of it. Mem- bers of a family should never make such remarks about each other. If we do not respect ourselves how can we expect others to respect us." " Very well, mother," Philip replied good temperedly. " For my part I would rather be liked than respected ever so much." " And I would very much rather be respected than liked," Mrs. Clitheroe replied, in a tone which effectually put an end to the discussion. But although Philip felt really sorry for the sudden death of his uncle, he was not insensible to the change it had made in his position. The Clitheroe estate was a small one, and his own fondness for hunting, and carelessness about money generally, and his mother's insistance that it was absolutely necessary they should come into Bath for the winter season, had taxed his resources severely. He himself had indeed more than once proposed to put down two of his hunters, but his mother had decidedly objected. '' If you sell any of your horses it would cause talk, Philip. It is true that we are living beyond our income, but you will come in for a fine property some day, and we must keep up our position in the county. We must save in other matters." But the saving had not been effected, and Philip had been often bothered about money affairs. Although he was the nominal owner of Clitheroe, his mother was com- pletely the mistress as she had been during his father's life, and he never thought of disputing her wishes. Still it was pleasant to him now to know that there was an end to all this. He was master of Corbyn Court, and there was an end of pecuniary worries. He could marry when he liked now ; his mother would, of course, live with him until he did so, and then there would be Clitheroe for her. She had been more shaken by A HIDDEN FOE, his uncle's death than he should have expected; and it seemed to him, although there was no possible reason for such a thmg, that she was anxious and nervous. He thought so specially when, on the day after the funeral, young Mr. Ferris came down to make a thorough search with him for his uncle's papers, to make certain that there was no will existing. *' My mother is worrying herself about that will," he said to himself, as he drove over to the Court with young Ferris. " I do not know why she should, for, in the first place, the property is entailed and must come to me, and, in the second, there is no one else for uncle to have left the rest of his property to. He was not likely to take it into his head to endow a charity." " I do not think tliat there is much chance of our finding anything," James Ferris said as they entered the house. " Mr. Corbyn was not at all the sort of man to have made a will secretly and stowed it away ; besides, there could be no possible reason for his doing so. I daresay he meant to come to us one day and get us to draw it out for him. Men generally like to leave a few legacies to old servants and so on, but you see he had every reason to expect to live another thirty or forty years, and it naturally appeared to him that there was no hurry about it. It is singular how men put off making their wills. There are no places that you know of, except the safe in his library, where he kept papers ? " " Not that I know of. I looked in the safe three days ago, but I could see nothing but a lot of leases and agree- ments, and several files of paid bills, and a bundle or two of letters." ^ ' " The leases and agreements were principally copies,'* James Ferris said, "we have got the originals in his safe in our cellars, with the deeds of the property and other important papers, but he liked having copies of the leases to refer to when tenants wanted things done. We persuaded him to let us have the originals, for these old country mansions are very unsafe places. Once they catch fire down they go. Well, here we are." The door of the safe was opened, and the bundles of leases untied to make sure that there was no will among them. ''Is it worth while keeping all the receipts?" Philip asked, as he took up the next bundle. «| A HIDDEN- FOE. ** Certainly. After a death is the time when they are most useful. People are apt to send in their accounts again on the oflF chance that the receipts have not been kept, and of course the executors have no means otherwise of knowing whether they have been paid or not." "We may as well destroy the letters, at any rate," Philip said. ** It is not necessary to read them, I sup- pose? " " No, you see they are tied up and docketted. Here are * Letters connected with the letting of the home farm,' * Correspondence concerning question of water rates.' It is no use keeping these things, they are all settled and done with long ago. What is that ? " he asked, as Philip gave a sudden exclamation. " Ah ! " * Letters from my daughter.' Humph ! That is more important indeed,** and the young men looked each other in the face. " You do not think that uncle was married, Ferris ? '* " Most improbable thing in the world, I should say, Mr. Corbyn, from what I knew of him, was the most un- likely man to have made a marriage beneath him. Besides, if he had done so during his father's lifetime, there was no reason why he should not have acknowledged it when he came into the property. Oh, no j I should say that the chances of his being married are next to nothing." " But what is to be done with these letters ? " Philip asked. " I can't give an opinion off hand, the matter is alto- gether too serious. It must be for my father to decide. As I said, I do not thir^' there is one chance in a hundred of Mr. Cotbyn having married. I regard such a thing as improbable in the extreme. Still " and he paused. ''Yes, it would be awkward," Philip said, grnnly. "You see that as there is no will the unentailed as well as the entailed property would go to her, as you know the entail goes with us in the female line. Well, of course, Ferris, as the family lawyer you must do your duty in the matter. Fiat justiciar you know," he added, with an attempt to laugh. " Really, I do not think there is any fear of its turning out in that way, Clitheroe. I think it likely that your uncle, whose father was a very proud and stern man, com- mitted some sort of escapade, as thousands of men have done before him, and you see a child has been the result," ¥ A HIDDEN FOE. •7 ** You had better glance through the ktters, Ferris. I think I would rather not read them. I will light my pipe while you are looking through them," and he turned his chair round to the fire. For a quarter of an hour no word was spoken. Philip Clitheroe sat puffing his pipe and gazing into the fire. It would indeed be awkward, as he had said, if his uncle had been married. His mother would take it to heart a good deal more than he should. He himself had never regarded his heirshij) of Corbyn Court as anything but a very remote contingency. His uncle had been but si.xteen years older than himself, and might have lived until ninety if it had not been for this accident. He had seriously thought several times of going &hroas\ for a few years, and leaving Clitheroe in his mother's hancr^. -/Vs long as he was at home she would never retrenchj^^tie thought too much of keeping up his position in the county. That was all well enough if he were heir to Corbyn, but as only owner of Clitheroe it would be absurd. He was thinking this over when the lawyer spoke. " I gather from these letters, Clitheroe, that this girl has been brought up by some people named Duport at St. Malo. She only writes twice a year, and in the first letter, which is dated ten years back, she says she is seven, so she is seventeen now. She signs herself Constance Corbyn ; but, of course, that goes for nothing. He would naturally have passed her mother off as his wife. There is no allu- sion to a mother through all the letters, so it is probable that she is either dead or that she took up with someone else, leaving the child to be taken care of by him. I see that in one letter each year she speaks as having seen him not long before ; so I suppose he went over once a year to see her. Certainly the letters prove noJiing one way or the other ; but I suppose we shall have to investigate the matter." " Certainly," Philip agreed, *' of course. If there was a marriage, there is an end of the matter. If not, I will get you to arrange that the allowance, whatever it is, that my uncle paid, shall be continued, and you can make any arrangement you think right for a sum of money to be paid to her when she comes of age ut marries. Such an arrange- ment as you think it probable my uncle would have made had he left a will." A HIDDEN FOE, The lawyer nodded. " I understand," he said. " I daresay I shall have to go over. When I see in what way she has been brought up, I shall be able to form a more definite idea as to what is to be done in the matter. As to the first alternative, I hope and believe that there is little chance of its accuracy." " I imagine that you must have seen the unexpected occur pretty often in your profession, Ferris. However, whatever comes of it I don't think I shall break my heart over it. Of course it is rather a blow at first — you wouldn't believe me if I said it wasn't — but I am not sure that I am cut out for a squire of high degree, and shall enjoy life quite as much if I have to make my own way a bit. I am really thinking more of my mother than of myself: it would be a great blow to he- ^or me to lose the Court just when as it seemed I \it^ so unexpectedly come into it." " Yes, Mrs. Clitheroe vi^dJrid kt\ it," Jprnp «: F^rri*: sgreed, for he had dined with the Clitheroes several times when they had been up in London, and had not been favorably impressed by Mrs. Clitheroe's manner. " A clever woman, father," he had said, " but as hard as nails and as proud as Lucifer, though what she has to be so proud about I don't know. I wonder her son is such a pleasant fellow, brought up by a woman like that ; but it is evident she is extremely fond of him, her voice quite softens when she speaks to him. I daresay she has her good points." " I expect so, Jim ; most of them have, but I agree with you, Mrs. Clitheroe is hard. You know she put her affairs into our hands at her husband's death, because we have always been Mr. Corbyn's lawyers, and she never forgets that she is a Corbyn. She is a capital hand at business, but I came to the conclusion that I would rather be her lawyer than her debtor." " Do you mean to tell her, Clitheroe ? " James Ferris asked after he had revolved these matters in his mind. " I think I had better not," Philip replied, after a pause. ** Of course if you will find out that there was a marriage she will know all about it soon enough ; if not, I do not see why she should know anything about it." **I don't see why she should, things of this sort are just as well kept quiet. No, I agree with you it will be better to say nothing about it unless we should discover that 'h 7 thl th se| bi in I lil W( E \ ■< A HIDDEN FOE, 11 have to go brought up, to what is to tive, I hope curacy." unexpected However, ak my heart ou wouldn't re that I am II enjoy life L bit. i am myself: it s Court just J into it." "•ri«j agreed, times when n favorably as hard as las to be so n is such a t; but it is jite softens 5 her good agree with her affairs e we have •^er forgets t business, er be her 7 ■there really was a marriage. At any rate we must make a thorough search for a will. As matters stood hi'fore it seemed of little consequence whether one existed or not, but the matter is completely altered now. For the next two or three hours the young men searched in every drawer, cabinet, or other place where papers were likely to be stowed away, but no documents of any kind were found. " It is quite possible, Clitheroe," the young lawyer said, when the search was concluded, " that we may hear of a will yet. So long as we made sure that a will would be made in your favor, there was no reason whatever why your uncle should go to anyone else, but the case is alto- gether altered now. He would not like us to have known about this business, and would probably have gone else- where to get his will made. Mind, I think it very much more likely that he has never given it a moment's consid- eration, but if he did so, that is the course he would be likely to pursue." " Well, I shall not bother any more about it, Ferris. I 5 consider that the matter is now in your hands as the soli- citor to the family. That takes all the responsibility off my |shoulders, but please impress upon your father that my !^ anxiety will be to do what is right. If the girl is entitled ^ to the estates, well and good ; if not, I wish the arrange- ments to be made on a liberal scale. You said that you must go back this afternoon. Can't I persuade you to stop until the morning ? " " No, thank you, I really want to get up to town for we are very busy at present, and have got a very heavy case just coming on. In the next place I want to hear what my father thinks about this affair, and lastly I don't think that we should spend a very enjoyable evening. We have both got this thing in our minds and could talk about no- thing else, although no amount of talking can throw any further light upon it. So I will carry out my original intentions." Philip looked at his watch. " We have ample time to have the horses put in and drive comfortably down to the station. After what has happened you will not catch me driving down that hill again fast. After seeing James Ferris off by the train, Philip handed the reins to the groom, told him to take the horses back to A HIDDEN FOE. the Stables, and then strolled slowly back to Royal terrace, thinking the matter over in every light. His mother was in the drawing-room when he went up. It was getting dusk, and she was sitting with her back to the window, and a magazine in her hand, which, as she sat, served to screen her face froii the fire. " You have been a long time, Philip. I think you might have come straight back from the station. I heard that the carriage came back iialf an hour ago." " I beg your pardon, mother. I made so sure after my own search through the papers that no will would be founo, it did not strike me that you would be anxious about it. We have looked everywhere so far as we know, and no will has come to hand, and Ferris did not expect to find one any more than I did." " I did not think there would be one myself, for Alger- noon was not of a nature to trouble himself about matters that could conveniently be put off, and he had of course no reason to anticipate that any necessity would arise for many years for his making a will." " No, that is our idea, mother." Philip was standing so that the light both from the win- dow and fire fell on his face, and his mother saw at once that sc lething unusual had happened. ** He has found some papers or letters relating to her," she said to herself. " No proofs certainly that would show them that she is heiress to the Court, for in that case he would tell me at once ; there could be no reason for concealing it, besides it is not his way. If he had found out that he had lost the Court, he would be as likely as not to mention it to the first half dozen acquaintances that he met in the street." It was irritating that it should be so, and yet Mrs. Clitheroe loved her son no less that his disposition differed so widely from her own, and that he took after his dead father rather than her. " He has found some clue," she repeated to herself, " but he does not mean to tell me. He has learned that Algernon had a daughter, but not that she is legitimate. If he thought she were, he would tell me at once. He and that young Ferris have come to the conclusion that she is illegitimate, and therefore the thing is to be kept a secret from me. I must think over whether I had better broach the subject and let him know that I am aware of her exist- ft yf HIDDEN FOE, 31 ioyal terrace, s mother was : was getting the window, >at, served to ink you might leard that the sure after my uld be found, ious about it. v, and no will :t to find one slf, for Alger- ibout matters ad of course ould arise for "rom the win- saw at once iting to her," that would in that case reason for le had found as likely as ntances that it should be ess that his and that he to herself, learned that jgitimate. If e. He and on that she lept a secret stter broach of her exist- ence, then I should learn what steps they were taking, but on the other hand there are many reasons why it would be better that he should think me ignorant about it." This was what she thought, she only said, " I suppose you will be moving into the Court soon, Philip. There seems no reason why you should not do so." " Yes, I suppose I might as well, mother, or rather we might as well. Corby n is so much nearer than Clitheroe, that it will be a great deal more convenient for the town. Of course it will be a question for you to decide whether we shall keep on this house." Then Mrs. Clitheroe knew that the two young men had considered it morally certain that this girl of whose existence they had learnt was not born in wedlock. ** There will be plenty of time to think about that, Philip," she replied; "of course we shall shut up Clitheroe. Cor- byn is only three quarters of an hour's drive, but that counts for a good deal in winter. At any rate we have got this house on our hands for another year and a half, and shall be able to see how things work before that ; but there is no doubt that it is right and proper that you should take possession of the Court at once." " I suppose it is the right thing to do," he agreed rather reluctantly. " I should say though it is better to let a week or so pass first, I do not want to seem to be in a hurry to step into uncle's shoes." *' Very well, Philip, there is of course no hurry about it," but Mrs. Clitheroe at once guessed that Philip wished to delay until he had made quite certain as to the status of this unknown cousin. '' Ferris is going to make inquiries," she said to herself. " I would give a good deal to find out what the girl herself knows." This indeed was the poinc upon which Mrs. CHtheroe's thoughts had been fixed from the moment when she burned the copy of the marriage certificate. Another copy might be found among her brother's papers, though this was hardly likely, or there might be some memorandum which would afford a clue. Fortunately there could be no letters which would give this information, for the mother had not returned to England, and liad never been separated from Algernon from the time of their marriage, therefore no letters between them could be in existence. Still Algernon might have given copies of the certificates to the girl in order that the 3" A HIDDEN FOE, l\ ? people she lived with might have proofs of the marriaee. Possibly, too, he might have made a will and left it with them. Everything depended upon what he had done ; if he had taken these precautions Corbyn Court was of course lost to Philip, if he had not she might preserve it for him. Both Mrs. Clitheroe and her son talked more than usual that evening, for both were anxious to conceal the fact that they were preoccupied, and it was a relief to them when the hour for going to bed arrived. " It is no use bothering about it," Philip said angrily to himself when he was alone, " I am a fool to worry. Ferris seems to have no doubt that it is all right, and if it isn't I should not fret myself about it, so why should I bother now. I will not let myself think any more of it until I hear from him the result of his inquiries. I think I will run up to town for three or four days ; I suppose it would not be the right thing for me to go into the club for another week or so, and I should mope to death if 1 had to stay here doing nothing till then." Philip adhered to his resolution not to allow his thoughts to dwell any more upon the discovery made that afternoon, and accordingly he was sound asleep in half an hour. His mother sat for hours before the fire in her bedroom, and when she at last got into bed there was no sleep for her until daylight began to break. Then her mind was thorough- ly made up. " I will do it," she said grimly. " Philip shall not be defrauded of his rights, and no peasant^ f'vand-daughter shall reign in the old House of the Corbyns, if I can prevent it." The next morning at breakfast Philip, with some doubt as to how his mother would receive the proposition, said that he had been thinking of running up to London for a few days. " I can't very well go down to the club or meet people just at present, mother, everyone would think it their duty to talk about uncle's death, and I would rather get out of it for the present if," he added, "you will not find it very dull by yourself here." He was pleased at receiving a cordial assent to his pro- posal from Mrs. Clitheroe. " I think it is a very good idea, Philip, it will make a change for you, and on your return you can go straight . « ■*■■ '"•fs^fS A HIDDEN FOE. 33 5 marriage. left it with id done ; if as of course : it for him. than usual the fact that them when d angrily to Drry. Ferris 1 if it isn't I bother now. I hear from run up to i not be the her week or here doing his thoughts t afternoon, 1 hour. His droom, and leep for her Ls thorough- hall not be id-daughter s, if I can some doubt Dsition, said ondon for a back to the Court, and I will join you there. We will stop there for a week or two just to take possession, and then return here till the spring. By the time we come back you will be able to resume your former habits and to hunt again if you like. There is no occasion for a nephew to shut himself up for any long time after the death of an uncle. I shall not find it lonely here. I shall get on very well until your return." *' Then I may as well go up to-day by the express ? " " I think that is the best thing you can do, Philip." Ac- cordingly Philip went up to London by the twelve o'clock train. Tfieet people it their duty get out of it find it very to his pro- will make a go straight 3