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A HIDDEN FOE.

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SEC JND EDITION.

"A Daughter of St. Petfr's"

Ky Janet C. Conger.

(Mrs. Wm. Cox Allbn.)
In Paper CoTer, 80 Cants.

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A HIDDEN FOE.

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

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

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-

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

A HIDDEN FOE.

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

[

A HIDDEN' FOE,

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.

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

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,

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,

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,

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

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,

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

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,

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

((

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

thl
th
se|

in I

lil

\ ■<

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

■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-

yf HIDDEN FOE,

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

A HIDDEN FOE,

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.

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<l

A HIDDEN FOE,

CHAPTER III.

CONSTANCE CORBYN.

It is awkward business, James, a very awkward business,"
Mr. Ferris, sen., said irritably. " I cannot think why men
will make fools of themselves, and then, as a matter of
course, leave it to us to do the unpleasant part of the busi-
ness. I don't agree with you that it is so extremely im-
probable that Corbyn should have married, or that, having
married, he should have gone on concealing it after his
father's death. From what I have seen of the man, I have
always regarded him as an ass, and there is no ass worse
than the man who is puffed up because people of the same
name have lived in the same house some hundreds of
years. It's no credit to him if they have, it simply shows
that they were respectable mediocrities who had not spirit
to join rebellions, or get engaged in plots, or even to run
into extravagances. In my opinion Corbyn was just the
sort of man who would be fool enough to make a secret
marriage, and v/eak enough to be afraid to make an honest
>''.onfession of it, and face the talk of his neighbors after-
Wi rds. Ban ! I would rather have a rogue for a client
tb m such weak creatures as these." He threw down the
pen he had in his hand, and rubbed his head irritably.
" Well, I suppose what you suggest is the best thing to be
done. Either you or Meredith had better go over to St.
Malo and find the girl out, the people she lives with will
be sure to be known."

" I think I had better go myself," the younger man said.
" It will be a very unpleasant business, but I think I could
do it somewhat more sympathetically than Meredith."

" Yes, I suppose you could," Mr. Ferris admitted.
*' Meredith is an excellent clerk, but scarcely a man for
a delicate mission. You see, in the first place you will
have to break the news of her father's death to the girl ;
fortunately it is not likely she can have any very lively

I 1

A HIDDEN FOE.

affection for him, as she seems to have seen him only once
a year ; however, there is never any telling. I have seen
so many instances of women caring for worthless brutes,
that I believe anything is possible with them. Then when
that part of the business is over, you will have to find out
what she really knows about her birth, whether she has
any documents relating to it, any clue that we can follow
up to find out whether Corbyn was married to her mother
or not. As you say young Clitheroe has given you carte
blanche to make any monetary arrangement you think
proper — and I consider him a young fool for doing so —
that part of your business will be easy. Now don't go and
make a fool of yourself, James ; it isn't because young Cli-
theroe is a fool that you should neglect his interest and
allow yourself to be so worked upon by the sight of a girl
in tears as to make arrangements of altogether unneces-
sary liberality. I know what you young fellows are ; you
lose your heads altogether directly you see a young woman
• in the case."

" I will try and keep my head, father."

** Well, well, this is all very annoying j of course, you
will get back as soon as you can, you know how busy we
are at present."

" I know, sir. I will cross to-night to Paris, and go
straight down from there. I won't waste an hour more
than I can help over the business. It is very far from a
pleasant one."

In a pretty little house standing detached, commanding
a view over the town of St. Malo, and the sea beyond,
dwelt M. and Madame Duport; it would perhaps have
been more correct to put the lady first, for there could be
no doubt that she was the moving spirit of the establish-
ment. Madame Duport was a native of Jersey, her father
was a cultivator on a small scale, and having a family out
of all proportion to the extent of his holding, he was glad
to accept the offer of an English visitor to the Island to
take Annette, the eldest of his girls, as a nursv,maid. She
had gone away to England and did not return for fifteen
years, when she came back with what seemed to her family
a little fortune. She had only remained for three years in the
nursery, when her mistress had promoted her to the posi-
tion of her own maid. Annette was prudent and economical,
she was a good needlewoman, and had a genius for dress-

ii^

A HIDDEN FOE.

1 1

'M '

making, and, as she had the reversion of her mistress'
gowns, she had been able to lay by almost every penny of

her earnings. . . , .„ , •

Her mistress had died after a pamful illness, durmg
which Annette had nursed her with untiring devotion.
As the only daugiiter had married the year before, her
master had no further need for her services, but he made
her a present of a hundred pounds, and with this and her
savings of fifteen years she returned to Jersey. Her stay
there was a short one, for she had already been engaged
for three years to Victor Duport, a teacher of French in
London. He and Annette had talked the matter over
reasonably ; they were no longer young and impetuous.
She was thirty, he was twelve years older.

" We must wait a little longer, Victor. My lady is ill,
the doctors say she will never recover. She has been a
very good friend to me, and I will not leave her. It may
not be many months, and I do not suppose I shall be losing
my time, for ] er husband is generous. We have always
agreed that we v.rill go to St. Malo when we are married.
Life will be very dull here. With your earnings and mine
we can buy a pretty house and furnish it in English fashion.
You can give lessons in English, and I will look after the
house and let lodgings to English visitors. We ought to
be able to do very comfortably ; we are sure to let during
the season, for English people like being with some one
who speaks their tongue and understands their ways."

And so a few weeks after Annette's return home, M.
Duport arrived to claim her, and as soon as they were
married the house at St Malo was bought and furnished.

This was seventeen ye rs ago. Madame Duport was now
forty-seven, but her cheeks were still rosy, her eyes bright,
her foot light and active, and her figure trim. She would
have passed any where as ten years younger than her real
age. Except that she had grieved a little because she had
n.^ver been blessed with children, Madame Duport had
scarcely known a care. For fifteen years she had been a
favorite ser\ant, for another seventeen she had been
absolute mistress oi her house, and had been, as she her-
self admitted, 'exceptionally lucky. This good fortune
began within a fortnight of her settling at St. Malo. There
had been no demand at presenr, for M. Duport's services
as a teacher of Enghsh, but he had in accordance with his

A HIDDEN' FOE.

one

wife's instructions decided to go down regularly to meet the
diligences and steamers.

" Do not push yourself forward, Victor, English people
are always suspicious of anyone who thrusts himself upon
them. Stand by and wait. If you see people who have
lost their luggage, or who can only speak a little of the
language, and who seem confused and bewildered, go up to
them and lift your hat and ask if you can be of any use.
There is nothing lost if they want to go to an hotel. Take
them there by all means, and give them all the assistance
you can. You will meet them accidentally a day or two
afterv'ards, they will recognize you and may perhaps by
that time have made up their minds to take lodgings. You
will bring the subject round to that if you speak with them,
and mention that your wife, who has been lady's maid in
an English family, has apartments which would perhaps
suit them. If at your first meeting you find they wish to
go into lodgings at once, the matter will be easy."

The very first day that M. Duport carried out his wife's
instructions, a gentleman and lady landed by the boat.
From their appearance they were evidently English, and
were at once surrounded by touts from the hotels. The
Englishman hesitated and said to the lady in her own
language, ** I suppose, Constance, we must go to an hotel
for a day or two, and we can then look round for lodgings
to suit us."

This was Victor's opportunity. He stepped forward and
raised his hat and said in English, " Pardon me, sir, but
if you intend to go into lodgings, my wife, who has been
lady's maid in an English family, has apartments that might
suit you and madame. It is a detached house with a
pretty garden and a fine view of the sea."

" That sounds just the thing, Constance. What do you
think?"

" Oh, yes," she said eagerly, " it would be so nice being
Vith people who speak English."

" Do you take other lodgers "* " the gentleman asked,
turning to Victor.

" We have only one set of apartments," he replied.

" Well, I suppose we may as well go and see them, but
what shall we do with our luggage ? "

" The house lies at the top of the hill, sir, and is perhaps
rather far for madame to walk, but I will with your per-

It :

i.l

[!■

i t

I ■;

J HTDDEN FOE,

mission call a fiacre which will take her and the luggage
up. If, when you arrive there, you find the rooms will
not suit you, the vehicle will be at my charge.'*

" That is a fair otfer anyhow, Constance, and we had
better accept it."

The lady took her place in the vehicle that Victor
brought up. The luggage, which was heavy, was piled up
in it. M. Duport and the Englishman walked on in front
up the steep streets.

" You speak English very well, monsieur."

" I have had the honor of being a teacher of French in
London for twenty years," M. Duport replied. *' I have
but lately returned, and now teach English to such as may
require it here in my native town."

" I hope that I shall like your place, for I am not good
at French, and my wife talks very little of the language.
We are likely to stay here for some little time, and it will
be a great comfort to her having a woman with her who
speaks English."

Constance Corbyn was delighted with the apartments,
with the garden surrounded by high walls, except on the
side looking seaward, and above all with Annette.

" This is delightful, Algernon," she said, when they were
alone ; " it is almost as good as being in England. How
fortunate we are in finding such a place."

Nor was Madame Duport less pleased. " This is a
stroke of luck indeed, Victor, just at the end of the season
to get lodgers who will stay here for three or four months,
for it is easy to see that they will be here for that time. It
is of course a little strange, but that is not our business,
they agreed to our terms without bargaining, which is all
that concerns us."

" What is there strange, Annette ? '

" Ah, but you men are stupid ; why should an English
gentleman, for it is easy to see that he is - gentleman,
bring his wife to St. Malo to be confined instead of taking
her home to some friends ; there is a mystery in it, Victor,
but it is none the worse for that; where diere is a mystery
there is money to be made."

For two months Algernon Corbyn and his wife lived in
perfect contentment and happiness at " Belle Vue," for so
Madame Duport had named their house. Then came the
event that spoilt Algernon Corbyn's life. A child was

A HIDDEN FOE,

le luggage
rooms will

i we had

at Victor
i piled up
» in front

^rench in
" I have
h as may

»ot good
mguage.
id it will
ler who

'tments,
on the

ey were
How

is is a
season
lonths,
me. It
siness,
is all

nglish

2man,

aking

ictor,

'^stery

ed in

or so

e the

was

born, and a week later its mother laid in the grave. No
one could have been kinder or more attentive than Madame
Duport had been during that terrible time ; she had become
much attached to her lodger, and her death was a real
grief to her.

" She was an angel," she said, wiping her eyes, as she
sat with her husband on the evening after the funeral.
" She was too good for her husband. He is pleasant and
he loved her, but he is like men, he loved himself more.
He is selfish, I am sure of it ; while she thought always
about him, poor angel. Perhaps it is best for her, for she
would have many troubles in store. He would have tired
of her in time. Ah, these men, but they are selfish."

" I am sure, Annette — " M. Duport remonstrated, but
she waived the personal question aside, and he went on.
" But you said the other day that you had changed your
mind, Annette, and that you were convinced now that
they were married."

*' Yes, I am sure of it, though I did not think so at first.
When we were talking together a week before the child
wa,s born, she said something about her marriage to me.
I am sure that she was not lying ; at any rate she believed
that she was married. You will see, Victor, that he will
ask me to take care of the child."

*• Why should he, Annette ? "

" Because married or not married there is a secret in
the affair. He could not take his wife home, or he would
not not have brought her here, and, therefore he will not
know what to do with the child. It will seem to him an
easy way out of his difficulties to leave her here with me.
I would wager anything he will ask me."

" And you will say "

" I shall, of course, say yes ; the child will take up no
room in the house. I shall have a bonne for her, a girl
who will be useful to me also when we have lodgers. The
baby will be no trouble, and no doubt he will offer to pay
well. A selfish man is ready to pay anything to save him-
self trouble. You will see."

Annette's judgment was speedily justified. The bell
rang a few minutes afterwards. She was absent a quarter
of an hour, and when she returned to her husband she
said, " I was right, Victor, he has asked me to take care
of the child at present. He tells me that he married with-

A HIDDEN FOE,

i'-

I .V

out his father's consent, and that he cannot take the child
home during his lifetime. He will pay us one hundred
pounds a year to take care of her. What d^ you think of
that? It is magnificent, and 't may last for years. Oh,
it was a good day when I sent you down to meet the
steamer, Victor. I have told him he must go down to the
Mairie and register the birth of the child. He will do that
early to-morrow, and will leave for Paris directly he has
done it."

" But suppose you never hear of him again, Annette,"
M. Duport said cautiously.

" I have no fear of that, Victor. I do not admire his
character, but he will not do that ; he was fond of the
mother, and he will not desert the child. He will to-
morrow give me half-a-year's payment in advance. He
says he will come over from time to time to see the child,
but I do not think that we shall see him often."

As time went on, and no children were born to Madame
Duport, she came to regard the little girl as her own. She
had been right in her conjecture that its father's visits
would not be frequent, and indeed it was not until Con-
stance was three years old that he again made his appear-
ance at St. Malo. He had particularly requested that she
should be taught English as soon as she could speak, and
the child was already able to prattle with equal facility in
that language and in French. Her father was much
pleased with her appearance and manner, and spent
several days at Belle Vue, where it happened the rooms
were at the time vacant.

After that he had come once a year, and as upon the
occasion of these visits he always came provided with a
store of presents purchased in Paris, not only toys, but
dresses, hats and cloaks, the child came to look forward
eagerly to the visits. When she was ten years old, he told
Madame Duport that he would henceforth double the
allowance he paid if she would take no other lodgers, a
proposal to which she very willingly agreed. He also re-
quested that she should be sent to the best school in the
town, and as she got on, have the advantages of professors
in music and drawing, he undertaking all these expenses.

" He must have come into money," Annette said to her
husband after he had left, " perhaps he has married again
a lady with money. Perhaps his father is dead."

■^i

A HIDDEN FOE.

" Then why should he not have her home ? " M. Duport
asked.

" Because he is a man," Madame Duport said, in a tone
of contempt, " and men hate trouble and talk. Bah ! they
are poor creatures."

This was rather hard upon M. Duport, who certainly
spared no trouble, and who had by this time a clientele
and taught English in several schools, and was dubbed
Professor. He was as fond of the child as was his wife,
and when not engaged was her constant companion in her
walks, and at home when Madame Duport was occupied
v/ith domestic matters. Constance had been but a few
days at school, when she returned flushed and breathless,
for, accustomed to English ways, Annette had not brought
her up rigidly, according to French notions, and when out
with her she would run or walk as she chose, and had
grown up healthy and strong and natural.

" Madame," she burst out, ** I want to know why I am
here instead of being in England with my papa? The girls
have been asking me, and I could not tell them ; and they
looked very disagreeable, as if it was a sin that I should
not know. Why is it ? "

Annette had been dreading this question for some time,
for she knew that it would come sooner or later.

" I can only tell you, Constance, what your father
thought right to tell me. He was married without the
consent of his father. People cannot marry without their
parents' consent in France, but they can in England. Still,
of course, if they do so their fathers can leave all their
money away from them ; so you see your father was
obliged to keep his marriage a secret. No doubt if your
dear mother had lived your father would in time have
taken her home with him and would have gone hand in
hand with her to his father, and would have said, * this is
my wife, you cannot help forgiving me and loving her,*
and indeed no one could have known her without loving
her. But when she died he did not care, I suppose, to
brave his father's anger until you grew older, so that he
could take you back, as he would have done her, and now
you see he is having you educated so thai he can be proud
of you when you go home."

" I don't think I want to go home," Constance said, " I
am very happy here wi^h you and M. Duport. Must I go
if I do not want to ? "

A HIDDEN FOE,

• ;is

" Of course you must f^o with your father when he says
it is time, child, but it will be a sore day for us here."

** But when will it be ? "

** Ah, that I cannot tell you. I should think when you
grow up, or, perhaps, if your grandfather dies, before that."

"If I had a little girl," Constance said, decidedly, " I
should keep her with me. I should not mind what anyone
said."

" Very likely, deary," Annette said, " but you see all
people are not alike, and then things are different in
England."

" I don't think I should like England. The people I see
here in summer look merry and good tempered, but they
dress strangely and wear ugly hats and talk and laugh so
very loud."

" Yes, dear, but then what you see are most of them not
the best sort, only people who come across here for a
week's holiday, and they do not dress like that at home."

" Why should they do it here then ? " Constance asked
indignantly.

" It is a way they have, dear. When they go to the sea-
side or travel, they wear hats and dresses and things they
would not think of wearing in the streets at home. It is
their way."

" Then I think it is a very ugly way, and when I go to
England I shall dress as a lady always. A lady ought to
look like a lady, ought she not, madame ? "

" Well, yes, dear, I suppose she should, and you will find
that most real ladies do so, but as I said, a great many of
these people who you see here are not ladies, not such
ladies as I was accustomed to see in the family where I
lived, anyhow."

" I do not want to go to England, madame, and I shall
tell papa so next time he comes."

" I should not do that," madame said hastily. " Of
course, if he asks you if you are in any hurry to go away
with him you can say no, but he would not be pleased if
he thought that you were set against your own people."

Constance did not answer, but tossed her head and
walked off into the garden.

" Sh** is like her mother in some things," Madame Du-
port said to herself, looking after her. " She is like her
something in face and she has got her smiles and pretty

i. !i

A HIDDEN FOE.

says

ways, and she has an affectionate nature too like her, but
there it ends. She has got a will of her own and is not to
be led as her dear mother was. I don't know where she
gets it from, and that way of hers of tossing back her head
and carrying herself as if she were a little duchess. She
reminds me of him in feature sometimes, but he is weak and
selfish. I always told Victor so ; and she is strong willed
and never thinks of herself. She is just like the girls I
used to see at my lady's ; straightforward and honest and
natural. Anyone could sec that she is English at once by
her walk and her manner, in spite of the French fashion
of her dress. Her father never comes without saying
'make her as English as you can, madame'; and I have
done my best. I heard two English women say the other
day when I was with her down in the market-place : ' Look
at that girl — what a regular English face ; but of course
she is French, for she was chattering away in French to
that woman she is with ; besides she is dressed in French
fashion ; but she is as English as can be in looks, and she
steps out without mincing.'

" They talked quite loud, as is the way with this sort of
people before foreigners, making sure that they cannot un-
derstand their language ; and they looked nicely surprised
when I turned round and said : * Perhaps you are right,
madame, and perhaps you are wrong ' ; and walked on
again without taking any more notice of them. When she
grows up her father will find that he cannot twist her round
his finger like he could her mother. Poor child ! I am
afraid she will have trouble. She is hot and impetuous,
and full of heart. He is cold, and hasn't a heart the size
of a walnut. He is a poor creature although he does pay
well."

In the seven years that had since passed Constance
Corbyn had grown up straight and tall. Her figure was
scarcely formed yet ; far less so than the se of her school-
mates of the same age. Her manner was somewhat quiet,
for although she seldom spoke of it now, she thought a
great deal of her singular position, thus brought up in a
foreign land and knowing nothing of her position save that
her father e ^med a wealthy man. She had never spoken
to him on tl .J subject. At first she had been silent because
Annette had told her that it might vex him to ask questions ;
of late years because she was too proud to broach the

A IIIDDEiV rOF,

subject until he did so himself. She was a favorite at
school, but a si)iteful tongue would occasionally bring the
hot blood to her face by some sneering remark as to the
mystery which hung o/er her position.

For her father she felt no love. Such affection as had
been purchased in her childish days by presents had gra-
dually died away, and ? feeling of angry resentment at his
silence had taken its place. There was no sympathy what-
ever between her warm nature and his cool one, but at the
bottom of it all, perhaps, was an unconscious champion-
ship of her dead mother. Annette had never spoken a
word to her against her father, but whenever she spoke cf
her mother there was so much pity and commiseration in
the constantly-uttered " Poor angel," '' Poor lamb," that
it lead Constance to feel that her mother had not been
fairly t';eated by him. There was no real heart in the
labored excuses Annette made for her strange bringing up
abroad. She herself as she grew up had in her intercourse
with her father found out that between his nature and hers
there was scarcely a point of similarity.

However, she was soon to get to the bottom of the mys-
tery. He had on the occasion of his last visit said, " The
next time I come, Constance, I shall probably take you
away with me and present you to your relations in England.
You will be of an age then to take your place at the head
of my establishment. We shall perhaps go for a few months'
tour to give you manners, and set you at your ease. I am
happy to say that you have turned out just as I should
wish you."

" I wonder," the girl said, bitterly, that night as she
stood before her looking-glass, " whether if I had turned
out differently he would ever have had me home at all.
Madame says that though I am thin and not much to look
at now, I shall be pretty presently, and I suppose papa
thinks so too, though I am sure I don't see it. I am not a
bit rosy and round-faced as I used to be. Still he thinks
so, and thinks I shall look well at the head of his establish-
ment, and so he's going to place me there. If I had been
squat and ugly I expect I should have stayed this side of
the water all my life, and he would have given me a dot to
get a husband in St. Malo. I would not go if it was not
for mother. If he acknowledges me he must acknowledge
her, which he never had courage enough to do while she
was alive,"

A HIDDEN FOE.

)rite at
ng the
to the

A year had passed since then, and Annette's predictions
had been fulfilled. Constance Corbyn was not what is
usually call'-;d a beauty, but her face, with its broad, smooth
forehead, r>oft earnest eyes, and tender mouth, strength-
ened by the firm and somewhat square chin, was one that
most men would look at twice. Her figure was still slen-
der, and over rather than under the middle height. There
was a certain air of pride in the carriage of the head and
figure, an unconscious protest against those who had tried
to humiliate her.

One day at twelve o'clock just as breakfast was over, the
servant came in and said that .an English gentleman wished
to speak with M. Duport. She brought in a card.

" Who is it, Victor ? "

" I know not," he replied, glancing at it. " It is a Mr.
James Ferris of Lincoln's inn. That is a place for lawyers.
I will go and see what he wants."

" I have come over, M. Duport," the young man began,
" upon a very painful mission. I may say to begin with
that our firm are solicitors to Mr. Corbyn's family."

M. Duport's attitude at once changed. He eyed his
visitor sharply with a look of suspicious scrutiny.

" Do I understand," he said, " that you have come to
speak on business connected with Mr. Corbyn ? "

" That is so, M. Duport."

** In that case, monsieur, I shall with your permission
request Madame Duport to be present. She has a clear
head, and I should wish her to hear any communication
that you have to make."

" I shall be glad to have the advantage of Madame Du-
port's presence," Mr. James Ferris said politely.

M. Duport went to the door. " Annette," he cried, and
then as his wife came out from the salle, " This gentleman
has business with you also."

Somewhat surprised, Madame Duport followed her hus-
band into the sitting-room. James Ferris rose and bowed.

" This gentleman, Annette, belongs to the firm who
manage the business affairs of Mongieur Corbyn."

Annette's face changed as rapidly as that of her hus-
band had done. So at last she was going to hear some-
thing. But why send over a lawyer ? And she, too, looked
suspiciously at James Ferris.

" In the first place, madame," he said, " I have a com-
munication to make which will doubtless be painful to you

r i|

4i J HIDDEN FOB,

and still more so to the young lady residing with you."

Annette gave him no assistance, but kept her eyes with
a steady enquiring look upon his face, while her lingers
played with her dress impatiently.

"Our client, Mr. Algernon Corbyn," he went on, "was
a few days since thrown from his vehicle and killed upou
the spot."

A low *' A h " came from Annette's half-closed lips,

while M. Duport uttered an exclamation betokening at
once surprise and regret.

" I thought it best," James Ferris went on, " to acquaint
you,.in the nrst place, with this in order that you might
break the sad intelligence to his daughter. It would come
much better from you than it would from a stranger."

"Apres?" Annette said, still sitting immovable.

"The next part of my duty," James Ferris went on,
wishing from the bottom of his heart that he had not
volunteered to undertake this unpleasant business, " will
be to ask you some questions if you will be good enough
to answer them. In the course of some investigations into
the papers of the late Mr. Corbyn by his nephew and my-
self, we came upon some letters from which we learned the
fact, altogether unsuspected by us, that Mr. Corbyn had
left a daughter, and that she had been brought up in your
charge. Beyond the fact of her existence and age, we
learned nothing, and as the solicitor of the family, I, there-
fore, deemed it my duty to come over to obtain such
information concerning her as you could afford me. I
may say that Mr. Corbyn has died without, so far as we
know, leaving a will."

A heavy cloud was gathering on Madame Duport's face ;
her brows nearly met across her forehead ; there was an
angry sparkle in her eye and an added color to her cheek.
M. Duport, who was not unfamiliar with these symptoms,
discreetly held his tongue.

" What sort of information to you require ? " she asked
slowly.

" Any information that you can give me, madame. You
see we are entirely in the dark, we have simply the letters
of the young lady herself to her father. What we require
is of course information such as will enable us to place this
ycu.ig lady in possession of her rights as soon as we ascer-
tain what those rights are. I may say that when the proofs

"-t*.

/f HIDDEN FOR.

♦»

forthcoming

ire will he no opposition whatever on the
part of Mr. Corbyn's nephew, Mr. Cliihcroc, who has been
brouglU up to regard himself as Mr. Corbyn's natural heir.
I can assure you that my visit is a friendly one, and that
you will be wrong to regard me as hostile. As the solici-
tor to the family my duty is simply to see that the person
entitled to the property, whoever he or she may be, shall
obtain legal possession of it. My first question then is,
have you or she, the young lady, any documents belonging
to Mr. Corbyn in your possession ? "

" Tais-toi^ Victor," Madame Duport said sharply, as she
saw her husband prepare to speak.

" It seems to me, monsieur, that it will not be wise for
us to entrust such documents as we may have concerning
a matter so vital as llie future of our child Constance — for
she has been as our child from the day she was born — to a
stranger. I ask you should we not rather place them in the
hands of a lawyer here, and instruct him to take the legal
steps to place Constance in the possession of her rights."

"Undoubtedly, madamc, you c; ii take that step ; and I
can only repeat that my instructions from Mr. Clitheroe
are to make no opposition whatever, as soon as I am fur-
nished with legal proof that this young lady is the daugh-
ter of Mr. Corbyn and his wife," and James Ferris laid an
accent on the last word.

" Do you venture to say that Mr. Corbyn was not
married to that angel who died here? "

" Not at all, madame ; I say nothing, for I know nothing.
I only know that this young lady wrote for years to Mr.
Corbyn ds his daughter. We do not know as much as the
name of her mother, nor — except from the fact that she is
not mentioned in her daughter's letters — do we know of
her death. I may tell you that the documents that will be
required are, in the first place, proof of the marriage of
Algernon Corbyn with this lady ; and, in the second, proof
that this young lady in your care is the daughter of Mr.
and Mrs. Corbyn, born after their marriage."

" The latter you can find for yourself," Madame Duport
said. " At the Mairie there is the register of the birth of
the child. It is stated there that she is the child of Mr.
Corbyn and his wife Constance ; and that statement is
testified to by Mr. Corbyn himself. I can prove that I
took the child from her dead motliQJc's side, and that I have

4«

A HIDDEN FOE,

brought her up ever since. What mere proof do you
require than that ? Mr. Corbyn acknowledged it as the
child of himself and his wife."

" That is excellent as far as it goes, madamt, but such
statement would not be received by the law of our country
as proof of the marriage. You see the poor iady hid passed
here as Mrs. Corbyn, and Mr. Corbyn after her death, both
for her sake and that of the child whom he had arranged
should stay here, would naturally register the child as born
in wedlock. Still of course it goes for something, and now
all we have to look for is the certificate of marriage. It
is probable that a copy of such certificate would be among
any papers Mr. Corbyn may have left in your or his
daughter's hands ; if not it could be obtained by searching
the register of the church at which they were married."

" I am sure they were married," Annette burst out pas-
sionately. " She spoke to me once of her marriage, and
I am sure that she was speaking the truth. I would as
soon doubt the saints of heavens as doubt her word."

" Did she say where, Madame Duport ? " James Ferris,
who was by this time convinced that Annette Duport
had no documents in her possession, asked. Madame
Duport was silent. " Did she speak," he went on, ** of it
as taking place at the sea-side or in London or in some
quiet country church ? You see if we 1 ave any clue we can
fcPow it up. An advertisement offerinj^ a reward will often
produce evidence of this kind if one has but a clue to the
locaHty." Madame Duport still eAt silent. "Any infor-
mation you can give may be of importance, and you will
be injuring, instead of benefiting, the young lady by with-
holding anything you can tell me. I can assure you I have
her interest at heart as much as tnat of Mr. Clitheroe, and
T need hardly say that we have better means of following
a clue than any lawyer here could have."

'• No," Madame Duport said at last. *' I can remember
nothing of the sort you mention. She spoke of her marriage
casually several times. She said once, I remember, that she
left England the day after she was married." •

*' That is something at least, madame, it shows that the
marriage took place in England. That is something, and
do you know what her name was before she was married? "

'\ You will find that on the register of the child's birth.
I did not take much notice, and only signed as being pre-
sent at the birth, but you will certainly find it there."

A HIDDEN FOE,

" Perhaps the young lady herself may know more when
you have broken to her the news of her father's death.
Will you ask her if in his talk with her he ever menlioned
where his murriage took place, or told heranyhing about
her mother. T v/ill go down now and take c. copy of the
register of bcr birth. I shall if possible r':Lurn to England
to-morrow, md will come up in the n:orning to learn whe-
ther you have obtained any information from the young
lady upon the subject.'

" I do not think her father ever spoke to her about her
mother, monsieur ; he was a hard selfish man and cared
only for his own comfort. To me he always said that he
was waiting for his father's death to acknowledge the child.
Is his father alive ? "

" He is not, madame ; he died some ten years ago."

" Bui this man was a scelerat and infame," Madame
Duport said passionately; "he was a poltroon; he had
no love for his child, nc real love, mind you — if he had
would he not have made a will even if he had been so Idche
that he dared not take her home and acknowledge her.
What can you say for this man, monsieur? "

Mr. Ferris did not feci called upon to defend his dead
client. " I fear that what you say is true, madame ; he has
"certainly acted a very dirty part. If the child is legitimate
he ought to have acknowledged her; if not, ti>e least he
could have done would be to have made an ample provision
for her in case anything happened to himself."

" He said he was going to acknowledge her," Madame
Duport said. " The last time he was here he told her that
he should take her away the next time he came, to be the
mistress of his house."

" Did he say so before you, madame ? " James Ferris
asked quickly, " or was it only said to her ? "

" It was said to her," Madame Duport replied, " when
they were in the garden together the last evening. She told
me after he had gone next day."

" That is unfortunate ; it would have been a material
piece of evidence if he had said to her in your presence
that he intended lo take her home shortly and instal her
at the head of his house. Not absolutely conclusive, but
still a valuable piece of evidence. And now I do not know
that I have any more to say to-day. Please find out as

I il

^/ HIDDEN FOE.

much as you caw lor me before to-morrow, as to what she
knows of her mother."
So saying James Ferris took his leave.

m. \<.

it!

what she

A HIDDEN FOE.

S«

CHAPTER iV.

As soon as tha door had closed behind the young lawyer,
Madame Duport burst into tears, and was sobbing hysteri-
cally, when her husband returned after seeing James Ferris
out into the road.

" Why should you cry, Annette ? " he asked, after in vain
attempting to soothe her, " it does not seem to me so very
bad, the young man spoke kindly, and has evidently a good
heart."

" Of what good is a good heart ? " Annette asked scorn-
fully. " It has all happened just as I always feared. I
believe in the marriage ; you believe in the marriage
because I do, but what does that amount to? Nothing.
Of course this young man spoke smoothly, it is part of his
business, why should he not, it cost him nothing. I believe,
but what la the good of my belief? in law it goes for next
to nothing, it would not weigh a feather in the balance,"
and she blew an imaginary feather from the palm of her
hand. " What is the word of a woman against all these
circumstances, this long concealment, the fact that he did
not even trouble to make a will to save this child from the
workhouse ! Oh, these men, they are wretches ; and this
man — you know what I always thought of him. I wish I
had known the last time he was here. I would have beaten
him. I would have knocked off and trod upon that hat
that was always so glossy. I would have shaken him by
that cravat that was always tied so carefully. I would
have let him know that it is not enough to be rich if you
are also selfish and heartless."

" But he is dead, Annette, it is not right so to speak."

" It is well for him that he is dead," Madame Duport
said savagely. " If I had kno'', n it when he was alive I
would have myself crossed to r^ngland, and would have met
him in the streets and told him before all what he was.
Had I but known that his father was dead, I would not
have waited an hour, I would have forced him to do justice

A niDDEiV FOE,

X I

to his child— but there, I am forgetting, I have to go to
her and tell her."

" You will not speak ill of him before her," M. Duport
said, laying his hand on \\\z wife's nrm.

" What do you think of me, Victor Duport ? Do you
think I would say one word to hurt her? It will be hard;
I shall have to clench my hands and bite my tongue when
I hear her cry for the sceicj-at. I shall feel like a martyr
at the stake, but when I tell her all I shall say no word
of blame. Her misfortunes are hard enough for her
to bear. I shall remind her that he was coming across to
do justice to her in a few days, and that it was only death
that stepped in to prevent it. I shall tremble all over
when I say these things, but I shall say Ihem. Now, it is
long past your time to be going. You must invent some
excuse as you go down the hill, for you have missed one
of your lessons. Take your hat, make haste, and go."

"What is it, Annette?" Constance Corbyn asked as
she caught sight of Madame Duport's face as she entered
the room. " You have bad news of some sort. I felt that
it was so before I saw you. I was sure that this long talk
with this English lawyer has been something painful. Do
not be afraid of telling me, I have felt for years that there
was some secret concerning me that would come to light
some day. It has all been so strange and unnatural."

"There is nothing unnatural about this, my child. It
is the most natural of all things, though sometimes it
comes to us, as it comes now, very suddenly. Your father
has met with a bad accident, he was terribly injured," and
she paused.

" He is dead ! "

" Yes, my lamb, God has willed it so. You are an
orphan nov/^ indeed."

The girl turned pale, her lips quivered.

*' It seems to me that I have been that always ; but, no,
it is ungrateful to say so, Annette. You and Monsieur
Duport have been my real parents. You have always been
good to me," and she threw her arms round Annette's neck,
and burst into tears.

Madame Duport allowed her to cry without check,
stroking her hair and tenderly patting her shoulder.

"Now, ma chire, sit down and let us talk over this
terrible loss you have suffered."

I ■

A HIDDEN FOE.

ro to

iport

" I am not a hypocrite, Annette, I have not been crying
over ray father's death, I have been crying because I
am shaken. Why should I cry, when he never loved
me, not one bit ? He was kind when hw came here
— as he would have been to a dog or a plaything — but
that is not love. Do you think he would have left
me here all these years if he had really loved aie ? Do
you think I do not know, when I have thought it over so
oftv 1 and often, that my existence was a burden to him ?
It was a reminder of what he would have been glad to
forget ; it was an obstacle to a fresh marriage. I am sorry
for his death, but not sorry as I should be for a real
father. What else is there to tell, Annette ? It cannot
have taken all this time merely to tell you that he was
dead. Are they going to take me away ? " she asked, in a
quicker voice and with a look of terror in her eyes. " You
would not let them do that. No one but my father can
have a right to take me away from you."

" No, no, my child : there is no talk of that, no word
has been said about it. The talk was," and she hesitated,
"was about legal matters connected with your father's
marriage."

'' Let me hear all about it," the girl said, quietly. '*I
must know sooner or later, so it is better that I should
hear at once."

" Well, dearie, this is how it is. Of course, no one but
your father knew about your existence, but when this
gentleman, who came here, and your father's nephew were
searching among his papers for a will, they came upon a
packet of your letters. So Mr. Ferris came over here to
learn all particulars necessary for you to get the estates ;
and, of course, in the first place, they want to know
whether your father and mother were married. They
thought, perhaps, that you or I might have some docu-
ments connected with it. We have only to find that out
for you to come into the estates without any trouble."

Constance sat for some minutes without speaking. '* If
they do not find out where they were married, what then ? "

" Oh, but we shall find out," Annette said confidently,
" there is no doubt we shall find out, although it may take
some time and trouble."

" But if we cannot find out ? " the girl persisted.

' \

\> si

A HIDDEN FOE.

find out," Annette
the next heir will

admitted
take the

i *

l»

"Well, if we cannot
reluctantly, "I suppose
property."

" I am not thinking of the property," Constance said.
"Would they say, if we could not find out where this
marriage took place, that my mother was never married,
that she was bad woman ? "

" I am afraid that that is what they would say, my
dear."

" They shall never say so, Annette, never. If I have to
go to every church in England I will never rest till I find
the proof of the marriage. I do not want the property, they
are welcome to it, but I will not have shame thrown on my
dead mother's name. You have told me how good she
was. When I asked you, when they whispered lies at
school, if she had told you that she was married ; you
said that she had told you so, and that you were sure it was
true."

" That is quite true, child. I have always felt as certain
as if I had had the proof in my hand that your mother was
married."

" Then we will prove it. You will help me ? " and she
paused. " I will do it if I have to beg my bread all through
England."

" We shall succeed somehow," Annette said soothingly.
" There are other ways of us finding it. This lawyer has
been speaking of them ; he says that if we get a clue as to
the part of England in which the marriage took place, it
would not be difficult to trace it. Besides we could adver-
tise, offer a reward ; I know that marriages are often found
out in that way. He asked me if your mother had ever
spoken to me of the place at which she was married, or
said whether it was in town or in the country or by the
sea-side ; but she never did. Then he asked me to ask
you if your father had ever said anything to you that
would in any way afford a clue."

Constance shook her head decidedly. " He never spoke
to me of my mother, never once ; it was as if he was
ashamed of her or perhaps ashamed of himself. This
lawyer^s he friendly, is he to be trusted, Joes he come
as a friend or enemy, do you tliink ? "

" 1 think he is to be trusted," Madame Duport replied;
" he said that his firm are the family lawyers, and only

A HIDDEN FOE.

wanted to find out who was the legal heir of the property,
and he said that the nephew who was with him when your
letters were found would offer no opposition whatever if
the legal procf of your being th« rightful heir were ob-
tained."

" There is not much generosity in that, Annette."

" Well, I don't know, my dear ; T have heard that law
is very expensive in England, anri that rich people can go
from courtnto court and run up expenses till they weary
out poor suitors and force them to come to their tei ns. So
perhaps there is more generosity in what he said than you
think."

" Is this lawyer coming again ? "

" He is coming to-morrow morning to hear whether you
know anything that will help us."

" I will see him myself, Annette. You see we cannot be
too careful. If I did know anything I would not tell till I
felt sure of him, for he might carry the news to those inter-
ested in preventing our search from succeeding. Now do
you go about your work, Annette, and leave me to think."

In the dusk of the evening Monsieur Duport came back.
"How is she, and how does she bear it? " he asked as he
ran into the little salon where his wife was laying the things
for dinner.

" She bears it well, Victor."

"Have you told her?"

" Yes, she knows that unless the marriage can be proved
she will lose everything. She has been sitting by herself
for the last two hours in the next room. She said she
wanted to think, and I thought it better to leave her to
herself. Let us go in now. You see I have finished."

" Ah, my pauvre Mignonne," he said as the girl ran for-
ward when he entered and threw her arms round his neck,
" crying by yourself in the firelight. You must not cry,
dear. You have us, you know."

" I have not been crying long," she replied. " I have
been trying because suddenly I remembered how ungrate-
ful and selfish I was, how different from Annette. Till then
I had only thought how this affected me. I never thought
how it would affect you both. Of course, it will make such
a difference to you."

" Pooh, pooh, little one, we shall do very well. I have
ixiany pupils for my teaching, and we have money saved

\\\-

A HIDDEN FOE.

up, and if needs be we can let our rooms again. The
thought never entered our heads, did it, wife ? "

•* Not once, Victor," Annette reph'ed. ** Why we have
the house and your earnings and near twenty-five thousand
francs laid by. We arc rich people, child. You have been
a daughter to us, and we no more want to be paid for
keeping you than we should if you had been our own. I
never heard of such folly. Now I cannot have you crying
again. Dinner will be ready in five minutes, and you have
just time to run upstairs and dry your wet cheeks and
smooth your hair.''

The next morning James Ferris was ushered into the
room in which Madame Duport and Constance were sitting.
" This is Miss Corbyr, Mr. Ferris. She said that she should
piefer seeing you herself."

James Ferris saw before him a slight, young figure dressed
in plain black, and a fair, young face with large, earnest
eyes that seemed to be reading him through and through.
" It is a beastly shame," he thought to himself as he bowed,
" the girl might be a young princess." Constance com-
menced the convc.Siition.

" Madame Duport has been telling me that it is neces-
sary that we should obtain the proofs of my mother's
marriage."

"Yes," James Ferris replied, trying to treat the thing
from a strictly business point of view, *' that is the usual
course in these cases."

" Madame Duport has also been telling me that you
wish to know whether my father had, in his conversations
with me, ever said anything that would serve as a clue to
the church in which he was married to my mother. No,
he never spoke of her during any of the yearly visits he
paid me. I suppc^se he was ^shamed to do so."

"And well he might be," Jaiuos Perris muttered to him-
self ; but he only said aloud, " No? That '^ of course rs.
little unfortunate, and we must ^et about the matter in some
other way."

" In what other \\ay, Mr. Ferris ? "

" Well," James said airily, " we must begin by adver-
tising. You see clerks in churches keep on the look-out
for advertisements of this bort ; and when they see them
they search the regif:ters."

" But supposing that even this doee not succeed, Mr.
Ferris ? "

.fi^r

A HIDDEN FOE.

gain. The

" Well in that case," he said doubtfully, " we must try
— we must try other measures."

" For example ? "

'* Well, we must ^jidcavor," James Ferris said after a
pause, " to trace where Mr. Corbyn was staying at the
time when this marriage took place. I have ascertained
your mother's maiden name and shall of course endeavor
to find out where she came from, and gain information
there. At any rate I can assure you, Miss Corbyn, that
my father and I will leave no stone unturned to get at the
bottom of the matter."

" You believe that there was a marriage ? "

James Ferris was taken aback at the question. Cer-
tainly he had not believed that there had been a marriage
— in fact his conviction liad been very strong the other way,
and nothing that he had discovered at St. Malo had
occurred to shake it. He paused before answering.

" Excuse me, Miss Corbyn, but it is not the business of
us lawyers to believe anything or to to take anything for
granted ; it is simply to establish things by legal proofs."

" But you have an opinion or belief, Mr. Ferris."

" I have nothing whatever upon which to found an
opinion, Miss Corbyn. You must remember that all I
know of the matter is that I find your letters in which you
call Mr. Corbyn father. I have Madame Duport's assur-
ance that your mother told her that she was married, and
that she firmly believes it. I have your father's statement
to the same effect in the oflicial register of your birth, bu*-
I am bound to say that this does not weigh with me ir
slightest. Any man under the same circumstances wouiu
make the same declaration. Madame Duport's assertion,
and her belief that your mother spoke the truth, is in fact
the sole evidence, if I may call it evidence, that we have at
present in favor of the marriage having taken place. Now,
you must remember that I am a stranger to the circum-
stances. Had I known your mother, doubtless I should
have formed an opinion from my knowledge of her, one
way or other ; as it is I have nothing whatever to go upon
excepting knowledge of human nature in general, and to a
certain extent of that of Mr. Corbyn in paruicular."

" You will excuse my pressing you, Mr. Ferris," Con-
stance said quietly, " but it seems to me that it is essential
in a case like this when there must be a long search, that

5S A HIDDEN FOE,

thoie who make it should be quite convinced that they
have right on their side, otherwise they would soon aban-
don it. Will you kindly tell me then what your knowledge
of human nature in general, and that of ray father in par-
ticular, as you say, leads you to think."

" If you wish me to speak frankly, I will, Miss Corbyn.
Taking the circumstances into consideration, and the
silence and secrecy which enveloped the whole transac tion,
I should have said that probabilities were vastly in tk/or
of there having been no marriage. Taking this case spe-
cially into consideration with reference to Mr. Corbyn's
character — you wish me to speak frankly ? " She bent
her head. "I should say that two of the traits of Mr.
Corbyn's character, a certain pride of family and regard
for his own ease and comfort, tell both ways. They would
in the first case certainly tell against a private marriage,
and the trials and consequences it would entail. Upon
the other hand, they would influence him did he once make
such a marriage to keep it concealed as long as possible in
order to avoid a scandal and talk that would arise when it
became known.

" Now as to this search you speak of, I wish again to speak
perfectly frankly. We are, as I have told you, solicitors
to the family, and the connection has lasted nearly a hun-
dred years. When I made the discovery of your letters 1
was with Mr. Clitheroe, who up to that time was regarded
as the undoubted heir to the estate. It was at his wish
that I determined at once to investigate the matter, and
that in a friendly rather than a hostile spirit. So far I have
failed to discover any legal proof whatever of a marriage
having taken place. Had I done so it would have been
my own wish, as well as that of Mr. Clitheroe, to use my
best endeavors to place you in the position to which you
would be entitled. Unhappily I have not done so, and
therefore you see our firm, that is to say, my father and
myself, for I am a very junior partner in it, must naturally
revert to our position as solicitors to Mr. Clitheroe.

" I have been thinking over the matter ever since I was
here yesterday, and it does not seem to me that we can
possibly act on behalf of what I may call antagonistic in-
terests. Not that Mr. Clitheroe regards you as an anta-
gonist, or that you would, if you knew him, so regard him,
but your interests are nevertheless antagonistic, and there-

A HIDDEN FOE.

fore it would be better for you to place yourself in the
hands of someone who would be perfectly free to act. If,
as is probable, you have no legal acquaintances in London,
I shall be happy to introduce you to a friend of mine in
whom you could, I am sure, place implicit confidence.
He is not like myself a solicitor but a barrister, and as he
has as yet little professional work, he would be able to
devote more of his personal time to the matter than would
be possible in the case of very busy men like my father
and myself.

" There is one thing more which it is my duty to say,
and this, now that I have seen you, is the most delicate
part of my mission. Mr. Clitheroe desired me to assure
you that, in any case, he should wish to carry out what
would, of course, have been Mr. Corbyn's intention, had
he not been accidentally cut off without making a will.
He has, therefore, commissioned me to say that such ar-
rangements shall be made for your future as would natu-
rally have been made by Mr. Corbyn had he made a will.
One moment," he said, holding up his hand as he saw by
the girl's face that she was about to utter an indignant re-
fusal, " pray do not reply to this proposal at present. All
this has come upon you as a terrible shock, and I can well
understand that your impulse is to refuse to accept what
you regard as rightfully yours at the hands of one who is,
as you consider, a usurper of your inheritance. But in
time, perhaps, other thoughts may prevail. Mr. Clitheroe
is not, at any rate, a willing usurper. He is a high-minded
and noble young fellow, and would not for an instant
occupy a position that was not legally his.

" As matters stand he has no choice but to enter upon
possession of the estates until proof is adduced that he is
not the rightful owner. The estates are entailed, which is
a term meaning that they pass to the next heir, and cannot
be left by a will, or alienated. In most cases entailed
estates pass only to male heirs, but this is an exception.
At Mr. Corbyn's death they would, if he left no children,
pass to the next heir whoever he or she might be, and he
has no power whatever to divert the succession. Thus
whatever his own convictions might be as to your rights
he has no power whatever to carry those convictions into
effect, and must wait until such legal proof is forthcoming
as will establish your claim to the possession of the ettates.

A HIDDEN FOE.

ft!'

I say this so that you should not regard him as a personal
rival. Failing proof to the contrary, ihc law places him
in possession of the estate as it would place you there if
you established your rights. You must remember he has
all his life been brought up to regard himself as the un-
questioned heir to this property, and 1 am (juite sure, Miss
Corbyn, that if you establish yourself to be so you will
feel as kindly and generously disposed towards him as he
does at the present moment towards you."

" Thank you, sir," Constance said quietly, when he had
finished. *' Yes, I had not seen it before in the light that
you now put it. I am sorry for this gentleman, and be-
lieve me that were it a matter of the estates alone, you
would hear no more of me. I am very happy and con-
tented in the love and care of those who have given me
the only love and care I have ever received. I have not the
slightest wish to leave them to go among strangers, or to
find myself posses.sed of estates, but I have the honor and
the memory of iny dead mother to clear, and please God
I will do so however long it may take me. It will be time
enough when I acknowledge that I have lost all hope of
success to speak about Mr. Clitheroe's offer. As to your
own, I accept it thankfully ; will you kindly give me the
name and address of the gentleman you speak of, and will
you mention my case to him in order that when I call
upon him he may be ready to take it up ? "

James Ferris took out his card case, wrote a name and
address under his own, handed the card to her and then
rose.

*' Good-bye, Miss Corbyn ; I hope that you will believe
that you have a friend in me, and that any assistance and
advice I can give you, apart from the interest of my client,
will be always at your service. ]\Ionsieur and Madame
Duport, allow me to assure you of my feeling of esteem at
your conduct and kindness towards Miss Corbyn."

As James Ferris walked down the hill to his hotel he
said to himself. " By Jove, if that girl's mother was at all
like her, I don't blame Madame Duport for believing her
when she said she was married. I should have believed
her myself. The girl is as truthful as the day, I would
swear, and slie has any amount of pluck. If I thought
there were anything to be found out, I should feel uncom-
fortable about Philip's chances."

A HIDDEN FOE.

«l

s a personal

places him
you there if
liber he has
f as the un-
;e sure, Miss

so you will
is him as he

vhen he had
he liglit that
Kin, and be-
s alone, you
3y and con-
^e given me
have not the
ingers, or to
e honor and
1 please God
: will be time
t all hope of

As to your
give me the

of, and will
when I call

a name and
ler and then

will believe
sistance and
of my client,
nd Madame
of esteem at
3yn."

his hotel he
er was at all
relieving her
ive believed

ay,

I would

If I thought
feel unconi-

" But you were magnifigue, Constance," Annette Du-
port exclaimed, throwing her arms round the girl when
the door closed upon Jaines Ferris, " who could have
thought it of you ; and I, who have regarded you as a
child. It was grand, Victor, was it not," as her husband
returned from seeing their visitor out; " this child of ours
was noble : pauvre petite.^'

" I kiss her hand," the little Frenchman said, suiting
the action to the word.

'* Then it is very foolish of you, Monsieur Duport," the
girl said, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes, when you
can kiss my face whenever you have a mind to." Then
she went on more gravely, " but it is a hard task that I
have undertaken, and I do not yet see my way, and I
shall have to leave you," and tears sprang into her
eyes.

It was not often that Madame Duport consulted her
husband before making a decision, but this time she did so
by a look. He nodded, and she said, " You do not think,
ma mignonne^ that Victor and I are going to let you go to
England to wander about by yourself; it would be ridicu-
lous, it would be improper, it would be impossible. Young
ladies can do things there that they cannot do here, but
this could not be. I shall, of course, accompany you to
England. Victor must re .lain here and teach, and Jeanne
will look after him while 1 am away. Why you would be
lost in London by yourself; you would be robbed; you
would be a child in their hands ; how could you get on by
yourself; how are you going to live, think you, in this
England ; and the lawyers, do you suppose that they are
going to work for nothing ? "

" No, Annette, I cannot let you. You are too good,"
Constance said, her tears flowing freely now. '' I could
not have such a sacrifice."

'• Tais toi, petite imbecile,^* Annette said, pinching her
cheek, " it must be as I say."

" But indeed, I should do very well," the girl urged fal-
teringly. " I have thought it all over. I have my watch
and other things to sell, and I thought I might be able to
get some pupils to teach French and music to for four or
five hours a day, which would leave me time to go about
to the churches and look at the books."

"Ah, you do not know London," Annette said. " It is
huge, a stranger is lost in it. It is a world in itself. There

A HIDDEN FOE,

are thousands of c'uirches ; it would take you years to
make one visit to ea?h : and as for pupils, Victor will tell
you how hard it is to obtain them. He knew scores of his
compatriots ready to teach, but who could scarcely keep
body and soul together on their earnings."

" I had thought about the lawyer's exj: ues," Constance
went on, " but I thought that perhaps it would be arranged
that they should be paid when we have succeeded."

" It must be as Annette wishes," Monsieur Duport
said firmly. " I shall do very well without her for a time.
She will keep the bank ; of what use are our savings if not
to help our child ? If you succeed you shall pay us back
with great, great interest ; if you do not, what are we the
worse ? You will come back here with her, and you too,
if you like, can then teach English, and music, and danc-
ing, and we shall soon fill up the cash box again. Pooh !
I will have nothing said against it ; it is fixed, it is defi-
nite ; let us talk of other matters. Ah, Jeanne is taking in
breakfast. It is well; I am as hungry as cne hunter:
allons.** And so it was settled, and although Constance
protested, she felt a deep sense of rest and comfort at the
thought that she should have Annette with her, and had
not to set out on this quest alone and friendless.

" Well, James, what success ? " Mr. Ferris asked his
son as he came into the ofiice next morning.

" No success, sir. They have no documents of any
description. Nothing beyond the bare word of ihe mother,
who died in childbed, that she was ever married, except,
of course, the olficial registration of the child's birth, in
which the parents are described as married; but that,
naturally, goes for nothing."

" Nothing whatever, James. Then there is an end to
the business. I suppose that you have made an arrange-
ment for an allowance and settlement ? You did not suffer
yourself and Clitheroe to be imposed upon, I hope? "

" I don't kuow that we have quite heard th- end of it,"
the son said drily. " The young lady intends to under-
take a search for the register of her mother's marriage. As
to an allowance, she will hear nothing on the subject until
she has given up all hope of success."

*• Well, that will not be long," his father said confidently,
"for I consider it is morally certain that no such register
exists ; and in the second place, if it did exist the betting

A HIDDEN FOE.

would be a hundred to one against her finding it — ay, a
thousand to one. What is the girl like, and what are her
surroundings ? "

" She is a lady all over, father ; carries herself well, with
a little of the haughtiness of Mrs. Clitheroe ; only she is
graceful with it, and the old woman is not."

" Mrs. Clitheroe is my junior by ten years, James, you
will please to remember."

" I beg your pardon, father. No one would think of
calling you old; but Mrs. Cliiheroe's stiffness and stateli-
ness have always impressed me with the idea of her being
very far off in point of age, as in everything else. We^,
this girl is very English, 'ii spite of her having beea
brought up abroad, and speaks with the slightest possible
accent. The people that she has been brought up by both
speak English well. This, and I suppose her reading,
accounts for it."

" Is she pretty, James ? " Mr. Ferris ask^d, looking at
his son fixedly. "• I knew it was a mistake sending you
over when there was a girl in question."

" It is a striking is^ct^'^ James said quietly. " In another
year I should say it would be a beautiful one ; it is a face
that is at once tender and resolute."

** Mrs. Clitheroe is resolute enough," Mr. Ferris said
drily, "but the element of tenderne'ii' is absent."

** Very much so," liis son asseiited. " Yes, I should say
equally resolute, but not in the same way. Mrs. Clitheroe
has thin lips, tightly pressed together ; this girl's lips are
full and firm, but I think that there is a similarity in the
squareness of their chins."

" You seem to have watched her pretty closely, James.
I hope you have not been making a fool of yourself in any
way."

" I hope not, sir," the son replied, beginning to open
the pile of letters on his desk. " I think I have follow^.d
my instructions precisely."

'* And you still believe," Mr. Ferris said sharply, " that
there has been no marriage ? "

" Yes, sir," James said, slowly. " I still think that there
has been no marriage."

Among the letters James Ferris opened was one from
Philip Clitheroe, saying that he should be at the Golden
Cross Hotel for the next four days, and would be glad if

I ! I 'I

h .

A HIDDEN FOE.

he would look in when he returned, and tell him any news
he had to give him as to the matter at St. Malo. At lunch
time James Ferris said to his father that he would take a
cab and drive down to see Philip, who would be returning
to Bath the next day.

A HIDDEN FOE.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE TEMPLE.

Philip Clitheroe was in when James Ferris arrived.

" That is right," he said, as the young lawyer entered
the coffee-room, where he was at lunch, " I was afraid you
would not get back before I left. I called at your office
yesterday, and your father told me that you had yourself
gone over to St. Malo. It was awfully good of you. Sit
down and have some lunch, and then you can tell me
about it. There is nobody near enough to overhear us."

" There is not much to tell," Ferris said as he sat
down. " As I anticipated, I found that they had no docu-
ments whatever — nothing that would afford the slightest
clue as to the past."

Philip gave a little sigh of relief. He was willing and
anxious to do everything that was fair and right ; but the
more he thought over it, the more he concluded that the
loss of the inheritance would be a serious matter to him.

"Then is it all over?" he asked. "Did you arrange
that other matter forme — about her allov ■'j>ce, and so
on?"

** Well, no. Of course, I mentioned it ; but naturally,
at present they are not inclined to accept the fact that no
marriage 1 00k place. They have nothing whatever to work
upon, except the word of the mother. She said that she
was married, and they are convinced that she was so. The
daughter believes it passionately, and intends to devote her-
self to the search for the register of marriage. Not so much,
she says, for the sake of the inheritance, but for the honor
of her dead mother. Till she gives up that search as hope-
less, she will accept nothing from you ; and, unless I am
greatly mistaken, Philip, it will be a long time before that
event occurs."

" I am awfully sorry," Philip Clitheroe said, " awfully
sorry. Marriage or no marriage, she is my uncle's daugh-

!■ r

A HIDDEN FOE,

ter, and has a fair right to his unentailed property ; it is
a horribly nasty thing to feel that you are wronging a
woman."

"Well, you cannot call it wronging," James Ferris
remonstrated. " She has no legal rights in the matter." ^

"But she has natural rights, Ferris. We may take it
as certain that however my uncle acted towards her mo-
ther and herself, he would, had he left a will, have provided
for her amply. His sudden death prevented that, and she
must let me set this matter right, or her friends must for her,
which comes to the same thing. What sort of a girl is she ? "
he asked.

" She is a lady, English in appearance ; the people who
brought her up have taken every pains with her ; both
speak English well, the woman, Madame Duport, is a Jersey
woman who has lived a long time in England ; and her
husband was a teacher of French in London and is now a
professor of English. They have had, I fancy, a handsome
allowance with her ; anyhow she has been at a good school.
She carries herself well, and in another year will be remark-
ably good looking, in a quiet style ; she has soft eyes, an
honest, earnest expression, and a resolute mouth. If I
thought there was a register of this marriage in existence
I should say that she is just the woman to find it."

"Confound it," PhiHp said, irritably, "you make one
feel a bigger rogue than one did before. If it had been a
flighty little French woman one would not have minded it so
much, but being a girl such as you describe, it seems hor-
rible. I only want to do what is right, you know, and upon
my word I will help her in any way I can to prove her
rights."

" If she has rights, I do not doubt you would," James
Ferris said. " I can assure you that if I had not been
situated as I am, I should have felt inclined to place
myself at her service, although I am sure that nothing but
disappointment can come of it. Being, of course, in op-
position, as solicitor to the estate, that is out of the ques-
tion. However, as I did not wish her to fall into bad
hands, who would swallow up any little money she may
have, and do nothing, I have recommended her to go to a
friend of mine, Robert Harbut, who will certainly give
her good advice and see at any rate that she is not
swindled."

A HIDDEN FOE.

«7

" I would give a very large share of the property to put
things right," Philip said. " However, as far as I can see
there is nothing to be done at present."

" There is one i)oint upon which you may possibly be
able to give me some information."

''What is it?"

*' The name of the girl's mother was Constance Purcell,
do you know any such name in your part of the country ? "

" No," Philip said, " but it is possible there may be such
a name among the farmers or people within a few miles of
the Court."

" I think that it would be as well for you to make inqui-
vies, Philip. Of course, we do not know that she came
from that part of the country, still it is likely enough, and
if one did but know their position in life, the character she
bore and the reports that were current when ..he went away
some eighteen years ago, it might turn out useful. I should
say that is the point at which they will begin to look for a
clue. At any race that is where I should look myself if I
had the matter in hand."

" I will make a point of doing so," Philip replied. " I
will juat note the name down in my pocket-book, for I never
can remember a name for five minutes. I suppose you
still think I had better keep the matter from my mother ? "

" I do not see that anything is to be gained by telling
her, it would naturally be a great worry to her, and unless
the girl is successful in her search, which, as I have told
you over and over again, I consider to be unlikely in the
extreme, there is no reason why she should ever hear."

" I am glad you think so, Ferris. It is bad enough hav-
ing to bear such a bit of business on one's own shoulder,
but you who know my mother will understand that it would
be still more heavy if she knew it. You know her ideas
about the family, and I do not think she would see this
thing in the same light that I do."

" No, I should think not," young Ferris saiddrii>. " I
should say tliat even when the search is given up, and you
are able to persuade the girl to accept a settlement, the
matter had much better be kept entirely among ourselves."

A week later Constance Corbyn and Madame Duport
arrived in London, and took modest lodgings in Pim-
lico. The first two days after their arrival were devoted
to sight-seeing, Madame Duport taking great pride in her

A HIDDEN FOE.

knowledge of the capital. She took Constance long jour-
neys in omnibuses, her object being chiefly for the girl to
see the magnitude of the task she had undertaken, which,
although she had said no word to discourage her, Madame
Diiport in her secret heart believed to be absolutely hope-
less.

Constance was not discouraged, although she certainly
felt, far more than she had done before, the enormous dif-
ficulties of her search. She had heard of London as a
great city, and knew that it was many times as large as St.
Malo, but until she saw it she had been unable to form
even a remote idea of its immensity.

" It is enormous, it is oppressive, AnneJ:te," she said
when, on the evening of the second day, they returned to
their lodgings, *' that view from the top of St. Paul's made
my heart sink for a minute as I looked at that wilderness
of houses stretching away everywhere as far as I could see,
and the steeples and towers were countless.

" However, the sooner one begins, you know, the sooner
one will get it done. To-morrow morning we will go to
this Mr. Harbut and learn from him what is the best way
of setting about it ; he lives in the Temple. What a funny
name for a street."

" It is not a street, Constance j it is a collection of narrow
lanes, with a big square or two, and all the houses are full
of lawyers."

" It does not seem a pleasant idea," the girl said, with a
little shudder ; " it is something like one reads in the book
of fairy tales of entering a castle full of ogres."

" But yoil did not think Monsieur Ferris an ogre, ma
petite:'

" No, he was nice, and not a bit like the lawyers one
reads of in books."

" I do not suppose Mr. Harbut will be like them either,
for Mr. Ferris spoke of him as a friend and as a young
man. Well, we shall see to-morrow."

" What a curious place," Constance said, as they climbed
to the third floor of a house in Pump Court. " What
curious old stairs, and these black doors with the names
over them. Well, here we are, there is his name and
another name too. Are they partners I wonder ? "

Madame Duport sliook her head, her knowledge of Lon-
don did not extend lo the Temple and its ways.

A HIDDEN FOE.

*' We shall soon see," she said, and taking the knocker
she executed a knock similar to that which she was accus-
tomed to hear on her mistress' door. A lad ,.f about
sixteen, with his hair cut very short, and his eyes opened
in astonishment at the nature of the summons, appeared at
the door. Such a knock had never been heard before on
the third story of Pump Court.

" Mr. Harbut lives here, does he not ? " Madame Duport
said.

" Well, these are his chambers," the boy said. " As to
his living here he may or he may not. I should say that
you had better ask him about that when you see him. I
hardly know myself. You take a fellow's breath away
knocking like that."

" It is the knock a lady always gives," Madame Duport
saic sternly, while Constance, who had herself been startled
at the portentious length and variety of her companion's
knock, could not help smiling.

" Is Mr. Harbut in at present ? " she asked.

" Yes, miss, at least I will see if he is in," the lad said
more respectfully as he looked at her for the first time, his
eyes having before only been on Madame Duport, whom
he recognized as being a foreigner. " What name shall I
say ? "

'' Madame Duport and Miss Corbyn."

" It is curious the boy not knowing whether Mr. Harbut
is in or not," Constance said to Madame Duport as the
lad disappeared down a passage, leaving the door open.
" It seems a small place ; how could it be that he does not
know whether the gentleman is in ? "

" He knows," Madame Duport replied ; " that is his
way of saying that he doesn't know whether Mr. Harbut
will see you or not."

In a moment the lad returned.

" Mr. Harbut will see you ; please to walk in."

His manner was much more respectful than before, but
Constance detected a grin of amusement on his face as he
led the way up the passage and opened a door. It was a
small room uncarpeted, with book shelves all round it, a
large writing table, and two chairs — one of whicu was also
piled with books — besides that on which a gentleman was
seated at the table. Constance looked at him v.ith an
astonishment so great that she paused for a moment at the

! M

li.i

A HIDDEN FOE,

door. He was rather a short man with a large pair of spec-
tacles, through which his eyes seemed to stare out. How
he was dressed or what he was otherwise like Constance
did not at the moment know. Her gaze was rivetted on
his head. Never in her life had she seen such extraordi-
nary hair. To begi'i with, it was almost white j on the
top it seemed to stand straight up, and then th-^re were
four regular s 'fcur^ chr-.' went right round the head. As
he rose il.; s.^ r*^. i> wcr^ t\yo little stiff pigtails down the
back, and a bla k jMii.;: in the very centre of the scalp. A
moment later sh- ■ cice'V-d that this extraordinary head-
gear was a wig, and ihat > . ..as considerably awry. Surely
this m.ust be a madman. No one in his senses could wear
such an astonishing wig. She glanced nervously at Ma-
dame Duport, but saw to her surprise that she was unmoved
at the spectacle.

" I am glad to see you, ladies," he said, in a short and
business-like manner, " pray sit down. Oh, there is no-
where to sit I see, please take this chair," and he pushed
the one on which he had been sitting towards Constance.
" I don't often have two visitors together," he went on.
" Ferris has told me all about your case ; glad to do any-
thing I can to help you. Not very busy, you see, worse
luck, now ; let me hear your ideas," andh tumbling the
books off the third chair with a crash on to the floor, he
again seated himself behind the table, dipped a pen into
the ink and prepared to take notes. *' One rricrii^nt, if
you will excuse me," he said, touching a bell upon the
table. Then the clerk entered and received some orders
as to papers that had to be taken over to a solicitor. The
lad then stepped up to Mr. Harbut and whispered some-
thing in his ear.

" Wig ! " the latter exclaimed in surprise, '' bless me I
had quite forgotten I had it on. I was just going to the
court when you were announced, Madame Duport, and
put my wig on you see, and had just taken up my gown.
I threw that down and forgot all about the wig," and he
removed the article that had excited such surprise in the
mind of Constance Corbyn, and after looking round and
seeing no place available for it, threw it irto the waste
paper basket. He then took off his spectacles and laid
them on the table beside him. Constance now perceived
that this wig formed a portion of * legal outfit, and was

A IlIDDEN FOE,

relieved from the apprel.ension that she had at first entcr-
tr ^das to the siniiy of ilie gentleiiian upon whose advice
si would have sr niucli to depend. He now appeared
to 'ler a your'^, indeed a rather bo} ish, looking i)ersonage,
v^i n short cut but rather wavy hair on his head, and a
siv >oth iace characterized by an expression of fun and
humor.

" Let me see. Yes, this is the outline of the case my
friend, James Ferris, has given me. ' Mr. and Mrs. Cor-
byn arrived at St. Malo in September, 1850, took up abode
at Madame Duport's ; two months' later daughter Con-
stance was born. Registered at Mairie as daughter of Al-
gernon Corbyn and Constance Corby n, nH Constance
Purcell. Mother died a few days after birth of child. M
Corbyn left daughter in charge of Madame Duport ; vs
in the habit of coming over once a year to see her. Made,
allowance for her maintenance and education. Upon no
occasion spoke to her about her mother. Upon the c >
ion of last visit said that he should probably when he next
came take her away and place her at the head of his estab-
lishment. No pai)ers or documents of any kind in the
possession of Madame Duport or Miss Corbyn. Madame
Duport states that in conversation with Constance Corbyn,
senior, that lady alluded to her marriage, and Madame
Duport is convinced that such marriage had taken place.'

" Now those are the notes, Miss Corbyn, that I took
when my friend, James Ferris, told me the story. Now
before you begin I wish to tell you that my position in this
case is irregular. The legal profession of this country is
divided into two parts : the one consists of solicitors, whose
business it is, among other things, to work up cases, inves-
tigate deeds, and so on ; they submit these cases for the
opinion of men belonging to the other branch of the pro-
fession, who are called counsel or barristers. They take
the case as handed to them by the solicitor, get up prece-
dents, and argue the case in court ; they only work, you
see, when set in motion by the solicitors, and it is entirely
op])osed to the etiquette of the profession that they should
be in direct communication with their clients. Thus if 1
am to do anything to help you in this matter, which I can
assure you I desire to do, partly because I feel flattered that
Ferris has had the acumen to select me for the business ;
secondly, because I regard it as an extremely interesting

■:^m.

7»

A HIDDEN FOE.

case ; and in the third place, if you will permit me to say
so, because now that I have the pleasure of seeing you,
Miss Corbyn, I feel that we shall work satisfactorily to-
gether."

" That is French, rather than English, is it not ? " Con-
stance asked, with a little smile.

" Well, yes, 1 suppose it is, Miss Corbyn, but it occurred
to me at the time, and I generally say what I think. The
pith of what I am getting to is this. You see, according
to the rules of \\\y profession, this is not the business that
a barrister can undertake for a client, and therefore if you,
after thinking the matter over, agree to put it in my hands
rather than those of a solicitor, it is absolutely necessary
that you should not stand in the position of a client but of
a friend. Do you understand ?"

" But do you mean, sir," Constance said, after a pause,
"that you are to " — and she hesitated — " receive no pay-
ment for yc'Ur professional services?"

" That is exactly what I mean. Miss Corbyn," Mr. Har-
but replied, briskly. '' You see 1 could not take payment
for such work ; it would be unprofessional altogether. I
might be complained of, disbarred, and suffer all sorts of
hideous penalties for unprofessional conduct."

" I don't see," the girl began, *' that we could anyhow
" and she looked aj^pealingly at Madame Duport.

" But we have funds to meet all expenses, monsieur,"
Annette said ; '' we have come to England prepared to
spend money."

" No doubt, and you will have to spend money, and that
pretty freely, before you have done, madame," Robert
Harbut replied. " You will want every halfpenny you
have got, you can take my word for it. Of course, if you
would rather go to a solicitor and spend on him a good
slice of the money that might be much more usefully spent
in other directions you can do so, but in that case I am
bound to say that I consider the very high opinion that
Ferris expressed to me of Miss Corbyn's good sense will
be by no means justified."

" But I do not see how we could possibly accept such a
service at the hands of a stranger," Constance said, hesi-
tatingly.

'' Well, I shall be disappointed if you do not, Miss
Corbyn. Ferris knows that so far the solicitors of this

A HIDDEN FOE,

metropolis are not impressed as they might be with my
talents, and therefore leave me so severely alone in the
matter of briefs that I have plenty of spare time on my
hands. In tlie second place he knew that I rather pride
myself on seeing further into a stone wall than other people,
and that it would be a matter of great interest and pleasure
to me to aid you in ferreting < it this case. I can assure
you that I have no ulterior views, that I shall neither delude
you into signing a bond in my favor, or shall expect you,
in the event of your recovering your property, to reward
me with your hand, being, in fact, otherwise engaged," and
he broke into a merry laugh, in which Constance joined.

" Well, madame, what do you think ? It seems to me
that it would be foolish to refuse this extremely kind offer
which Mr. Harbut is good enough to make us."

** It is for you to decide, my dear," Annette said, cau-
tiously. " You know I only came over here to take care of
you, it is your expedition altogether."

" Well, then, I accept, sir," Constance said, " and feel
very grateful to you for your kindness."

*' That is settled then. Now let us go straight to business.
You have nothing to add to what Ferris has told me ? "

" Nothing : that is as far as I can see the exact state of
the case."

" Well, I have, of course, been thinking it over since
Ferris told me the story, and perceive that it is a difficult
task that is before us."

" Is it wrong for me to ask what you really think of my
chances, Mr. Harbut?"

" As we are working as friends. Miss Corbyn, you can
ask exactly what you please, and I will answer to the best
of my power. I believe that Ferris told you frankly that
he did not think that there had been a marriage ; in fact,
that he is of opinion that the chances are very strong in-
deed against it. Now I admit at once that as he had the
advantage of some knowledge of Mr. Corbyn's character,
while I only know by what he has told me about it, his
opinion in the matter is of more value than my own ; but
on thinking the matter over in every light I am bound to
say that I regard the chances as far more favorable than
he does, and that I think it more probable than not that
there was a marriage."

Constance gave a little exclamation of thankfulness and
pleasure. It was an intense satisfaction to her that an

■I

/ HIDDEN FOE.

unprejudiced person should see the matter in the same
light that she did, and especially that she should not be
working with one, who, althougli ready to give her every
assistance, regarded the mission upon which she was
engaged as an altogether Utopian one. She was not aware
that James Ferris had said to his friend, *' above all things,
Robert, you must lead the girl to believe tluat you think
her claim to be a just one. If you don't she will never
listen to your advice, and will end by putting herself into
the hands of some shark, who will flatter her uj) with false
hopes and fleece her until her last penny has gone. You
would not dissuade her from her search by throwing cold
water upon it. You would simply throw her into other
hands."

With this Robert Harbut had agreed, but thinking the
case over he found that he could, without straining his
conscience, take that view of the matter. " Of course the
matter turns very much upon Mr. Corbyn's character, and
you will excuse me if I pain you in discussing it freely, but
it is absolutely necessary to do so to get a fair view of the
case."

" I will tell you his character," Madame Duport said.
" All these years that I have taken charge of the child, I
have watched him, for I liked not this position in which he
kept her, although I benefited from it. He was a man who
thought himself to be strong, because he was accustomed
to have his own way, but who at heart was weak. He was
a man who thought of himself and his position more than
he did of his daughter. I think he mea'vt well, but he was
weak and shrank from sacrifice ; he was kind to Constance
when he was with her, but that, I think, was not because
he loved her, but because his visits were more agreeable to
him if she were pleased and gratified than they would have
been otherwise."

'* Yes, that is about the estimate I formed from what
Ferris told me ; an easy-going somewhat selfish man, proud
of his family, and shrinking from anything like a scandal;
especially afraid, I fancy, from what Ferris tells me, of the
opinion of his elder sister, a woman with a sharp tongue
and passionately fond of her only son, who would be
deprived of his position as heir of the Corbyn estates, by
the appearance on the scene of a daughter, born in wed-
lock, of Mr. Corbyn. At the time the alliance — whatever

A HIDDEN FOE,

it was — was formed, Mr. Corby n's n\ther was alive and in
fact survived until MissCorbyn was seven years old. Mr.
Corbyn, senior, was, I hear, a very proud and imperious
man. VVhetiier Mr. Corbyn the younger went through the
ceremony of marriage with your mother would have
depended so greatly upon her character, Miss Corbyn, that
it is impossible for me, not knowing her, to form the slightest
opinion myself as to whether there was a marriage or
otherwise, but the very strong opinion held by Madame
Duport, who had the advantage of knowing her, counts, of
course, for a good deal in the matter.

" At any rate, Mr. Corbyn, junior's, conduct with respect
to you docs not appear to be at all inconsistent with the
fact of his marriage. Up to the time of his father's death
he would put off declaring his marriage for fear of his
father's anger. Hud your mother lived he might have
brought himself to do so in order to place her in her proper
position, but after her death that motive no longer existed.
He would have said to himself that you were well cared
for and happy, and that there was nothing to be gained by
an explanation which would be painful to make. When his
father died it was of course open to him to fetch you home
and proclaim the marriage ; but he was averse to facing
the public talk and scandal, the wrath of his sister and
other unpleasantness, as long as the evil day could be put
off. Before you came of age it was possible — I do not
mean that he had at all counted on that — but it was of
course possible that you might die, and in that case the
necessity for declaring the marriage would be altogether
obviated. But I expect that he argued chiefly that it would
be better and more pleasant to defer the matter until you
were at an age to be presented to society as his heiress, fore-
seeing that your aj earance would go far to make matters
easier for him, and v. ould create a far more favorable im-
pression than if he had presented you as a child or as an
ungrown girl, with nothing in your favor. The fact that he
told you that on his next visit he should take you back and
put you at the head of his establishment, would go far in
support of this view of the case."

" But surely it quite proves it, Mr. Harbut," Constance
broke in, " he could never have placed me at the head of
his establishment if — if he had not been married to my
mother."

7«

A HIDDEN FOE.

" He ce tainly could not have placed you at the head of
Corbyn Court," Mi. Harbut agreed, ** but you see you
knew nothing about Corbyn Court nor about his position,
and he may only have intended to have taken a house
somewhere in London, and established you there, spending
a poidon of his time with you, but still without introducing
you to any of his friends. I do not say for a moment that
this war so. I only bring it forward to show that what he
said is not necessarily conclusive as to his intention to in-
troduce yv/U publicly as his heiress. You see we must
necessarily look at the matter in the light in which or.r
opponents will regard it. Now this is the position. Mr.
Corbyn may or may not have married your mother, that is
a point we have to prove if we can, but there is at any rate
nothing whatever in his conduct to you inconsistent with
the liact that he was so married.

'' Now, having gone so far, we must see what our first
step should bj. Wc have, you see, the maiden name of
your mother. I will suppose that the name given in the
register is the correct one, because as his own name was
given there are no reasons why her's should not also be
correct. Now, the first step is to find who she was, where
her people lived ; whether her parents are still alive, and if
so, whether they were p: des to her marriage witii Mr.
Corbyn, and if not, under what circumstances she left
them ; whether they discovered that she joined Mr. Corbyn
in London or elsewhere ; in fact learn from ihem or from
any surviving relatives, whether there is any clue as to the
locality in which the marriage probably took place. That
once established, we can proceed to address circulars to
the clerks of every church in that locality, offering a reward
for the discovery of the register of the marriage. If that
method fails we shall understand that the clue was a false
one, and we had better follow it up in some fresh direction.
How does that meet your views, Miss Corbyn ? "

" Perfectly, sir, tiiat seems to be the very thing. I feel
sure that we shall succeed. That seems quite straight-
forward and easy, does it iiot, Annette? "

" I think so, my dear. I was leady to stay aw.^y here with
you as long as you like, but I was sure that you could never
do as you talked of and search the books of all the
churches in England, it would take many a lifetime, but
this scenes to give a fair chance of finding out this register
that we so want."

A HIDDEN FOE.

And where is Corbyn Court, Mr. Harbut, for 1 sup-
pose it will be somewhere near there that we must search
for my mother's fc^mily to begin with."

" Corbyn Court lies three or four miles out of Bath, and
Bath is about three hours by rail from London. But you
must not be too sure of finding the family there. Mr. Cor-
byn may have met your mother at Oxford — I learn from
Ferris that he was at that University — or he may have met
her abroad, or when upon a visit to London, or in a rail-
way train or elsewhere. If no clue is to be found to the
existence of such a family within, say, fifteen miles of Bath,
we must insert some advertisement in the papers saying
that the next of kin of Constance Purcell who left her home
towards the end of the year of 1849 ^""^ requested to reply
to me, and they will hear of something to their advantage.
We must put that last bit in, you know, because otherwise
they might think that perhaps a whole family of Constance
Purcells was likely to be thrown on their hands."

" Then we can start for Bath at once and begin, Mr.
Harbut."

" Well, I will think that over. Would you mind calling
again to-morrow ; it is a matter that I should like to con-
sider well before a step is taken, and to sketch out some
sort of plan of campaign," and so with renewed expres-
sions of gratitude, Constance and her friend took their
leave of Mr. Robert Harbut.

" Well, madame, what do you think, we are in luck, are
we not?"

^' He is very young," Annette said gravely.

" He can't be as young as he looks. Mr. Ferris spoke
of him as his friend, and I suppose that he must be about
the same age, though he really looks almost a boy. But he
must be very clever. You saw how he had thought it all
out, and how he was able to put us in the right way of going
to work at oiif;e, instead of perhaps wasting years and years
searching here, and no good perhaps after all. But didn't
he look funny when we went in, I never saw such a thing
as he had on his head. Of course, I have seen wigs, lots
of them in St. Malo, but never a thing like that. The way
it stuck up, and those funny curls and the little tails and
the black patch at the top," and C'onstance burst into a
merry laugh that startled the sparrows hopping about in
the court, and caused two or three hurrying men to look
round in surprise.

A HIDDEN FOE.

Oh, here is another," she exclaimed a minute later,
♦' juat the same sort of wig and with a black gown on.
What does it mean ? "

" That is the regular dress of barristers in court," Annette
said. " I know, because I once went as a witness. One
of the footmen stole some silver and he was caught and
they tried him and I had to go as a witness, and there
were lots of men in court just like that, and two of them
asked me questions, and one was very rude and wanted to
try and make out that I had been lying. It was shameful,
and I almost cried before the people. But shall we go
home, Constance ? "

'* No, I should like to walk about this funny old place
for a bit, let us go through this archway. Oh, what a great
square and how green the grass is in it, and there is the
river. Who would expect to find such a place as this in
the middle of this smoky town."

" I dare say that it is very nice in summer, child, but I
think it is cold and damp and triste at present "

" Nothing seems triste to me, Annette. I feel so full of
hope and confidence now we have got Mr. Harbut to help
us, and he seems so clever and so kind and good-natured —
though he is funny and boyish and unlike what I should
have thought a hwyer would be — that I don't think any-
thing could look triste at present ; but never mind, we wiil
go home and sit by the fire and talk it all over."

The next morning they again called at Pump Court, this
time Robert Harbut was without his wig, and two chairs
were clear ready for them to sit upon.

" 1 have been thinking matters over, Miss Corbyn," he
began, as soon as they were seated, " and I think I shall
run down with you for a few days. I want a holiday, and
this is a good excuse to take one."

"Oh, but we could not think of troubling you in that
sort of way, Mr. Harbut, it would be too much altogether."

" But you see, I do not consider it any trouble, quite the
contrary. I regard it a? a most interesting outing, and,
besides, I think that just at first you are scarcely likely to
set about things in the right way. You see I have taken
up this matter as a sort of professional exercise, and
because 1 have the detective spirit strong in me."

" But I can assure you that we shall get on very well,"
Constance persisted.

A HIDDEN FOE.

" Yes, no doubt ; but just give me an idf a as to how you
mean to set to work. We will suppose ycu aic established
in lodgings or some quiet hotel in Bath. What would be
your first move ? "

" Our first move would, of course, be to search," Con-
stance said, stoutly.

" Yes, I quite understand that, but how will you begin
your search ? You cannot sally out and ask the first per-
son you meet * is your name Purcell?' ' No.* 'Well, do
you know anyone of that name living within fifteen miles ? '
When you have asked about fifty people these questions,
you might not improbably find yourself locked up under
suspicion of being a wandering lunatic at large, and, any-
how, you would not be much nearer than you were when
you started."

Constance joined in the laugh with whicli Robert Har-
but concluded, but there was a certain ring of vexation in
it.

** You must think me very foolish, Mr. Harbiit? "

" Not at all, Miss Corbyn ; upon the contrary, I think
} -)\\ are a very sensible young lady, but still unaccustomed
to our ways ; if I have been mistaken, tell me' how you
propose commencing ? "

" Well, I should begin" — Constance commenced fluent-
ly and then stopped, " I should begin by inquiring of the
police."

*' Well, that is not a bad idea, but the police of a large
town would be very unlikely to know anything of the resi-
dents in a country village, and with the exception of the
names over the shop doors would know very little of those
even on their own beat. Now, I should not have thought,
Miss Corbyn, that selfishness was a prominent trait in
your character, but I see that you want to have this hunt
to yourself and to keep me from having any share or
interest in it."

Constance again laughed, this time without any sense of
vexation. " Very well, Mr. Harbut. After that I can say
no more against it, and accept your kind offer to accompany
us and give us our first lessons in detective work. When
will you be ready to start ? "

" To-morrow morning," he said promptly. '' It is no
use wasting lime ; I have nothing to keep me here, and am
honestly longing to get on this trail. You don't know how

A HIDDEN FOE.

sick one gets of going into Court every day and sitting
there doing nothing, and what a i)leasure it is to have a
case that one can throw oneself into and puzzle out for
oneself." He touched the bell. "Bring me a Bradshaw,"
he said when the boy appeared. " i^ow let me see, Bath,
Great Western. Yes, here it is, ten o'clock train, firt:t,
second, and third class. We shall travel third class, of
course. Miss Corbyn ; we do not know how long we are
going to be over this business, and must begin by bemg
economical. Can you arrange to meet me at a qur,fter to
ten on the platform at Paddington with your tickets in your
hands and no more luggage than is absolutely necessary? "

" How long are we likely to want it for, Mr. .-larbut? "
Madarrie Duport asked, speaking for the first time, her
instinct as lady's maid coming at once into play.

*' I should say for a week at the outside," he replied.
" We ought by that time to have ferreted out any ?urcells
there may be within fifteen miles of Bath ; bu' I tnink it
will be wise for you to pack up a small trunk with a relay
of clothing, and tell your landlady that she is to send that
on to you at once if you write for it."

It!

A HIDDEN FOE.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SEARCH BEGINS.

The next morning at the appointed hour Constance
Corbyn and Madame Diiport were on the platform at
Paddingion, and were joined two minutes later by Robert
Harbut. " I congratulate you on your punctuality," he
said as he joined them. '-That is a hopeful sign. You
know the motto, 'Punctuality, security and despatch.' No ?
It is that of the London Parcels Delivery, and upon the
whole they act up to it. Now then, let us see about our
places first. You have got tickets ; that is right. Ah, here
is an empty carriage. If you place your rugs on this seat,
one each side of that window, I will put my bag next to
thera. That is it, now we have got possession of t-ie seats.
Where is your luggage ? Is it all contained in that bag? "

"Our portmanteau is labelled and put in the van,"
Madame Duport said. '* I am accustomed to traveling in
England and seeing after luggage."

" Capital, then I have only to jump out and get two or
three papers so that I can read when my conversation
becomes insupportable."

" He is funny," Constance said as Robert Ha:butleap( xi
from ihe carriage, " he is quite unlike Frenchmen. Oiie
minute I think him a clever man and the next an absu.d
boy."'

" They are like that, these EngLsh," Madame Di. )ort
said. "They are much younger than Frenchmen. The
first desire of the French boy is to be thought a man, but
these young Englishmen seem to like to remain boys f jr
ever so long, and yet they are full of sense."

It was a pleasant journey down.

After chatting for a bit, Robert Harbut handed r:v'0
illustrated papers to his companions, and saying, ''I s..}^-
pose you do not care for English Politics," opened tlie
Times,

nrl.J.i../

A HIDDEN FOE.

Constance looked at him with much surprise, as he
began reading, and then said, " Excuse me, Mr. Harbut,
but I thought you used spectacles."

The young barrister laughed.

"You will not see me use tl.cm again, Miss Corbyn. It
was only because I had forgotten them as well as the
wig that you saw nie in them. The fact is, my sight is
excellent, but you see I am painfully conscious of my
youthful appearance, and I wear those great glasses to
give me an air of gravity and wisdom. I do think their
appearance is very effective."

'■'■ It is very striking," Constance laughed. " Really
when I first saw you with that strange wig on, and those
great round glasses, you reminded me of an owl."

" I have observed the resemblance myself when I have
glanced into the glass before going into court. You see
the owl has a reputation for wisdom."

" I think you look much wiser without those glasses,
Mr, Harbut. The owl may have a reputation for wisdom,
but I think it is also said ' as stupid as an owl,' You see
your eyes didn't seem to have any expression behind those
glasses ; they look, well they look as if they could see
sharply enough now that one sees them naturally."

" I will think over what you have said. Miss Corbyn," he
said gravely. '' It would be a serious matter to leave them
off now, just when they are beginning to have an effect,
for I have had two briefs this last six months."

'* Do you think we had better go to an hotel, monsieur? "
Annette asked as the train approached Bath.

" I should think you would feel strange and uncom-
fortable in an hotel," he replied. " There will be no
difficulty in getting a quiet little lodging ; half the houses
in Bath are let in lodgings. When we get there we can
leave our things in the cloak-roorn and hunt about, and
then when you find sometliinj^ to suit you we can come
back to the station for your things. Of course, I shall
put up at an hotel. I think. Madame Duport, it would
be better for you to give your name to the landlady.
There will be no occasion to mention Miss Corbyn's
name, as it will be naturally assumed she is your daughter.
You see the name of Corbyn is very well known in Bath,
and as the names of visitors are published in the local
papers it would be just as well that it should not appear."

"Bu

Consii"

A HIDDEN- FOE.

»J

" But Mr. Clitheroe knows that we are going to search,"
Constance said. " Of course, Mr. Ferris will have told
him. Mr. Ferris said that Mr. Clitheroe was only anxious
that the truth should be discovered."

" Yes, no doubt, Miss Corbyn. Still you see they are
in fact our opponents, and in matters of this sort it is
always as well to keep one's opponents in the dark as far
as one can as to what you are doing. It is never any use
giving away a chance."

"At any rate," Madame Duport said; "we will do as
you suggest, Mr. Harbut, there is not the least occasion
for giving her name, of course she will be taken for my
daughter."

An hour after their arrival in Bath, Madame Duport and
Constance were installed in lodgings near the station, and
Robert Harbut had taken a room at the York Hotel. His
first step was to go down to the Coffee Room and to look
through the town Directory. There was no suck name as
Purcell ; then he examined a county Directory, but ? /ain
without success. He was scarcely disappointed u'i'';ss
the Purcells were in trade, or were people of some note or
importance, they would hardly be down in a county
Directory. Then he went down to the Police Station
and inquired for the inspector.

" This is my card, inspector," he said ; " I belong as
you see to the Middle Temple, and am desirous of finding
out some people whom I have reason to believe resided
at one time somewhere in the neighborhood of Bath ;
perhaps in the town itself, perhaps ten or twelve miles
off."

" What is the name, sir ? "

" Purcell."

" I do not know the name," the inspector said ; ** do you
know what condition of life they were in? "

" I should say that they did not belong to the upper
class, certainly not to any county family ; but on the other
hand I do not think tliat tliey were of the laboring class.
They may have been small farmers or shopkeepers."

" I will inquire among the men," the inspector said;
" they almost all belong to the county : it is likely enough
one or other of them might know the ni'.me. How long is
it since they were living here? "

"About eighteen years ago."

.4 nrPDFy for.

The inspector wrote upon a piece of paper, " Infor'
mation required respecting a fiimily named Purcell, living
in the neighborhood of Bath eigliteen years ago." This he
stuck upon the notice board.

•* TJie men ahvays glance at tliis as they come in," he
said. "If you come to-morrow at ten o'clock I shall be
able to tell you if any of the force here know anything
about it, if not I can send notices to all the county sta-
tions."

Robert Harbut returned the next day at noon ; he had
been to take Madame Dnport and Constance for a walk,
and had left them at the pump-room while he went to the
police station.

'* I have found some Piirceils," the inspector said as he
entered. " At least i have found where a family of that
name lived some years :\\iq). One of my men, who comes
from a little village named Alnwick, about ten miles to the
nortii-west, tells me that when he was a boy the village
schoolmaster was named Purcell. He went to the school
himself. He tells me that it was generally sup])Osed the
Pull, lis had seen better days. They are both dead now ;
they left no children. The man tells me that he remembers
there was a great sensation in the village just as he left
school, which is e'ghteen years ago now. There was a
daughter who w,. ; suddenly missing. Everyone turned out
to search for her, hinkmg some accident must have hap-
pened to her, but she was not found. He does not
remember more about it, but the search was given up, and
he believes, though he is not sure, that it was said that
Purcell had received a letter from her, saying that she had
gone away to be married. Purcell and his wife both died
some years ago, within a few days of each other. Do you
think it is likely that those are the people for whom you
are in search ? "

'' T have no doubt whatever about it," Robert Harbut
said, " and I am extremely obliged to you for the trouble
you have taken in the matter. I believe that the young
lady for wiiom I am acting is the daughter of the girl you
speak of. It is very unfortunate that the grandfather and
grandmother are both dead, as they micrht have supplied
some information 1 am desirous of obtaining. However, it is
satisfactory to have the point as to where they resided
cleared up."

A HIDDEN IV L.

»S

Robert Harbut went to tlu pump-room. Constance was
watching the door, and in obedience to his sign she and
Annette hurried out.

"You have news," she said. " I saw it in }our face."

" It's very annoying tiuit you should say so, Miss Corbyn.
A barristci's face ought to be impassive. Yes, I have
news ; partly good and partly bad. I have found where
your grandfather and grandmother lived. He was a
schoolmaster, but I am sorry to say that both he and his
wife are dead."

Constance uttered an exclamation of dismay.

" It seems to me that is all bad news, Mr. Harbut. It
makes no difference as to what village they lived in ; what
we wanted was information ; and now there is no chance
of getting it. That seemed to be the only clue we had, and
now it is lost."

" I should not quite say that, Miss Corbyn ; not yet. It
is possible that they may have confided in someone in the
village all they knew about the disappearance of your mo-
ther. The man who gave the inspector information about
it, and who was at school under your grandfather, said it
was generally believed that he had been in much better
circumstances at one time. It is probable that yoir
mother wrote to him at times during her year of married
life. I do not know whether your father ever acquainted
them with her death, as likely as not he may not have done
so j in that case when her letters ceased, they may have
guessed that she was dead, but may have still hoped on
that she might some day return. In that case, they may
possibly have left a letter or some communication witli
someone, probably with the clergyman, to be given to her
should she ever return. At any rate, it is worth seeing
whether this is the case. Don't you think so ? "

'* Yes, certainly," Constance exclaimed. " How fortu-
nate you came down with us, Mr. Harbut, I should, never
have thought of that, and if I had found, as you have done,
that they were dead, I should have given up the search in
this direction altogether. When shall we go.? Is there
time today ? "

'•Oh, yes, I think so. We will go into a pastry cook's
and get some lunch, and then will be off."

Half-an-hour later they had arranged with the driver of
a carriage to take them to Alnwick. It was a long journey

/t HIDDEN' FOE,

for the roads were hilly, and the Bath drivers do not hurry
their horses. Robert Harbiit chatted with Madame Duport,
for Constance was too excited and anxious to join in the
conversation,

" This is Alnwick," the driver said, turning round on
his box as they entered a village. *' Where shall I take you,
sir?"

" To the Rectory."

As they drove up to the door, Robert Ha^but said, **I
think I had better do the talking, Miss Corbyn."

Constance nodded. She was too anxious to speak. The
barrister handed his card to the servant, and said he wished
for a few minutes' conversation with the rector. They
were shown into the drawing-room, and a minute later the
rector entered, and Robert Harbut saw with satisfaction
that he was a man of some sixty-five years old.

"We have called, sir," he began, "to ask you if you
can give us any information about a Mr. and Mrs. Purcell,
He was, I believe, schoolmaster here."

" He was," the rector replied. " He and his wife both
died some eight years ago." As he spoke he glanced ear-
nestly at the two ladies.

*' We have reason to believe," Mr. Harbut went on,
"that this young lady is their grand-daughter."

" Is her mother dead? the clergyman asked quickly.

" She died some seventeen years ago, after giving birth
to her child."

" I was afraid so. Her last letter to her mother said that
she was expecting to be confined shortly, and that she
hoped that ere very long she should return with her hus-
band and child. They never heard from her again, and
their belief, as well as my own, was that she must have
died about that time. I was very much interested," he
went on, turning to Constance, " in your mother's fate.
She was my principal assistant in the Sunday school, and
was a girl of excellent principles and disposition. I was
so convinced of this that I was able to agree cordially with
her parents in their belief in the statements in her letters,
that she was married. Of course she was sadly, terribly to
blame in leaving home in the way she did, and in suffering
herself to be persuaded by some " and then remember-
ing that the man of whom he was about to speak harshly
was the father of the girl to whom he was speaking, he
stopped.

child.

A HIDDEN FOE,

•7

" Do you know who my father was, sir ? " Constance
asked in a low voice.

** Do you not know ? " ihc clergyman answered in sur-
prise. " No. Your grandmotiicr and grandfather had
no idea whatever. They were inclined to believe at first
that il must be somebody lluil she met in London when
she was staying there with an aunt some time before. Jjut
it came out afterwards that some of the village boys had
once or twice seen her in the evenings, walking with a
gentleman in a quiet lane, half a mile away. Still of course,
she may have made his acquaintance in town. He may
have followed her here, but more than that we never
ascertained.

" I may tell you your grandfather and grandmother
always lived in hopes that your father would some day
bring you back to them. It was possible, of course, that
the child might have died as well its mother, but they felt
sure that if it lived sooner or later they would hear of it.
They never did hear, but upon his death-bed your grand-
father, who survived his wife but a few days, ^ave me a
packet which he begged me to deliver to his daughter's

sir," he said,

this

child, should she ever return, i suppose,
turning to Mr. Harbut, " you can assure me that
young lady is really the child of Constance Purcell.

" I can assure you of that, sir," Madame Duport said.
" She died in my house. I took the child from her arms,
and have brought her up ever since."

" Then I will give you the packet," the clergyman said,
and, leaving the room, he returned in a minute or two
with a bulky envelope, which he placed in Constance's
hands. I am pleased indeed," he said, " that I am
able to carry out the last wishes of my friend Purcell,
Your grandfather was a man of good education. He was
the son, he told me, of a City merchant, and w. ; educated
at Oxford. His father died j-ist as he left the University.
He took to the business for which he was altogether un-
fitted, and two or three years later failed. He had married
the daughter of a clergyman, and after years of struggle
he at last accepted the mastership of this village school.
The stipend was a very small one, but there was a com-
fortable cottage, and a good garden attached to it, and he
told me that he had been ])erfectly contented and happy
until the flight of his daughter broke up their home."

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A HIDDEN' FOE.

Constance was i)ale and trembling.

" I thank you very much for what you have told mfc,*
she said, " and for keeping these papers for me."

Then she glanced at Robert Harbut. who understood
what she would say.

"Thank you very much, sir. Now we will take our
leave ; the young lady will, of course, be anxious to read
these papers in private. Should she find the clue to the
place of her parents' marriage, you will certainly hear of
her again."

For some little time after taking their seats in the car-
riage again, few words were spoken. Constance Corbyn
was greatly moved, and as she sat with her head bent
down Robert Harbut saw several tears fall on the packet
which she clasped in her hands.

" I think. Miss Corbyn," he said at last, ** that I mny
congratulate you on the result of your visit. We may not
perhaps have gained any material clue which would be of
assistance to us, but it cannot but be gratifying for you to
know the high estimation in which your mother was re-
garded by the clergyman of the village, and it is pleasing
no doubt to be aware that her father and mother were
persons of good family and education. It is a weakness
perhaps, but it is human nature."

" I am glad," she said. " I had hardly hoped to get so
much news of my mother. I am very glad that I came."

" So am I, Miss Corbyn ; it is most satisfactory to me.
You see, before I had really nothing but Madame Duport's
conviction, that your mother was speaking the truth when
she said that a marriage had taken place, to go upon.
Now at least, though legal proof may still be wanting, I
have heard what may be considered as perfect unpreju-
diced testimony as to the character she bore as a girl, and
that the clergyman of the place as well as her f:ither and
mother believed that she was married. I fear that wc
shall not obtain any further clue from those pai)crs, what-
ever they may be, as it is clear that neither the old people
nor the rector had the least idea as to whom it was she
had eloped with. Of course, if we can glean nothing there
we shall have to start on some entirely fresh line."

Half an hour later the driver checked his horse. "There,
ir," he said pointing with his whip, " that is one of the

sir

oldest county places about Bath. Same family has lived

A HIDDEN FOE,

there hundreds and hundreds of years they say. Corbyn
Court, that is what it is called. The late Mr. Corbyn was
killed, he was, a short time back \ thrown out of a dog-
cart going down into Bath. Killed stone dead they say.
A nephew of his has got it now ; nice young chap he is.
He is not a Corbyn though, but I expect like enough he
will take his uncle's name."

The three occupants of the carriage had been gazing
intently at the house as he spoke. Madame Duport had
stood up the better to examine it.

" It is a grand place," she said as she sat down, " and to
think that it ought to be yours, ma petite."

Constance shivered. " It is too large and too lonely,"
she said, " I don't want it ; I only want to clear her name ;
when that is done I shall be quite content with enough for
us to live quietly and happily at St. Malo."

Robert Harbut had turned round and was leaning for-
ward against the driver's seat. " What sort of a man was
the late Mr. Corbyn ? I have heard his name before."

*' He was very much respected, sir ; I heard that he was
a good landlord, and was thought a deal of down in Bath."

" And his nephew succeeds him, you say. What's his
name ? "

" Clitheroe. It is a lucky windfall for him. His own
place is over the other way, and they say was mortgaged
pretty heavily in his father's time. If it had not been for
that slippery bit of hill he might have had to wait a long
time before he came in for the Court, for Mr. Corbyn was
not more than forty-two and might have lived to eighty."

Mr. Harbut continued to chat with the coachman on
the subject of the Corbyns for some time, but gained no
information of any importance. On arriving at the
lodgings he said to Constance, ** I will come in at eight
o'clock to hear whether vou have gathered any news from
those papers."

When Robert Harbut called in the evening at the lodg-
ings he was received by Madame Duport only.

" She has gone to lie down," she said. " Poor child,
she has gone through the packet containing the letters of
her mother to her parent i ; there are ten of them. She
wrote once a month. Hcie they are. Constance wished
you to read them, but we fear that they will not help us.
She tells about her travels and about her home, and how

)

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A HIDDEN FOE,

she longs to see them again, but nothing that we can see
that will help us at all. She never mentions the name of
the place she writes from, and only puts Italy, or Switzer-
land, or Germany."

" Perhaps I had better read them," Robert Harbut said ;
** some chance word may give us a clue."

The letters were all in the envelopes in which they had
been received, and were numbered one to ten ; the first
he read carefully and laid aside, the others he merely
glanced through. The writer always spoke of herself as
well and happy, always said that her husband was very
kind, and that she was enjoying the sight of the foreign
countries she had read about. The greater part of each
letter was devoted to her old home, to her longings to see
her father and mother again, to her regret at the pain she
must have caused them, and to her hope that she should
some day be able to atone for it and to have them near her
in comfort.

They were natural, loving letters, and as he put them
down Robert Harbut said to himself, ** There is no doubt
whatever that the poor little girl thought herself married,
though, of course, the blackguard may have deceived her
by a false marriage."

All these nine letters bore the London postmark ; it was
evident that in order to prevent any clue as to their place
of residence being obtained Algernon Corbyn had sent
them under cover to London, to be posted there. The
first letter was written in pencil, evidently in great haste,
and, the barrister thought, without the knowledge of her
husband. It was as follows : —

" Dearest Father and Mother, — I have been awfully
wicked in running away from you without telling you
where I was going, but I hope some day you will forgive
me, when you know all. You will see tliat it was neces-
sary to be secret. I iove him so. We were married this
morning. I hope soon to be able to tell you all. I should
be the happiest woman in the world if my heart did not
seem breaking at the thought of the trouble I have caused
you. Pray forgive me, and think as kindly as you can of
your loving daughter, Constance."

The letter itself gave no clue, but the envelope did, for
it bore the postmark Folkestone.

Harbi
table

♦'It
the ch
postm
byn
band's
suflferi
was m

A HIDDl'.jY FOE.

9«

"Well, monsieur?" Madame Duport asked as Robert
Harbut laid the letters aside and turned his chair from the
table at which he had been reading them.

" It is well, Madame Duport. This first letter gives us
the clue we want ; it is posted at Folkestone, there is the
postmark on the enveloi)e. There is no doubt Mrs. Cor-
byn scribbled that letter and posted it without her hus-
band's knowledge. She knew the pain her parents were
suffering, and could not delay writing to assure them that she
was married. Of course, it is just possible that the mar-
riage took place in London, but that they went down to
Folkestone immediately after the ceremony, and that she
dropped the letter in a post office that evening, and went
on l3oard the steamer at Dover next day, for I do not think
the boats ran from Folkestone then. However, it is evi-
dent that Folkestone is the next place to try at ; if we do
not find the marriage registered there, it is almost certain
to have been either in London or at Canterbury, so that in
any case a great step has been made. I say honestly that
when I started from London yesterday morning, I had
only the very faintest hope we should ever succeed. Now
I really think we shall do so. I consider that our success
so far has been quite remarkable. There is nothing more
for us to do here now ; I think that we may as well go up
to town in the morning."

Two days later Robert Harbut with his two clients
arrived at Folkestone, and at once proceeded to the Parish
Church. They had no difficulty in finding the residence
of the clerk ; he was a man of about thirty-five years old.

Mr. Harbut said, " I want to search the register for a
record of marriage."

" Very well, sir," the man said, taking down a key,
" the registers are in a safe in the vestry. What year was it
in ? "

" Somewhere about the end of 1849, 1 believe. Was
your present vicar here at that time ? "

" Oh, no, sir ; he has only been here seven or eight years,
the old vicar died in 1859. He and my father, who was
clerk before me, died within three days of each other.
There, sir, these are the registers, let me see, 1849. Yes,
they end with this volume, the next begins 1850."

The marriage should have taken place on November
2ist, for that was the date of the postmark of the Folke-

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A HIDDEN FOE,

Stone letter, and Robert Harbut ran his eye rapidly down
the entries.

" It is not there," he said, in a tone of great disappoint-
ment, " there is no entry between the 12th and 26th. There
are five marriages between the ist and 12th, and two at
the end of the month, that is curious too. He took up the
book by both sides and bent them back. *' There has
been foul play here," he said, " it looks as if a page has
been cut out. There is the edge of it."

" So it is," the clerk said, examining the book, " sure
enough a leaf has been cut out there, that is very extraor-
dinary, I never noticed it before."

** You would not have noticed it unless your attention
had been called to it by an entry on that page being asked
for. This is most unfortunate. Is there anyone alive who
would have been likely to be present at weddings about
that time?"

** I don't think so," the clerk said, " beyond the vicar
and my father and the pew opener, and of course the friends
of the married couple, no one would be likely to be there,
unless the parties were known about here. The pew
opener who was here then died fifteen or sixteen years
ago."

" Well, I think at any rate," Robert Harbut said, " you
had better come across with me at once with this book to
the rector, that he may see that this leaf has been cut out.
It is a very serious business, most serious. Will you stay
in the churchyard. Miss Corbyn, until I return ? There will
be no occasion for you to come in with me."

Not a word was spoken between Constance and Annette
Duport until Robert Harbut returned. Constance looked
at him inquiringly ; he shrugged his shoulders.

" The vicar is greatly distressed and annoyed. It is of
course entirely new to him. He says that no doubt it took
place long before his time, but of course that may or may
not be. You see there were in that book two weddings on
the page, and I cannot say with any certainty whether it
was abstracted by somebody desirous of destroying the
record of this or of the other marriage. At any rate I am
afraid for the present we are completely stumped. I mean,"
he went on, in answer to Constance's look of interrogation,
" that we are for the present brought to a full stop by an
impassable obstacle."

A HIDDEN FOE,

But is there no other way, Mr. Harbut ? We have
been so wonderfully successful up to now. Surely we
cannot be altogether defeated by the loss of this register;
there must be some other way of proving the marriage."

" No doubt, no doubt," Robert Harbut agreed, speaking
in a hopeful tone, " it is only that we are brought up so
suddenly on this particular line. We followed the scent
hotly, and have met with, what they call in hunting, a
check, and then the only thing is to make a cast in a fresh
direction until we get on the scent again. At present the
result is so unexpected, and I confess that the disappoint-
ment is so keen that one cannot pull oneself together all at
once. But when we have time to think the matter over
again some fresh light may occur to us."

" I think you only say so, Mr. Harbut," Constance said,
quietly, " to relieve my disappointment ; but I always like
to know the truth, and would rather that you told me frankly
if you thought that all was lost."

" Indeed, I do not think so. Miss Corbyn. I do not
disguise from you that the abstraction of this leaf from the
register enormously adds to our difficulties, and that at pre-
sent I do not in the slightest degree see in what direction
we must search for collateral evidence of the marriage.
Still you see things have up till now presented themselves
in a most unexpected way, and we have succeeded in a
marvelous manner in ascertaining a number of particulars.
We have learnt your mother's birthplace and parentage,
have received the clergyman's testimony as to her charac-
ter, and your grandfather's last letter to her and her letters
to him. We cannot absolutely say that we have discovered
for certain that they were married in this town, for what-
ever our ideas on the subject may be, there is no shadow
of proof that the missing page contained the register of
that marriage. We have assumed that it took place here,
but your mother's letter did not say that it did so ; all that
we know is that the letter was posted here, but they may
have been married in London before leaving town, or at
Canterbury or some other place on the road. We may
have to grope in the dark for a bit, but I ^rust that we may
come across a clue again. You see. Miss Corbyn, I have
engaged in this matter as a sort of amateur private detec-
tive, and consider that my honor is at stake in ferretting
out the matter if it be possible to do so."

t !

"I'/i !'i

iUI

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|| A HIDDEN FOE.

** You are very kind and good," Constance said gratefully.
" I suppose we may as well go back to town at once ; it
will be of no use searching the registers at other churches,
I suppose."

** 1 should hardly think so," he said, " it was sure to
have been the Parish Church if anywhere, at least I should
think so ; however, it is of no use throwing away a chance,
and now we are here it is better to decide the question. I
will invest at once in a sixpenny guidebook," and he ran
into a stationer's shop.

" Now, here are the churches and the dates of their
building. You see there was only one other at that time.
It is not worth while for you to trouble about it. I will go
and have a look at the registers."

A HIDDEN FOE.

CHAPTER VII.

Robert Harbut returned in a quarter of an hour to
the two ladies.

" There is no such record," he said, " the Parish Church
is evidently the established place for marriages here ;
there were only half a dozen celebrated duiing the whole
year elsewhere, and not one in the month in which we are
searching. Now we have just time to catch the four o'clock
train."

It was already getting dusk. Constance leaned back in
one corner of the carriage and closed her eyes. Robert
Harbut occupied the corner opposite to her ; he did not
try to break the current of the girl's thoughts, but sat
staring out of the window and trying to see some way out
of the difficulty that had encountered them. Annette
Duport sat bolt upright, produced a ball of worsted from
her hand-bag and began to knit vigorously. It was not
until they were approaching London that Constance broke
the silence.

" Did the cut seem to you a new one or an old one, Mr.
Harbut?"

" We could not decide, there was really nothing to go
by; it was evidently cut with a sharp knife and hastily, for
the point in some places had penetrated the next three or
four leaves. The rector lent me a magnifying glass, but
even this told us nothing. The book was, as you saw, in
an excellent state of preservation and altogether untouched
by air or damp. The color of the paper is almost as fresh
as when it was first printed. My own opinion was that the
cut was not a new one, the rector and clerk both thought
that it hadn't been done long ; but I do not think that any
of our opinions were worth anything. If in the course of
our searches we find that the question of the date of this
cut becomes important, we can get some experts down to
give us their opinion about it ; but, as a barrister, I own
that I have the smallest possible belief in experts. You

H '

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A HIDDEN FOE.

can get half-a-dozen of them to swear to ahnost anything
you want, whether it is a question of handwriting or the
action of a poison, or a proof of insanity, and the other
party will produce the same number who will swear diame-
trically opposite."

After seeing the ladies home to their lodging, and pro-
mising that he would let them hear from him in the course
of a day or two, when he had time to turn the matter
quietly over in his mind, Robert Harbut strolled slowly
back to his chambers, with his eyes bent on the ground,
and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His mind
was quite made up as to the abstraction of the leaf.

" So," he said to himself, "that rascal never intended to
do justice to his daughter after all. Her mother would
not go with him without a legal marriage, and perhaps had
she lived he might some day have acknowledged it, but
after a time he determined to destroy all traces of it, and
either he himself, or someone else for him, cut out that leaf.
Most likely he did it himself ; he would not be such a fool
to give anyone else the whip hand over him. He knew
that the clergyman and the clerk and the pew-opener were
all old people, and might well reckon upon their death long
before any inquiry would be likely to be made for this re-
gister. You may have been a respectable man in the eye
of the world, Mr. Corbyn, but to my mind you were a ras-
cal," only Robert Harbut used a very strong word before
the word rascal.

He went up to his rooms, applied a match to the fire
already laid in the grate with a kettle full of water upon it,
brought out a small tray of tea things from a cupboard,
and then, sitting down in his great coat until the room
became warmed, gazed into the fire.

" There is one point we have missed," he said, suddenly
rising to his feet. "We presumed that there were no
other witnesses to the marriage beyond the clerk and pew-
opener. There may have been other people who sauntered
in, seeing the church door open. The question is, how the
deuce to get at them."

Presently he went to his writing table and scribbled out
the following :— " Twenty Pounds Reward will be given
for the discovery of anyone who was present at a marriage
which took place at Folkestone Parish Church on the 21st
of November, 185 1. Both parties were young, the gentle-

A /fin PEA' roE.

man fair and somewhat over middle height : the lady was
about eighteen years of age, had brown hair, and was very
pretty. There were no bridesmaids or friends of either of
the parties present. Any information as to anyone now
living who was present at the ceremony is to be sent to
Mr. Harbut, Pump Court, Middle Temnlc, by whom the
above reward will be i»aid."

This notice was enclosed with a note to the Clerk of
Folkestone Ciuirch, requesting him to have a couple of
hundred copies printed and exposed in the shops and other
l)laces in the town. The account for expenses was to be
sent to him. He then wrote a note to Constance, telling
her what he had done, and went out and posted it at
once.

" I am afraid she will be terribly down in the mornmg.
When she gets this note at breakfast time it will give her
something to think about."

Rather to his surprise, at two o'clock on the following
day, the clerk brought in the names of Madame Duport
and Miss Corbyn.

" I am ashamed to bother you again, Mr. Harbut."

" No bother at all. Miss Corbyn, my thoughts keep on
running on this business, and it is a relief to me to talk
about it. Have you come to suggest any improvement
upon my idea ? "

** No, sir, I think it is excellent, but Annette thought of
something while we were at dinner to-day that she did not
mention before, and although I do not consider it of any
importance, I thought I had better come and tell you."

*' Everything is of importance. Miss Corbyn, there is no
saying where light may flash from."

'' It was this," Annette began. " I remember when I was
talking one day with Mrs. Corbyn, I said to the poor dear
that it must have been very difficult for her and her hus-
band traveling so long abroad when she spoke no French,
and her husband very little. She said that they got on
very well because her husband had a servant who spoke
French very fairly. He had been with them all the time
they had been traveling, and had only left them just before
they came to St. Malo as they no longer required him."

" This is most imi)ortant," Robert Harbut said in great
excitement. " I told you we should get hold of some fresh
clue. People never remember everything at first. No

\ f :

^ // irrnDEN' ror:.

doubt this man was engaged before they started on their
trip, and would probably enough have been in church, and
I daresay signed his name as witness to the marriage. If
we can get hold of him, and he is a respectable man, whose
antecedents will bear cross-examination, his evidence,
taken with all we know, would prove the marriage. He is
not likely to have been a servant from their place at home.
Corbyn would never put himself in the power of anyone
who knew his people there.

" It was probably some courier he hired here. You see
your mother said he spoke Trench very fairly, that would
mean that he was not a Frenchman. He may have been
some servant who had accompanied some friend of his on
a similar trip, for a courier would have spoken French well.
The only way that I see of getting at it, at present, is by
advertising. Of course it may not be an easy matter to
find him, still I regard it as very hopeful. Before this, we
weren't sure that anyone was in a position to give us legal
evidence of this marriage, now we have every reason to
believe that there is at least one person alive who can do
so."

" If he is alive, Mr. Harbut. It is eighteen years ago."

" Of course, if he is alive. Miss Corbyn ; but eighteen
years are nothing, and this sort of wandering Jew men live
to any age. Besides, even if he is dead, we might find out
his wife or some one belonging to him, and it will be some-
thing to hear from them that he had told them he had accom-
panied Mr. Corbyn and his wife on their wedding trip, and
had been present when they were married at Folkestone, or
at London, or wherever it was. Well, this is great news. I
did not feel hopeless before, very far from it. Miss Corbyn,
but this gives an agreeable fiilij), and shows one that there
are all sorts of possibilities that one has not contemplated.
I wonder why it did not strike me at once that your father
would probably have taken somebody with him on to the
Continent. I have been getting a little puffed up lately as
to my own sagacity. This comes as a douche of cold water
upon me, and will make me more humble-minded in future.
Now what are you going to do ? The British public, as
usual, have no occasion for my services, and my time is
my own."

" We were not thinking of anything particular, Mr. Har-
but. We are both fond of looking into shops. We thought

of gc
Oxfoi
usual
know
all th
•I

yi mnnix i-oe.

of going down the Sirand and uj) Regent Street, along
Oxford Street and down Bond Street again. That is our
usual promenade when we have noiliing else to do. You
know St. Malo is not famous for its shops, and, besides,
all the crowd and bustle is new to me and very amusing."

*' I will go with you if 1 may ; I am very fond of taking
children to a pantomime. Hy-the-way, have you been to
a pantomime, Miss Corbyn ? "

" No, I have not been," Constance laughed. " Do you
think it will amuse me ? "

** I am sure of it. I am always amused myself, amaz-
ingly. It will be a real treat to take you. May we consider
that settled, madame ? "

Madame Duport looked doubtful, and Robert Harbut
burst into a merry laugh.

" The convenances^ madame ; I see them in your eye.
You do not reflect that I am the same as an old married
man."

Constance joined in the laugh.

'* But where is the wife, Mr. Harbut. After all, I sup-
pose that even married men do not take young ladies about
unbeknown, as it were, to their wives."

'' You are quite right, Miss Corbyn, and I proposed to
myself when 1 made the offer that the wife should make
one of the party. 1 have already spoken to her many times
about you, and she would have called with me to have
made your acquaintance before this had you not always
been on the wing since you have been here. Madame
Duport, the convenances shall be observed. The young
woman in question is a good deal more engaged than I
am, and I must consult her as to her evenings off, and as
soon as I learn that I will make our arrangements, for I
know that your evenings are disengaged, and that it will
be the same to you whatever day we fix upon."

'• Thank you, Mr. Harbut," Constance said warmly. ** I
should indeed like to know the young lady to whom you
are engaged."

"You are thinking that she must be a queer girl. Miss
Corbyn. Do not shake your head, for I know that must
be in your mind. Yes, 7 am aware all her friends think
she is a little mad. It is for her sake chiefly that I want
to get my first brief in a deep, dry case, a case demanding
great research and legal knowledge. Then you know I

K .

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A HIDDEN FOE.

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shall silence them. She will, of course, keep the report
of the case in her writing desk, and when any allusions
are made to my youth, she will hand it over to them and
say severely, ' Read that.' And now let us start."

They walked down the Strand together, stopping and
looking into many shops, Harbut keeping his companions
in a frequent laugh by his quaint criticisms and remarks,
and by his entreaties to them to purchase the most unlikely
articles. They crossed the top of Trafalgar Square and
then went up Regent Street. Tiiey were about half way
up when Robert Harbut uttered an exclamation as an
open carriage with a pair of horses drove away from the
.'ront of a shop just before they reached it. " Hi, hulloa !"
he shouted, but the coachman not dreaming that such
exclamations could be addressed to himself, drove on
without looking round, lb the surprise of the ladies,
Robert Harbut dashed off at the top of his speed, over-
took the carriage before it had gone fifty yards, and thrust
the point of his umbrella into the coachman's back. The
man looked round w-ch an expression of indignant astonish-
ment, and then seeing who it was, pulled in the horses with
a surly smile.

"My dear Robert, have you c,one out of your senses?
I never did see such a boy, and in the middle of Regent
Street too ! "

The speaker was the sole occupant of the carriage, a
pretty girl of some nineteen years old, with a bright
piquant face.

" If you could suggest, Hilda," Robert said in an injured
voice, " any other method by \v hich I could stop you I
will adopt it next time. Your coachman and footman both
appeared to be deaf, and as there was no telegraph wire
available, I don't see how I could stop you without the
use of my legs."

" But you are going to dine with us this evening,
Robert."

" I have not forgotten the engagement, Hilda, but I
suppose it occurs to you as possible that I wish to speak
to you before dinner."

" Well, don't stand there in the middle of the road but
get in."

" It does not suit me to get in, but I will put somebody
else in if you don't mind. Look here, child, you know X
told you about my French client."

and

A HIDDEN FOE.

loi

" The young
Robert?"

" Yes."
"And you

lady you are always going about with,

takes

know I am very jealous of her ; she
up more of your time than I do."

" Well, you know," he went on, ignoring the attack, ** I
wanted you to call on and be kind to her. There she is
now, and it is a fine opportunity. So tell your man to
drive to the side of the pavement, and get out and let me
introduce you to her and her dragon. She wants a friend
awfully. Don't pout, Hilda, but just do as you are told, and
then take them for a drive in the park or somewhere, and
get acquainted with them."

The young lady raised her eyebrows.

" I suppose I must do as I am lold, Robert, but mind
I don't promise to like her. My predispositions at present
are quite the other way." So saying she gave the neces-
sary orders to the coachman, and a minute later Robert
handed her out of the carriage, afid then walked back with
her to the spot where he had left his companions.

" That is Miss Corbyn, Hilda, the girl in the brown
dress."

" Oh, Robert, you never told me she was pretty. My
predispositions are heightened."

''You are a little goose, Hilda; now behave nicely. I
must apologize for leaving you without ceremony, Miss Cor-
byn, but you know a lost opportunity never recurs. I just
caught sight of the back of this young lady's bonnet, and
knew by the untidy way the hair was blowing about who
it was. This is Miss Leicester, the young lady of whom
you have heard me speak. I thought I would bring you
together at once, it is so much nicer than a formal call.
Hilda, this is Miss Corbyn and Madame Duport."

The girls shook hands.

" I am so glad to meet you, Miss Leicester," Constance
Corbyn said frankly. " Mr. Harbut has been so extremely
kind to us, that I naturally wised to see you."

" I have had my curiosity too, Miss Corbyn," Hilda said,
as she shook hands with Madame Duport. " Of course,
I have been very interested in Robert's first client."

'* Now it is no use standing talking here," Robert Har-
but broke in. " We are in the wa] of everybody."

" Will you go for a drive with rne, Miss Corbyn, you
and Madame Duport ? Of course, London is quite strange

\v Mi

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I02

A HIDDEN- FOE,

iii

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w :

to you. We can go round the parks, and I should be so
glad of a talk with you."

" I should like it very much," Constance said, and in
another minute they were seated in the carriage, Constance
by the side of Miss Leicester, as Madame Duport insisted
on taking the opposite seat.

" I suppose you are not coming, Robert ? " Miss Leicester
said ; " we don't want you ; in fact, you would be a good
deal in the way."

" I am not thinking of coming," he said, with dignity.
" I know that if I do come, you will be able to think of
no one else, and I want you to make yourself agreeable.
Drive on, John, the Marble Arch and then through the
Park."

Neither of the girls were shy, and they were soon in
full talk. Constance enjoyed her drive immensely. She
was thoroughly taken out of herself and her troubles, for
the object for which she came to England was not alluded
to, the talk bearing alm6st entirely upon her life at St.
Malo, and in comparisons between her school and that
at which Miss Leicester had been educated. The latter
would have driven them home when the drive was over,
but this they would not hear of, and so they were set down
close to Piccadilly Circus, where they would be able to
obtain an omnibus, which would take them close to their
door.

** Don't forget your engagement for to-morrow, Madame
Duport ; one o'clock. No. 250 Chester Square ; there will
be nobody at home but myself, and after lunch we will
drive down to Richmond and come back to tea at five
o'clock."

At dinner that evening Miss Leicester took Robert
Harbut severely to task.

" I consider that you have deceived me grossly, sir. You
said that she was nice looking. Nice looking is not at all
the word for her ; I call her beautiful. You said that she
was a nice sort of girl, which means nothing. She is
charming. If you were anyone but yourself, I should be
very jealous. As it is, I pity your short-sightedness."

"That is caused, Hilda, no doubt, by looking so much
at you."

" If you talk nonsense, Robert, we will not continue the
conversation."

A HIDDEN FOE.

103

** Well I mean, dear, that I regard you as so nearly ap-
proaching perfection that I don't ask myself whether any
other girls are particuhiiiy jjietly or particularly nice, I
simply have nothing to do with them."

'* Nothing to do with them, sir ! when you have been
jaunting off to Bath and going about with her there, and
then going down to Folkestone and acting altogether in a
manner that would have driven any woman but myself to
the verge of distraction ; and you call that having nothing
to do with them."

*' It was a matter of business, Hilda. I took it up
solely with the idea of distinguishing myself; and as I told
you I put the matter on a proper footing at once by telling
her that I was engaged."

*' And a more impudent thing to do I never heard of,
Robert. You must have a good opinion of yourself to con-
sider it necessary to warn such a girl as that, that she must
not fall in love with you."

" No, no ; it was the other way, Hilda ; I merely wished
to assure her that I had not thought of falling in love with
her — which is quite a different thing."

** But seriously, Robert,. are you going to prove her to
be an heiress ? "

'' I am afraid not," Robert Harbut said, looking grave.
** It seemed all clear sailing at first, and as I told you I
thought I was going to carry her through with flying colors,
but we had an ugly check yesterday. I will tell you about
it when I get you alone. I am glad you liked her ; I siiould
not be surprised if you will be able to do her some kind-
ness before the matter is finished."

" I will do anything I can, Robert ; she is charming — a
thoroughly nice, natural girl, without the least nonsense
about her. She has a great sense of humor, and her de-
scrii)tion of her school-life was most amusing."

The next day's drive cemented the friendship between
Hilda Leicester and Constance Corby n, who liked each
other all the better from the radical differences in their
character. The straightforward and outspokenness of
• Constance, her decided views on many points, and her
a!)solute ignorance on others, suri)rised and amused the
Loudon girl, while the latier's little touches of sarcasm, her
liahit of laughing at things in general, and at herself and
Robert in particular, were altogether new to Constance.

T04

A HIDDEN FOE.

\\\

Hilda Leicester had been a spoilt child. Her father was
a wealthy banker, her two brothers, who were both in the
business, were years older than she was, and, being the
only daughter, she l.ad been the pet and plaything in the
family, indulged in every whim and caprice.

Fortunately for her, her mother, a quiet-loving woman,
had found her at a very early age too much for her, and
had succeeded in having her sent to school instead of be-
ing educated at home by a governess as her father had
intended should be the case. Once finished, she had, on
returning lionie, resumed her position as pet and tyrant of
the house, but even her father's desire to make her happy
had failed lo wm his consent to her wishes, when she had
first announced her intention of marrying Robert Harbut.
The thing was, as both he and her brothers considered, a
piece of midsummer madness. In the first place they had
expected that she would make a grand match. They
thought so much of her themselves that they naturally
expected others would see her as they did.

It was not so much a question of money, although how
Hilda, who had been accustomed to every luxury, supposed
she was going to exist on the .eight hundred a year that
Ro])ert had inherited from his parents was more than they
could imagine. This point was pressed upon her but she
replied calmly :

" I suppose, papa, you do not intend to cut me off with
a penny. If you do, you have treated me scandalously,
for in that case I ought to have been taught to make my
own dresses, and to know how to cook and other useful
accomi)lishments for a poor man's wife. But even without
that, Robert says that we can live extremely comfortably
on eight hundred a year. Besides, there is his income at
the bar. You needn't laugh, papa, he will earn an income
in time."

But the question of money was a secondary one alto-
gether in Mr. Leicester's eyes. Robert Harbut was of
good birth, and had a very fair income apart from his pro-
fession. It was the man himself. They had known Robert
almost since he was a child — for his father had been aclose
friend of the banker's — and he had not ceased to be a boy
in their eyes. They had expected, somehow, that Hilda
would choose some man that she could look up to, who
would have a stro:ig influence over her, and would, in fact,
as her brother remarked, keep her in order.

ridicl
Youf
twei

A HIDDEN FOE.

"OS

** But he is not a boy, papa," Hilda had urged ; " it is
ridiculous your talking in that way ; he is as old as Henry.
You know they were in the same form at Eton. He is
twenty-seven."

" Well, he may be, my dear, but he looks about eighteen.*'

" It appears to me, papa, that his looks are my affair
rather than yours. I am going to marry Robert Harbut
one of these days. He is in no hurry, nor am I. He
wants to make his mark at the bar first, and I should like
to see him do it, and I know perfectly well he will as soon
as he gets a chance. It will be much nicer and pleasanter
for you all to recognize this, and to give your cordial appro-
val to it. You have nothing whatever to say against
Robert. You have always liked him, and you have always
made him at home here."

Mr. Leicester could not deny this.

" But he does look so young/' he expostulated, rubbing
his short hair violently with his handkerchief.

*' I have always thought you a sensible man till now,
papa, always. But if yor. tellme seriously that you object
to a man as a son-in-1-.w because nature hasn't given him
whiskers, all I can suy is that I have been mistaken in my
estimate of you. I like him because he is not a humbug,
and doesn't, like some people, put on an air of preternatural
gravity as he goes up to the City, and try to assume the
airs of a business man of fifty," and she emphasized her
meaning by waving her hand to her two brothers, who had
been endeavoring to assist their father by occasional inter-
jections, which she had hitherto ignored.

They both laughed at this sally.

** I don't think it is necessary to say any more," she said
with dignity, "as far as I am concerned, the matter is
entirely settled, and the sooner you make up your minds
to it, the pleasanter for us all. The stern parent, papa, is
ridiculously out of date, and you know perfectly well that
you are not qualified for the role. I hope to-morrow
morning you will tell me that you have thought better of
it, and that you are quite sure I shall be a very happy
woman, and that among all the young men you know there
is no one to whom you could more confidently hand me
over. Good night, boys ; I don't mean to interfere when
your time comes, that is, if you don't interfere with me now.
Good-night," and Hilda swept out of the drawing-room.

1^!

xo«5

A HIDDEN FOE,

Mr. Leicester looked at his two sons and the three men
burst into a fit of laughter.

" It is no use, father," Henry, the elder brother, said,
** it is your own fault you know, for you have always let
her have her own way, and after all, Robert Harbut is a
capital fellow. Of course, Hilda might have done a great
deal better, from a worldly point of view, but after all what
we want is to see her happy, and I don't think we need have
any fear on that score with him."

"I don't care anything about the money," Mr. Leicester
said. "Of course, she will have a handsome settlement,
and she would do well enough on that score, even suppos-
ing he never does make any professional income."

" Robert's no fool, father. We were, as Hilda says, in
the same form at Eton when we went there, but he was a
long way ahead of me when we left. He did not do any-
thing particular at Cambridge, but that was simply because
he never tried. He said he didn't see the point of wasting
his time in working for high honors, but there was no fel-
low at Trinity who had a better library, or who was so well
read on general subjects. He used to grind away at law
even in those days. I should not be at all surprised if he
does make his mark some day, and a high mark too. I
believe really the only thing we have to say against him is
that he does look very boyish, but after all that is a fault on
the right side. Most fellows in our days look older than
they are."

The next morning, when Miss Leicester came down to
breakfast, she saluted her father with the question, " Well,
papa, I suppose that it is all right ? "

" I suppose so, Hilda."

" That is good," she said, but although the words were
few the kiss that accompanied them told her father that
she was grateful to him for giving way to her wishes. As
to Mrs. Leicester, she had never made any pretence at
resistance, but had said mildly,

" Well, Hilda, of course you will please yourself, but I
should have fancied you would have chosen some big man
whom you could look up to."

" Not at all, mother. I am perfectly satisfied with my
own level, and have not the slightest desire to look up to
any one physically. In other respects I certainly know of
no one I meet whom I could better look up to. Why, Ro-

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of
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1

A triDDRN FOE.

bert Harbut has as much sense in his little finger as most
of the young men I know in their heads and bodies."

And so the matter was settled, anid although Mr. Leices-
ter and his sons never quite got over their surprise at Hil-
da's choice, they in time became quite reconciled to it, and
agreed that though Robert Harbut was about the last man
in the world they should have thought she would have
fancied, they were confident that the choice was a wise one
in everything save money and position, and that she was
likely to be a very happy woman. The engagement was
six months* old, and there was no talk of an early mar-
riage, for both were perfectly ready to wait, and Robert
was anxious to make a step or two up in his profession
before he married.

No answers were received to the advertisements for
witnesses to the marriage, or for information respecting the
servant who had traveled with Algernon Corbyn. A de-
tective whom Robert had sent down to Bath with instruc-
tions to discover some of the servants who lived at Cor-
byn Court during the time of Algernon's father, and to
find out from them whether anyone from that part accom-
panied Algernon on his travels, returned with the news
that so far as they knew he went alone. Robert had seen
Constance two or three times in the interval. His own
hopes had fallen greatly, but he did his best to keep up an
appearance of confidence.

" You do not say so, but I can see that you think my
cause is hopeless, Mr. Harbut," she said one evening
when he called upon her, and informed her of the failure
of his agent to obtain any information about the man who
had accompanied her father. *

" I do not think it is lost, Miss Corbyn. Many a more
hopeless case has been pulled out of the fire before now.
I acknowledge that for the present we are baffled, and that
think as I will I can see no way whatever of proving our
point. The idea may occur to me or to you, or we may
come across a clue accidentally. I am as much convinced
as you are that the marriage took place, and that being so,
the proofs may sooner or later fall into our hands. For
instance, this courier, if he was a courier, may be at pre-
sent traveling on the Continent. He may hear sooner or
later of Mr. Corbyn's death, and on finding that his nephew
succeeded him in the property would naturally say to him-

*\ ; I:

-t

1^,

■f

io8

A HIDDEN FOE,

self, * a child was born at St. Malo, and if that child is liv-
ing, it is the lawful heir of the property.' He would see
that there is money to be made out of the thing, and would
likely enough go over to St. Malo and make inquiries
there."

" That is what I have been thinking, too," the girl said,
" but, unfortunately, the man may be dead, or he may be
entirely out of the way of hearing of my father's death."

" That may be the case, of course. Miss Corbyn, and I
think it would be as well to insert the advertisement for
him once a month or so in hopes that it may, if he is alive,
sooner or later catch his eye."

" Then you think that it is of no use my waiting here
any longer, Mr. Harbut ? "

" Frankly, I do not. Miss Corbyn. I do not see that
there is anything for you to do. I have already advertised
a reward for the register of a marriage, which may have
taken place either in a London Church or elsewhere, and I
shall do so again at intervals. If I saw that there was a
chance of your doing any good by staying here, I should
say by all means stay, but I see no good in your wearing
yourself out with anxiety without any prospect of benefit."

' I have been talking it over with Madame Duport, Mr.
Harbut. Of course, I cannot think of her staying away
from her home indefinitely. She has been wonderfully
good to me, but I cannot let her do that."

** I am quite ready to stay," Madame Duport said with
tears in her eves. " I cannot leave her."

"Leave her?" Robert repeated in surprise, ** then do
you think of staying here alone. Miss Corbyn ? "

'* I anftiot thinking of living alone, Mr. Harbut, but I cer-
tainly intend to stay in England. I have told you Ijefore that
I intend to devote my life to prove that my mother was
married. I care nothing for the estate, but T will clear my
mother's name if it takes me all my life to do it. My idea
is to obtain a situation as governess or companion. If I
were doing something I could wait patiently, but I could
not go back to St. Malo to the quiet life there. I must be
doing something to prevent my thinking. As you say,
something may occur to me or to you, and 1 should want
to communicate with you."

" Of course — if your mind is quite made up. Miss
Corbyn?"

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A HIDDKIS FOE,

T09

" My mind is quite made up."

" I will do my best then to help you to obtain such a
post as you wish, but I own I do not see that your pre-
sence in England would be any advantage, as you could
come over from St. Malo at a few hours' notice. Still that
is your affair. You will remember — I know the idea is
repugnant to you, still it is right I should mention it — that
whenever you choose to accept it, your Cousin Philip is
ready to settle an annual allowance upon you."

Constance waved the idea aside.

" I would not have accepted it at lie first, for to have
done so would have been to have admitted that my mother
was not married. Now that we are sure that she was,
although we may have no legal proof, it would indeed be a
base act to do so. What would be the best way to set 10
work to obtain a situation? Madame Duport says that
it would be difficult without recommendations. Of course
I speak French as well as English, better I think. I have
had good masters in music and drawing, and carried off the
prizes in both in my last year at school. I am sure that
the mistress would give me testimonials. Had I better
advertise, do you think, or put my name down at the offices
that Annette says there are for governesses ? "

" I will think it over and let you know to-morrow or
next day, Miss Corbyn. That matter is quite out of my
line, but no doubt I can find out all about it."

That night Robert Harbut wrote a note to Miss Leices-
ter, saying that he would call next day at five o'clock, and
that he hoped she would manage to be in, if she coulc' "^
he particularly wanted to see her. Hilda had of co. .e
been informed of all particulars relating to Constance and
her claims, and was quite ready to fall in with any sug-
gestion Robert Harbut might make about her. He began
by telling her of the determination that Constance was
taking, expressing his own regret that she did not return
with her friend to St. Malo.

" I differ from you altogether, Robert, and I think it is
perfectly natural that she should not like to settle down to
the dull life there. I shouldn't think that anyone almost
but not quite able to prove that she is well born and heir-
ess to a grand property, would settle down in a humdrum
little French town, with a cloud over her name. Why, it
would be enough to make one go out of one's mind. I

• : iv
■ u

A TIinnEN^ FOP..

think that she is perfectly right to get something to occupy
her time with. Now how is she going to set about it ? Of
course, it makes it difficult her not having been out before.
No doubt she could get a place in a school, but that would
be slavery ; besides, she is altogether too pretty and nice.
That would be against her in a private family, too ; if there
were sons they would be falling in love with her. No, the
best thing would be for her to go as companion with some
nice person who would treat her as a friend. I have half
a mind to tell papa that I want a companion myself, and
I am sure I often do."

" How about the brothers, Hilda ? "

Miss Leicester tossed her head. She was an ardent
champion.

" They might do worse," she said.

" A great deal worse, if she ever succeeds in getting
proofs of her mother's marriage ; but scarcely otherwise."

" Don't talk in that old-fashioned way, Robert. She is
charming, and I know nobody I would rather have as a
sister-in-law."

" That may be, Hilda, but I think it would be better to
avoid complications of that sort altogether. I admire Miss
Corbyn as much as you do, and acknowledge that she
would make a charming wife to anyone. Still, indulgent
as your father is to you, I doubt if you could persuade him
in this matter. Besides it would be absurd your having a
companion, especially a girl younger than yourself. What
I did think was that, among all your acquaintances, you
might be able to find someone who wanted a companion,
and being a friend of yours, she would of course occupy a
much more pleasant position than if she was taken on in
the ordinary way. She would not require a large salary.
What she wants is a comfortable home, and I suppose
enough money to keep her in clothes. I am sure she
would wish to be altogether independent of those good
people who brought her up."

** I have no doubt I can find someone, Robert, and if I
do not know anyone who actually wants a companion, I
have no doubt I can persuade some one into taking her.
Look here, I propose that she should come here to stay
with me as a friend for a bit. I can easily persuade papa
into that, then we could look about, and her face would be
a better introduction than any I can give her, and, in the

meal
her,]
lon{

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i-ii.-..! .■.ujM&.--'a

A HIDDEN FOE,

III

meantime, her guardian or her nurse, or whatever you call
her, can go quietly home again. I am sure she must be
longing to be back at St. Malo."

" I think that that would be a capital plan, Hilda, if
your father and mother would consent to it."

A HIDDEN FOE,

CHAPTER VIII.

As Miss Leicester's two brothers happened to be out to
dinner on the evening following the conversation between
Hilda and Robert Harbut, she had a good opportunity foi
opening the subject.

" Mamma, I wanted to ask Miss Corbyn to stay her*
for a bit."

" Who is Miss Corbyn, Hilda ?" Mr. Leicester asked.

" Mamma has seen her several times, papa ; she is a
friend of Robert's, or I suppose I ought to say she is a
client of his."

" Oh, has Robert got a client ? That is something new.
I congratulate you, Hilda."

" Well, she is not exactly a client, papa, not in the ordi-
nary way. She was introduced to him by a legal friend,
or rather the case was introduced as being a most inter-
esting one, and he is advising her. I know all about it.
She has been shamefully treated, and is heiress to a fine
estate if she could only prove it."

** There are a good many people who are heiresses to
fine estates if they could only prove it," Mr. Leicester said
dryly. " However, my dear, if Robert considers her
cause a good one, no doubt there is something in it ; at
any rate I am sure he would not have introduced her to
you had she not been a respectable young person."

Miss Leicester laughed.

" You hear that, mother ; a respectable young person.
My dear papa, she is one of the most charming girls I have
ever met ; I am quite in love with her."

" That is all very nice, Hilda ; but as you have two
brothers resident in the house, I really do not thing it de-
sirable to establish so charming a person here, until, at
any rate, the heiress-ship is proved."

" My dear papa, we have often had nice girls staying in
the house and the boys have not lost their hearts to them.
I don't think that after seven or eight years of London
society young men are given to falling in love hastily."

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youil

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A HIDDEN FOE.

" Perhaps not, ^TMda ; but the unexpected happens
sometimes. Are you at liberty to tell us this charming
young person's story? "

" No, I think not, papa. Of course, Robert told me."

" Of course, my dear."

•* But I am sure he did not mean me to tell anybody ;
and I am sure she would not like it."

"Well, Hilda, of course I don't know why you particu-
larly wish to ask her here, but I certainly think it had
better be avoided if possible. Of course, if Robert ap-
proves, there is no reason why you should not be as much
with her as you like; but I really do think it would be
wiser not to l)ring her here. I am not at all supposing that
your brothers would be likely to fall in love with her, siill
It is just as well to avoid the possibility of unpleasant com-
plications if one can. Don't you think so, mother? "

" Yes, I quite think so," Mrs. Leicester said. " I have
certainly nothing to say against the young lady person-
ally. I have only seen her twice when she has come in
with Hilda, and she struck me as a particularly nice girl.
Tiadylike, and quiet, and with a very bright, pleasant face
— a sensible face, and pretty, too ; but I do not think it
would be quite prudent to bring her into the house."

Miss Leicester was silent.

" I will think it over," she said after a pause, " and see
if it can be managed some other way."

Robert had agreed to come round next morning at ten
o'clock to hear the result of Hilda's application. He saw
at once by her face when he came into the room that she
had failed.

" So you haven't been able to get your own way for
once ? " he said with a smile.

'* It is on account of the boys," she said ruefully.

" Well, dear, I really cannot blame your father and
mother. One may have every belief that Miss Corbyn is the
rightful owner of Corbyn Court ; but as I have said, when
we talked about it, our chance of proving it appears to me
to be small ; and if we fail, you must admit, from society's
point of view, she would not be a desirable match for
either of your brothers. We may also admit that, were
she to be in the house three weeks or a month, the chances
are strongly in favor of one or other of them falling in love
with her. You did not tell them her story, Hilda ? "

114

A HIDDEN FOE.

'!'■'

[•'I,i,

" Of course not, Robert."

" That is right ; the fewer who know it the better. And
now, Hilda, have you thought of any other plan ? "

Miss Leicester shook her head.

" I have been thinking it over, for it seemed to me likely
that your people might object, and it struck me that she
might go into one of those homes for governesses — there
are such places, I believe — for a bit. You could call for
her and take her out and have her at your place sometimes
in the day and she would get on very well."

" Yes, I think that would do," Hilda agreed, brightening
up. " As you say I could have her a great deal with me
during the day."

** At any rate, it would take away her sense of loneli-
ness," Robert said, '• and there will be other people there
whom she could go out with. To her it would be less dull
than where she is now." He looked at his watch. " I
have time to go round there before I go in Court ; there is
nothing like broaching the matter at once. I am sure she
is anxious to get something settled."

Robert found Madame Duport and Constance in.

'' I have been having a long talk with Miss Leicester
about you," he began, " and told her that you want to get
a place as governess or companion. She tl 'nks you will
find a companion's place much the most pleasant, if you
get with a nice woman. She is going to interest herself
among her friends, and will, I have no doubt, be able to
find you a post before long. She is very energetic when
she takes a thing in hand, and will not be long before she
persuades some one that the thing she most wants is a lady
companion, and that you are the only person in the world
who will suit her. But, of course, this cannot be done in
an instant. Her idea is this, that as you are anxious
Madame Duport should be able to return to St. Malo, you
should take up your abode in what they call a Home for
Governesses. There are plenty of them scattered about —
places where ladies stay who have no friends to go to when
out of place, or who want to be in London while looking for
one. She proposes that you should find one somewhere near
her, and then she can take you out for drives, or you can
go and spend the morning and lunch with her whenever you
like, which will make a break for you. She will call this after-
noon and chat it over with you herself; but I thought I

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A HIDDEN FOE.

might as well come and tell you at once so as to give you
time to think it over before sha comes."

" But I am in no hurry to go back," Madame Duport
said. " I should like to remain with her until she is com-
fortably placed.'

** I am sure of that, madame," Robert Harbut said ;
" but these matters lake time, and we thought that Miss
Corbyn, who is, I can see, most unwilling to keep you
longer from home, would be fidgetting and worrvlng over
il."

" I think it would be the best plan, Annette," Constance
said decidedly. " You know we agreed last night that if
I got any fresh clue and have to set about a search again,
I should write to you at once and you will come over and
chaperone me about ; not that I want a chaperone. When
we go in an omnibus or anywhere else we see girls of my
age going about alone everywhere, and it is ridiculous that
I can't do as other people do. Of course, in France it is
different, and people would think it extraordinary for a
girl to be traveling about by herself. Still I shall be ex-
tremely glad to have you with me, if I have to go about
again. 1 think Mr. Harbut's idea an excellent one. You
know as well as I do that Victor will be lost without you,
and I am sure you are longing to be back, though you will
not admit it. I shall get on capitally, and it will give me
something else to think about beside my own private
affairs ; besides there is Miss Leicester, who is most kind
and good to me, and you know you don't care about going
out driving with her."

Annette had in fact excused herself under one pretext or
another from accompanying Constance. Her eighteen
years at St. Malo had completely obliterated any trace of
the lady's maid manner Annette had acquired in service ;
but she felt uncomfortable and out of place at Chester
Square, and thought that the girls would enjoy themselves
far more without her. Miss Leicester was proving herself
a valuable friend to Constance ; if she were away they
might be drawn even closer together. She said, therefore,
afltr a minute's thought : —

" Well, Constance, as you are going to set out on your own
way I do not think it makes much difference whether you
begin a Httle earlier or a little later. As you know very
well I am quite ready to stay here as long as I can be in

-"■:

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i'?

ii6

A HIDDEN FOE.

\ \

%li

any way useful to you, and I shall be ready to come over
at an hour's notice whenever you want me. Perhaps Mr.
Harbut's plan is the best. It is dull, for you are here
with nothing to do or to think about, and the change may
be for the best ; so I shall say nothing more against it."

And so it was settled ; a week later Constance Corbyn
took up her abode in a Home for Governesses within a
quarter of a mile of Chester Square, and Madame Duport
returned to St. Malo. Fond as Constance was of her she
felt that the change was for the best. It had been dull in
the little lodgings during the last three weeks, when they
had been inactive. Everything had been said over and
over again that could be said about the grand object
they had in view. Annette missed the busy life to which
she had been accustomed, and sat for hours at a time knit-
ting with scarcely a word passing between her and Con-
stance.

Madame Duport wished now with all her heart that she
had more effectually opposed the girl's resolve to set out
upon this search, and blamed herself that she had not in-
sisted more strongly upon its hopelessness. Now it seemed
to her that the child she had brought up and loved was pass-
ing away out of her life altogether, and that instead of
marrying and settling down in St. Malo, as she had hoped
she was going to do, she would waste her youth in what she
felt sure would be a hopeless search. The only thing she
had to look forward to was that in time Constance would see
this herself, would become tired of the life she was now
choosing and would return to St. Malo, and accept the
annuity that Mr. Ferris had offered in the name of his
client.

" It is all very well to have ideas," she said to herself,
" but it is a betise to let them ruin your life."

" You will be sure and come back, dearie, as soon as you
are convinced that the search is hopeless, won't you ? You
know that your room will be always ready for you, and how
dull the house will be without you, and Victor and I will be
longing to have you with us again."

" I will be sure to come back, Annette, when I am con-
vinced that all chances are over ; where else should I go
to ? I do not want to be a wanderer all my life ; but you
must not expect me soon. I feel convinced that somehow
or other, though I cannot see how at present, my mother's
memory will be cleared."

A HIDDEN FOE.

117

" And you will write often, Constance, and be sure if
you are uncomfortable in your first place give it up and
come home for a bit and then begin again. It is nothing
for you who are a good voyager to run across to St. Malo."

It was Miss Leicester, or rather Miss Leicester's maid,
who had discovered the Home for Governesses to which
Constance Corbyn went. Constance herself had been
with Madame Duport to arrange for her residence
there. The Principal, as she called herself, though why,
Constance did not understand, was a motherly sort of
woman who at once took an interest in the girl, who was
younger and of a different type to the majority of her
boarders, and she welcomed her when she arrived with a
real kindness.

** It is a good hour at which you have arrived, Miss
Corbyn, for there are only two of my inmates in. The
morning is the time they principally go out to answer ad-
vertisements and do their little shopping. I think it is
more pleasant to meet strangers gradually than to come
upon them all at once. This is the drawing-room."

Constance followed her into a dingy room where two
ladies were sitting. One was a dull heavy-eyed woman of
five and forty, whose life had been passed in wrestling
with troublesome children, and whose face bore traces of
the strife. The other was a pale young woman of three or
four and twenty.

" Miss Hawkins, Miss Jocelyn, this is a new inmate,
Miss Corbyn."

So saying she left them together.

" You have not been out before ? " the elder woman
asked.

** No," Constance replied, " though I don't know how
you knew it."

Miss Hawkins smiled faintly.

" By your face," she said. '* Women do not look as you
do after they have had even one bout of teaching."

" Is it so very bad, then ? " Constance asked.

" Of course, there are exceptions, for every ten women
who are inconsiderate, you meet with one who is consid-
erate. For every twenty children who are troublesome
and impudent, you may find one who is docile and obe-
dient. I have found the average in each case much
smaller, but perhaps I have been unlucky."

iii

.*■ ■

•ifl:

I Mil

1x8

A HIDDEN FOE.

li .

A ^

" I had no idea it was as bad as that," Constance said.
**I am sure that at the school I went to, which was in
France, the girls were nothing like as bad as that."

" No, they would not be," Miss Hawkins replied. " Girls
at school behave as a rule very much better than girls at
home. There they are under the mistress, and know that
she can and will punish ; at home they see that the gov-
erness is snubbed by their mother and is not respected
even by the servants. How can you expect then that
they will yield her ready obedience ? Perhaps you will
find it better than I have done. You look as if you would.
I should think you would make yourself minded ; anyhow
you will make a fight for it."

" 1 am not thinking of going as a governess," Constance
said. " I am hoping to obtain a situation as a companion."

"They are much more difficult to get," the younger
woman said. " I have been companion for two years,
and am now going to try as a junior governess in a school.
It is hard work, of course, but it cannot be so hard as that
I have been having. I believe sometimes companions'
places are very nice, but then you know the competition
is awful. 1 was with a dreadful old woman, who expected
me to be nurse, lady's maid, and companion all in one.
So that literally I had not a minute to myself from eight
o'clock in the morning until eleven at night ; and the un-
kind things she used to say were awful."

Constance looked at this young woman who looked as
if she were utterly broken in spirit.

" I have some friends who are looking out for me," she
said. " I am sure they would not put me with a woman
like that, and if they did I am sure I should not stop there
a fortnight."

" Perhaps you can afford to be independent," Miss
Hawkins said. ** A small income of one's own makes all
the difference in our line. If one has something of one's
own to fall back upon one can afford to be independent \
but a woman who has nothing but what she earns, and
knows that she cannot afford to be a month out of place,
is in a different position altogether. She must put up with
whatever comes. If I had my time to come over again I
would never be a governess, but would go as a lady's
maid ; or if I could not get a place as that as a housemaid.
Their position is a hundred times better than ours. They

have t^
their Si
straighj
times aj
their ri
«Ye[
youngej
rather
look fol
man, o|

mere i

a greati

behind

with tl

as you

compa

either

Mis5

trary

— " Tl

ever

Corby]

repliec

such i

teach

schoo'

and w

affecti

''I

Hawl

dispii

have

hold

them

ofth

soon

thosi

comi

Ebu

I '

A HIDDEN FOE.

119

have their work and their hours, and their day out and
their Sundays, and can change as often as they like and go
straight from one place into another. Their life is twenty
times as happy as ours if girls would but think so and put
their ridiculous pride into their pockets."

"Yes, but what is there to look forward to?" the
younger woman Siiid. " I am sure I would fifty times
rather be a servant than what I am ; but what is there to
look forward to? One cannot marry the butcher's young
man, or the grocer or the policeman."

'* I don't know why one cannot, Miss Jocelyn ; it is a
mere idea after all, and it strikes me that your life would be
a great deal happier one, even if your husband did stand
behind a counter and weigh out sugar and raisins, than
with the old woman you were talking about. You put up,
as you say, witii being a lady's maid and nurse as well as
companion. Well, a tradesman's wife is quite as good as
either a lady's maid or a nurse."

Miss Jocelyn had no argument in readiness to the con-
trary, but she sighed and shook her head and murmured :
— " That it was quite different."

"I think it is quite different," Miss Hawkins said, "and
ever so much pleasanter. What do you think, Miss
Corbyn ? "

" I don't know that I ever thought about it," Constance
replied. " Of course if one had to live all one's life with
such a person as that I would a thousand times rather
teach in some little village school, where at least after
school hours I should be my own mistress, independent,
and where," and she laughed, " I might hope to win the
affections of some young farmer."

" I think you will do, my dear, wherever you are," Miss
Hawkins said kindly. " You must not be depressed or
dispirited at what Miss Jocelyn or I say. I can see you
have good spirits and a brave heart, and will be able to
hold your own."

The other inmates now began to return, and fourteen of
them were gathered round the table at lunch time. Several
of them were bright cheery women, and took, as Constance
soon found, a far less gloomy view of their profession than
those she had first met. All were interested in the new
comer, whose youth and brightness were a novelty in
Ebury Street.

■

! I

; t

i I . ■ .

ill

xiio

A HIDDEN FOE.

.1,

v!i -

\ \

iil

I. il

" One's life is a good deal what one makes it oneseh/
one said ; " there are some situations where no one could
stop for a week, others where anyone might be happy, but
between these there are a great many wliere one's life de-
pends upon oneself. A good many women are bullies,
who will respect you if you respect yourself, but who will
trample upon you if you have no spirit. In nine cases out
of ten, if this sort of woman sees that you know your work,
are firm with the children, and mean to be mistress in
your own schoolroom, they will leave you alone, and as
soon as the children see that their mother respects you
they will respect you too."

At three o'clock a vehicle was heard to stop at the door,
and a minute later the servant came up with the message
that Miss Leicester hoped that Miss Corbyn would go out
for a drive with her. As Hilda had promised the day
before to call and take her out, Constance was ready
except putting on her bonnet and wraps. While she was
away doing this some of the others peeped through the
window.

" A very handsome carriage and pair, coachman and
footman, tiger skin rugs and all the rest of it," one said.
" Miss Corbyn has evidently rich friends. I wonder they
let her go out."

" She is not likely to be out long," Miss Hawkins said.
" I will wager she has a comfortable home of her own
before many years are over."

There was a chorus of assent.

" She will have her troubles and her trials," Miss Haw-
kins went on. " She is altogether too pretty either for a
governess or a companion ; but I think she will be able to
hold her own. She is not a girl to be made a fool of, and
has lots of good sense and spirit in that bright face of
hers."

" There she goes," one of those at the window said. " She
is shaking hands warmly with that pretty girl in the car-
riage as if they were equals, and they are laughing and
chatting like old friends. I wonder who she is and how
she comes to be here."

Constance did not stay long in Ebury Street. Ten days
after she had gone there Miss Leicester said, when she
arrived at the house in Chester Square to spend the
day : —

be at

«Ai
"You I
quiet

Yestei

mothel

and isl

how tf

the mj

she isl

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tenhai

aunt i

found

lent a

have

persoi

openii

nice li
and tj
much

A nTDDEN FOE.

121

" Don't take off your things, Constance, the carriage will
be at the door in ten minutes." .

"Are we going out?" Constance asked in surprise.
** You said yesterday that you intended to have a long
quiet day at home."

* * So I did," Hilda said ; " but my plans have been upset.
Yesterday evening I saw my aunt, Miss Peyton, she is my
mother's sister you know. She is older than my mother,
and is as different as two women can be. I often wonder
how they came to be sisters. Siie is a dear little thing, but
the most restless person possible. She is always out when
she is in town, and that's not very often, only just in the
Season. The rest of her time is spent in going the rounds,
Harrogate and Scarborough, Brighton, St. Leonard's, Chel-
tenham, Bath, in fact wherever people are congregating,
aunt is sure to be there. I went yesterday to see her and
found that she had got a new lady's maid, who was excel-
lent as lady's maid, but as aunt said, * did not seem to
have a tongue in her head, and you know, Hilda, I like a
person one can talk to on a wet day.' It was a splendid
opening, Constance, and of course I made the most of
it.

" * I can't think, my dear aunt, why you don't have a
nice lady companion, somebody to sit with and drive with
and talk with. I have often thought that it would be so
much nicer for you.'

'* * i have tried it, my dear,' she said, ' eight or ten times,
but I can't get on with that sort of woman ; they agree
with you whatever you say, and what is the use of talking
when a woman always agrees with you. Some of them
are shy, and some of them have an expression testifying
that they are aggrieved and humiliated, having been born
to better things. Some of them are stupid, some are lachry-
mose ; some, which is worse still, have a perpetual smile
on their face. I am not good-tempered, Hilda, and fly
into rages with them. None of them stop with me more
than three weeks, and yet every one of them was guaran-
teed to me to be a treasure.'

" * You have evidently got hold of the wrong persons,
auntie,' I said. 'You want someone bright and young and
pleasant. Someone whom you would treat as an equal and
who would treat you as an equal ; who would contradict
you when you were wrong and amuse you when you were

■■*'

I ■

IIJ

A HIDDEN FOE,

.; I

|/<

dull, and play and sing to you when you felt disposed that
way ; and in fact be a friend and companion in reality.'

" ' Where is such a treasure as that to be met with, Hil-
da?' my aunt said, laughing. * Are you thinking of taking
the situation ? '

'* ♦ No ; but I have a friend who would be the very thing
for you. She is young and has good spirits, and is clever
and pretty, and a lady.' "

" Oh, Hilda, how could you say all that ? "

" I said what was perfectly true, Constance. ' Are you
quite in earnest, child ? ' my aunt asked.

** ' Perfectly, aunt. T am very, very much interested in
her, and very fond of her, and as it happens that she, from
what I consider a silly freak, has made up her mind to go as
companion to a lady, it seems to me that you were made
for each other.'

" ' But who is she, Hilda ? '

" * She is a lady, aunt, and she is an orphan, and she has
been educated in France, and literally knows no one in
this country ; she has a home in France she can go to if
she likes, but she has a particular wish to stay in England
for a time. I thought of you directly.'

'* * Is she that girl I saw you driving with the other day
in the Park, Hilda?'

" I nodded. I won't say, Constance, what she said of
you, as it might make you conceited. However, she said
I was to bring you to-day to have a chat with her. She is
really a dear old lady, accustomed, no doubt, to have her
own way, havimg been always her own mistress ; but a
dear kind-hearted old soul. Shrewd too. She affects to
be rather cynical, and I should think she has seen enough
of life to make her so in reality. Here we are."

The carriage slopped at a house in South Audley Street,
and Constance, feeling a little nervous, followed her friend
upstairs into the drawing-room, where an elderly lady was
sitting by the fire.

" Well, aunt, here we are. This is my friend Miss
Corbyn."

Miss Peyton held out her hand to Constance. She was
just what Constance had pictured she would be. Rather
a short woman, with a slight, girlish figure ; her hair had
been dark, but was now thickly streaked with grey ; her
eyes were sharp and bright, her mouth firm, but with a

kindlj
beganl
could '
people
did n^
Miss
ease,
given

me,

A HIDDEN FOE,

laj

kindly smile. She had, as Constance found, when she
began to talk, a sharp decided way of speaking, and she
could understand when Hilda told her afterwards that most
people were a little afraid of Miss Peyton ; but Constance
did not feel afraid, the little smile which passed across
Miss Peyton's lips as her eyes fell upon her set her at her
ease, and assured her that the description that Hilda had
given of her was a correct one.

** Well, child," she began, " so you have taken it into
your head that you would like to be a companion to an old
woman ? "

Miss Peyton was in fact not yet past sixty, but she
generally spoke of herself as an old woman, although
younger in manner than many ten years her junior.

" I should like to be a companion. Miss Peyton, with
anyone with whom I could get on comfortably."

** Ah ; and are you aware of the duties of a compa-
nion ? "

'* Not at all. Miss Peyton ; my idea is that the chief
duty of a companion would be to be companionable."

" That is a very good answer," Miss Peyton said, " and
reminds me of Sydney Smith's definition of an archdeacon,
that he was a man who discharged archidiaconal functions.
Hilda rather hinted that you expected to be treated as a
friend. You see, my dear, in a matter of this kind one
must treat things on a business footing."

"Just so. Miss Peyton. I can assure you that the sug-
gestion is Miss Leicester's and not mine. I am quite ready
to do all that a companion generally does, whatever it may
be ; but it certainly seems to me that a person would be a
very poor companion who was not also a friend. I should
be content to be a companion, but it certainly seems to me
that to be a good companion one must be more than
merely a paid servant."

" I think you are right, my dear, and that perhaps the
failures I have made with people who came to be com-
panions was because we did not start on that sort of footing
at all. It would certainly be a pleasant experiment to
make. And how about salary? "

Constance flushed.

" Business, Miss Corbyn," Miss Peyton said sharply.
" We must keep to business."

** The salary is altogether a secondary consideration with
me, Miss Peyton. I want to stay in England for a time,

, I

114

A HIDDEN FOE,

'. V

and I cannot very well live here by myself, and I should
like, if I could, to avoid being an expense to my friends in
France. I must, of course, dress well if I am to go about
with you ; but as I make my own dresses that would not
cost me a great deal. I should think thirty pounds a year
would be ample."

** I should think not," Miss Peyton said sharply. " How-
ever, I see there will be no difficulty on that score. I see
you are in deep mourning."

" Yes ; I lost my father not long ago."

Miss Peyton looked sharply at her. There were no signs
of recent grief in the clear eyes, nor of depression in the
curves of the face and mouth. Whoever he was, she said
to herself, she did not care for him ; he must have been a
very bad lot if he could not make her like him.

" May I know a little bit more about you. Miss Corbyn ? "
she asked. " My niece's recommendation is of course
ample in its way, but if we are to be friends, and I think,"
she said with her pleasant smile again, " there will be no
great difficulty in being friends with you, it is better to
know as ranch as one can of each other, so as to avoid
treading upon each other's corns."

Constance looked at Miss Leicester.

" I do not see why you should not know," she said.
" Indeed, I think that it would be better you should know."

" You know all about it, Hilda, of course ? " Miss Peyton
asked.

"Yes, aunt."

" Then, I think, my dear, it will be more pleasant for
Miss Corbyn for you to tell me the story. Not now, but
if you can find time to come round again to-morrow."

*' Certainly, aunt. I will bring Robert with me if I may ;
he is Miss Corbyn's adviser, and as I have only heard it
from him he can tell you a great deal better than I can all
about it."

Miss Peyton smiled.

" Bring him with you by all means, Hilda, you know I
like him. It always refreshes me to have a chat with him,
which is more than I can say of young men in general.
Most of those I meet go very far to confirm Darwin's
theory about our having an ape among our ancestors. Well,
child," she went on, turning again to Constance, " you
shall have an answer from me the day after to-morrow, I

warn

that

most

panioi]

that?

"I
smile.l
find tf

"\)
asked)

"I
shall 11

A HIDDEN FOE,

warn you that I am a very ill-tempered old woman, and
that when things go wrong I shall snap and snarl at you
most unmercifully, and that I have never yet kept a com-
panion beyond a fortnight. Are you ready to risk all
that?"

" I think so, Miss Peyton," Constance said with a slight
smile. " I have not told you my faults yet, but you will
find them out soon enough if you agree to take me."

" Well, what do you think of her ? " Miss Leicester
asked as they took their seats in the carriage again.

" I think you described her admirably, and I am sure I
shall like her if she can like me. I think if she didn't like
one she would be a little hard to get on with."

" Very hard," Hilda said emphatically. '' She can hit
very hard I can tell you when she chooses, and when she
dosn't like any one she makes no pretence of concealing
her feelings. She knows every one, going about as she
does ; and what is more, she seems to know everything
about everyone. It is absolutely wonderful to me how she
carries it in her head. As a rule she is very much liked,
but those who dislike her dislike her heartily, and perhaps
with some reason. I have not the least fear in the world
about your getting on with her."

" Then you think she will take me ? "

" Think ? I feel sure of it. I consider it will be the
best thing in the world for her. I am sure it must be very
dull for her at times in these places she goes to. One can-
not be always out, you know, or having people in to see
you. She reads a great deal, and makes me quite ashamed
sometimes of my own ignorance when she gets on the sub-
ject of books. Still at times she must feel lonely, and it
will do her a world of good having you with her."

The iiext morning Hilda drove to South Audley Street,
having written to Robert Harbut to meet her there. She
was the first to arrive.

" Well, aunt, what do think of my paragon ? "

" I am pleased with her, Hilda, very pleased. Of course
I have had no opportunity at present of knowing anything
about her accomplishments ; but I can see that she is a clever
girl and a good girl. What I like most in her was that she
was not afraid of me, not a bit. She is, as you say, dis-
tinctly a lady, and would make a sensation anywhere. So
Master Robert introduced her to you ? "

1, I

ia6

A HIDDEN FOE,

w I

»1M 'i

'■A >

il. i

" Yes, aunt." .

" He knew her before you did ? "

"Yes, aunt; not very long. He introduced her to me
a few days after she came over from France."

" And you were not disposed to feel jealous, Hilda, of
this very pleasing young lady ? "

" Not a bit," Hilda said stoutly. " It never entered my
mind."

"Well, my dear, that is creditable alike to you and to
Robert Harbut. And now who is tliis girl and wlicre does
she spring from, and what's her story, for I know without
your telling me that she must have a story. She has not
been crossed in love I am sure by her face, and she did not
care for her fatlier, T could see that ; and how is it that she
was brought up in France and is so thoroughly English in
her manner? "

" Here is Robert, aunt, he will answer all your questions ;
it is much better that you should get the story first-hand.
I wrote to you, Robert, to come here," she went on, as he
was shaking hands with Miss Peyton, " in order that you
might tell aunt all about Constance Corbyn. Constance
has given me leave to tell her her story."

" In which," Miss Peyton put in, " I am quite sure
beforehand that there is notliing for her to be ashamed of."

" Not at all, Miss Peyton. The only person who comes
badly out of the matter is her father."

" So I fancied," Miss Peyton said. " When a girl has a
story, other than a love story, in nine cases "'t of ten the
father is to blame. Now sit down."

" And you think this leaf was cut out of the register by
the father? " she said, when he had finished the story.

" I have very little doubt about it ; in fact I don't see
who else could have done it, as Ferris assured me that young
Clitheroe would throw no obstacle whatever in the way of
Miss Corbyn if she were in a position to prove the case. I
don't know him personally, but Ferris speaks of him as a
frank, pleasant fellow, who was ready to make very liberal
provision for the young lady, and I do not for a moment
suspect that there would be any foul play from that side.
Besides he has a fair position already. He is owner of a
small estate, which has been in the family a great many
years, and occupies a good position in the county. He
would be nothing short of a fool to risk all this by commit-

J JrWDF.K FOP..

la;

ting a felony. No, I luivc r,o ([iicsiion that Algernon Corbyn
cut the leaf out, or got aomc one to cut it out for him. He
did it, no doubt, after his wif .-'sdeuth, and had she lived he
would have declared his marriage at the first opportunity.
After she was gone he determined to suppress the thing
altogether. He probably had in his possession an original
copy of the register, and so had ii in his power to prove
his daughter heiress of the Court at any time if he should
change his mind. There would be his own statement,
backed, if necessary, by the copy of the register, and no
one would be likely to go to Folkestone to examine the
original."

" In that case this copy ought to have been found among
his papers," Miss Peyton said.

"A slip of paper like that might have been hidden any-
where, and certainly would not have been placed with his
ordinary i)apcrs."

"Well, he must have been a very bad fellow : a worth-
less, heartless man," Miss Peyton said decisively. *' How-
ever, we need not discuss his character ; the point that
interests me is this girl whom my niece has pretty well
entrapped me into taking as my comi)anion."

" It was for your own good, aunt, as well as hers, and
you know very well that, whatever I said about her, you
would not have taken her unless you had liked her."

*' Well, of course, this story will give me an extra interest
in her, Hilda. As you say I do like her, and think it will
make a pleasant change to have a girl like ihat with me.
At any rate she will not be like her predecessors, and will,
I see, speak out her mind freely, and anyhow, if we don't
suit each other, we can part. You can tell her, Hilda, that
I have decided to conclude the arrangement with her. Of
course I shall write formally to her myself. Hint to her,
or rather tell her plainly, for I hate hints, that I would wish
her to lay aside that heavy mourning. Of course, if she
had any reason to love her father and was grieving for him
at heart, it would be different ; but as she cannot do so,
and as no one know s her or knows that she has lost a
relative, half-mourning will be quite sufficient. You see in
the first place it is not cheerful Iiavinj!^ a person about one
in deep mourning ; in the second people ask questions, and
I don't like questions. Tell her 1 like people about me to
be nicely dressed, and that the thirty pounds she spoke of

iti.

A HIDDEN' FOE.

is simply absurd ; I pay my lady's maid more. We will say
sixty pounds, that will be fifty for her clothes and ten pounds
for pocket-money, which will be enough, as she will have no
necessary expenses whatever. She may as well come to me
this day week, which will be the first of March, that will give
her time to get her things made. As this will be an extra
expense altogether, of course that is my business. So do
you take her to my dressmaker, Hilda, you have been there
with me and she knows you. Tell her to make four dresses,
a simple dress for travelling, one for walking, and one for
ordinary wear, and a dinner dress. Tell the woman to send
in the account to me ; and get her a couple of bonnets, and
mantles and things. If she is, as you have settled, to pass
as my friend she must be dressed accordingly. You will
inform her that this is no question of obligation, but of strict
business. If I am, at my time of life, to be provided with
a doll, of course I must pay for dressing it."

'* Shall I put it to her in those words, auntie ? " Miss
Leicester said laughing.

^ ** You can put it in any words you like, Hilda. Now I
have no doubt but Mr. Harbut wants to be off to his
business, so he can go ; but you can take off your bonnet
and stay with me to lunch. It is not very often you find
time to stop an hour with me, and after wheedling me into
complying with this whim of yours, and transferring all the
trouble of this young woman on to my shoulders, the least
you can do is to give me the morning."

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A HIDDEN fOE,

129

CHAPTER IX.

A WEEK later Constance Corbyn arrived at Miss Peyton's.
Miss Leicester brought her in her carriage ; her boxes were
to be sent by carrier. This had been done at Miss Pey-
ton's own suggestion.

" I have told my maid that a young friend of mine is
coming to stay with me for a time," she said, *' and it is just
as well that she should come with you. You know what ser-
vants are ; if they once get an idea that she is a paid com-
panion they will be jealous of her and will show their spite
in all sorts of little mean ways; therefore it is just as well
they should be kept in tlie dark on the subject."

Miss Peyton gave a little approving nod at the appear-
ance of Constance in her quiet half-mourning dress.

" That will do very nicely, my dear, and I am obliged to
you for giving way to an old woman's fancies,"

" You are very kind and good, Miss Peyton," Constance
said gratefully.

" Tut, tut, my dear, I please myself. Hilda, take your
friend up to her room ; it is next to mine you know. You
are going to stop to lunch I hope."

Constance felt in a day or two quite at home at Miss
Peyton's ; her absolute duties were very slight. She went
out with her shopping or in her broughman, for Miss Pey-
ton jobbed a carriage while in town, saying that horses
and a coachman were much too troublesome for a single
woman. Constance offered to read to her the first morning
after breakfast, but Miss Peyton decidedly declined the
offer.

" I can see perfectly well, my dear, and when I can't I
shall take to glasses. How anyone can put up with being
read to when they can read themselves is more than I can
understand. In the first place, being read to makes you
sleepy, which is one of the most disagreeable sensations
possible, a/.d in the second place, wn<;n I read myself I
can get through the paper in half an hour, and see all there

I JO

A HIDDEN FOE.

'; 'i'

is worth seeing, whereas a reader has to go on conscien<
liously, and your time is wasted by listening to a quantity
v")f things in which you have no interest at all. It is just
the same with books, some parts you want to read atten-
tively, then you come to a dozen pages of padding which
can be skipped with advantage. This morning I want to
read, and you can either read or work or go up and prac-
tice on the piano, ju.st as you like. This afternoon you
shall go with me to Boosey's and we will get some old-
fashioned English songs. Those things you sung last night
were very nice, but I don't care either for Italian or French ;
our old English songs are worth a bookful of them in my
opinion. Of an afternoon we shall be mostly out, and of
an evening you must amuse yourself as you best can, for I
am out five nights out of six. I dare say you wonder why
I do it, and think that I should be more comfortable at
home at my age. Perhaps I should have been if I always
had someone like yourself to make my home a little cheer-
ful ; but it is dull work sitting alone, and besides I really
like seeing wi it is going on around me, and watching the
play."

Constance enjoyed the afternoon drives much, especially
when there were no calls to make. Miss Peyton knew
every one and had something amusing and caustic to say
about tlie occupants of nearly every carriage they met.
When she did make calls she expected Constance to accom-
pany her upstairs, and always introduced her as my friend,
Miss CorI)yn, and people generally supposed thai she was
some friend on a visit, and wondered a little who this pretty
girl could be. but Miss Peyton was not a lady to be ques-
tioned, and it was assumed that it was some girl whom she
had become acquainted with in her many absences from
London. She was several times included in the invitations
to Miss Peyton, but the latter, in accepting for herself,
stated that Miss Corbyn had not yet come out, and for the
present did not go into society.

" I am afraid I am very useless to you, Miss Peyton,"
Constance said one day after she had been six weeks in
South Audle/ Street. " I feel that I am here under false
pretences altogeuicr."

" I am quite satisfied, my dear, if you are. The house
is much more cheerful than it vv^as. I have always someone
to talk to when I want to talk, and I can be silent when I

A HIDDEX FOE.

131

>»

like. A house is a poor place without young people in it,
and I was telling Hilda only yesterday that I wondered
I have been content to go on by myself alone, and that I
was really obliger', to her for having provided you for my
comfort. So you need not be in the least uneasy. You
have come as my companion and you are my companion,
and I am quite contented with you, and there is nothing
more to be said about it. If I have any reason to be dis-
satisfied you will hear it quickly enough."

" I am getting very tired of London," Miss Peyton said
a day or two later. " I have had nearly three months of
it, and three months is as much as I can stand ; we will be
off for a bit, and come back m the middle of June. The
question is. Where shall we go to first? I think we will
move West. One does not feel the east winds down in
Devonshire; but on the way I think we will stop at Bath
for a fortnight, at any rate ; I am sure to find lots of
people I know there, and we may possibly unite business
with pleasure. Of course, I am very interested in your
story, my dear ; and when we are down there, and hear
all the gossip of the place, we may pick up something that
may be useful to you. I should like to see this young
Clitheroe, and judge for myself what sort of a man he is.
Altogether it will give an interest to our visit. What do
you say ? "

" I should like it very much, Miss Peyton. Bath seems
the only place where there is a chance of my obtaining any
clue that can help me at all. I don't see which way it is to
come from ; but if it is to be got anywhere it is there. It
is very kind of you to think of it."

"It will be an amusement,' Miss Peyton said, briskly,
" As to finding a clue one can never tell, this sort of thing
almost always turns up accidentally ; at any rate, we shall
learn a little more about Mr. Corbyn's ways and character
than we know at present. We will start to-morrow. You
had better take my engagement book and write a batch of
notes saying that I am leaving town, and regret I shall not
be able to keep my engagement. People are pretty well
accustomed to my ways by this ti.^"«'^, for when I make up
my mind I never waste time over it. Look out the trains
in Bradshaw at once and I will tell Miriam to pack up. I
will write a telegram to the people where I always lodge
asking if I can have a sitting-room and three bedrooms,

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ill

132

A HIDDEN FOE.

and if not they must find me them somewhere. There is
nothing so hateful as looking for lodgings. I like to drop
in and find cosy fires and warm rooms, and a snug luncheon
ready for me. There is no reason in the world why one
should not be comfortable if it can be managed with a little
trouble. We need not put that in the telegram ; if we
write by this afternoon's post they will have plenty of time
to get everything in readiness before we arrive."

" I have been thinking," Miss Peyton said, as they were
on the road to Bath on the following day, " that it would
be just as well that your name should not be known ; it is
not at all a common one, and of course we do not want
to provoke comment. Therefore, whenever it may be
absolutely necessary to mention a name, I shall call you
Miss Constance. I don't know that I ever did meet a
family of that name, but there is no reason why one should
not exist."

" Very well. Miss Peyton, I think it would be prudent ;
especially if we happen to meet Mr. Clitheroe, or any of
his relations, only it might be rather awkward if some of
the people to whom you have introduced me as Miss Cor-
byn should be staying down here."

" It is not likely, my dear. People don't go out of town
much in April."

Miss Peyton had sent down very particular instructions
on the previous day, and everything was ready for her on
their arrival.

" There, my dear," she said, as she sat down to hmch,
" I call this comfort. If we had trusted to chance the ut-
most one could have got would have been a chop cooked
in a hurry, and we should have had to wait an hour for
that. Now, with this bright fire and luncheon five minutes
after we come in, one feels at home. I like to wander
about, but I like to carry home with me."

Luncheon over, Miss Peyton said, " Now, we will go
down to the pump rooms, and I will put my name down
in the visitors' book, and see wlio is here, though I am
pretty sure to meet some people I know. Everybody goes
to the pump room in the afternoon ; a very good band
plays there, and it serves as an excuse for i)eople to go and
meet each other. I always drink tlie waters when I come
down from London. After a course of three months of
dinners,, one's constitution wants a little assistance, and

A HIDDEN FOE.

133

fortunately the waters are neither bad tasting nor bad
smelling, so that it is not a serious penance."

As Miss Peyton expected, she met several people whom
she knew, and was soon in full conversation with them,
Constance quietly seating herself and watching the scene
to which she had been too preoccupied on the occasion of
her last vist to Bath to pay much attention. The music was
very good, but it was evident the great majority of those
present paid very little attention to it, and the buzz of low
talk continued unbroken during the performance of the
pieces.

" I suppose you are alone, as usual, Miss Peyton ? " she
heard the lady sitting next to her say.

" No ; for once I am not alone, I have a young friend
with me. She has been staying for a short time with me
in town, and when I got tired of the place I brought her
down here with me."

" Anyone I know ? "

" No, I think not. She is a Miss Corbyn, and her friends
do not live in London. Let me introduce her to you.
She is almost the same age as your daughter."

In the course of the next two hours Constance was in-
troduced to several people, and always in her right name.
Miss Peyton said afterwards, " These people are all Lon-
doners, Constance, before I introduced you I found out
that they knew none of the local people, so that it is bet-
ter to introduce you under your right name, as you will
very likely meet them again in town. I have not put your
name down at all in the visitors' book, only my own ; so
that it won't get into the local papers."

A fortnight passed away. Miss Peyton enjoying herself
thoroughly. She drank the water, looked over the papers
in the pump room, chatted for an hour or two with ac-
quaintances, and then went for an hour's walk with Con-
stance. In the afternoon they went for a drive the first
thing after lunch, listened an hour to the band, and then
went back to their lodgings. Here almost every evening
Miss Peyton had two or three friends to dine. These
dinners were very cosy little affairs ; the cooking being ex-
cellent and the wine good. Miss Peyton was a capital
hostess, and although Constance knew none of the people
whose doings were discussed, and whose peculiarities were
laughed at, she enjoyed them much. She had never

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134

A HIDDEN FOE,

heard conversation of this sort before, it seemed to her at
times a little ill-natured, but it was certainly amusing.
The visitors were for the most pate gentlemen.

" Women do not appreciate a good dinner, my dear, as
men do," Miss Peyton said to her one day ; " besides, I
have a motive for asking most of the men who have been
here. Several of them, as you have noticed are military
men, and just at present they are more likely to be useful
than anyone else."

" Useful ? Miss Peyton."

" Certainly. We have come down here partly on your
business, haven't we ? I have not forgotten about it,
though I daresay you have suspected that I have."

" I did not at all think you had forgotten, Miss Peyton,
but I did not see in the least how you could do anything."

" I do not know that we can, my dear, but I am trying,
and it is for that reason that I am specially cultivating
military men down here."

Constance looked surprised.

" My dear, Bath swarms with military men and Indian
officials, and that sort of people, who settle here either be-
cause the place suits their constitutions, or, more fre-
quently, because there are a number of their friends here,
and they form a sort of colony, and get together and talk
over their regiments or their districts, or what not, with
each other at the clubs, and play whist to their hearts* con-
tent. These people, of course, get to know the county
folk and hear the gossip of the town. Now, as a rule, very
few of our set in London have any acquaintances among
the residents here, but when men like Colonel Forsyth and
General Bangles and Major Hersee come down here to
drink the waters for their gout they find a host of acquain-
tances among the military settlers. So through them we
may hear of something about your people. I told Colonel
Forsyth and the General that I want to know something
about the Clitheroes, as I have heard of them from a friend
of mine, and should be glad if they could get me any in-
formation about them. I think from the way I put it they
fancied that perhaps my friend had met young Clitheroein
London, and, having daughters, wants to know what his
standing was down here. The general told me this even-
ing, while you were playing, that he had heard at the Club
that young Clitheroe had just come in for a very fine estate

A HIDDEN FOE.

»3S

at
|ng-

as
;ful

on the death of an uncle, who had been thrown from liis
gig and killed some three months ago. Everyone speaks
well of him. They say he is a nice, straightforward young
fellow, full of life and spirits, and would have made a first-
rate cavalry officer. His mother does not seem to be
so popular, though General Bangles said he heard that she
was a ' ducid ' fine woman.

" You need not look surprised, my dear, that is exactly
what he said. No doubt he considers it to be a very high
commendation ; he said she was one of the leaders of
society here, and thinks a good deal of herself. She seems
as little like her son as possible, being stiff and cold ;
she can be pleasant when she chooses, but is able to
be quite the contrary on occasion. The general said
she was sister of the man who was killed a few months
ago, and who was not only wealthy, but was the head
of one of the oldest families in the county, and that
she prided herself a good deal more upon having been
born a Corbyn than of having married Clitheroe, although
the Clitheroes were an old family too, but their position
in the county was by no means equal to that of the Cor-
byns. They say she is generally known by the nickname
of the countess, and the general opinion is that her son
having come into this fortune is a matter of much greater
gratification to her than to him. There is nothing very
new in all this, my dear, but I may hear more presently."

The next day, when they were sitting in the pump room
listening to the music. General Bangles came up to Miss
Peyton in one of the pauses in music.

" You were asking about the Clitheroes, Miss Peyton,"
he said, as he took his seat by her, " my friend Fairbrother
has just pointed them out to me. They are that lady in
mourning in the front row and the young man with her ;
it is the first time they have been here since her brother's
death. I thought as you seemed to have an interest in
them you might like to see them."

" Thank you, general, I have no interest in them per-
sonally : still I should like to see what he is like."

Constance heard what was said and looked eagerly
across at the persons pointed out. Their backs were
turned to her, so she could see nothing of their faces, and
she waited anxiously for the programme to come to an
end. As soon as it was over there was a general move,

136

A HIDDEN FOE.

and as Mrs. Clitheroe and her son stood up several friends
gathered round them, and they stood there talking for ten
minutes before they left the hall : Miss Peyton and Con-
stance had therefore full opportunity for examining them.

" A fine-looking young fellow," Miss Peyton said, as
after the knot had broken up they turned away, and pass-
ing in front of the Abbey Church started for their usual
walk before returning to their lodgings, " a very pleasant
face and soldierly carriage. The general said he M'as a
captain in the Yeomanry here, and I suppose they give
them a certain amount of drill. It seems to me, my dear,
that there might be a much more satisfactory way of settling
this difficulty than by the aid of the law."

She spoke meaningly, and Constance understood her.
The girl flushed up hotly.

" You don't think, Miss Peyton, that even supposing —
even supposing that we met each other and he were to offer
me to marry him, which would be the most unlikely thing
possible, that I would marry into a family like that, unless
my mother's name were cleared ; I would sooner beg in
the streets."

" Tut, tut, my dear," Miss Peyton said, sharply, *' it
seems to me that you are as proud in your way as they say
Mrs. Clitheroe is in hers. You have no legal proofs as to
this marriage of your mother's, but you have strong moral
proofs, and nine people out of ten who heard your story
would be of opinion that the probabilities were in favor of
the marriage having taken place. And what did you think
of your aunt ? " she went on, abruptly changing the sub-
ject.

Constance laughed. '' I had not thought of her as my
aunt until you said so, Miss Peyton. I have always thought
of him as my cousin, because you see I could not help feel-
ing that it would be hard for him if after naturally regard-
ing himself as my father's heir he found that he was mis-
taken ; but I never thought of her as my aunt, and I do
not want to think of her so in the future. I did not like
her face at all. She has thin lips and a cold sort of eyes.
No, I do not like her a bit. What did you think of her,
Miss Peyton?"

" It is not easy to know what to think of a woman like
that at first sight," Miss Peyton said, slowly ; '* one is so
liable to be mistaken. As to her being cold and proud one

A HIDDEN FOE.

er.

can see that at once — that is on the surface. I should say
that she was a clever woman, too. She certainly has a
striking figure ; I don't know what her husband was like,
but I am sorry for him, whoever he was. I should say
that she was ambitious, and 1 1 A more or less certain she
would be unscrupulous —that sort of woman with sandy
hair and thin lips and cold grey eyes is my particular aver-
sion, and therefore I am perhaps a little prejudiced. If
you had both lived two or three hundred years ago in
Italy I should have said to you, don't eat anything she can
have touched, don't accept a flower or a fan that she could
have had the handling of. Never stir out of your house
after dark without an armed escort, and always see to the
fastenings of your door and window before you went to
sleep."

" Oh, Miss Peyton, how dreadful of you ; you don't mean
to say that you think " and she stopped.

'* That she would put you out of her way. I only say,
my dear, that I would not give her the chance. Remember
that I admit I am prejudiced, but that is distinctly my im-
pression "

CoiiStance laughed.

*' Well, Miss Peyton, fortunately we don't live in Italy
three hundred years ago, and people in our days don't put
poison in flowers or hire bravos, but content themselves
with fighting in the law courts, besides she may not even
know of my existence."

" Perhaps not, my dear, I doubt if she would be a party
to any compromise, and I own that I regard her as an
obstacle to the little plan I just hinted at."

"She would certainly not make a nice mother-in-law,
but other people evidently do not think of her as you do.
Miss Peyton, because you know Gereral Bangles said she
was a leader of society here, which shows that people can-
not dislike her."

Miss Peyton shook her head decidedly. " It is evident,
Constance, that you knew nothing about it. Some women
owe their position as leaders to their birth, or their man-
ner, or their popularity ; others are leaders because they
seize the position and no one is bold enough to contest it.
I could name half a dozen women in London who are
universally disliked, but whom nobody cares, or dares, if
you like, to oppose. We are most of us moral cowards and

i»

A HIDDl-.N lOE.

\ \

shrink from a fig^'t, and though we may grumble under our
breath we go wii.i the majority, and submit to the dicta-
tions of people of whose tongues we are afraid. Well at
any rate, my dear, you have gained something by our visit
to Bath. You have seen your relations. By the v/ay,"she
said abruptly, " I am expecting visitors to-morrow."

" Is there anytiiing 1 can do, Miss Peyton ? "

" Nothing, my dear ; Mrs. Allen will see to all that. I
wrote two days ago to my niece, Hilda, asking her to come
down for three or four days, and to bring Robert Harbut
with her ; and had a letter this morning saying that they
will both come to-morrow."

Constance uttered an exclamation of pleasure.

" I don't particularly want Hilda," Miss Peyton went
on, '* now I have got you. Besides, I am accustomed to
be altogether alone. But you see we cannot get on very
well with your business without a man. I cannot ask
questions about Mr. Corbyn, and it is really about him we
want to learn. If Robert has his wits about him, he might
find out something. I will introduce him to General Ban-
gles and Colonel Forsyth, and they will put him up at the
Club, and he ought to be able to bring the conversation
round to the subject."

" It is extremely kind of you, Miss Peyton."

" Not at all, my dear. I have got interested in the mat-
ter myself. Besides, I want to see if Robert has got his
wits about him, as Hilda insists. I am not going to leave
my money to a young couple who are likely to make ducks
and drakes of it, and this is a fine opportunity for him to
show what there is in him. So you see I am acting quite
as much in my own behalf as in yours."

The next day they drove to the railway station and met
Miss Leicester and Robert.

" I knew that you would get quite as interested in this
search as we are, aunty," Hilda said, as they drove away
from the station.

** What search are you speaking of, Hilda ? "

" It is of no use to plead unconsciousness, aunty. If
you had asked me down by myself, I should have thought
It was because you so missed my society, that at the end
of a fortnight you felt it necessary to your happiness to have
me here, but that little dream was dissipated by your ask-
ing Robert."

A HID PEN lOE.

»39

she

Hit

" Perhaps I knew that you wouldn't come without him,
child."

" Not a bit of it, aunty. I said to Robert at once,
* Those two have done nothing down at Bath, and now
they want you to take it up, Robert. ' "

" Well, I own, child, there is something in what you say.
It seems to me that the detective spirit is latent in us all,
and that if we once get interested in a case we are fascin-
ated by it. Robert has, in any case, chiefly to thank you
for my having brought him down here."

" How me, aunty?"

" Well, my dear, you have so often told me what great
things he would do, if he had the chance, that I naturally
turned to him in our difficulty. But really, Robert, I have
brought you down as a sort of forlorn hope. You see at
a woman I cannot go about asking all sorts of questions
about Mr. Corbyn. Nor, I own, do I see what sort of
questions I should ask had I the opportunity. I have
thought it over in every way, and cannot see in what direc-
tion we ought to search."

" Well, aunty," Hilda said, laughingly, " that is exactly
the conclusion we arrived at when we first told you the
story three months ago."

" I know that, my dear," Miss Peyton said irritably,
" but in three months ideas ought to come to people. Of
course there must be some way if we could only hit upon
it. I think it is very stupid of us four that we are no fur-
ther forward. But here we are at our lodgings, we will
talk it over after lunch. There is no worse habit than of
talking seriously at your meals, it interferes s?.dly with the
process of digestion, while gossip about your neighbors'
affairs, ill-natured remarks about absent people, and small
chit-chat give a piquancy to a meal, and add to its flavor, so
let us put this matter aside until we have done, especially
as Mrs. Allen has prepared something extra in honor of
your coming."

Accordingly the talk turned on people in town and
Hilda's doings since they had last met.

" Now, Robert," Miss Peyton said, when the meal was
over, " we can turn our thoughts to business. My ideas
do not extend far. I have got General Bangles and
Colonel Forsyth to ask some friends to put your name up
at the club ; that was to be done this morning. General

f' I

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I40

A HIDDEN FOE,

Ml te

III

'' k

Bangles will come here at three o'clock, and will go there
with you and introduce you to people. Then, if you have
any gumption, you can bring the conversation lound to
the subject of the accident to Mr. Corbyn. I have asked
the general specially to introduce you to some old resi-
dents here, as you wanted to get some information about
someone or other who lived here some time back."

" Yes, Miss Peyton," Robert Harbut said, smiling, " so
far it is all clear, but the point is what sort of questions I
am to ask about Mr. Corbyn."

" I don't see, Robert," Miss Peyton said, indignantly,
** what is the use of your being a barrister if you can see
no further in the matter than an old woman like me. You
know what your object is, and you ought to know upon
what line you should conduct your cross-examination so
as to get at what you want."

" It may be that I ought to know. Miss Peyton, but I
certainly don't. However, I will endeavor to get men to
talk of Mr. Corbyn, and trust to chance to glean some little
item of information that may turn out useful. There is no
doubt that the great majority of discoveries that are made
are made by chance, and that if people will but talk they
are sure sooner or later to drop something which will
throw a fresh light on the subject. I am vexed and annoyed
with myself that I have not been able to see a way out of
our difficulty, and when I received your invitation was
really very glad that I should have an opportunity of try-
ing to get on to the scent again. The smoking-room of a
club, especially of a local club, is just the place for getting
hold of pieces of gossip. I am not much of a club man
myself. Any spare time I have your niece peremptorily
claims, but I am quite prepared for the next few days to
pass the greater part of my time in the smoking-room here,
and to leave you three ladies to go about the country in
the character of unprotected females."

" I am so sorry to trouble you all," Constance Corbyn
broke out.

" It is no trouble to any of us," Miss Peyton said, " and
I can assure you that you needn't worry yourself about it.
It is as much for our own sakes as yours that we want to
get at the bottom of the matter. We have taken it up,
and have got interested in it, and do not like acknowledging
ourselves beaten. Robert Harbut regards the matter as

L:j'.-,'U^^."g^!~?-r'

A HIDDEN FOE,

141

|ere

ive

:cd

psi-

a point of professional honor to l)cgin witli and lie wants
to pl'iase Hilda, and al the same lime to convince her
friencfi as well as herself that he possesses no ordinary
sagaci y. Hilda wants him to succeed partly no doubt for
your s:>lce, but partly also that there will be some justifica-
tion foi her faith in Robert's abilities, and I wani him to
succeed because, apart from my interest in you, I have an
interest w the case, and have thought so much over it in
every ligh\ that it would be a serious disapi)ointment to
me if we failed to get to the bottom of it. There is the
General's knock, as soon as you have gone oflFwith him,
Robert, we viill go for a walk."

Robert made a grimace. " I feel like a bad boy that is
kept in. Miss Peyton, while the others are off to the cricket
field. However, I know of old that it is no use arguing
with you."

Robert was duly introduced to General Bangles. The
latter, after a short chat, went away with him to the club.
Here he spent the greater part of the next two days, and
with an adroitness which would iiave excited Miss Peyton's
admiration had she heard him, he several times turned the
subject of conversation to Algernon Corbyn's accident,
and learned incidentally a good deal about that gentleman's
character and habits. On the third evening after his
arrival in Bath, he was chatting with General Bangles and
Major Roth^ay, a resident at Bath, in a quiet corner of
the smoking-room, when the latter startled him by say-
ing :—

" You were talking about Corbyn this afternoon, Ban-
gles. Do you know I was an intimate friend of his at one
time ? I was at the same college with him at Oxford, and
we were on the same staircase. His rooms were over
mine, which was perhaps lucky for him. He was one of
those quiet old fellows who don't do anything in particular,
who neither read nor row, nor play cricket nor drink, so
that he never used to have noisy parties over my head,
while I was rather racketty in those days, and he would
have fared badly if his rooms had been under mine instead
of above. As it was, he used to grumble a good deal. We
left college at the same time, and a rather rum thing hap-
pened a year or two afterwards. This is quite between
ourselves, you know, for he lived in the highest odor of
respectability down here. I was knocking about on the

I f

142

A HIDDEN FOE.

continent, just before I got my commission, which I got
later than usual, for my father had set bis mind o» my
going into his oflRce, and settling down into a lawyer. I
kicked against this, and it was not until he saw that the
case was quite hopeless that he gave in.

" Well, I was at Cremona, an out-oi-the-way place where
very few English tourists go : and no wonder, for, except
that some fellow or other made fiddles there, I don't know
what attraction there was in the place. However I got
there somehow ; and the next morning, while s:anding on
the steps of the hotel, who should come out but Corbyn,
with an uncommonly good-looking young iroman. He
flushed up suddenly when he saw me, and looked com-
pletely taken aback. I saw that he was hesitating whether
to recognize me or not ; but I suppose he saw no way out
of it, so he shook hands, and introduced the lady as Mrs.
Corbyn. I dined with them afterwards. She was a plea-
sant, lady-like woman, and not at all fast, either in appear-
ance or manner.

" After she had gone out of the room he said to me :
*By-the-way, Rothsay, you need not mention to anyone
you met me here with my wife ; my marriago not generally
known yet you see, a private sort of affair.' Of course, I
said that I would hold my tongue on tlie subject ; but I
could see he was a good deal relieved when I mentioned
afterwards that I was expecting every day to hear that I
was gazetted into a cavalry regiment, and 1 had applied
for the 15th Hussars, who were on the point of starting for
India. I never met him again until I came down here
seven or eight months ago to live. He had forgotten me
till I spoke to him one day here.

" I could see that at first the recognition was a deucedly
unpleasant one to him ; however, we neither of us alluded
to the subject of our last meeting. I afterwards learned,
of coiirse, that lie was a single man and had never been
married. They had been traveling together some months
before I met ther.>. I learned that by running against a
fellow in the corridor of the hotel who had been our scout
at college. I had a chat with him for a minute or two, and
he told me he had been traveling as a sort of valet and
courier with Corbyn ever since he left England.. He did
not seem to want to talk, so of course I did not ask any
questions, it was Corbyn's affair, not mine, and I certainly

A HIDDEN FOE.

got

the

thought at the time they were married, though, by his con-
fusion and his asking me to say nothing about it, I guessed
there was something irregular in the business. But of
course when I came here and heard that he had never
been ma/ried, I saw how matters stood-

'*Ri\n, isn't it, how the last sort of men you would be
likely xo suspect — and I should certainly never have sus-
pected Corbyn — go in for this sort of thing, when they think
it safe to do so. Of course I should never think of telling
this to anyone down here. He died in the odor of sanctity,
and though I don't suppose h j was a bit worse than the
rest of us, I have a quiet smile to myself sometimes when
I hear them talking about him."

General Bangles related three or four stories apropos of
that which he had just heard, and then Robert made an
excuse to leave them and hurried back to the lodgings.

ill

A HIDDEN FOE,

CHAPTER X.

The ladies were just sitting down to supper when Robert
Harbut burst in upon them.

" Dear me, Robert, how you startle one," Miss Peyton
said, as he suddenly opened the door and ran in.

** Don't sit down, Miss Peyton; for goodness sake don't
sit down, or I know I shall be obliged to keep my news
until you have finished supper, and to do so would be fatal
to me."

" What is your news, Robert," Miss Leicester asked
quickly, while Constance looked anxiously at him.

" My news is this — I have got a clue."

An exclamation of surprise and pleasure broke from his
hearers.

''It wasquite accidental," he went on -, "butlhave learnt
by a most singular chance who the man was who accom-
panied Mr. and Mrs. Corbyn on the Continent. I have
not got his name, but that will be easy to discover, for
I h?.ve learnt that he served as Mr. Corbyn's scout at
Oxford ; so I should say there will be no difficulty what-
ever in getting his name from the College books."

" But how did you find that out ? " Miss Peyton asked.

" By the extraordinary piece of luck of coming across
probably the only man who could give me the information,"
and Robert then repeated the story he heard.

** That is singular, indeed," Miss Peyton said when he
finished ; " downright providential. Now we have only
to find out the man's name, and then to firni him.''

"The second part of the affair will be more difficult
than the first," Robert said. " However, I imagine that
most of the scouts are natives of Oxford ', their fathers
have been scouts before them, or in some way connected
with the college, so we may hope that if we do not find
the man himself living there now, we may find some of
his people and learn where he now is if alive. I say if
alive, Miss Corbyn, because you know we have agreed

.■^i:^ -tif^:^33iw;

A HIDDEN FOE,

"45

Ibert
'ton

that as this took place some eighteen or nineteen years
ago the man may not be alive now, and it is as well not
to start by being too sanguine, as otherwise we might have
a severe disappointment."

"I am almost convinced that he is alive," Miss Peyton
said ; " I dont think you would ever have heard of him
in this strange way if he hadn't been alive. And now let
us change the subject and have supper. I am afraid that
we shall find Mr. Allan's dishes none the better for standing
so long."

The meal was a very cheerful one. Robert Harbut and
Hilda were in high spirits. Miss Peyton, although she
had forbidden any allusion to the subject, was evidently
full of it. Constance, though the happiest of the party,
was the most silent. She had lately herself begun to give
up hope. She was ready, had there been anything to search
for, to have devoted her life to the pursuit, but when there
was no clue to follow up, no clue however faint as to the
direction in which the search should lie, nothing apparently
to do until chance threw something in her way, she had
felt absolutely powerless. Now, the very vague hope with
which they bad come down to Bath had been unexpectedly
realized, and there was again something to work for, and
a clue to be followed up. It might end in nothing, but at
least it led somewhere for the present. It was like a track
to a traveler lost on a moor. It might run in any direction.
It might end abruptly at a deserted sheepfold, it might
lead to shelter and rescue, at any rate it was something to
follow and gave ground for renewed hope and confidence.

" Now, my dears, we can renew the subject," Miss Pey-
ton said at last. *' I think to begin with we ought to move
a vote of thanks to Robert for having thus succeeded in
discovering such an important point."

" But it was accident, pure accident, aunt," Hilda said ;
" we must not puff him up by premature praise, it will be
quite time to do that when he has made something out of
the discovery."

<' I don't think that is fair," Constance said, " Mr. Harbut
has exactly carried out ^iiss Peyton's instructions, he was
to introduce the subject as often as he could in order that
from some chance word he might obtain a clue. This he
has effected beyond our hopes, and I entirely agree with
Miss Peyton."

•liH

146

A HIDDEN FOE,

" Then as we are two to one," that lady said, " we may
consider my motion as carried."

" So far," Robert ilaruut said, " it has been a matter of
pure chance, but you must remember that even the most
practised detective cannot invent a clue, he must wait
until one presents itself, and then it is his business to carry
it out. In this case the first operations are simple and
obvious I shall to-morrow morning take the train to
Didcot and then up to Oxford. I shall find out the name
of th . man who attended Mr. and Mrs. Corbyn on their
travels, and, if possible, discover whether his family live
at or near Oxford, and if so shall then learn from them if
the man is alive, and if so where he is living. If he is
dead and has left a widow, it may be useful to find her;
he would probably have told her the story, and from
her we may learn something which will help us materially.
For example, if he had told her that he was present at the
ceremony at the church at Folkestone, that would strengthen
our case greatly, for the really weak point is that we are
not in a position to prove this marriage took place there,
and that the missing leaf in the register contained this
marriage. I do not say that a court would accept
the evidence, but it would strengthen our moral position
prodigiously and might perhaps enable us to make a
satisfactory compromise."

" I should be ready to make any sort of compromise,"
Constance said, " as far as the estates are concerned,
providing they will admit that my mother was lawfully
married."

'' I should think,'* Miss Peyton said, " that even on the
evidence that you have now, they might admit that if it
would cost them nothing, though I am certain that woman
Clitheroe would not give way a single point unless she
were forced to."

" You see, Miss Peyton, as I have already explained to
Miss Corbyn, the difficulty in effecting anything in the form
of a compromise is almost if not quite insuperable.
Neither of the principals can do more than bind them-
selves, the estate is entailed on the direct heir — male or
female — and an entail can only be broken by the existing
holder with the consent of his next heir. Either Mr.
Clitheroe or Miss Corbyn is the owner of the estates, and
neither of them can break the entail until they have a son

/< HIDDEN' FOE.

may

of twenty-one years old, or, failing sons, a daughter of
that age, or failing children altogether, the consent of the
next heir whoever he may be."

" But you yourself said that there might be some sort
of a compromise, Robert," Miss Peyton said sharply.

" Yes, there might be a compromise, but one not of a legal
nature. Thus Mr. Clitheroe might agree to treat Miss Cor-
byn as his cousin, and to acknowledge the relationship, and
even to put on paper the acknowledgment of his absolute
conviction that a marriage took place between her parents.
I grant that this would place him in a singular position,
and that if Miss Corbyn intended to settle down here in
Bath, it would be an almost impossible position, for
naturally every one would ask how, if she were Mr. Cor-
byn's daughter, she did not succeed to the estate. But
I take it that she has no intention of residing here, and
might even be not disincHned to give an undertaking
that she would abstain altogether from visiting this part of
England.

" Such an understanding as this would give her the
moral satisfaction that she desires. In other respects
matters would remain as they are. She might acquiesce
in the surrender of her own rights, but she could not bind
her heir, who, either he or herself, or by their trustees, or,
if a female, by her husband, could take up the case at the
point at which you lay it down. In the same way Philip
Clitheroe's heirs might repudiate this acknowledgment
made by him, which would, in fact, have no legal value,
and would be merely an expression of his opinion. Still,
that is the line upon which, if at all, it seems to me that a
compromise might be effected in the event, of course, of
our failing to find the legal evidence of which we are in
search."

Miss Peyton was silent. These difficulties had not
suggested themselves to her.

" Well, we need not discuss it now," she said abruptly
at last. " The great point is to find the evidence; if we
cannot do that we will talk over this rigmarole entail
business."

Robert Harbut left the next morning by an early train.
Late in the afternoon Miss Peyton received a telegram from
him — " Successful to a certain extent ; do.Vt expect me till
to-morrow ; I am making inquiries."

S I

1 I

!■!

148

A HIDDEN FOE.

It was not until three o'clock on the following afternoon
that Robert Harbut returned. The ladies had not stirred
out, but had sat pretending to work or to read, but their
talk turned upon nothing else than Robert's expedition.
" He might just as well have written," Miss Peyton said
over and over again, " and told us what he had done. Men
are the most provoking creatures about letters."

'* Most likely he was a great deal too busy, Miss Peyton,"
Constance suggested, while Hilda pointed out **that in all
probability if he has written, the letter will have gone up to
London first, and we should not get it until between twelve
and one o'clock."

" It might, or it might not, my dear. Probably it would
be put in the West County bags and we should have got
it this morning."

" I should think, Miss Peyton, that he did not write
because he has not completed his business. He may have
had to go some distance to find this man or his family, and
he would naturally rather tell us the whole story at once.
At any rate I am quite sure that he has been hard at
work."

Upon arriving at Oxford Robert Harbut had driven
straight to St. Boniface. He found that the bursar was in
the college, and was conducted by the junior porter to his
rooms. On entering he handed his card to Mr. Freeman,
the bursar.

" I am a member of the Inner Temple, Mr. Freeman,
and have called to inquire if you will be kind enough to
tell me the name of the scout who attended upon Mr. Cor-
byn and Mr. Rothsay, who had, I believe, rooms on the
same staircase about twenty-two years ago. He should be
able to give some very important evidence on a case in
which I am engaged. I do not know whether the infor-
mation would be in the college books, but, if so, I shall be
extremely obliged if you would give it to me. Of course
if you cannot do so, I must endeavor to obtain it from some
of the servants who were at the college at the time. If
not here now, doubtless some of thein are alive and may
not improbably be residing in Oxford."

" I should think I could give you the information you
require," the bursar said, " it will be very easy to find the
staircase, as there is of course a yearly record of the occu-
pation of rooms. The calendar will give us the precise

year wl

was in|

"I
of thei
Each
is not I
staircE
Afte
volum|
or tw<
reside!
Mr.Cl
Roths|

((

A HIDDEN FOE.

149

Don
red
leir
on.

n,"
all
to
ve

year when each gentleman took his degree. I suppose it
was in their last year of residence ? "

" I should fancy so/' Robert said. " The fact of both
of them being on one staircase will probably decide that.
Each of them may have moved once, perhaps twice, but it
is not likely that they were both twice on the same
staircase."

After consulting the calendar the bursar took down a
volume from his shelves. A'.ter examining it for a minute
or two he said, " Yes, for the last three term^ of their
residence they were both on staircase three, third court.
Mr. Corbyn's rooms were immediately over those of Mr.
Rothsay."

" Yes, that it so, that settles the question then about the
year. Now then as to the scout."

Mr. Freeman took down another volume labelled " de-
tails of scouts' work." " Yes, here ic is. In that year,
Thomas Morson was the scout who attended upon the six
sets of rooms on that staircase."

" He left the college tv/o or three years later, I think."

*' Did he, we shall soon see that. He was here at the
beginning of the next year and of the year after that, for he
was in charge of the same sets of rooms. Yes, you are
right," he went on turning over another page, " his name
is not in the next year's list. I can find out exactly when
he left if it is of any importance to you by turning to the
wages' books."

" Thank you, I do not see at present that it is of any
consequence, but there is never any saying what may be
useful and what may not."

" He left at the beginning of the long vacation," Mr.
Freeman said after some further search,

** I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Freeman, for the
trouble you have taken. The further particulars I wish to
find out I shall no doubt be able to learn from servants
vrho were here with the man."

" You will find several here who were in the college
employment at that time. The college porter has been
here over thirty years, and he will be able to give you a list
of the other servants who were here with this man, Mor-
son."

Robert Harbut then went back to the porter's lodge.

" I want to have half-an-hour's chat with you," he said.
" I want; some i information that Mr. Freeman says you can

'50

A HIDDEN FOE.

probably furnish me with, and of course I am ready to pay
you for the trouble of giving it," and he slipped a sovereign
into the man's hand.

" All right, sir, I will answer any question I can if it is
in my way and ain't going to do harm to any members of
the college. If it is I say frankly that you won't get any-
thing out of me."

" No ; my inquiries concern a man who was a scout
here once, who left some twenty years ago."

" You don't mean Thomas Morson ? " the porter asked.

*- Yes, I do ; but how in the world did vou guess
that ? "

" Well, sir, there was another party asking questions
about Toiii some three months back."

"You don't say so."

" Yes, he came in here one morning ; he was rather a
seedy-Jooking chap, witli a shiny hat, I was standing at
the gateway and he said, * Porter, T want to have a it\f
words with you about a man named Morson who was a
college servant hereabouts twenty years ago.' * Well,' I
said, ' if you want to know about him you had better go and
see his people and ask them — they live at Woodstock, and
can tell you as much as they like. I don't know what you
want to know for, and I don't care, so there is the long
and the short of it.' He seemed a good deal a-taken back.
However, he put on a bold air and said, * It might have
been something in your pocket if you had told me what I
wanted to know. You people down here are too well paid,
that is what you are.' 'Well,' said I, ' well paid or not,
if you do not step outside them gates sharp I will chuck
you out,' and so of he went cussing."

" That is very curious, porter, t1 e fellow hadn't been here
before, I suppose ? "

'• I do not think so. The undei porter wy here at the
time, and I asked him and he; said he had never set eyes
on him before, and as one of us is always at the gate we
should have seen him if he had been here. He looked just
the sprt of chap as would come to serve a writ, and ycu
may be sure we shouldn't have let him inside the college
till we knew what b«^ was up to. Oh, and he said some-
thing about his belonging to a detective office, and gave me
a card. I've got it somewhere and can show it you if you
are interested in it. but here is the under porter. Jim, just

years
pay a g
doing

r ./? .

I"- ::x

A HIDDEN FOE.

>5>

pay
reign

it is
Irs of
[any-

mind the gate for half an hour. Now, sir, we can sit down
comfortable."

He led Robert into the lodge. " Now, sir, what do you
want to know about Tom ivlorson ? "

" Well, I want to find him."

** Well, sir, what do you want to find him for, if I may
be free to ask? It is many years since I saw Tom ; but
we were pretty thick together when he was here, and I do
not want to do him a bad turn."

" I have nothing against him whatever," Robert said.
" We believe that he can give some information that no
one else can give about an event that took place nineteen
years ago, and as it is important we should be ready to
pay a good sum for the information. So you see it will be
doing a good turn rather than a bad one to Morson."

" Oh, if that's it, I will tell you all I know, sir ; but that
is little enough. I can tell you all about him in the days
when he was here, but for the last seventeen or eighteen
years I have heard nothing of him. His people live, as I
told you, at Woodstock. He was a sharp boy and fond of
horses, and he has an uncle who was head of the stable to
a nobleman in France, and when Tom was fifteen years
old he went out to be with him. He wns out there about
five years, and I don't think it did him much good,
except he got to talk French. Then he got later on as a sort
of assistant courier to some rich Englishman who was a
friend of his uncle's employer, and traveled all over Eu-
rope for a couple of years. He had two or three other
journeys of the same kind. Then he came back to Wood-
stock, and said he wanted to settle at home. As he had
good testimonials from his employers and was a handy
chap, the head porter, who was a cousin of his mother's,
was able to get him a berth here as scout. He was a col-
lege servant about four years, and a smart fellow he was.
He was a favorite with the undergraduates. He was up
to all sorts of things, you see, and having been accustomed
to valet's work did more for them than most of us did.
He used to do very well, for he often went away in the
long vacation as a courier. He was a sharp fellow, Tom
was. I used to think sometimes a little too sharp. Not
anything that wasn't honest, you know, sir, but I don't
think his ideas were like those of the rest of us. I know
his cousin would never trust him here at the gate after it

li^

r, I

t, : I

iSa

A HIDDEN FOE.

IIT

%■ I

. I (:l

tf.%

was closed. He did at first, but it got said that there was
a golden key to the gate of St. Boniface, and that there
was many a one passed in here whose name never appeared
in the list. I think it got to the head porter's ears, and
Tom Morson was never put on to the job after that."

" Do you happen to remember whether, aoiong the
gentlemen Morson went on tour with, he went .Uh Mr.
Corbyn?"

" Yes, he did," the porter said, without hesitation, ** I
remember Mr. Corbyn well, but why I remember particu-
larly about Morson going with him was because when he
left he told me he was going away with Mr. Corbyn for a
long trip this time ; he had been with him before when he
was an undergraduate. This was two or three years after
that. He said that Mr. Corbyn had written to him saying
that he was going to travel for a year or so, and if he
would like to go with him he would be glad to have him."

" It was curious Morson's throwing up his berth here for
a year's engagement," Robert said.

" Well, sir, he was always an unsettled sort of a chap,
and was saying that the life did not suit him, and that he
should not stop out the year. He got married here two
years before he left, and I daresay that would have settled
him, but his wife died a year afterwards. That made him
worse than before, and he took to drinking a bit, and fell
in with rather a bad lot, and he got into two or tiiree
scrapes, and I fancy he saw that it could not last much
longer, so he jumped at Mr. Corbyn's offer. I never saw
him after that, but I know about a couple of years later
that he did come back and saw his people at Woodstock.
I heard that he went away out to Australia ; anyhow, I
have never seen him since. I expect he has got on well
wherever he is, if he shook off that trick of drinking he was
falling into. There was no doubt he was a shrewd fellow
and a deep one. I always liked him and found him
straight enough, but he wasn't altogether liked among the
college servants. I do not know exactly why, except
that he wasn't, so to speak, of their sort."

" What are his people at Woodstock ? "

" Well, there are not many of them left now, sir ; there
is a brother there, a butcher, that is the only one of the
name as far as I know, but I know he had a sister married
and settled at Banbury. I know that because she married

a cousm
He was
they wer
that waJ
older th£
" Wha
"Whi
dead no
one of t
told me
doing w
got five
was aliv

it."

"Wei

and I h;

me whe

that go

could h

"We

say, ov

jolly o

especia

back w

three r

anothei

money,

one of

who k

and us

ought 1

get Ian

sires, s

you 01]

by ag

horse-1

Afc

a doge

as he

driver

compj

attem

certai

TTsrar"

A HIDDEN FOE.

»53

was
here
a red
and

the
Mr.

a cousin of hers, a son of the head porter at that time.
He was in the college kitchen, but after he married her
they went away to Banbury, where he set up a cook shop,
that was a year or two after Tom came here. She was
older than he was."

" What was her cousin's name ? "

" Whitcombe. I don't know whether she is alive or
dead now ; but she was alive ten years ago, I know, for
one of the servants who had been with him in the kitchen
told me he had seen Fred Whitcombe, and that he was
doing well, and he had been to dine with him, and he had
got five or six children. I don't know that he said she
was alive, but if she hadn't been he would have mentioned
it."

" Well, I am much obliged to you for your information,
and I have no doubt Morson's brother will be able to tell
me where he is, if he is alive. It is curious a man like
that going to Australia. One would have thought he
could have done better at home as a courier."

" Well, one would have thought so, sir. I heard him
say, over and over again, that it was a good life, and a
jolly one, and that you could line your pockets well,
especially when you were traveling with a fool ; the draw-
back was the uncertainty — you might be employed for
three months, and then have to wait six before you got
another job. But I know he had saved a good bit of
money, and that he had a sort of hankering to go out to
one of the Colonies. I have heard him say that a man
who knew about horses — and he did know about them,
and used to make a book on the races, and all that —
ought to make a small fortune out there, where he would
get land for next to nothing ; and with two or three good
sires, such as can always be picked up here pretty cheap,
you ought to be able to coin money. I know he had laid
by a goodish lot of money, and I expect he went in for
horse-breeding out there."

A few minutes later Robert Harbut was bowling over in
a dogcart to Woodstock. He declined to take the reins,
as he wanted to think over what he had heard, and was
driven by one of the stablemen, who soon found tliat his
companion had no desire to talk, and therefore, after a few
attempts, subsided into silence.

Robert felt that the information he had gained was to a
certain extent satisfactory. There was no reason for sup-

s' 1

»M

A Jiri)l)/<N FOK,

1,^

posing that the man was dead. Had he been so, the pro-
bability was that the porter would have heard of it.

Upon the other hand it was a nuisance that he was so
far away ; he would be not unlikely to prove troublesome,
and the porter had said that he was a deep fellow, and had
hinted that he was unscrupulous. He knew, of course,
that Algernon Corbyn was keeping this marriage a secret,
and it was by no means improbable that he had kept him-
self acquainted with what was going on in England. If
he had learned that Mrs. Corbyn was dead (and as he did
not leave England until two years later no doubt he had
learnt that), and that the child was being brought up at
St. Malo, he would see that he had in his possession a
secret that was worth n-:oncy, and one which he could sell
either to the girl herself, or could use to extract money
either from Algernon Corbyn or from his successors to the
property.

Lastly, and this worried Robert more than the other
point, whose were the inquiries which had been made by
the porter for Thomas Morson, a short time after Mr. Cor-
byn's death. Of course, it might be on some matter en-
tirely unconnected with the present one, but it was cer-
tainly singular. Who else could be interested in this
business? If any one else were interested he evidently
knew more tiian he himself did, for he was acquainted
beforehand with Morson's name. Well, he should be able
to judge to some extent by the manner of Morson's bro-
ther whether he had been questioned on the subject be-
fore. If he refused to give him his brother's address in
Australia it would be a proof either that Thomas Morson
had some special reasons for charging him to keep his
address secret, or tliat such reasons had been supplied by
the man who had first visited him.

So deeply was Robert Harbut thinking over the matter
that he was surprised when the trap drew up suddenly
before a butcher's shop in Woodstock.

He at once climbed down and went in. The butcher
came out from the parlor behind, and as he entered, Rob-
ert looked keenly at him. He answered pretty closely to
the porter's description of his brother. He was a spare
man with a shrewd and rather shifty face.

"I want five minutes chat with you, Mr. Morson, if you
can spare me the time," he began. " A matter upon which

A HIDDEN FOE,

r>ro-

I am here is connected with your brother, and might be of

considerable advantage to him."

Robert, who was watcliing the man, saw an instantaneous
change in his face when he mentioned his brother's name.
The eyes closed a little and the lips were pressed tightly
together.

*' Step inside, sir," he said, and he led the way to the
back room.

" That is not surprise," Robert said to himself, *' he has
been warned that inciuirics may be made, and perhaps
bribed to hold his tongue. At any rate he is going to
hold it."

"My brother, sir?" the butcher went on as he closed
the door. ** I don't know that there is much I can tell you
about him. He went away from England a great many
years ago."

"Yes, so I have heard," Robert said, " he went to Aus-
tralia."

The man was silent for a moment as if reflecting whether
he would in any way commit himself by admitting this, but
concluded that it would be better not to deny it.

" Yes," he said slowly, " he went to Australia, and there,
for aught I know, he has been ever since."

" Cannot you give me his address ? "

" No, sir," the ma* said decidedly, " he moved about,
and where he is or what has become of him I cannot say."

" Is it long since you heard of him ? "

" A long time since, and now I can't say where he is, I
am sure."

" Perhaps you could find out," Robert said, quietly. " I
should not mind paying twenty pounds for the informa-
tion."

" No, sir. I don't know that I could find out no how,"
the butcher said, doggedly.

" That is unfortunate, because it might be worth a good
many hundred pounds to him."

The man was silent.

" Perhaps, now," Robert went on, " you may hear from
him ere long. Here is my card and address ; you might
let me know if you should hear. It will be worth, as I
said, twenty pounds to you. Perhaps you have one of his
old letters by you. The postmark might be of assistance."

" I never keep letters when I have once read them. As

, I

■I '

156

A HIDDEN FOE,

1 •' ' ip

III

r- ;i.i;

Ik ^?'

[,M'j.

tl'

: \

I iti;;;

I have told you, I havei 't heard from him I don't know
how many years, and ain't likely to hear again ; but should
I hear from him, which may be three or four months, or
may be in three or four years, I will let you know. There
is no reason why my brot'.ier Thomas should w;i,nt to hide
himself, as I know on."

"None at all, so fdr as I know," Robert Harbut said ;
"and in the present case it would be a handsome sum in
his pocket if he could be found. Well, good-morning. I
am sorry you cannot give me the information I want."

He wer.t out to the trap.

** Take the horse to the inn and give him a feed," he said
to the man. " I shall get something to eat here, and the
horse will go all the better on his way back after half-an-
hour's rest. Which is the principal inn ? "

"That on the right, sir, three hundred yards down."

" All right. I will walk there."

The butcher had come to the door to see him off, and
Robert was inwardly conscious that he was standing there
watching him as he strolled down the street, until he entered
the hotel. It was iiow three o'clock.

" I want something to eat," he said. " Anything will
do — a steak, if you have one in the house. If not, soine
cold meat."

" We haven't got a steak, sir, but we can send out and
get one. There was a joint at one o'clock, but I shouldn't
say it was cold yet."

" Well, get me a cteak then, five minutes won't make any
difference."

Robert eat his meal with del'beration, then strolled out
into the yard and told the driver that he should be ready in
a quarter of an hour.

*• By the way, can you tell me where the Post Office is ? "

"Yes, sir, it is the first street turning off to the right in
the main road, but your shortest way will be to go out by
the back gate there and up the lane, that will take you into
the street just opposite the Post Office."

This was very satisfactory information, as he should be
able to get there without being observed by the butcher,
who would probably still be on the watch.

The Post Office was a stationer's shop. Robert went in,
having glanced :• t the name over the door before doing so.

" Mrs. James," he said, *' can I have a word with you in
private ? "

A HIDDEN FOE.

»57

said

the

f-an-

The woman, who had a hurried nervous look, opened the
door and called " Eliza," and i. girl arriving lold her to
look after the shop for a minut j, and then led the way into
the back room.

" Mrs. James, I am a barrister, and I belong to the Middle
Temple." The statement was made with an air of such
gravity that the woman was greatly impressed. " I have
come down here to make a few inquiries," he said. " I don't
wish you to tell me anything about Post Office business,
which is contrary to rule, but you can answer my question
without in anyway breaking the regulations, and I am em-
powered to pay you five pounds for so doing." And he
produced a bank-note.

He saw the woman's eyes gl^oten. Her rent was in arrear
and the five pounds would be a godsend indeed, but she
did not touch the bank-note.

** I must know what the question is, sir."

" It is a very simple one, Mrs. James. Do you often have
letters here with an Australian postmark ? "

" Yes, sir, pretty often. There are several parties about
here who have friends out there."

" Morson the butcher, for example," Robert said, " he
has a brother out there ; does he often hear from him ? "

" I don't know, sir, but he does get letters pretty regular
with the Australian postmark. He had one only two days
ago."

" Thank you, that is all I wanted lo know, though per-
haps you might tell me whether he often posts letters in
returnj'

" No, sir, I know his handwriting well enough, but don't
know as I ever saw a letter from him to Australia. You
see he goes into Oxford two or three times a week, and
may post his letters there."

" Thank you, that is all. Here is the no^e. I don'i think
even the Postmaster-General could object to you answering
those questions. However, there is no occasion for you to
mention that you have been asked them. It is rather an
important matter, and we do not wish it to be known that
we are making inquiries about it. Will you let me have
half a quire of paper and a few envelopes so that if by any
chance you should be asked if I have been here, you can
say that I called in and bought some paper and enve-
lopes."

158

A HIDDEN FOE.

Much relieved to find that her visitor had not asked her
to give him the address of a letter, or to break any other
regulation, the woman at once supplied him with the paper
and envelopes. With these he went down the lane again
to the hotel, returned to the coffee-room, and asked for pen
and ink, and wrote three or four letters. Then he went
out to the trap which was waiting at the door, and drove
back to Oxford, and thence went on by the first train to
Banbury.

il .!

her

fther
iper

A HIDDEN FOE.

>S9

pen

/•ent

rove

CHAPTER XI.

It was seven o'clock when Robert Harbut arrived at
Banbury, and after ordering a bed at the principal hotel,
he made inquiries for the VVhitcombcs, and had no diffi-
culty in obtaining their address. It was a confectioner's,
with a large lunch-room in the rear. Mrs. Whitcombe
was behind the counter. She was a pleasant, motherly-
looking woman, without the slightest resemblance to her
brother, the butcher.

" Mrs. Whitcombe," he said, '* I have looked in on
private business. I am anxious to communicate with your
brother in Australia. I learned at St. Boniface that you
were his sister, and came on to ask you to give me his
address. I am a barrister, and my clients want some
information he may be able to give them, and tha*; they
are ready to pay for handsomely."

" I have not heard of Tom for years, sir," Mrs. Whit-
combe said. " He mostly writes to my brother John, at
Woodstock, but John and my husband are not very good
friends, so I have not heard of Tom for a long time. I
write to him once a year, but it is a long time since he
answered me. He may have moved, he *vas always a
restless chap, Tom, but his last address was Ash Farm,
Brisbane, Queensland. I expect if he has moved they
will send a letter on to him from there. He has got some
stables in the town, but I don't know what the address
was. I have not seen Tom since he was at St. Boniface.
His wife — she's dead, poor thing — was a sort ot cousin of
ours. I was staying with Tom and her just after their
marriage, when I first met my husband, who was at St.
Boniface, too. Tom was not the same after her death.
My husband spoke to him about it, and so did I, and he
took it the wrong way, and there was a quarrel, and that
was one reason that helped to decide my husband to give
up St. Boniface and start in business for himself. Then
Tom went away too, and I never saw him afterwards. Still

; .(

111

i6o

A HIDDEN POE.

the ill-feeling had passed off, and he wrote to me and I
wrote to him. I suppose there is nothing else I can tell
you, sir."

" No, thank you, Mrs. Whitcombe, I am much obliged
to you for your information ;" and Mrs. Whitcombe hur-
ried off to serve some customers who had just come into
the shop, and Robert Harbut returned to the hotel highly
satisfied with the result of his inquiries.

" It was a piece of luck, indeed," he said to himself,
" that the porter at St. Boniface happened to remember
about this sister. As she was married and away from
Woodstock and Oxford, her brother did not think it neces-
sary to warn her not to mention his address. Not, by the
way, that I think that it is his doing. I fancy it is the
butcher's. I imagine that he has been bribed by that
detective to keep it a secret from anyone else who might
come, or he may have gathered from the inquiries the
fiellow made that it would be better to keep it secret until
he heard from his brother as to what he wanted done in
the matter. He let out that he intended to write to him
when he said he might get a letter in three or four months
or so, which would be about the time it would take for a
letter to get there, and another to come back. Letters
are irregular in getting there, and I suppose one could not
rely upon an answer in less time than that. I should like
to have indulged in the luxury of going back to the fellow's
shop, and teUing him that he had a letter from his brother
only the day before, but it would not have done. It is
possible that I may have to negotiate with Thomas Morson
through him, and it would be a bad beginning to have a
row which might end in my having to give him a thrashing.
Well, I am fairly tired, for I have been going ever since
seven this morning ; now I must see what is the first train
that goes at a decent hour to Didcot, and catches a down
train there. Now I will smoke a pipe and turn in. I
would give fifty pounds out of my own pocket to know
who that fellow was who has been beforehand with me."

This was the story that Robert Harbut related to Miss
Peyton and the two girls on his return to Bath the next
day.

*' Well, I think you have done exceedingly well, Robert,"
Miss Peyton sa.id, when he brought it to an end. " I was
inclined to be cross because you did not write to us yes-

A HIDDEN FOE,

l6i

id I
tell

fged
[hur-
linto
fhly

terday, but I see that your time was fully occupied. I
think, upon the whole, your news is as good as we can
expect ; what do you say, my dear ? "

" Oh, very much better, Miss Peyton ; wondeifully
better, I think. I thought Mr. Harbut might have had
great difficulty in finding anything abo it this man, and
then I had quite mad*; up my mind that if he did learn
anything about him he would find that he was dead. Now
we know that he is alive, and where he is. I don't know
how to thank you enough, Mr. Harbut."

" I am very pleased with you, Robert," Miss Leicester
said derisively, " and consider that you have fully justified
my good opinion of you. I shall probably say more to you
en the subject upon another occasion."

" Are we in the way, Hilda ? " Miss Peyton asked,

*' No, auntie, the matter can stand over."

Robert Harbut laughed ; he was in hig!, spirits at his
success. " Ah," he said, " if I had but run against Major
Rothsay last ti.ne I was here, what a thing it would have
been ; we have lost three months."

^' Ves, Robert," Miss Peyton said, " but if you had met
him and heard this story everything would be changed.
Neither Hilda nor I might have come to know Miss Cor-
by n. I do not see that the delay is of any consequence."

" It would be no consequence at all. Miss Peyton, if it
were not for the seedy-looking man in the shiny hat.
Whoever is employing him he has got a long start of us.
There has been time for a letter from him to go out to
Australia and for an answer to come back."

" Yes, Mr. Harbut," Constance agreed ; " but you see
we do not know whether the butcher at Woodstock was
any more communicative to him than he was to you. He
may have had instructions from his brother not to give his
address, and may have refused to do so until he wrote out
to Queensland and obtained his reply."

" That is so. Miss Corbyn. It may be that the reply
came in that very letter that he received two drys ago, and
that he has already communicated the address to the man
with the shiny hat."

" Why do you suppose he could want to keep his address
secret?" Constance asked.

" I think that he is playing a deep game. Miss Corbyn.
My theory is this — I think that he entered Mr. Corbyn's

1 62

A HIDDEN FOE.

l|Ji

*'..■■■

service with the fixed idea of making a good thing out of
it. Your father probably told him that he was going to
make a secret marriage, and wanted him to travel on the
continent with him for some months. He saw at once
that if this marriage was to be kept secret his knowledge
of it would give him a great hold upon Mr. Corbyn, and I
have no doubt that before he left him, having learned that
he intended to keep the marriage secret until his father's
death, he extorted from him a considerable sum of money
as the price of his silence, agreeing to emigrate if he re-
ceived his price. Of course, I do not know what allow-
ance Mr. Corbyn had from his father, but as heir to an
entailed property he would have had no difficulty in raising
five hundred or a thousand pounds to close the mouth of
this rascally servant of his. As the fellow is evidently
clever, as well as uncrupulous, it is probable he has kept
himself well informed as to what has occurred since his
absence. Had your mother lived, he would probably have
extracted further sums from time to time from Mr. Corbyn ;
indeed he may have done so for anything we know. When
he hears of Mr. Corbyn's death, and that the marriage has
been kept secret, it is by no means unlikely that the fellow
may come back again, and may attempt to bargain either
with Mr. Clitheroe for his silence, or with you for informa-
tion which will place you in a position to prove yourself
the legitimate heir to the estate."

" Then you think I shall hear from him ? "
" I think you will either hear from him or see him. If,
when he arrives in England, he makes inquiries about Mr.
Clitheroe, he will very soon learn that he is not the kind
of man who would purchase his silence ; but I should think
that \\\ any case he would come to you first. He may be
on his way home now, but of course that will depend much
upon the state of his affairs out there. He might consider
that there was no need for haste, and that a year hence
would do as well as now. He might wind up his business
in Australia before leaving, or might put it in someone
else's hands and leave at once. There is no saying, in fact,
what he is most likely to do, and it is certainly probable
that he would think that he would get a higher sum by
delaying for a few months before coming to you. The ques-
tion of time seem>. therefore altogether uncertain, bat
assuming, as I do, that the fellow is a scamp, that he has

extor|
gain
and
soont

((

A UlDDrN FOE,

163

)ut of

fng to

the

once
lledge

mdl

that
ther's
[oney
|e re-

extorted money from Mr. Corbyn, and that he intends to
gain further advantage from his knowledge that your father
and mother were married, you are sure to hear from him
sooner or later.

" It may be, as I have said, in five or six weeks, it may
not be for a year. I admit that it is just posr.ible he is
contented with the sum he extorted at the time, and that
as he supposed Mr. Corbyn would himself acknowledge the
marriage when his father died, he may have taken no fur-
ther trouble in the matter ; and may to the end of his life
remain in ignorance of your father's death, and may think
of you as installed as heiress of Corbyn Court. I regard
this as unlikely in the extreme, but it is just possible.
These are all things that we shall have to think out. At
any rate, if we do not hear from him in time, we shall have
to take steps to send out to discover his whereabouts in
Australia, and then to enter into communication with him.
Upon the whole. Miss Corbyn, we have reason to congra-
tulate ourselves that we have again obtained a clue, and
that whereas when we returned from Folkestone, it seemed
as if it would be well-nigh impossible to prove this mar-
riage, we have now reason to believe that there is a witness
of it alive, and ready for a consideration to testify to the
facts."

" Oh, yes, it is much more hopeful," Constance agreed.
"Of course I shall be ready to pay anything."

" Now," Miss Peyton said, " do you, Robert, take my
niece out for a drive, I shall take a little turn with Miss
Corbyn. We have not been out to-day, and a little fresh
air will clear my brains, then I shall read and she can think
quietly over what you have been telling us, and after din-
ner the subject can be renewed ; there is nothing worse
than harping over the same thing, it is far better to dismiss
it altogether from one's mind, and to take it up fresh again,
at least I have always found it so."

*'It seems to me all plain and straightforward, Mr. Har-
but," Constance said when the conclave opened again, ".if
it were not for what you call the man in the shiny hat."

" That is the intrusive figure, Miss Corbyn : the spectre
at the wedding. Who is he ? Who is employing him ? What
is his object ? These are the questions I have been asking
myself ever since I heard of his existence."

" If it were not for what you have ti^ld me about Mr.
Clitheroe, 1 should have supposed that he must be em-

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lit

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[.;

i 'tt-i

•A:

164

A HIDDEN FOE,

ployed by him, no one else would seem to have any
interest in the matter."

" That is the puzzle, Miss Corbyn. Ferris told me so
distinctly, that Clilheroe was only anxious to see the right
thing done, and that he would certainly offer no factious
opposition if your case wer? made out, that I cannot ima-
gine he can be the mover in this matter. If he is, it is
certain that it has not been done through Ferris, beriause
putting aside the fact tl '.t he firm is one of tiie most
straightforward a. f Iv !r lali.; ones going, they consider
themselves ui this ;.;• m a« trustees of your father's estate,
rather than as Vhilir -''IkiJ roe's solicitors. That being
so I am altogether puzzled.'

" It is evidently some one who knows a good deal more
about the business than we do. We have had to trust to
chance to find the name of the man who accompanied Mr.
Corbyn and his wife on the Continent, while they were
able to send down to Oxford to make their inquiries within
a very short time of Mr. Corbyn's death. Of course it is
quite possible that the man in the shiny hat is employed
by some old acquaintance of Morson's, a man who had
heard from him about this tour, and about the marriage
being a private one, and how a child had been born at St.
Malo. This man may have seen the announcement of Mr.
Corbyn's death in the newspaper, and may have re-
membered the story, and the thought may have occurred
to him that there was money to be made out of it. He
may have gone down to Bath, or written to someone tl^^re
and found that nothing was known thereof a wife or cliild,
and may have then said, ' if I can find out where Tom
Morson is, we can work the oracle together.' "

'* What do you mean by work tlie oracle, Mr. Harbut ? "

" Well, Miss Corbyn, it is an expression meaning to
manage the business."

" You are quite right in asking, my dear," Miss Peyton
said. *• Men interlard their conversation with slang in
these days in a dreadful way, and instead of girls being
shocked by the introduction of these phrases, they catch
them up and use them themselves."

" I had no idea of correcting Mr. Harbut," Constance
said in some distress, " I asked becau.ie I thought that it
was a legal term that he was using."

Robert and Miss Leicester both laughed.

comn

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fght
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Jma-
lit is
]use

)OSt

[der
ite,

" You will need another year or two in England to
complete your education, Con.tance," the latter said.

Come, come," Miss Peylon pi.t in, tapping the table
will lier knuckle*^, "this is trilling; let us keep to our
s'l )ject now or postpone it until to-Morrow. Now, Robert,
v lat W' re you sitying ? "

Robert looked prcternat'irully grave.

'' I think mv I.t '. words were, Miss Peyton, they might
work the oracle together, the words being used with refe-
rence to tlie employer of the man with the shiny hat and
Thomas Morson. If this were the case, he would only
have gone to get the said Thomas' address. The butcher,
who is distinctly a shrewd fellow, though unquestionably a
sad liar, would no doubt have already sent his brother thr
news of Mr. Corbyn's death, assuming, of course, that hv'
had acted as his brother's agent in the matter, and was ii
communication with someone here who kept him infor\,-eu
of what was going on. He would in that case prou^Oiv
have fought shy of the man and his shiny hat, and pui hiiu
off as he did me, until he had written to his brotlv m«i
received an answer as to whether to give hi:i addrcocj or
not. I am inclined to think that this was the course that
he would adopt in any case."

'* In that case, Mr. Harbut, no one could have got any
very great start of us. Of course, if this man was, as you
are supposing, acting for himself, there is no occasion to
be afraid of him, because he would only be wanting Morson
to do vt'hat we suspect Morson is trying to do on his own
account, namely, to obtain money from me or from Mr. Cli-
theroe by saying that I am the heiress, that a marriage had
taken place, and that he knew where it was performed, and
where the proof could be found. If that supposition is
correct we need not trouble ourselves any more about this
man. Again, if he is acting for people interested in keepr
ing me from proving my rights, I don't think it is likely
they would communicate with Morson at once."

"Why do you think so, Miss Corbyn ? " Robert asked
eagerly.

" Well, it seems to me that their interest is to keep quiet
as long as they have no reason to suppose that we are on
the right track. If one of them has cut out the leaf of the
register, and has learnt from it that Morson was a witness,
I should think the last thing in the world they would do

V"'J

[66

A IIIDDEX FOE,

rathe

would be to write to him. Tl icy would have no reason for
supposing that he had taken any further interest in the
matter, would imagine that it was extremely improbable
that he would ever hear of Mr. Corbyn's death, or ever
give the business further thought. On ^he other hand, if
they were to write to him, they would excite his curiosity,
would show that for some reason or other his evidence
was very important, and would, in fact, put themselves in
his power."

"You are right, Miss Corbyn," Robert Harbut said in
a tone of much admiration. •' You have the best head of
us all. Certainly that is the view they would take. They
would want to find out whether they had anything to fear
from this witness, whether he was alive, whether he was in
England, and whether there was any chance whatever of
his moving in the matter. But when once they heard that
he was in Australia, and completely out of their way, they
would take no further interest in him, unless, as you say,
they saw that we were moving in it, and were also on the
search for him, then they might take steps to be before-
hand with us and to get him out of our way. Yes, that
alters the case altogether, and I have no longer any fear
that we have been forestalled."

*'That is comfortable," Miss Peyton said, "and I don't
think that we can leave off at a better point. By to-mor-
row, perhaps, you may be able to give us an opinion,
Robert, as to what had better be done next, or if you can-
not," she added, a little maliciously, *' perhaps Miss
Corbyn can. You just said she had the best head among
us."

" Oh, Miss Peyton," Constance said, in a pained voice,
" Mr. Harbut didn't mean that ; only you see it is natural,
when I am always thinking of a thing over and over again
in every light, that I should sometimes hit upon an idea.
Mr. Harbut has done so much and thought of everything

so well, that I am sure " and she stopped, and her lips

quivered.

" You are a goose, my dear," Miss Peyton said. " I quite
agree with you — although it is painful to say so before my
niece, who has already far too high an opinion of him —
that he has acted very shrewdly and cleverly in the business.
I snub him a little because it is good for hin to be snubbed.
Young men always want snubbing, but he knows that he is

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ever

fid, if

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fes in

rather a favorite of mine, u|)f)n the whole, and that 1 liave
rather abetted Hilda in her nifatiiation. You need not
mind about him, my dear, he can his fight his own battles
and he has fiiida to hcl|) him. Now I propose that we
send for the carriage, there is a concert at the Assembly
Room, and it will do us all got)d to get this out of our
minds for a little time ; we shall become monomaniacs if
we let our thoughts run only uiH)n one subject."

'* Any fresh ideas, Robert ? " Miss Peyton asked after
breakfList next morning.

" Nothing very fresh, Miss Peyton. There is only one
thing to be done it seems to me, and that is to find out the
name of some sharp firm of solicitors at Brisbane, or if we
cannot hear of one there, of one at Sydney, and tell them
to find out all about this Thomas Morson, what he is doing,
how he is situated, what sort of a character he bears, and then,
if they think it safe, to tell him that his i)rcsence is required
in England to give evidence as to the marriage of Mr.
Corbyn, that his expenses will, of course, be paid, and a
sum of, say. five hundred pounds be given him for his
trouble. Of course, he will have no idea that the register
is missing, and will suppose that he is only required as an
additional witness, and to prove that the Corbyn of the
register is the Corbyn he knew at Oxford. I see no reason
why he should not agree to do so ; no doubt he intended
to have made, and would have made, a great deal more
out of it if, as he hoped, the daugluer at St. Malo was
altogether in ignorance of her birth or prospects, but when
he sees the game in that direction is up, there is no reason
why he should not earn his five hundred pounds. Of
course, if he is doing well out there he may stand out for
say a thousand on the ground that an absence for four
or five months would injure his business, but that, of course,
can be arranged. What do you think, Miss Corbyn ? "

"Yes, that seems quite right. Mr. Harbut, but there is
one other thing that I have been thinking of."

" What is that ? "'

" We agreed last night, you know, that when these people,
who have been making inquiries, found that the man was
in Australia, they would not be likely to do anything
further, believing that we could not know that he was an
essential witness."

'.' Yes, that was what we agreed, Miss Corbyn."

If:

ifUi

!«■ 'J

168

A HIDDEN FOE,

** But don't you think it possible, if not probable, that
they would guard themselves by arranging that they should
know if we have got upon the right track."

" No doubt they would be glad to do so, but I don't see
how they could do that."

" It seems to me, Mr. Harbut, that the man who went
down to Woodstock might have said to the Morson there,
I will give you a certain sum if you will let me know at once
if anyone should come to you to inquire for your brother's
address."

"That is quite possible, Miss Corbyn," Robert said
gravely. " I did not think of it before, but now you have
suggested it I should think it very probable. Certainly it
is a thing they would be likely to do. They would be per-
fectly content to remain quiet and to leave this man in Aus-
tralia altogether alone, so long as they believed there was
no chance whatever of our getting on to his track. By
making an arrangement of the kind you mention with the
butcher, to whom they may be sure we should go if we want
to get at his brother, they would learn at once that we had
got hold of the right clue and were following it up, and
would themselves act without loss of time."

" How could they act ? " Constance asked.

" If perfectly unscrupulous and with plenty of funds at
their disposal, their course would probably be to send an
agent to him with instruction to say, for purposes of our
own we want to get you out of the way. Another party
wants you to prove that the Corbyn married in Folkestone
Church is Algernon Corbyn, of Bath. They might tell him
this or they might not ; but at any rate they would tell
him that they wanted to get him out of the way, and were
prepared to give him a round sum down to sell off his
business at once, to change his name, and to sail by the
next vessel say to San Francisco, and to allow him so much
a year as long as he remained in the United States and held
his tongue."

" Then, in that case, Mr. Harbut, there is evidently no
time to be lost." .

" No ; supposing your suggestion to be a correct one,
Miss Corbyn, I should say we ought to lose no time what-
ever, but should send out instructions by the next mail."

*' But supposing the other people, whoever they are, sent
out an agent direct by the next mail, Mr. Harbut, he would

bcb<

W tllDDI.M tOE.

169

that
[ould

It see

jwent
lere,
lonce
s

Iher'

said
ave
ly it
per-
A US-
was
By
tiie
vant
I^ad
and

be before us. Suppose you wrote to a firm in Sydney some
days might be lost, or even a week or two, before tlure was
a vessel going up to Brisbane. Pcrluips they would not
send thcnisclvcs, but would write to someone there to take
it in hand, and he might waste some days before he went
out to find this man. You see, if they had even twelve
hours start of us, it might be fatal."

Robert Harbut was silent ; he could not deny the justice
of the girl's reasoning.

" I hr./c been tiiinking it over all night," Constance went
on ; " and it seems to me absolutely essential that Thomas
Morson should hear from us before he hears from anyone
else. Twenty hours loss of time might be everything, and
if we once lost this man we might never recover his traces
again. So I have quite made up my mind, if Miss Peyton
will be so very kind as to spare me, to go out myself."

** To go out yourself ! " her three hearers exclaimed in
astonishment.

** Why not ? " Constance asked, quietly ; " there is
nothing very extraordinary for a lady to go out by herself
to India or Australia. I see no difficulty in it whatever.
I should not like to trust anyone else when I know how
important even an hour may l)e. The moment the ship
arrives in port I should land, and could start in half-an-
hour for Morson's place, wh(Mever it may be. When I
found the man, I should say * I am Miss Corbyn, the
daughter of Mr. Corbyn you traveled with. I want your
evidence in England to the effect that the Mr, Corbyn you
saw married at Folkestone was Mr. Corbyn wlio was at
St. Boniface, and I have a paper here ready signed agree-
ing to bear the expenses of your journey and to pay a
thousand pounds for your trouble ; but in the meantime I
want you to drive with me at once to the nearest magis-
trate, and there, in his presence, to sign a declaration to
that effect.' i I had that once in my pocket, the other
man might come when he liked, as I suppose the declara-
tion, properly att'Sted, could be used as evidence."

" No doubt it could," Robert Harbut said ; " although
it would be much better to have the man himself in court."

" Of course, I will get liim if possible, Mr. Harbut ; but
at any rate, after having signed his declaration he would be
less likely to Hsten to any offers made to him by the other
side. Besides, if I were there, I should go to a solicilor

170

A HIDDEN- FOE.

and get him :o put someone on to watch the man night and
day, and to follow him wherever he went, even to the United
Stales, so that we should not lose sight of him again."

" But, surely, if you were to send out an agent, Robert,
it would do as well as Miss Corbyn going herself," Miss
Peyton said.

'• I daresay it would, Miss Peyton," Constance broke in
before Robert Harbut could answer ; *' but I want to do it
myself. I should be in such a fever of anxiety for the next
four or five months that I don't know how I should get
through them ; and I should never forgive myself if by
any chance it went wrong. And, in the second place, I
should like to clear my mother's name myself. Besides,
sending out a good detective would cost a great deal of
mopey."

" 1 jiat need not trouble you, my dear," Miss Peyton
said. " I am convinced that you will come into your
inl.eritance^ anr^ I shall be only too pleased to let you have
any money you require. This you can treat as a loan, and
repay me when you come into your fortune."

" You are very, very kind," Constance said with tears
in her eyes, " but please do not try to prevent my going.
I would much rather go myself."

" But, my dear Constance," Miss Leicester said, " I
don't think you realize what an undertaking it would be.
Fancy making such a journey by yourself."

" I think I have heard," Constance said, '' of girls going
out alone to India or China to be married there. I don't
think I should like to do that, but if girls can do it to get
married, surely I can do it to clear my mother's name."

Miss Peyton smiled in spite of her vexation.

" You may think marriage a more important thing some
day than you seem to think at present, my dear. Still, I
own I do not see any great difficulty about the voyage : it
is what you will do there that I am thinking of."

'' I do not see any difficulty at all. Miss Peyton. Brisbane
is a large town, and I suppose the country round is just as
civilized as it is here ; besides, really, I think it very likely
that I shall not be alone. If there is time before the mail
gees, I shall run over to St. Malo, and I feel very sure
that my dear nurse, Madame Duport, will insist on going
with me. She would have stopped in England with me
for a year or more if I would have let her, and would have

spent
me.
me hi
her
addel
in thi

A HIDDEN FOE.

171

and
iited

)ert,

liss

spent every halfpenny that she has in the world to help
me. She regards me is her child, and although she lets
me have my own way a great deal, she insists on my letting
her have hers too, and as she will be paymaster," she
added with a smile, " I suppose she will have her own way
in this,"

" Well, that will be a comfort," Miss Peyton said, and
then after a pause went on, " Robert, there is the Times on
that table, please see about the sailing of the Australian
Mails. Of course, my dea:, you will go from Southamp-
ton, the journey through Europe to Brindisi would be very
trying to a woman or two women by themselves."

'' Of course, if you have made up your mind to go, Miss
Corbyn, it will be as well to go by an early steamer, that
is, by the next that sails. But I hardly think that the
question is a vital one. Even supposing that your unknown
foes should act exactly as we have supposed possible, and
should know that we are inquiring about Morson, they
would feel sure that there was no immediate cause for
hurry. Ihey would learn that we had not obtained his
address at Woodstock, and would suppose that we should
have to wait for that until an answer comes from Australia,
for it is unlikely in the extreme that they know even of the
existence of the married sister, of whom I got the informa-
tion. So, though I perfectly agree that it would be as
well to lose no time, I do not think that the question is
altogether urgent. Ah, here are the sailings of the P. and
O. The next steamer sails from Southampton for Sydney
on Thursday, tiie 22nd."

** That is ten days from now, and will give me plenty of
time,"" Constance said. " You don't think there is any chance
of their sending by Brindisi to catch the last steamer at
Alexandria."

" I should say not the slightest, Miss Corbyn. It was
only the day before yesterday that I was at Woodstock,
and it is most unlikely that the butcher would write, that
day to the man who had called upon him ; the latter would
have to communicate to his employers, whoever they are ;
they would have to think the matter over, find a suitable
agent, and so on. I should consider it quite out of the
question that they could complete their preparations and
s^end a man off in time to overtake the last steamer at
Alexandria. Why, they would not get the letter until to-

( 1

172

A HIDDEN FOE.

morrow morning, and would have but three days at most to
decide upon their plans and make their arrangements. No,
I do not think you need feel the slightest anxiety on that
score. The more I think of it, indeed, the more certain
does it seem to me that our idea that tlie man with the
shiny hat is employed by some old friend of Morson's,
who wants to let him know that your father is dead, that
you have not appeared, and that there is money to be
made out of restoring you to your rights, is the correct
one. For with the exception of Philip Clitheroe, no one
else can have any interest whatever in keeping you out of
your inheritance."

*' It would certainly seem so," Constance agreed, ** if so,
all the better ; but in any case it seems to me that my plan
is the best."

" Before you start, Miss Corbyn, you had better give
me a power of attorney to act for you, for 1 should not be
in the least surprised if on your arrival in Australia you
find that Morson has left for England."

** I should be glad to do that, Mr. Harbut, but I don't
see how he is to know that you are the person he is to
come to, unless, indeed, they have watched me ever since
I. came to England, and do you know, madame and I did
think we were watched when we were in Pimlico."

" Did you ? '' Robert asked, eagerly, ** What made you
think that ? "

" Perhaps it was all fancy," Constance replied, ** but
there wus a man who used to hang about our street, and
I used to think that he looked specially at our door when-
ever he passed it, and once or twice the same man kept
behind us all the way to the Temple. Of course, we could
not say he was watching us, and it may have been a mere
accirient, but both madame and I fancied that we were
watched. Very likely it was only a silly idea from our being
strange in London,"

" Of course, it is possible," Robert Harbut replied.
" But if you were watched it upsets our last idea that the
man in the shiny hat can be employed by a chum of Mor-
son's, and would almost prove that those who are at work
against you are people with long purses, and that when
Mr. Corbyn died they at once set to work on the one hand
to find out tin's Morson, and on the other to ascertain
whether you suspected that you were entitled to his estates,
and what steps you were taking in the matter."

like,

time.

have

stean

this

case,

you

u
((
<(

the

A HIDDEN FOE.

«73

fst to
No,
that
tain
the
»n's,

I that
be

*rect

one
lit of

so,
)]an

" Well," Miss Peyton said, " it is no use worrying any
more over that matter. You may guess ai much as you
like, but as it is pi'-ely guess work, that i:s a mere ioss of
time. Let us be practical. Now, I understand tt.at you
have made up your mind, Constance, to go by this next
steamer, and that you want to get over to St. Malo to see
this Frenchwoman of yours as soon as you can. In that
case, every hour you stop here is so much lost. How do
you go to St. Malo, direct by sea?"

" Yes, Miss Peyton."

"See when the next steamer starts, Robert."

" One sails this evening," Robert replied after consulting
the Times.

" Then you had better go by that," Miss Peyton said
decidedly. " If you have to go, the sooner you go the bet-
ter, and I would much rather lose you at once if I am to
lose you, than be dillydallying over it for two or three days.
Don't look tearful, my dear. I knew your story when you
came to me, and knew that you might be leaving before
long ; besides, as I myself brought you here on purpose
'■^hat you might, if possible, obtain some clue in the matter,
I should indeed be silly to grumble because you have
succeeded. I brought Robert Harbut down to help us in
the search, and more has come of it than I expected. I am
heartily glad, my dear, though I own I shall miss you
sorely just at first. However, when you come to. your
own, we shall be great friends I hope, and as you will still
be an unprotected female, I shall, if you let me, take yoii
under my wing, and see that no fortune-hunter runs away
with you. But now to business, again. Robert, I suppose,
you mean to go up with Miss Corbyn, and to take her down
to Southampton and see her on to the boat."

" Certainly, Miss Peyton."

" There is not the least occasion, indeed there is not,"
Constance protested.

'* I think it much better, my dear. Going up to London
is nothing, and I don't mean to say that you would be
likely to come tc any harm in crossing town or on going
on board at Southampton. Still it is not pleasant for a
young lady all alone, and I am sure Robert would be glad
to go with you, and that my niece can spare him very well
till to-morrow at lunch time."

«74

A HIDDEN FOE

" Certainly I can, aunt, though it is not every young lady
that I should approve of his running about with ; but 1
should not like Constance to go alone."

** That is settled then, and when he gets back we will go
down together for a few days to Torquay or Teignmouth,
just as you like. How long can you stay away, Robert ? "

" I was just going to say, Miss Peyton, that you must
please reckon without me. I told Hilda when we came
down that four days was as much as I could manage, and it
is already five. In any case I should have gone back
to-morrow morning at the very latest, so that you see,
Miss Corbyn, I am only curtailing my stay here by a few
hours."

** I am sorry, Mr. Harbut, for you have done nothing but
attend to my affairs since you came down here ; still I
know that it is not of the least use protesting or talking.
It seems to me that you are all very obstinate."

" You are the last person who ought to say so, Con-
stance," Hilda laughed, " for if we are so, we are only
following at a very long distance the examp' you set us.
I think, aunt, we may as well stay here foi the next few
days ; it is handy for getting back to town, and I am quite
sure you will want to run up to see cur travelers off."

Miss Peyton smiled.

" Well, my dear, I think that we shall both want to do
that; besides, Constance will have a good many things
to get for her voyage, and to see about, and it will be
much better in every respect that she and her friend
should come to me in Audley Street, instead of going into
lodgings for the few days they will be over. So you and
I will, as you say, stay here until the end of the week,
and then go up to town together, and it is understood,
Constance, that you and Madame Duport are to come
straight to me when you arrive. What train will you want
to go by to-day, Robert ? It is no use going earlier than
necessary. You will only want time to drive from Padding-
ton across to Waterloo."

"The train leaves Waterloo at seven, Miss Peyton, so
r o'clock from here will take us up in time."

** Ve-y well, then, wc will have early dinner at half-past
t'vo, ;;:rid mi tne meantime we will go for a drive. We will
go by y!)ur ])L",c?, Cc\i .lance. I should like to see this
Coroyn (^oart of yours."

the fo!

IE I

A HIDDEN FOE.

175

ladv

ut i

CHAPTER Xil.

After seeing Constance down to the ladies' cabin on
board the boat at Southampton, Robert Harbut r^'turned
by the nine o'clock train to town. As he woit up to town
he thought over the incidents that had happened since
Constance Corbyn came to England. Everytiiing had
gone well until it was found that the leaf had been ab-
stracted from the register. This at the time he Imd un-
hesitatingly put down as the work of Algernon CorI)/n ;
but he no longer felt sure of this. Now that he learned
that someone else had been at work from the first, that
inquiries had been made about Morson within a fortnight
of Mr. Corbyn's death, and that as Constance supposed
she had been watched while in London, the aspect of the
affair had changed, and it was quite probable that the first
act of these mysterious opponents had been to obtain
possession of the one absolute proof of the marriage.
That James Ferris could know anytliing of the affair he
regarded as altogether out of the question.

" I have a great mind to consult him on the subject."
he said to himself. " I suppose it would be a most unpro-
fessional proceeding, but then the whole affair is unpro-
fessional as far as I am concerned, iind I don't see anv
thing else to do. Of course I should not take such a ste
with any one else but Jim ; but he is the soul of honor, an 1
would never have put me into this tiling unless everything
had been perfectly straightforward. I can make nei'' jr
head nor tail of it, and can see nothing to be done b';; 10
ask him if he can throw any light on the matter. v.ill
drop him a line in the morning and ask him to coiiie in
and smoke a pipe with me at nine o'clock to-morrow even-
ing, if he has no other engagement ; and if he has, to make
an appointment to give me an hour at the earliest time he
can fix."

The clock was just striking nine on the following evening
when there was a knock at the outer door of Roler'/j^

176

A HIDDEN FOE,

I !■'■

4 „■

chambers, for he had closed this lest any of his Temple
friends might drop in.

" Well, Bob, how are you ? " James Ferris asked cheer-
fully, '' and what is the matter with you ? and what means
this mysterious summons to a m.idnight conference?"

" I am well enough, Jim, but I am worried, and I will
tell you all about it when we have got fairly settled.
There's the 'bacco ; there is a clean churchwarden if you
like it. There is a box of cigars, and good ones, help
yourself; also here is port and whiskey."

"Port good?"

" Yes, very fair."

" Then we will begin with that, anyhow. Bob. Now
then, our pipes are drawing, our glasses are filled, unbosom
yourself. Go ahead."

" I am rather in a queer position, Jim. You see you
put me into this affair."

" You forget, my dear friend," Jim said, mildly, " that at
present I have not the most remote idea of what affair you
mean."

" This Corbyn affair."

" Oh, it is about that," Jim Ferris said, in some surprise.
" Has the girl come over ? Have you persuaded her to
go back again ? Have you fallen in love with her ? "

" I will tell you all that in due course, Jim, but first of
all let us recall our conversation on the subject. I under-
stood from you that Miss Corbyn was likely to come over
here to make some inquiries as to a late client of yours.
You said that you had not the slightest belief that such a
marriage had taken place, and that your object in asking
me to interest myself on her behalf was that the girl was a
nice girl, that she knew nothing of the world, and would
almost for a certainty fall into bad hands, who would en-
courage her search and fleece her and her friends out of
their last penny unless I would act as her mentor."

" All this is true, oh king," James Ferris agreed. " What
next ? "

*' Next, you said that your client in the matter was a
very honorable young fellow, who was ready to do the
handsome thing in the way of providing for the girl, and
who would be the last man in the world to offer any
opposition to the exceedingly improbable event of the
marriage being proved."

Jim Ferris nodded.

((

A HIDDEN FOE.

»/7

[ will
ttled.
you
help

you

•* Those are still your views ? "

" Of course, they are," he replied ; " we are solicitors
for the property rather than for Philip Clitheroe. We
should, of course, advise him to resist any claim that did
not appear to us to be indisputable, and not to yield an
inch to any claim unsupported by proofs."

" Well, what are you doing in the matter, Jim, if I may
ask the question ? "

" Doing," Jim repeated, in surprise, *' what should we
be doing but taking steps for the payment of succession
duties, and that sort of thing,"

" Then what on earth, Jim, are you employing detective
people for? Why are you making inquiries about Tom
Morson ? "

Jim Ferris took his pipe out of his mouth and stared hard
at his questioner. " I don't really know what you mean,
Bob. We have employed no detectives ; and as to Tom
Morson, I never heard the name before in my life as far as
I know."

" You didn't ? Then who the deuce can it be, Jim ? "

" My dear fellow, I shall be able to help you :o ;. uess
])erhaps when I have some conception of what you are
talking about. At present I am utterly in the dark. I
gather, however, that Miss Corbyn has come over, has con-
sulted .you, and has set about her search."

" That is so, Jim. She has been over here nearly five
months. She came a few days after you spoke to me about
her."

'' Well, and what have you been doing ?"

" Well, Jim, we have done a good deal, and we have dis-
covered to what, in my mind, amounts to a cert?inty that
the girl's mother was married to Mr. Corbyn."

" By Jove ! you don't say so," Jim Ferris exclaimed.
" You astound me. Confound it, this is a serious business,
a deuce of a business. AVait a moment, old fellow ; do
not say anything more ; let me think it over."

James Ferris was altogether unprepared for the news.
In recommending Constance Corbyn to go to this friend,
he had been acting in the kindly wish to save her expense,
and had never for a moment dreamt that this would be the
result. For some minutes he sat without sueaking, and
then he said,

'* Well, I see no harm in hearing the story, Bob."

178

/ j/j/rn/wv jv^

I i.

" I see no harm in it, or I should not have proposed to
tell it you ; in any case, it will be my duty to lay it before
you and your father, as solicitors to the estate, for the con-
sideration of your client. Of course, if you were unscrupu-
lous people, determined to defeat justice by any and
every method, I should not show my hand to you, but as
you and your client both desire that right should be done,
I do not see why 1 should not do so. I should i?ot have
done this if the affair had not taken a most mysterious turn,
and 1 had not discovered that someone is mysteriously and
perhaps unscrupulously working against us. Now, I will
tell you the facts."

Robert Harbut then related the journey down to Bath,
the discovery of the locality where Constance Purcell's
parents hid resided, the interview with the clergyman, and
the receipt of the packet of letters. He related how a
postmark on the first letter, written an hour or two after
the marriage, had given them the clue to the scene of
marriage, how on searching the register at Folkestone it
was found that the page on which the marriage had been
inscribed had been cut out. How he Jiad learnt from
Madame Duport that j\tr. Corbyn had been for some
months afte:' his marriage accompanied by a man who had
been his scout at college, that the man's identity had been
accidentafl' obtained, how that clue had been followed up,
and the re.i.lt.

" My deai Robert, you are a genius," James Ferris said,
when he had finished, " and it is clear that you were cut
out for a detective. It is extraordinary how you should
have worked all this out. Of course, the story as it at
present stands is a pure assumption, and the postm irk on
the letter the only real fact. A woman in writing her
parents after running away would probably endeavc r to
ease their minds by telling them that she was mar»ied.
Even if she was married, it may not have taken place at
F'olkestone. They may have been married in London, or
Canterbury, or anywhere else, on this morning — this day
on which she writes. The fact tliat the page of the regis-
ter at Folkestone happens to be missing is in itself no cor-
roboration of the story. It is very unfortunate ; that is all
I can say about it. The case, as far as you have brought
it, is a highly ingenious one ; but you are still literally with-
out a vestige of evidence that the marriage ever took place

at Fo
may i

in the
Corb

// HIDDEN FOE,

led to
lefore
con-
*iipu-
and
Mt as
ione,
[have
(turn,
and
will

179

at Folkestone or elsewhere W'li.it you have discovered
may influence our own ideas on the subject, but it cannot
in the smallest way affect the legal status of the owner of
Corbyn Court."

" Of course, I see that," Robert Harbut said. "I my-
self am as convinced that this marriage took place as if I
had witnessed it. And 1 am convinced — although T quite
grant I may be wrong— that it was to destroy the evidence
of that marriage that the leaf was extracted from, the register.
At first, my opinion was very strong that Algernon Cor-
byn, after having lost his wife, determined to ignore the
marriage altogether, and that to prevent the possibility of
its discovery managed somehow to cut out the missing
leaf. At the time I thought so, it did not ai^j)car to me
that anyone else could have known of the marriage, still
less have any interest in sui)])ressing the i)roof of it, but
now there is evidence that a third ])arty is at work, endeav-
oring to trace the whereabouts of this man Morson. I do
not know what to think about it. The leaf may have been
cut out twelve days ago or twelve years. We now come
to the question I asked you first. Who is the party who
is looking for Morson ? "

" I have not the most remote idea. Certainly it is not
Clitheroe."

" It is clear that, whoever it is, he must have been aware
previously of the whole circumstances of the case ; of the
church at which the marriage took place, and the names of
the witnesses to it, and was therefore able to go straight to
the church and destroy the proof there, and to send
straight to Oxford to find out the whereabouts of Morson."

'* It is a strange business, however, and a most singular
one. What do they want Morson for? "

'* To see whether he was likely to be troublesome, I
should say. Now that tlicy have found out that, if still
alive, he 's in Australia, they, whoever they may be, will
probably do nothing more in the matter. It would not be
politic to let him know that Algernon Corbyn is dead, and
that, the register of tlie marriage being lost, his evidence
has become of gr-^at importance."

"Yes," Ferris said, " but you see you are assuming that
whoever has set these detectives at work is hostile to
Miss Corbyn, and that is by no means proved. Of course,
if these are the people who have stolen the leaf, they are

i8o

A niDDEN FOE.

'i hill;

I,;.
1 ■, s

! 1

endeavoring to prevent her from proving her rights ; but
who would have any interest that way except Philip
Clitheroc?"

" Now, assuming that my first conjecture was not the
right one, and that Corbyn himself did not cut out the
leaf, the person now inquiring for M^rson may be some
one who has for years been cognizanl of the business,
some one to whom Corbyn may have ccfided it, or some
pal of Morson's, who, hearing of Corbyns death, sees his
way to making a handsome thing out of proving that his
daughter is the legal heiress to Corbyn Court. That cer-
tainly seems to me by far the most likely solution."

'* Yes, I suppose it is," James Ferris said more thought-
fully ; " this is a most complicated business, look at it
whicli way you will. Have you any objection to my tell-
ing the story to Clitheroc. I think that as you have told
me he ought to know how tlie thing stands. Of course,
till the result of the search which I suppose you are going
to make for Morson is over, nothing can be done. If you
get legal proof of tlie marriage, there is an end of the
matter, but if you do not find him and can get nothing out
of him, I am sure that Clitheroe will be glad to recognize
that the young lady has a higher moral claim, although no
legal one, than she would have as the undoubtedly illegiti-
mate daughter of his uncle, and I can certainly promise
you beforehand, in his name, that he will be ready to agree
to any proposition that may seem to you fair, just and
honorable for her future provision. Anyhow, I think he
ought to be told the facts."

** Yes, I agree with you that he had better be told,
James. We have nothing to conceal, and we are working
openly, and he is not the man to take improper steps to
thwart us. It would not be fair that he should be kept in
ignorance of the probability of a storm suddenly bursting
upon him. You told him, did you not, that you had re-
commended Miss Corbyn to place herself in my hands."

" Oh, yes, I told him, and he repeated what he said be-
fore, that he only wanted right to be done ; and was, in-
deed, genuinely distressed at the thought that he might be
possibly usurping the rights of a friendless girl."

They talked the matter over until James Ferris suddenly
discovered that it was twelve o'clock, and then hurried
away. Next day he wrote a line to Philip Clitheroe : " I

r r==

// H!DDEi\ I'VE,

181

; but

Philip

Dt the
It the
some
ness,
some
his
this
cer-

want to have a chat with you. The affair of the young
lady at St. Malo has assumed a singular and altogether
unexpected development. If you come up to-morrow, do
not come to the office, ihe story is a long one ; dine with
me at Jiury street at half-past seven."

At twelve o'clock on the following day the answer came
by telegram, " Shall be with you half-past seven."

" So you have got some news for me, Ferris," Philip
said as he entered.

" I have a long yarn to tell you that I heard from Har-
but last night. (3f course, it was not told me officially.
In fact, I may say at once that legally it amounts to nothing.
Still, it is interesting, and there are some singular points in
it ; but it is a long story to tell, and I am sure I shall
make a much belter telling of it, and you will appreciate
it much more, if you put it by until we have finished
dinner."

** Just as you like," Philip said, *' I confess I am hungry,
and I know how your landlady cooks. Well, your mes-
sage surprised me. It was but the other day that you
told me you had heard nothing whatever about it. Has
this friend of yours made any discoveries ? If so, he must
be a clever fellow, for as we agreed there seemed nothing
to go upon."

*' Harbut is one of the cleverest fellows I know, only,
as he complains himself, he cannot get a fair start. He is
singularly youthful in manner as well as in appearance, he
has a keen sense of humor, he is always ready to turn
anything into a joke, and when he does try to look grave
he is so pretcrnaturally serious that anyone can see that it
is put on. Men who don't know him a^ 1 do, regard him
as a sort of madcap boy. The result is he scarcely gets
any business put into his hands. Of course, we have but
little in his line. If we want an opinion we get c .e from
one of the leaders, not because this opinion is worth any
more, perhaps, than his, but because our clients are very
much more influenced by it. Some day, Robert will get
a chance : his leader will be a«vHy, and he will be able to
show what he is made of, and wiien he does he will aston-
ish them ; but when I tell the story you will see that what
he has accomplished is something marvelous. However,
we will leave the matter till wc have finished dinner. Is
there anything new down in your part of the world ? I

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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A HIDDEN FOE,

say so, Ferris," lie broke in.
dosen't think that it is my

" Good
doing, I

hear xrom report tliat there is likely to be a vacancy in the
Western Division. Who is likely to stand ? "

A turn being thus given to the conversation, they
chatted politics until the cloth was removed and coffee
brought up.

" Now, Philip, take a mental note of any points that
occur to you as I go on. Talk about them afterwards,
then you will not interrupt the thread of the story."

James Ferris then related the facts he had learnt from
Robert Harbut's first narrative, and elicited by his ques-
tions afterwards. Philip Clitheroe heard him in silence
until he came to the point of the missing leaf from the
register.

"You don't
heavens, that girl
hope."

** As Harbut had enlightened her somewhat as to your
character, Philip, you may be sure that the idea did not
occur to her, and if it had done so it would have been dis-
sipated by the further discoveries that have, as you will
hear, been made."

" But this is amazing," Philip went on, when the narra-
tive was brought to a conclusion. " Who on earth can be
meddling in this matter ; who could have known that this
man Morson was likely to have been present at a marriage
of my uncle's ? Now you have told me the facts, please
let me know the conclusions that Harbut and you have
arrived at."

** Our opinion in most respects is the same, Philip. Of
course, Harbut thinks that there was a marriage at Folke-
stone Church ; equally, of course, I by no means admit
this. It is a question of pure conjecture on either side.
His opinion is that your uncle married the girl there, and
after her death abstracted the proof of the marriage. My
contention is, that it is more likely that the marriage, either
a real one or a false one, by which the girl was deceived,
took place in London, or wherever else they stopped, the
morning when they started for Folkestone ; but it would
probably be in London, and the leaf of the register is just
as likely to have been abstracted by someone interested in
one of the other marriages recorded upon it as by someone
interested in this of your uncle's. I grant, of course, that
if the marriage did take place at Folkestone, the person

who

hor

but

I in

eith

inc

alio

eith

cou

peri

thii

wor

wit

A HIDDEN FOE.

183

who cut out the leaf was i rohably your uncle. It is a
horribly unpleasant tiling to have to say of a dead man,
but certainly the suspicions point strongly that way. Still
I incline very much more to my own view, that there was
either a real marriage or a siiam one in London. I am
inclined to think that it was a shum one, although here I
allow I may be mistaken. We have nothing to go upon
either way. The girl brought up in a country village
could, of course, have been easily deceived by a ceremony
performed by a sham clergyman in a private room. Such
things have, we know, been done, and it would be no
worse to credit your uncle with this than it is to credit him
with cutting the leaf out of the register."

"I do not know that it is," Philip said gloomily; "in
the one case he robbed a woman of her rights, and in the
other a child. Still, Ferris, I don't believe he did either
one or the other. My uncle was not a man I ever quite
understood, or whom I ever warmed to, but I never knew
him do an ungenilemanly action, and I certainly always
credited him with a kindly disposition. I don't believe he
was capable of either of these actions. Now, as to this
Morson business, what do you make of that? "

" The only reasonable idea that occurs to me is, that it
is some friend of your uncle's, who perhaps met him abroad
with his supposed wife and servant, and to whom he con-
fided the secret, and hearing that Corbyn was dead, and
that you had come in for the projicrty, he was endeavoring
to get hold of Morson and find out if the woman was alive,
and if there were any children. Another alternative is,
that Morson may have told the story to some friend who is
novv trying to make money of it."

** Your first alternative, Jim, would imply that my uncle
confessed to a marriage ; if he had told a friend that he
was not married to the girl, there would be no reason for
our making inquiries now."

" I quite see that, Philip, and therefore I incline to the
other hypothesis, that it is some friend of Morson's vvho
had promised to let him know if there was any change at
Corbyn Court, in order that he might put the screw upon
your uncle if the opportunity should arise. In all these
years he might very well have lost sight of Morson, and
when he saw your uncle's death in the paper, might have
set to work at once to endeavor to find him out."

i84

A HIDDEN FOE,

" But again that rather points to a marriage. As long
as my uncle was alive the man might attempt to make
money out of him by threatening to divulge this story of
the abduction of the village schoolmaster's daughter, but
after his death the story would be useless as a means of
making money unless there had been a marriage."

The lawyer was silent.

" To a certain extent that is so," he admitted reluctantly ;
" but you see it is not for us to urge conclusions against
ourselves. We are strong upon the point that no marriage
took place, and that all the facts point to this. It is for
them to prove the contrary, and though they have found
out a variety of facts bearing upon the case, they are no
nearer anything approaching a legal proof than they were
when they started."

" But I am as anxious to get legal proof as they are,"
Philip said, standing up and leaning against the mantel-
piece with his back to the fire. " I cannot go on holding
this estate if I am convinced in my mind that this girl is
the rightful heiress. 1 believe from what I have heard of
this story of the girl's mother's bringing up, from the
opinion of those who knew her then, and the conversation
of the woman in whose house she died, that she was mar-
ried, and I am the more convinced because I believe my
uncle, although he was perhaps a weak man as well as a
proud one, and although he acted a cowardly part in keep-
ing the matter a secret for so many years, was not a rascal,
and he would have been a rascal of the worst kind if he had
either deceived this girl by a sham marriage, or cut that
leaf from the register. If she lets the thing drop now do
you think that I could ? It is my business as much as hers,
now, to get to the bottom of the matter. Do you think I
could live at Corbyn Court, and be posing as a country
swell| when I knew that I was a fraud, and that I was keep-
ing a girl out of her rights ? The thing is impossible."

" I was rather afraid that that was the light that you
would take it in, Philip," James Ferris said after a long
pause.

" Why, there is no other light in which one could take
it. I feel so convinced myself that there was a marriage,
that my own inclination would be to give up the estate at
once."

"That would be impossible, as well as foolish," the
lawyer said quietly. " The estate is entailed. You have

but

die \\

woull

have!

us dj

quix<|

extri

you

the>i

that

werel

faciU

satisj

ofth

A HIDDEN FOE,

185

but a life interest in it ; and if you give it up to-day, and
die to-morrow, your next heir, whoever he or she may be,
would at once claim possession ; and this young lady would
have to prove her right to hold it. No, no, Philip. Let
us do everything that is honorable, but do not let us be
quixotic. I have acted throughout in what I may call an
extra professional way, on the understanding with you that
you were prepared to throw no unnecessary obstacles in
the way, if this young lady could produce any legal proofs
that she was the heir, and that you would, directly you
were satisfied that this was the case, afford her every
facility for taking possession, If you like to endeavor to
satisfy yourself by doing what you can to get to the bottom
of the matter, that is a matter for yourself"

" At any rate," Philip said, " I shall not, until this mat-
ter is settled, touch any of the rents of the estate or the
interest of the securities in which my uncle's money is
invested, beyond what is necessary for keeping up the
Court, and which would, I suppose, be allowed to any trus-
tee holding it for another ; and as a first step towards get-
ting at the truth, I think we had better advertise for the
register of the marriage in one of the London churches,
on the day, the 21st of November did you not say, 1847."

" Harbut has done that already, he had no answers. I
should say that there is really nothing for you to do at
present, and that we must wait until we hear."

" Very well, I will remain a few days in town. I do
not want to have any explanations with my mother until
it becomes absolutely necessary. We have not moved into
the Court yet, as the house in Bath is more cheerful, and
there are only my uncle's old servants there, so that there
will be nothing to be put down."

" I should say the best thing you could do would be to
go for a run on the Continent. You will feel horribly un-
settled with all this, and there is nothing like knocking
about for preventing one from sitting down and worrying
over things."

" I will think about it, Ferris. I don't know what I want
just at present, or how I shall be feeling. I wish to good-
ness now that I had gone into the army or emigrated, or
done something of that sort. It would have been a thou-
sand times better for me in any case. Well, I will be going
now, if you don't mind. I don't feel as if I could think

i86-

A HIDDEN- FOE,

or talk of anything else but tliis, and if we were to talk all
night about it, it does not seem to me that we should find
ourselves any further on."

Constance Corbyn had not over-estimated her old nurse's
devotion. She was, on her arrival at St. Malo, received
with the greatest delight. M. Duport and Annette sup-
posed that she had become convinced of the hopelessness
of her search, and had come back to live with them.
When, however, she told them her story, their faces fell.
They were indeed greatly pleased to hear lliat it was pro-
bable that she might obtain the proofs of her mother's
marriage, and so come into the estates to which she was
entitled, but the voyage to Australia appeared to them to
be a terrible undertaking. However, the next morning at
breakfast Annette told Constance that she was firmly de-
termined to accompany her.

" Victor thinks as I do, my dear, that it is quite out of
the question that a young girl like you should be going all
over the world by herself, and it is clearly my duty to go
with you."

*' But, my dear Annette, English girls very often go out
to India, or China, or Australia by themselves, and there
IS no reason why 1 should not do so."

"If you were going out, Constance, to be a governess
out there, I should have nothing to say against it. Victor
and I would not think it right, but it is the custom of
English girls and no harm might come of it, but you are
not like others. If you obtain the proofs you want, and
become a great lady, you must remember that everyone
will become interested in vour life, and if it were said that
you were a young lady who had wandered about the world
alone and unattended, it would create an altogether bad
impression. Again, if you do not succeed, and come back
here to live with us, such a tale will also be to your disad-
vantage. Frenchmen do not see things as you English do,
and it would interfere greatly with your making a good
marriage, which." she added, in reply to Constance's dis-
dainful exclamation, "is a matter which it is the duty of
Victor and I to i)rovide for whatever you may think of it
yourself; therefore, he thinks with me that it is my duty
to go with you. I shall, after this frightful tnal de mer is
over, no doubt find the voyage pleasant, but in any case
I go with you."

not
ofTci

it w

seen!

port]

deal

posil

did

^/ HIDDEN FOE.

187

As Constance had quite expected this decision, she did
not attempt to argue against it, but accepted Annette's
offer with gratitude.

" You know I should like to have you with me, Annette,
it will make all the difference in the journey, but it does
seem hard dragging you away, and very hard on M. Du-
port, too."

" I should not let a daughter go on such a journey, my
dear, and I am not going to let you go," Annette said
positively, " so it is of no use talking any more about it. I
did not like your staying behind in England, but you were
in good hands, and I thought you could come to no harm,
but this is a different matter altogether, besides it is only
for four or five months, and we made up our minds when
we started last time that we might be in England for a
year before we could get to the bottom of everything."

So, after four days' stp.y at St. Malo, Constance returned
to London with Annette and drove straight to Audley-
street, where Miss Peyton was expecting her.

'* Robert Harbut has arranged that you and Madame
Duport shall call upon him to-morrow morning at his cham-
bers, and then he will go with you to the steamer office, so
that you can see on a plan where your cabin is ; he would
have come here but he has a business appointment early."

" I would rather go there, Miss Peyton. I do like a
walk through the streets and looking in the shops, and so
does Madame Duport. We will start in good time, so as to
be able to dawdle by the way, and stop when we like."

** Well, I cannot say I like it, my dear. I don't mind going
down Bond Street or even Piccadilly, but I should not like
the pushing and rush in the Strand."

" I don't think we were ever pushed. Miss Peyton, and
we used to spend a great deal of our time shop gazing."

" Well, my dear, if you like to walk, of course, you can,
but my advice would certainly be to take a cab."

" What time are we to be there. Miss Peyton ? "

" At twelve o'clock exactly ; he said twelve o'clock sharp,
which means the same thing."

Ten o'clock next mornin^; Constance said, " You will
think me very silly, Miss Peyton, but that boy has been
sitting on the steps of the house ever since I came down at
half-past eight."

" Then he is a very lazy boy, my dear, but there is no-
thing very curious about that, is there ? "

A HIDDEN FOE.

Nothing curious at all in itself, but you know I told you
that I thought we were watched all the time, and I cannot
help thinking tiiat they have begun again. Of course it
maybe only fancy, but I have been watching him closely,
and it seems to nie that he has been glancing over in this
direction a good many times."

" He looks to me a dirty lazy sort of boy, just like other
boys, my dear," Miss Peyton said, examining him through
her glasses.

. " Perhaps I am wrong, Miss Peyton, but you will have
an opportunity for seeing presently. If he hangs about
here until we go out, and then you see him get up and fol-
low us, I think it will be strong evidence."

" Very strong if it' is so," Miss Peyton agreed. " When
you do go out I will stand back from the window and keep
a sharp eye upon him."

During the next hour the boy moved once or twice,
taking his seat on other door steps but never going out of
sight. When Constance and Madame Duport started. Miss
Peyton watched. She saw that when they had gone some
fifty yards down the street he got up, glanced over at the
house to see that no one was looking out, and then went
off at a rapid step after them.

" That girl is right as she usually is," Miss Peyton said.
" I wish now that we had sent Jarvis across to ask what he
wanted, and to threaten to give him in charge of the police,
but I don't suppose the young scamp would have minded
if I had done so."

When Constance and her companion got to the bottom
of the street, the former looked sharply round, the boy
was some twenty paces behind them.

** I should like to box his ears," she said to Madame
Duport, " but I suppose it would not do, Annette."

*' Certainly, not, my dear. I know that sort of boy, he
would throw himself down on the floor and yell and get a
crowd round you in no time, or perhaps he would be
impudent and take up a handful of dirt and throw it at
you. These London street boys are the most abusive
creatures, and use the most awful language."

" But it is very tiresome. I suppose there is nothing to
do, Annette, but to take a hansom ; the first one that
comes along we will get into."

A few minutes later an empty hansom came up. ** Drive
to Oxford Circus, and drive quick, please," Constance said

A HIDDEN FOE.

189

as they took their seats. On arriving at the circus and paying
the cabman, Constance looked round, the boy was leaning
against a lamp-post a few yards off.

'• There he is, Annette, how far do you think a boy like
that could run ? "

Annette shook her head, it was a matter beyond her
experience.

" A long way, my dear, but I do not know how far ;
besides, I have seen them holding on behind carriages and
getting help that way."

" Then it is no use wasting money," Constance said.

" I don't think it is, my dear, because, you see, if
he is paid to watch us, very ^ikely, when he found he
couldn't run any further, he wo'itd take a cab, too."

'* Well, we won't think anything more about him then.
It has not taken us many minutes to get here, so we have
plenty of time to walk down Regent-street, and along past
the National Gallery, and up the Strand."

, I

I90

A HIDDEN FOE,

CHAPTER XIII.

"Punctual to the minute, Miss Corbyn," Robert Harbut
said, as Constance and Madame Duport entered his office,
" I suppose you came over yesterday."

" Yes, Mr. Harbut, and we are already watched, it is not
a fancy on my part this time," and she related what had
happened.

"Jackson," Robert Harbut said, and the clerk came in.
" Will you go downstairs and look round when you get to
the door, and if you see a dirty boy of about fifteen hang-
ing about box his ears soundly. Never mind his yelling.
Then take him by the collar and march him to the top of
the lane, and tell the porter there that he is after no good,
and that I say so ; he will turn him out sharp er\pugh
then."

" Very good, sir," and Jackson went off much elated at
this unusual order.

"We will give him five minutes to clear the road,"
Robert Harbut said, "and then we will be off."

Before the five minutes were passed the clerk returned.
" There is no such boy anywhere about, sir, neither in our
court or anywhere else."

" That is bad," Robert said, when the clerk had closed
the door behind him.

" Why is it bad, Mr. Harbut? " Constance asked. " I
should have thought it was good."

" Most likely his employers live not far off, Miss Corbyn.
He watched you until he saw you turn into the Temple, and
as you were watched before it would not be necessary for
him to go further ; he would make sure that you were
coming to me, and would know, too, that you had seen
him, and therefore someone else would be sent to take his
place. However, we must risk that. Now shall we be
off?"

" If you please, but I must tell you that we mean to go
second class. I suppose there are second class pas-
sengers ? "

A HIDDr.N FOE.

191

" Yes, but I fancy that not mnny people go second class.
IVople going backwards and forwards to Australia and
India and China arc generally well off. and I fancy that the
second class are generally nurses, engineers going out to
join a ship, and tliat sort of thing."

"That will do very well for us, Mr. Harbut. Annette
has been a servant for years, and will not mind it, and cer-
tainly what is good enough for her is good enough for nie,
besides I sho'.ild feel much more comfortable there than I
should among a crowd of grand people. Last of all, and
what is most important, we have no money to waste ; it is
Annette's hard-earned money we are risking, and not a
penny must be sjjent that is not absolutely necessary.
Another thing is, should we take our passage in our own
name do you think ? Possibly some one else might be going
out in the same ship in search of this man, and he would
recognize my name at once."

* I think that it would certainly be prudent for you to
take your passage under another name, Miss Corbyn."

" Then please take our i)laces as Madame Renan, that
was Annette's maiden name, and Mademoiselle Renan. I
suppose I have a right to take any name I like until I can
prove my right to be called Corbyn."

Just as they were going up into Fleet-street, Constance
looked back.

" There, Mr. Harbut, I am convinced that man behind
us is one of those who was watching us when we were here
before. I am sure I saw him several times opposite our
lod

fMUgS.

Robert Harbut hesitated and muttered a threat
between his lips that accorded better with his present attire
than with the wig and spectacles. Then he hurried forward,
hailed a i)assing cab, i)ushed the ladies in and followed
them, saying to the driver, just as the man behind came
up, " King's Cross, drive sharp." He looked round out
of the window when he got to the top of Chancery Lane,
a hansom was following with a solitary man inside, but it
was too far behind for him to recognize the face. He turned
to the cabman :

" Look here, cabby," he said, " draw up sharp the instant
you get round the corner ; here is half a crown ; we shall
jump out, and then you drive straight on up Gray's Inn
Lane. Keep ahead of that hansom behind if you can. You
needn't go further than the Yorkshire Grey, there you can
draw up and get some beer."

' I

19^

A HIDDEN FOE.

A moment later the cab turned into Holborn ; to Robert's
vexation there was an omnibus just coming along, and a
few seconds' time was lost.

" Jump out quick," he said the moment the cab stopped.
" Go into that shop and buy a pair of gloves ; drive on,
cabby, as sharp as you like."

The ladies entered the shoj), while at the same moment
Robert Harbut ran into the public-house at the corner, and
stood looking through the partly closed door. A moment
later the cab came along, its jace had evidently been greally
increased the moment the lour-wheeler turned the corner.
The young barrister gave an angry exclamation.

" Confound the fellow, he will guess the cab has stopped
by its being so short a distance ahead."

He set out now and followed the cab with hi.s eyes. The
hansom was driving fast and would catch the four-wheeler
long before it arrived at the Yorkshire Grey. He turned
sharply into the shop where the ladies were.

" Take the first pair," he said to Constance ; " every
moment is of importance."

A minute later they were out of the shop, and crossing
the road they entered an omnibus.

" I think we have thrown them off" the scent now. Miss
Corbyn. I have no doubt by this time the fellow knows
that the cab is empty."

Had Robert Harbut remained another moment watching
the hansom instead of entering the shop, he would have
seen it draw up suddenly, and the man inside it leap out,
throw a shilling to the driver, and hurry back towards the
corner of Chancery-lane.

" You are not so sharp as you thought, my fine fellow,"
he muttered between his lips. " I guessed that was a false
direction and that you were trying to throw me off your
track, one could see with half an eye the cab must have
stopped directly it got round the corner."

As soon as the party had entered the omnibus the man,
following them closely, climbed up on to the top.

On issuing out from the P. & O. office after engaging
berths by the Mandalay for the following Thursday, Robert
Harbut put the ladies into a Brixton omnibus in Grace-
church Street, and then proceeded straight to the office of
Ferris and Son.

'* Can you spare me five' minutes, James? "

A IlIDnr.K FOE.

»93

every

man,

"Ten if you want them, Robert, what is it? "

** I told you that Miss Corbyn had suspected that she has
been followed ever since she came to England. I was
inclined to put it all down lo fancy, but to-d.iy I found that
she was right. This beats me altogether, who in the world
can be acting against us ? "

" I can't tell, Robert. Those inquiries at Oxford puzzle
me altogether, but this is extraordinary."

*' Well, we know that at Oxford it was someone who said
he had been sent down by Wilkiris' people ; at least, their
name was on the card he gave the porter. The fellow was
careless in letting out the name of his employers, but
probably they never anticipated that we should be going
there too. Do you know anything of these fellows ? "

" A little ; I believe they do their work as well as any
of these private detective firms. They got some infor-
mation together very well for a client of ours who employed
them."

"Would you mind seeing them, Jim. It is no use my
going to them because they would laugh in my face, but as
a solicitor, and one who perhaps might one day throw a job
in their way, you might get something from them."

" Well, I will try anyhow, Robert," James Ferris said.
" We will take a hansom to their place, and you can wait
outside while I will go in. I saw Wilkins two or three times
when he was working that case, he is an ex-sergeant of
police, and a pretty shrewd fellow. I don't know whether
he is susceptible to a bribe or not, but it may be that a
twenty-pound note may induce him to open his lips a little."

James Ferris on sending up his name was at once shown
into the little room which formed the private office of
Private Detective Wilkins, in Chancery Lane.

" Good-morning, Mr. Ferris ; is there anything I can do
for you ? " Wilkins was a strongly built man, with square
shoulders, and seemed still to be wearing his police uniform.
His face was somewhat heavy, but there was a shrewd look
in the grey eyes under the shaggy eyebrows.

" Not regular business this time, Mr. Wilkins, but I want
some information, which, of course, I am ready to pay for
if you feei at liberty to afford it, as to a case in which you
are engaged."

A slight smile stole over the detective's face, and he
shook his head.

i !

194

A JUDDEN hOE,

" I don't want any breach of confidence/' the lawyer
went on ; " however, I will tell you what I do want, and
you will see whether you can give it without what you con-
sider a breach of confidence. It is not a matter in which
I am professionally engaged, but in which I am, I may say,
personally interested, and I am willing to give twenty
pounds to have my curiosity set at rest."

" Let us hear what it is, Mr. Ferris."

" I want to know why on earth you are tracking the
movements of those two women from St. Malo."

" I can answer that question easily enough, Mr. Ferris.
I have not the most remote idea in the world."

" You have not," James Ferris repeated, in astonishment.

" Not the slightest. I simply received instructions :
' Send over to St. Malo, see if any Englishman visits a
Monsieur and Madame Duport living there with an adopted
daughter, who goes by the name of Corbyn. If they leave St.
Malo and come to England have every movement watched.'
You will understand that if I did know what I was watching
them for I should not tell you, but as I don't know I do
not mind doing vc> The very day after my man got there
you visited them ; three days afterwards they came over
to London, and I have kept them in sight since."

•' All that I am aware of, Mr. Wilkins, but it is the motive
of the thing that puzzles me ; I cannot for the life of me
make out who is interested in their movements — that is
what I am ready to give twenty pounds to know."

" If I knew myself, Mr. Ferris, I should not tell you for
ten times that sum, but in the present case, my client, if I
may call him so, has not taken me in the slightest degree
in his confidence. I received my instructions by letter,
enclosing a handsome fee in bank notes. My instructions
were to post each day any discoveries I might make to
Mr. Zacharia Smith, at a post office in one of the Midland
towns, where it would be called for. The name, of course,
is an assumed one, and I don't think it right to give you
the name of the town, as you might put someone to watch
who calls for letters addressed to that name. I receive
letters with that signature posted in that town, but as my
client is evidently a very cautious gentleman, I should
think it likely that he does not live there, but that some
agent of his receives and re-posts my letters to him, and
■posts his letters to me. I don't know whether that is
worth twenty pounds to you."

A HIDDEN FOE.

»9S

" Well, yes, I think it is," Ferris said ; " and I will send
you a cheque across from my office. It was the same em-
ployer, of course, who sent your man down to Oxford to
enquire about Tom Morson."

The detective nodded.

" Do you guess who my client is ? "

" Not in the least."

"It is the most mysterious affair I ever came across,
Harbut," the young lawyer said when he returned to his
friend. " Wilkin s declares that he does not know in the
least who his client is."

And he repeated the substance of the conversation.
" There is no doubt of one thing, whoever he is, he must
have known from the first all that we have learnt since. He
was aware of the existence of the girl at St. Malo before we
were, for the Duports were watched before I went over,
and they were before you in their inquiries about Morson.
How did you find that you were watched to-day ? "

" That plucky girl has made up her mind to start for
Australia to try and find this man Morson, and I was going
with them to take their passages by the Mandalay, which
jails next Thursday, when she recognized a man behind
us as one of the men who had been following her. My first
impulse was to punch his head, but I thought better of it."
And he then related the steps he had taken to throw their
pursuer off the track. " I don't feel at all sure that I suc-
ceeded," he added in conclusion.

" I should doubt it too," Ferris agreed. " I think it
quite on the cards that a letter will be posted this afternoon
to Mr. Zacharia Smith, saying that the two women have
taken berths for Sydney in the Mandalay. Do they go
under their own names ?."

** No, they are entered on the list as Madame and
Mademoiselle Renan."

" That will make no difference. Wilkins will only have
to send down some well-dressed man to the office to look
at the list o** passengers under some pretence or other, and
he will at once spot the names of two women together
among the last entries. So she is going out to Australia.
I told you sjie was a girl who would carry the thing
through."

"She is a splendid girl," Robert Harbut said enthusi-
astically. " If it wasn't that I had been already snapped

196

A HIDDEN FOE.

\ I

up, I should certainly fall head over heels in love with
her."

" It is a pity Philip cannot meet her, and fall in love with
her, it would be by far the best solution of the business."

" When she comes back you must try and bring it about,"
Robert Harbut laughed. " Where is he now ? "

** I had a letter from him this morning ; he is worrying
himself about this thing immensely ; he told me he intended
to stop at Folkestone on his way back from Paris, and to
have a look at the register himself, and try to ascertain
from the look of the cut how long ago it was done."

" I examined it by a microscope the clergyman lent me,
but could not perceive any difference of color at the edge.
If it had been a tear I daresay it would have shown it, but
with a clean cut edge there was no judging; to my mind
it looked old, the clergyman and the clerk both thought
that it was fresh, but I really do not think that there was
any telling."

" I shall hear Philip's opinion this evening, I expect,"
James Ferris said ; " he is pretty sure to look me up ; he
said if I had no news to give him he should go down to
Bath by the first train in the morning."

James Ferris had just finished his dinner when he heard
a knock at the door. A minute later Philip Clitheroe was
shown in.

*' Well, Philip, had a gay time in Paris ? " he asked, and
then stopped abruptly. " Why, what is the matter, old
man ; are you ill ? Has anything gone wrong with you ? "

He might well be surprised. Philip CHtheroe was as
pale as death, and seemed to have aged ten years since
Ferris had last seen him. There was an expression of
intense i)ain on his face, the light had gone from his eyes,
his mouth was set and hard. He made no direct reply to
the questions, but with a little wave of the hand sat down
in a chair in front of the fire without even removing his
hat, and stared into the flames.

" What is it, Philip? " his friend again asked, this time
in low tones, for he was absolutely awed at the look upon
the young fellow's face. " What on earth is the matter, old
man ? "

" I have had a little shock," he said in a dull tone. " I
will tell you presently all I can."

Jim Ferris was confounded, and stood for a moment
silently looking ^t Philip. Then he turned to the table and

A HIDDEN FOE.

197

filled a glass with sherry. " Drink this, Philip," he said.
" You look worn out ; it will do you good."

Philip mechanically did as he was told, took the glass in
a shaking hand, raised it to his lips, and swallowed the
contents. It was five minutes before he spoke. Then he
said, in a quiet, dull tone : —

" 1 don't know that I can tell you anything beyond this :
I have renounced my right altogether and wholly to the
Corbyn estates in favor of my cousin. Miss Corbyn, whom
I wish everyone to know I recognize absolutely as the law-
ful heir to the property and the legitimate daughter of my
uncle. I desire you and your father to prepare a deed to
that effect at once — on Monday, if you can. I want it
done at once, because I am going away. I do not want
to be asked why I do this. I do it and that is enough."

His hearer's impression at once was that Philip had
worried over this business until his brain had suddenly
given way, and he said soothingly —

"Of course, I will do as you wish, Philip. We will
make the arrangements as soon as possible. And where
are you going to ? "

" Away — somewhere, it does not matter whce ; America
or Australia, anywhere where I can work for an honest
living. My God," he cried, rising suddenly with a passion-
ate gesture ; " how I am suffering," and standing up he
put his elbows on the mantel-piece and buried his face in
his hands, while deep sobs burst from him.

James Ferris stood watching him, unable to decide
whether it was best to address him or not. Either he was
mad or some terrible misfortune had taken place ; what
that misfortune could be James Ferris could not even
guess. Had he discovered in some strange way that this
marriage had taken place ? but even had he done so he
would not have taken it to heart like this, for he had all
through been prepared to relinquish the estates if proof of
the marriage was obtained. Still this did not look Hke
madness. At last Philip turned round again and held out
his hand to him. " You must think I am mad, James, but
I am not. I cannot tell you what has happened, I shall
never be able to tell you. I almost wish that I was mad,
but I never was saner in my life. I meant wLat I have
said just now. I shall leave the country for years. I de-
sire that my cousin should take possession of Corbyn

198

A HIDDEN FOE.

Court. I think that proofs of the marriage will be forth-
coming. If they should not, I charge you to use every
possible means, and to stint no money, in endeavoring to
find witnesses to the marriage. We can talk about other
things to-morrow. I know you have a spare bed here. I
do not feel up to going to my hotel. Will you tell them to
get the room ready for me. I will eat a crust of bread
and have a cup of tea if you will order it for me while they
are getting the room ready. I have eaten nothing since I
breakfasted, before starting, at Boulogne, Do not ask me
any questions, that's a good fellow."

Jim Ferris rang the bell, and ordered that the room
should be got ready at once for his friend. The next half-
hour they talked together on different subjects, of the
weather in Paris, of the run across the Channel, and other
matters. As soon as Philip had drunk his tea, he rose,
lighted the candle the servant had placed on a side- table,
held out his hand silently to James Ferris, nodded and
went off, James leading the way to the bedroom prepared
for him.

** This confounded business is enough to drive a man
out of his mind," James Ferris said, as on his return to his
room he sat before the fire. " It is a mystery from begin-
ning to end, and this finishes it. Philip seem? certainly
sane enough, though what can have occurred to shake him
up in this way I cannot imagine. What on earth will my
father say when I tell him on Monday that Philip has made
up his mind to give up the estates and go abroad? I am
sure he will refuse point blank to have any hand in carry-
ing out this arrangement."

Philip Clitheroe had indeed experienced a terrible shock.
The more he had thought the matter of the missing leaf of
the register over, the more he was convinced that Ferris
was mistaken, and that his uncle could not have been such
a rascal as to endeavor to destroy proofs of his own mar-
riage. He had not had the courage to acknowledge it
during his father's lifetime, and had put off, as long as he
could, facing the talk that such an announcement would
have excited afterwards, but he intended, Philip felt con-
vinced;, to acknowledge the girl as his heiress sooner or
later.

" I am convinced he never cut out this leaf; someone
else has done it," and so Philip resolved to question the

./ IHDDEN FOE,

199

clerk much more closely than Robert Harbut seemed to
have done, and with this intent broke his journey at Folke-
stone, and leaving his jjortmauteaus at the station on the
pier, walked to the Parish Church and was soon at the
residence of William Truscott, the clerk.

*' I have come to have a talk with you, Mr. Truscott,
about that missing leaf in the register."

" I suppose I shall hear a lot of that before we have
done," tlic clerk said in a tone of vexation. "The rector
is in a great taking about it, and so am I. My father, who
was here before me, was a most careful man about the regis-
ters, and so have I been myself since I have had them un-
der my charge, and now to think that a leaf has been taken
out, and that it was never noticed until the other day.
Are you here in tlie interest of the same parties that were
here the other day ? "

" Yes, we are all in the same interest," Philip replied.
'' First of all, I should like to have a look at this register
myself. I am entitled to that, I believe, on paying the fee
of one shilling. I have brought a strong glass with me to
try and find out whether it is of recent date."

The clerk took the keys and accompanied Philip to the
church, the safe was opened, and the volume produced.
Philip carried it to the window, bent it back to the fullest
extent, and examined the edge of the missing sheet with
the glass.

" No," he said, '* I cannot form a positive opinion. It
certainly looks newer than the rest of the paper, but from
its having been cut with so sharp a knife it is smoother than
the face of the ])aper, and therefore reflects the light some-
wliat better. There is, as f^ir as 1 can see, nothing to guide
us here. S.ippo.se we sit down and talk it over for a
minute or i\\\K From what we know of the matter, it is
probable that cither it was cut out eight or ten years ago,
or that it has been cut out in the last few months or so.
Now can you remember who has been here to examine it
lately?"

" I can't tell you who have been here," the clerk replied,
" but I can tell you how many people have come," and he
took out a small cash book from the safe. " This is an
account of the cash I have received since the first of last
December. There have been four inquiries altogether ;
one by letter for a marriage certificate, one personal in-

i H

A HIDDEN^ FOE.

quiry about birth registers, one letter for copy of register
of burial, one personal for marriage certificate."

" There have, in fact, been only two personal visits."
That is so, sir."

" It might be either of them," Philip said, " you see the
volumes all have the number of the year to which they
relate on their backs, so that when a person inquires for a
birth certificate he could, if he happened to be alone here,
take out any of the books and cut out a leaf. What sort of
a person was it who came for a copy of this certificate of
birth ? "

" Let me see. It was a young man. He mentioned
while I was copying the registers of the birth that he hap-
pened to be staying down here, and as he was going to be
married shortly, and meant to insure his life, he thought he
might just as well get a copy of the certificate. His name
was Armstrong, I remember. He was born in 1844. De-
cember, 1844, I think it was."

" Was he alone here at all? "

" No, sir. I never leave anyone alone here."

"Well, now as to the other? "

" The other was a lady, sir. She was tall and dressed in
mourning, and had a thick veil on — quite the lady I should
say. She said she wanted to look in the register for a
marriage in tne year 1853. That was in the next volume
to this, you see. This is for the four years up to the year
185 1. She could not find what she was looking for, though
Ei.e went through the marriages during those four years."

" Then she must have been in here nearly half-an-hour,
and she was never left alone ? "

" Lor', no, sir," the clerk began, and then stopped sud-
denly, and his usually ruddy face lost every tinge of color.

" She was alone," Philip said.

*' Well, she was for a moment now one thinks of it," the
clerk admitted. " It was not for a minute, no nor half a
minute ; she was sitting on this chair looking at the book
and I was standing behind her when she said, * there is
someone calling you, I think. Mister Truscott.' Thinking
it was the rector who had come along and found the church
door open, I hurried out. I did not see him in the church,
and just went out of the porch to look. There was no one
there and I went straight back again. I was not out half
a minute altogether I am prepared to take my affidavit."

A HIDDEN FOE,

20I

" Half a minute would be ample," Philip said. " She
knew by the book she had before her where the notice she
wanted would be found in the next volume. As she sat she
could reach out and take it from its shelf. She had only
to turn to the date, cut out the leaf, replace the book on the
shelf and thrust the leaf under her cloak. It would not
take ten seconds. You see by these other cut leaves how
strongly and hastily it was done. There is no longer any
doubt as to how the leaf was lost now. This is a very
serious matter, both for those concerned in it and for your-
self, Mr. Truscott."

" I see it is," the clerk said in great distress. " I know
I ought not to have gone out and left anyone alone with
the registers, but it was done so natural it never entered
my mind. She seemed just easy and gentle. * I think
that there is someone calling you, Mr. Truscott,' and out
I ran without thinking of it for a moment ; and if you
hadn't asked me about it, I should never have thought of
it again. When I came back she was sitting just as I had
left her, running her finger down the pages, reading the
names ; and no one would ever suspect a lady of such an
action as that."

" Well, try and remember all you know about her. That
is the only thing you can do to help to undo the damage
you have caused. What was she like ? "

*' Well, as I have said, sir, she was tall, and held herself
very upright — out of the way stiff. I should say."

" What age was she ? "

'* It is difficult to judge ladies' ages when they have got
their veils down, sir, but I should judge her between forty
and fifty. I could see her hair at the back of her bonnet
as I stood beside her, and leant on the table, and it was
what I should call sandy, not red or yellow, but just about
the color of sand. Is there anything the matter, sir; do
you think you know the lady ? "

Philip did not answer for a moment. The description
had brought up his mother before his eyes. For a moment
his heart seemed to stop beating, then with a gre.at effort
he said, " I know someone like your description, but it
could not possibly be her. Go on, was there anything
else you remember?"

** Only her hand," the clerk replied, " her dress was ^'ill
black, quiet black, but nothing as one would remember,

I -

203

.4 HIDDEN FOE.

w
m

but she took her glove off when she began to examine the
book. I thought that it was to turn the leaves over better,
but I suppose now that it was to be able to use it quicker
for getting out the knife. She had a marriage ring and
three rings over it. I had plenty of time to notice them.
I wondered what they cost. The top ring was pearls, and
the next had four stones, two of them were dark red. I
do not know whether they were rubies, but they looked
deeper than rubies, and the other two were diamonds.
The ring next to the wedding ring was mostly gold, with
one diamond in the middle, with some little blue stones —
turquoise, I think they call them, round it."

Every vestige of color had flown from Philip's face now,
and the hand that rested on the table grasped it as if for
support. The little vestry seemed to whirl round \ but he
came of a good race, and when the clerk looked up from
the table on which he had been i)icturing the hand he des-
cribed, Philip had pulled himself together.

" Thank you for your description. It may prove useful
to us. I don't know that I have any other questions to
ask you. I should not leave people alone here in future if
I were you."

Had not the clerk been greatly scared at the thought of
the pains and penalties he might have entailed upon him-
self by leaving a searcher alone with the books, and so
enabling a felony to be executed, he could not have but
have been struck with the change of voice and manner
of his visitor. He was, indeed, dimly conscious of it, and
in speaking of the matter to the rector — for it was too
serious a one to keep from his knowledge — he said : " I
think the gentleman who called must be greatly interested
in that marriage, for he seemed quite shaken like when he
found out how the leaf had been taken."

" Well, I hope, Truscott, it will be a lesson to you," the
rector said, severely ; ** it is a most serious business, and
for anything ve know the loss of this register may involve
very important consequences. If the matter ever goes
into a court of law, and you are called as a witness — which
you are pretty sure to be — I should be very sorry to be in
your position."

Philip Clitheroe on leaving the church kept on straight
through the town and up the hill ; he scarce knew where
he was goi?ig, but seemed impelled only by a desire to be

A IHDDEN FOE.

ao3

nine the
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alone. He turned off ahnost mechanically from the main
road soon after he left the town, and after walking for
half-au-hour, found himself on an open down. He stood
for a moment and looked away to the south over the sea.

** What am I to do?" he murmured to himself. "To
think, only to think, that my mother should have done
this. It is awful. Here have I been keeping this from
her, and she mus*- have known it all along. She has been
doing this terrible thing for me ; as if any good could
come from a crime which cheated a girl out of her rights.
Oh, mother, how could yuu ? "

For hours Philip walked up and down trying to think \
the time passed unheeded ; the train by which he had in-
tended to go up to to.vn steamed away unnoticed, and it
was not until late in the afternoon that he turned and made
his way back with stumbling steps to the station, where he
walked up and down on the platform until the six o'clock
train started. Then he threw himself into the corner of a
carriage, and with his hat pulled far over his eyes, remained
without moving until Charing Cross was reached. It was
well for him that he was utterly exhausted when he lay
down that night, so exhausted that sleep soon came to him.
He was astonished when he was awoke by a knocking at
the door and found that he had slept without moving for
well-nigh twelve hours.

" Will you come down to breakfast, Philip ; or shall I
bring you up a cup of tea, and let you have another snooze
before you get up ? "

" I will be down in twenty minutes," h id leaping out
of bed, and speaking, as James Ferris not.^cd, in a voice
more like his own.

" I think he is better," he said to himself. " I hoped he
would get a good night after all that. Well, it is more
than I have had. I never was so puzzled over anything in
my life. What on earth can have happened to him ? "

The long night and a cold bath had effected wonders for
Philip. His face was very grave when he went down, but
the air of utter despondency had passed off. Nothing
was said at breakfast as to the talk of the night before, but
when they had lighted their pipes and drawn round the
fire, Philip said, *' I suppose you thought I must be mad
last night, and I was almost, but what I said I meant and
mean still. Something has happened that convinces me

ao4

A HIDDEN' FOE.

absolutely that my uncle was married, and that my cousin
is lawful heiress of Corbyn Court. What that something
is I cannot tell you, and never shall be able to tell you.
At any rate, I relinquish tlie estate at once in her favor,
and intend, as I said, to go abroad at once, at any rate for
some years. It is possible that evidence of my cousin's
legitimacy may be forthcoming, if not, you must do your
best to obtain it, for, as you said, should anything happen
to me, her rights would be disputed by the next heir. I
suppose it will take some little time to draw up the papers,
assigning my rights to the property to my cousin."

" Yes, I should think it will take some little time,
Philip."

" Yes, well, I don't want to stop for that. I want to be
off at once. I want to be out of it all. Therefore I will
get you yourself to draw out some formal paper of renun-
ciation, which I will sign ; then after I have gone you can
speak to your father about it, and get tlie deeds regularly
drawn up, and send them out to me to be executed. In
that way nothing whatever need be said about the matter
to anyone until I have gone. I want to get away without
any leave-taking, or wondering, or remarks."

" I suppose you know what you are doing, Philip,"
James Ferris said, after a pause. " Of course, to me the
whole thing is inexplicable."

** I know what I am doing, James, worse luck ; and
there is no help for it."

" What are you going to do about Clitheroe ? "

" If you will draw up a power of attorney, I will author-
ize you to receive all rents and act for me in my absence.
The house must be shut up. My mother's own income is
sufficient to keep up the house in Bath, and after paying
the interest on the mortgages, the balance of the rents can
accumulate and you can pay off the mortgages one by one,
and if I ever return Clitheroe will be clear."

James Ferris saw that is was useless to argue, unable as
he was to guess at the reasons by which Philip was influ-
enced.

" You will sell my hunters and the carriage horses, ancj
I will get you to advance me two hundred and fifty now
upon them if you do not mind. I won't have the furniture
at Clitheroe sold. You had better put a man and woman
in to take care of the place."

tl
kl

A HIDDEN FOE,

do5

ly cousin
>nietliing
tell you.
er lavor,

rate for
cousin's
do your

happen
heir. I

papers,

B time,

nt to be
e I will
r renun-
'ou can
gularly
id. In
matter
without

"hih'p,"
me the

'-', and

uthor-
sence.
)me is
aying
s can
' one,

>Ie as
influ-

and
now
iture
man

" Where are you thinking of going, Philip? "

" I don't care whether it is Australia or America. I
think Australia, because I am less likely to meet anyone I
know there than in Canada or the States."

James Ferris sat thinking for some time.

** If you go to Australia, Philip," he said at last, " you
might make a point of looking up that fellow Morson. If
there was, as you now say, a marriage, there is little doubt
he was present at it, or, at any rate, could give evidence
that would go far to prove it."

" By Jove, you are right," Philip exclaimed, with a new
light in his face. " That decides me j it will be something
to attend to first."

" Let me think, what was his address ? I have got it in
my pocket book," Ferris said, " I put it down when Har-
hut told me of it. Ah, here it is : T. Morson, near Bris-
bane."

'* Have you got yesterday's paper ? " Philip asked eager-
ly, " let us see if there is a ship just sailing for Brisbane."

" You may have to wait some time for a ship direct, but
the Australian mail goes on Thursday ; and once at Mel-
bourne you will have no difficulty in getting a coasting
steamer to Sydney and then on to Brisbane ; and you will
be there, perhaps, a couple of months earlier than you
would in a sailing ship."

'• There is plenty of time for that. I will write home to-
day for my guns and shooting clothes ; they must be sent
off by passenger train. They will get the letter in the after-
noon, and the things will be up on Tuesday. I intend to
change my name, Ferris. Clitheroe is not a very common
name and I want to take a fresh start. If I had gone by
a sailing ship I should have gone third class ; I do not
want to run the risk of meeting anyone I know and be
asked questions. The P. and O. don't carry thirds, so I
shall go second."

A momentary look of satisfaction and amusement flashed
across his companion's face. Had Philip been going in
any other ship he would have combated the idea of his
going second class, but he was now delighted that Philip
had decided on this.

" Then you do not intend to go back to Bath ? " lie
asked.

" No," Philip replied shortly. '* I don't want to stir out
of this room, except just to get a few things that I shall

aob

A niDDRN FOE,

want on the voyage, until I go, that is if you will take me
in until then ? "

"With pleasure."

" Mind, Ferris, I want no one to know anything about
this affair until I am gone. You understand that ? "

"Quite, my dear fellow. You can reply upon it, I will
not breathe a word to anyone. Now what are we going
to do all day ? I think the best thing will be to run down
to Brighton, dine there and come up in the evening. We
shall find it a long day if we sit here doing nothing."

''That will just suit me, James. 1 do not want to have
time to think until I get fairly at sea. I shall have plenty
of time for that afterwards."

The three days passed rapidly. On Wednesday Philip
signed a document assigning to Constance Corbyn all rights
that he might have in the Corbyn property, and stating his
conviction that she was the legal owner of the estate. This
was to be sent in on Friday to Robert Harbut. In the
afternoon he sat down to write to his mother.

" My dear mother," he began, " it is with inexpressible
pain that I write to you. I know all. I have been to
Folkestone Church and know that you have been there
before me, and that you carried away the leaf of the register
containing the marriage of my uncle with Constance Pur-
cell. Oh, mother, how could you do it ? How could you
stoop to such a crime ? A thousand Corbyn Courts would
be dearly bought indeed at the cost of such dishonor. I
know that it was for my sake that you did it, that it was
love for me that drove you to it, and it is not for me to
reproach you with a crime undertaken for my sake ; but
with the weight of it on me I can never look people in the
face again.

" ] am going abroad, and shall change my name, and I
implore you to take the only step that can ever restore
peace or happiness to us. Send at once that leaf of the
register to Robert Harbut, of the Middle Temple : he will
know what to do with it. It would be better and nobler,
and would go far to redeem the fault if you would yourself
see Constance Corbyn — Robert Harbut has her address —
and give her the proof of her mother's marriage, own your
fault, and throw yourself on her mercy. But if you cannot
bring yourself to do this, which would of all things be best,
send the leaf anonymously to Harbut. So only can we

■J

/I IllDDEN FOE.

207

ever come together again. In time, when I hear Constance
is inslalico at Corbyn (>oiirt, proved beyond all doubt to
be tny uncle's lieiress, I may l)riiig myself to come back.
Otherwise, I shall never return to Kngland. (Jod help us
boili, mother. I beseech you, I implore you, set right this
terrible wrong at whatever cost to your pride and your
feelings."

" Please post that letter for mc on Friday, Ferris. Mind
I do not wish even my mother to know what name I have
taken, or where I have gone. Directly I reach Brisbane I
shall write to you, and you can then forward to me docu-
ments for signature and any letters there may be to send."

James Ferris asked no cpiestions ; he had been ponder-
ing the matter over in all lights. He knew that there was
a deep affection between Philij) and his mother, and the
fact that Philip should not return to I>;ith and sliould be
keeping his mother in ignorance of his intention of going
abroad, had struck him as strange and unnatural, and at
last the truth had flashed upon him. Philip had been to
Folkestone and had there discovered something. It was
certainly not that the Corbyn estates were involved that
had so utterly depressed him, and had determined him to
exile himself. It was something that he considered vastly
more serious than this. Was it possible that he could have
discovered that it was his mother who had abstracted the
tnissing leaf? This would account for all that had hitherto'
seemed so inexplicable in the affair. Mrs. Corbyn might
have learnt from her brother that he was married, and all
the particulars of that marriage. She might have known
that except in P'olkestone Church no evidence existed of
that marriage. She might have removed that evidence and
set detectives to watch every step taken by Constance,
and might also have instructed them to take steps to dis-
cover whether Morson, the only living evidence as to the
marriage, was still alive. It was a terrible suspicion to
entertain of Philip Clithcroe's mother, and yet turning it
over again in his mind, Jim Ferris acknowledged that it
seemed the only possible explanation of the events that
had been so puzzling him, and of this sudden determination
on the part of Philip.

if.

jf 111

■f's

ao8

A HIDDEN FOE,

CHAPTER XIV.

It was well for Constance Corbyn that her companion had
had some experience in traveling, for the confusion upon
the arrival of the train at Southampton Docks appeared to
her to be overwhelming. In half-an-hour, however, they
were in possession of their little cabin on board the Man-
dalay, and Constance, who at one time had despaired of
getting their trunks out of the chaos of baggage, found that
they had all their belongings safely collected. For half-
an-hour she assisted Annette in putting things tidy, and
then the latter said, " The bell has rung and visitors have
gone ashore, so we shall be starting at once. You had
better run on deck, dear, and see what there is to be seen.
I will finish putting things to rights."

When Constance reached the deck she found that the
vessel was being warped out of the dock, while a small
crowd of people moved along nbreast of her waving their
hands and handkerchiefs. She leaned against the bulwarks
watching them and then turned to look at what was going
on round about her. As she did so her eyes fell upon a
young man in a velveteen coat, leaning against the bulwarks
a few yards away. The face was familiar to her, and she
started as she recognized it. The expression indeed was
strangely altered since she had last seen it. Then it was
a pleasant face with a frank good-humored expression as
its owner laughed and chatted with others standing round
him'; now there was a stern hard look on it, the lips were
set and the eyes fixed frowningly on the shore ; but Con-
stance was certain that she was not mistaken. She had
looked so earnestly at the face before that it seemed
imprinted in her memory, and indeed it was but a fortnight
since she had seen it.

It was Philip Clitheroe who stood beside her, r.nd after
assuring herself of the fact, Constance turned aid walked
aft to the foot of the ladder leading up to the poop, and
crossed to the other side of the vessel.

A HIDDEN FOE.

20<;

)anion had
ision upon
ppeared to
I'ever, they

the Man-
spaircd of
found that

For half-
tidy, and
iitors have

You had
o be seen.

d that the
le a small
ving their

bulwarks
i^as going
^11 upon a
bulwarks
, and she
deed was
'II it was
Jssion as
)g round
ips were
but Con-
She had

seemed
brtnight

nd after

walked

op, and

What did it mean ? What was Philip Clitheroe doing
on board the Mandalay ? He was evidently a passenger.
There was but one explanation of it that she could see, he
had deceived his friend Ferris, and while pretending to be
perfectly willing to recognize her rights at once, if she
could produce any legal proof of her mother's marriage,
he had been secretly working against her. He had had
his spies upon her at St. Malo, and had had her watched
all the time that she was in London.

It was he, no doubt, who had abstriiited the leaf of the
register, and mc^t likely he knew that she and Robert
Harbut had been down there and had di':covered that it
was missing. Then probably for a time he thought he was
safe, but he would have learned from the butcher at Wood-
stock that she had got upon Morson's traces, and again
she had been watched. He could hardly know that she
had obtained the address from the woman at Banbury, but
as soon as he had learnt that she was starting for Australia
he would guess that she had in some way or other obtained
it, and was on her way to see this man ; therefore, he had
resolved to go out himself in the same ship and be before-
hand with her.

As doubtless he had supposed that after going down to
Folkestone she had given up the search as hopeless, and
had taken the position of companion to Miss Peyton with
the intention of earning her living in that way, the watch
upon her would probably for a time have been abandoned,
and he would be ignorant that she had gone down to Bath
and might have seen him there. He would then reckon
that while he would know her she could have no suspicion
whatever of his identity, and he should be able to hoodwink
her with the greatest ease.

" He is a monster of deceit," she said, angrily to herself.
" If anyone had told me al Bath that he was a villain I
should have laughed at the idea. It looked such a frank,
honest face, and I was absolutely fool enough for a moment

to fancy " and she flushed up hotly at the remembrance

that she had for a moment thought that Miss Peyton's hint
as to the way in which matters might be settled satisfacto-
rily to both parties would not be so repugnant to her as it
had seemed when it was mooted.

"■ The man has two faces," she said ; " the one I saw at
Bath, which I suppose he can assume at pleasure; the

ill

aio

A HIDDEN FOE.

Other that which I saw just now, a hard, sombre, moody
face — the true face of a man who would deface a register
and rob a girl. Well, I am forewarned now, and can fight
him with his own weapons, and he will not find his task as
easy as he expects. I thought that visit to Bath a for-
tunate one before, now I feel that it was providential
indeed. No wonder he was so anxious to get me to accept
an annuity when he knew all along where my mother's
marriage had taken place. I was to have a sop thrown me
to keep me quiet. I suppose I shall see a great deal of
him on the voyage ; of course he has come in the second
class so as to keep me under liis eye. I had better not
tell Annette of the discovery I have made. She would
never be able to bring herself to be decently civil with him,
and I must not let him suspect that I know him."

" I am ashamed of myself," she said, as a tear rolled down
her cheek, "to think that I should have been so taken in."
For, indeed, since the finding of Morson's address in Aus-
tralia, and the strong prospect that she hould be able to
prove her mother's marriage, Constance had thought a
good deal of Philip Clitheroe. It would be so hard to turn
him out of the estate he had for years believed would be
rightfully his own, and she had wondered, if all went well,
if some plan could not be hit upon by which, while she was
recognized as Algernon Corbyn's daughter, and perforce
heiress of Corbyn Court, the bulk of the income might be
his.

" Well, there is one comfort," she said, angrily passing
her hand across her cheek, " I need have no compunction
now in pushing my rights to the utmost."

The steamer was now fairly out into Southampton wa-
ters, the tug threw off the hawser, and the screw of the
Mandalay, which had been slowly turning since she had
passed through the dock gates, began to revolve more
^pidly. There was a cheer, tlie waving of hats and hand-
kerchiefs by a party on board the tug, and then Constance
went below.

" Can I help you in any way ? "

" No, my dear, I have got everything straight."

" Then come up on deck, auntie," for it had been ar-
ranged that she should address Annette by that title.
" The steward is laying the cloth, and he says we shall have
lunch in about half-an-hour."

A HIDDEN FOE.

211

'"€, moody
a register
dean fight
his task as
Bath a for-
ovidential
to accept
mother's
hrown me
at deal of
second
setter not
le would
^vith him,

lied down
akenin."
is in Aus-
e able to
'lought a
d to turn
v^ould be
ent well,
■ she was
perforce
flight be

passing
Hinction

ton wa-
' of the
he had
e more
i hand-
is tance

;en ar-

title.
Ihave

ish it, and perhaps it

f< Very well, I will come
as well that people should see that you have someone with
you, for I don't suppose that after we get outside the
Needles I shall be on deck for ever so long."

" It is very pretty," Constance said, when they reached
the deck. " It was night each time I came along here be-
fore. I wonder what that large building over there is."

"That is Netley Hospital." Philip CUtheroe, in his
walk up and down tiie narrow strip between the deck cabins
on one hand and the bulwarks on the other, happened to
be passing behind them, and heard and answered the
question.

" It is a fine building, is it not? In time of war, it is
well suited to its purpose, but in these days of peace it is
almost empty." He had stopped in his walk and ranged up
beside Madame Duport.

" Ah, then it is a military hospital, I suppose," Annette
said, while Constance looked up with an air of somewhat
haughty surprise.

** Excuse me," he went on, with a slight smile, in answer
to her look, " you are surprised, I see, that I should speak
without an introduction, but from the nature of things peo-
ple cannot be properly introduced to each other on board
ship, and if they did not speak without introductions, they
would be a silent party indeed throughout the voyage."

" Yes, of course, that is so," Madame Duport said.
*' The voyage is triste enough as it, but to journey for
weeks and v.-eeks together without speaking would be ter-
rible. So we are fairly on our voyage, monsieur ? "

*' Yes, we are fiiirly off, and I do not suppose that her
screw will stop again until we are at Gibraltar."

*' Ah, I shall be glad when we are there," Madame Du-
port said, '* the worse will then be over, this terrible voy-
age across the Bay of Biscav, and when shall we reach
Gibraltar?"

" In four or five days, but we shall have it fairly calm
with west winds after we have rounded Cape St. Vincent."

"You have been here before, monsieur?"

'' Yes, I went up the Mediterranean in a yacht the year
before last. Not my own yacht," he added in answer to
the quick look he caught from Constance, " no, indeed.
It costs a pretty penny to keep up a craft of that size, and
I should have come down in the world rapidly indeed if

if!
\\\

212

A HIDDEN FOE,

after cruising in my own yacht on the Mediterranean Iliad
arrived at going out as a second class passenger to Australia
in a couple of years."

" There are the stewards going along with dishes, auntie.
We may as well go and take off our things. The bell will
be ringing directly."

So saying, Constance led Annette to the companion,
and they disappeared. Philip Clitheroe mechanically lit
his pipe.

*' A very good style of a girl," he said to himself, after
Constance had disappeared : " a lady every inch of her.
I wonder how she comes to be traveling second class. I
saw lier going to the cabin next to mine with her aunt. She
is going out with the idea of being a governess I should
think, or perhaps to join a father or brother who has settled
out there. I certainly did not expect to meet with that
sort of girl in the second class. I thought they would be
principally ladies' maids or nurses. Of course, it does not
make much difference. Still it is pleasanter having nice
people to talk to.

" Well, I am heartily glad I am away. It is an awful
business altogether, and it seemed to me I should never
feel myself again, but I feel a hundred per cent, better
already.

" I fancy my disposition is corky. You can knock me
under, but I bob up again. I certainly went under a long
way the other day. Well, there is nothing like change for
getting things out of one's head. I have got the world
before me. I have splendid health and a couple of hun-
dred pounds in my pocket, and I expect I shall enjoy life
more when I have got to work or fight for it than I should
have done if I had settled down at Corbyn without any-
thing to work for, or any object in life. I feel sure that
affair will be settled all right now, it was only done for my
sake, and now that it is clear I will have none of it, there
is no reason why it should not be put straight, and I hope
the little girl will have more pleasure out of Corbyn than I
should ever have done.

" There is the luncheon bell aft, I suppose we shall have
ours half-an-hour later. It seems rum to be a second class
passenger and not to be able to go aft, but after all I
do not know if it won't be just as pleasant here. There is
one satisfaction, one can always smoke one's pipe here,

A HIDDEN FOE.

ai3

while tobacco is strictly forbidden aft. I fancy we shall
find that there is a sea on when we get past the Needles,
it is blowing pretty hard here ; if so, I shan't see much of
my fellow passengers until we get well across the bay.
Thank goodness, I don't suffer that way. Oh, there is the
Castle, we are slipping along at a quick pace. Last time I
came along here I was in Rawlinson's yacht ; it will be
some years before I am on board a yacht again. There is
our bell, that is a comfort. I feel as hungry as a hunter,
though I have no right to do, for I ate a first rate break-
fast with Jim this morning ; he is a first-rate fellow that,
and has been awfully good to me the last four or five days.
I wonder whether he guessed what upset me."

Upon going below, Philip found that there were but
seven other passengers. Of these two were, he guessed,
ladies' maids going out with passengers aft ; the girl he had
spoken to on deck and her aunt made up four. The other
three were men, one of these he soon learnt was an engineer
going out to Alexandria to take the place upon a steamer
there of one who had been invalided home ; the two others
were brothers going out to join a cousin, who had a sheep
farm in Victoria ; the other four second-class passengers
were, he afterwards discovered, nurses, who took their
meals with their charges.

For the first minute or two no one spoke. Philip broke
the ice.

" I think that we are a very snug little party, and after
all, it is a good deal more comfortable having a little table
to ourselves like this than to be in that crowded saloon
aft."

" A great deal more comfortable I should say," one of
the brothers agreed. " Why, they never can get to know
each other by the time they arrive out there."

" No. I have always heard that it is much more sociable
and pleasant when the ships are not so full. October and
November are the most crowded months ; the ship is com-
paratively empty now. I hope that we are all good sailors,
for I fancy we shall get it a little rough when we get outside
the island."

The conversation soon became general, and by the time
that they had finished their meal, the little party had be-
come acquainted.

" You have got chairs, I hope," Philip said to
Madame Duport as they rose. " The company are liberal

li:i \

214

A HIDDEN FOE.

enough about most things, but they draw the line at seats.
There are not enough aft for one-fifth of the passengers,
and forward here there is only the choice of the hen coops
on the deck."

"Yes, we have chairs," Constance replied ; "a friend
who was at the railway station to see us off bought them
for us ; it seemed to me that we had things enough to look
after, and that, although it was very kind of him, I would
much rather he had not done it, but perhaps, as you say,
they will be useful."

" I can assure you that they will. A chair is more than
a luxury, it is an absolute necessity. With a chair you
can plant yourself in any snug corner sheltered from the
wind, and out of the way of people marching up and down.
Without one, you feel quite lost."

Philip's prognostications turned out correct. As soon
as the Mandalay had fairly passed the Needles, she felt the
force of the wind, and by evening was fighting her way in
the teeth of a stiffsou' westerly breeze, which before morn-
ing had freshened into half a gale. Philip and the engineer
took breakfast alone. Constance came out and carried off
two cups of tea.

" You are not suffering, I hope," Philip said.

" No, I hope I shall escape, but my aunt is a bad sailor."

" I should advise you to go up for a blow if it is only for
ten minutes ; it is very close down here with all the ports
shut, but if you do go up you must put on a waterproof,
for the spray is flying over her bows."

" Going on deck by yourself? " Annette said. " I think
you had better wait until I can come with you, my dear."

** Why, Annette, you may be ill for two or three days,
and it will be impossible for me to stay in this cabin all
that time. I begin to feel a little headachy now, and I am
sure if I stop here I shall soon be ill. I can take care of
myself perfectly well."

Madame Duport was too ill to make any further remon-
strance, and Constan«!e wrapping herself up in a waterproof
made her way on deck. When she got to the top of the
companion, she stood holding by the door, for the motion
of the vessel seemed to be much greater here than it had
been below, The deck was wet, and just as she was look-
ing out, a heavy shower of spray struck the deck house with
a noise that made her start. She put her head out and
vaguely wondered which would be the best way to go.

A HIDDEN FOE,

2»5

le at seats,
assengers,
hen coops

a friend
iglit them
gh to Jook
1, I would

you say,

nore than

chair you

from the

tnd down.

As soon
le felt the
er way in
ore morn-
engineer
arried off

d sailor."
5 only for
the ports
ter proof,

' I think
ly dear."
•ee days,
:abin all
ind I am
: care of

' remon-
terproof
) of the

motion
i it had
as look-
ise with
•ut and

go.

" I was expecting you," Philip Clitheroe said quietly,
*• and I have found a snug corner where you will be in
shelter. I think that yuii had better take my arm, for it is
rather difficult at first to keep your footing."

Constance hesitated, but seeing that she must either
accept the offor or return to the cabin, she took his arm.
Even with that assistance she did not find it easy to get
along.

" 1 had no idea there was so much motion," she gasped,
as she clung with both hands to his arm, when a sharp
plunge nearly took her off her feet. " 1 don't think I should
have ventured if I had known it."

" She is rather lively. There, this is the place I thought
of. You will be sheltered from the wind and spray here,
and are out of the way of everything."

It was a little nook between one of the deck houses and
the cook's galley. Here Philip placed a camp stool.

" I think you will be comfortable here. This deck house
next to you is what we should call on shore the kitchen,
and the planks are quite warm to the hands. Now if you
will let me wrap this rug round you I think that you will
do."

" You are very kind," Constance said as she took her
seat.

" Not at all," he replied. " On board a ship everyone
does what he can to make other people comfortable. The
ordinary rules about things are pretty well laid aside.
People who can help, help, while the others receive the help
as a matter of course. Now I will stroll off and smoke my
pipe. I shall keep a look out, and when you signal that
you have had enough of it I shall be happy to help you
below again." So saying he moved away, and left her sit.
ting alone. Constance looked after him.

" I was afraid he would have wanted to stop and talk,"
she said to herself, '^ and if he had I could not have stayed
here five minutes. He does not in the least suspect that I
know who he is, and I have no doubt he is laugh-
ing to himself now at the thought of how nicely he is taking
me in, and how easily it will be for him to get the better of
me when we get there. I dare say that even now he is
thinking over some plan to send me off three or four days'
journey in the wrong direction, and to get this man Morson
well out of the way before I return. I am very glad I saw

i I

2l6

A HIDDEN FOE,

his face as we were starting ; such a hard, gloomy face as
it was. If I hadn't he might have taken me in. He looks
now very much as he did at Bath, but not so bright. I
suppose this affair has worried him. It can't be exactly
pleasant for a man brought up as he has been to have to
stoop to fraud and deceit and espionage in order to defraud
a girl. He is certainly a wonderful actor. Annette has
taken quite a fancy to him, and generally she is a very good
judge of character, and as sharp as a needle. It will be
very difficult keeping up this pretence of being friendly
with him all through this long voyage. He seems determined
to make himself agreeable, and there is no doubt he can do
so when he likes. He is just what I fancied he would be
when I first saw him. It is horrible to know that it is all
acting, and that it is the story of the spider and the fly
over again, only happily the fly's eyes are open, and it knows
all about the web and is not likely to fall into it. How-
ever, it is no use worrying myself all the time about it. I
had no sleep last night, and now I know him, I have nothing
to do but to let him go on playing his game until we get to
the end of our voyage, and then trust to my wits to match
his. It ought to be easy enough, when the advantages are
all on my side. What a splendid sea, what a pity Annette
cannot be up enjoying it, too. I see that there are not
many passengers about this morning."

Four or five ladies, each attended by one or two gentle-
men, were walking up and down on the poop. Nearer to
her several men were leaning against the bulwarks smok-
ing, while a few paced up and down the whole length of
the ship j the rest of the passengers were all below. So
cosy was her shelter and so much did she enjoy the view
of the tossing waves and the novelty of everything around
her, that it was nearly two hours before she felt inclined to
go below again. She waited until she saw her fellow pas-
senger glance towards her and then held up her hand.

" You have enjoyed it, I hope," Philip said, as he assisted
her to her feet, and gave her his arm.

" Immensely, and I am perfectly warm. I am very much
indebted to you for finding me such a snug place. I don't
know your name, which is awkward."

** You can call me Brown, Sam Brown," he said. " I have
already learned from the steward that your name is Miss
Renan. Mademoiselle Renan, you speak English wonder-

A HIDDEN- FOE.

317

my face as
He looks
bright. I
be exactly
to have to
to defraud
nnette has
I very good
It will be
>g friendly
letermincd
t he can do
? would be
lat it is all
nd the fly
id it knows
it. How-
)out it. I
ve nothing
1 we get to
5 to match
ntages are
y Annette
re are not

wo gentle-
Nearer to
ks smok-
length of
?low. So
the view
g around
iclined to
How pas-
hand,
i assisted

ery much
I don't

" I have
J is Miss
wonder-

fully, for a French girl. I notice just a turn of expression
here and there that is not quite English, otherwise 1 should
never have dreamt that you were not English. Madame
Renan speaks very good English too, but nothing like so
well as you do."

'* I have had unusual opportunities of learning, and have
been accustomed to speak Eiiglifih habitually. Oh ! " the
exclamation was caused by a sheet of spray which sprang
above the side of the vessel and dashed over them just as
they reached the door of the companion.

" That was unlucky after escaping so far."

*' No harm is done, thanks to the waterproof," she said,
and with a nod of the head she went down the companion,
leaving Philip on deck.

" How are you, auntie ? " she asked, cheerfully, as she
entered the cabin.

" I think I'm going to die," said Annette, feebly.

" No, not so bad as that, I hope, Annette ; it is unlucky
it is so rough just at starting ; but you know Mr. Harbut
said when you told him what a bad sailor you were that it
would only last two or three days. Oh, I wish that you
could have been on deck with me, I am sure it would have
done you a world of good. It was splendid up there."

Annette was too ill to ask what she had been doing.

*' I have been sitting all by myself," the girl went on,
** in a warm little corner where I was quite sheltered from
the wind, but could see the waves. It was grand, only I
wished you could have been sitting there with me,
there would have been just room for another camp
stool. I mean to make that our special den during
the voyage, that is if nobody else takes it. Do you think
you could take anything, auntie? A cup of tea or a few
spoonfuls of soup. I daresay I can get the steward to
get you some."

Annette shook her head. At present she was far beyond
wishing for tea or soup.

" I feel very hungry myself," Constance went on. " I
only had a biscuit for breakfast. What am I to do ? "

"You must have your lunch with the others, my dear;
you cannot eat in here. On board'a ship people do things
that they would not do anywhere else, and I do not see
how it is to be helped."

2l8

M iriDDEN FOE.

When the bell rang for lunch, Constance was glad to sie
that one of the other female passengers came out and took
her seat at tlic table.

" You are keeping up well, miss," she said, as she took
her seat.

" Yes, I feel perfectly well," Constance replied. " Are
you feeling the same ? "

"Yes, I am never ill at sea. I have been backwards
and forwards to India four times, and I don't mind it at
all, only my lady is that fidgety and troublesome one gels
no peace. There is not any more the matter with her than
there is with me, but she never gets up the first three or
four days ; she ran eat and drink just as heartily as if she
was on shore, only she pretends she cannot, and worrits
and fancies that she is ill, till she drives me and the
stewardess pretty well out of our minds."

*' But you did not come to breakfast this morning,"
Constance said.

" No ; I had to stay fussing with her until it was too
late, and then I had something with the stewardess aft. I
suppose this is your first voyage ? "

"Yes, except crossing the Channel from France. I have
never been at sea before."

" Well, you are lucky. I don't mind Indian service, for
it is easy and comfortable if you do not mind the heat,
and you have little enough to do, for the house is full of
black servants, but it is trying on the voyage. My lady
is so accustomed to be waited on that she can scarcely
pick up her handkerchief if she drops it. However, there
is one comfort on board a ship — there are no bells. If
there were, one would have no peace of one's life. Are
you going with us to India ? "

" No, we are going to Australia. I believe we go in
another steamer from Suez, but I am not sure whether we
change there or at Point de Galle.''

" At Suez," Philip put in. " That is the worst of this
overland route, the change of steamers. However, they
say that before long the Canal will be open, and then
the steamers will go right out without a change, which
will be a great comforf for those who are going then,
though it will not help us at present. I was just chatting
with one of the mates, and he tells me the glass is rising,
and that he thinks this little gale will blow itself out soon.

./ IIIDDEK roil.

219

It docs not make much difTcreiice to us, fortunately, but
after all, it is more pleasant on deck when one can walk
about without holding on, and tilings are drier round one.
lUit for the sake of those who are ill, one is always glad
to hear that there is no likelihood of a week of rough
weather."

Ill another two days the sky was bright and clear, and the
motion of the ship was now an easy roll on the long regular
swell of the Atlantic. Annette was well enough to come on
deck for the fir.st time, and the poop was thickly clustered
with passengers. Philip Clitheroe had found the two
chairs with the name Renan on them among the pile on
deck, and had placed them early in the little nook so as
to secure possession, and he at once seated them comfort-
al)ly in them.

" That is Portugal, Mr. Brown?"

" Yes. I believe we passed Lisbon about daybreak this
morning. This is a pleasant change in the temperature,
isn't it?"

" Oh, yes, the air feels quite balmy, it is delightful, isn't
it, auntie ? "

" I don't think it is quite delightful, Constance, but I
dare say I am chilly after being three days in that miserable
cabin, but I don't think I shall be able to sit in it very
long."

" Will you take my arm and walk up and down for a
bit?" Philip said.

"No, thank you, I must wait until the ship gets quite
steady before I can do any walking."

After chatting for a few minutes longer, Philip strolled
away, and entered into conversation with one of the
engineers.

'* You have not been sitting here talking to that young
man all the while I have been below, Constance ? " Madame
Duport asked shari)ly.

" No, auntie, he has never sat down at all. He has just
hel[)ed me here and seen me fairly sealed, and then he
goes away until I want him to help me down again."

" That is right, my dear, one cannot be too careful with
strangers. You see we don't know \Yho he is, and he does
not know who we are, and there is no use getting too
intimate with people. In your position you cannot be
too careful. You see we hope to have you as mistress of

liii

aao

A HIDDEN FOE,

Corbyn Court before long, and no doubt you will make a
grand match tlien."

" I don't care about being mistress of Corbyn Court,
and I am sure I do not wish to make a grand match,
Annette/' Constance said slowly ; " that is one of the very
worst things about money. You never know whetlier
people care for you for yourself or for your money. I
want to prove that my mother was married ; if I can do
that, I should be glad to come back to St. Malo, and be
just as I was before. I don't want in the very least to
go to Corbyn, or to be an heiress. I am quite sure 1
should be far happier without the money."

" Money is a very good thing, ma petite^'' Madame
Duport said, senlentiously. *' You do not know its advan-
tages yet, but some day you will find it nice to have
carriages and maids, and everything else you can wish
for."

" I had everything I could wish for at St. Malo, Annette,
and I don't want anything better. As to what you were
talking about, it is ridiculous to think about it; it will be
quite time for you to begin to play the Dragon in anolhei
four or five years. I am only a young girl yet."

" Not such a very young girl, Constance. You are
seventeen and six months, and though I used to think you
were but a child when we were at home, I have come to
look upon you as a woman since, and other people
would do the same ; and who is this Mr. Brown ? "

Constance shrugged her shoulcj.

" He does not talk about himself, but I believe he is
going out to farm, or something of that sort in Australia."

" He has not said anything about his people at home ? "

*' No, Annette, why should he ? I tell you, except at
meals, we have had no talk together ; what does it
matter to us who he is, where he comes from, or what he
is going to do ? "

Annette shook her head slightly, but made no reply.
They were at the beginning of the voyage as yet. She
might want to know more about this young man before
they got to the end of it.

will make a

A HIDDEN FOE.

ait

CHAPTER XV.

Constance was glad indeed when Annette was able to
come up on deck, for hitherto she had felt lonely and
strange. At present, except at meal times, she had seen
nothing of the other women in the cabin. The engineer
scarcely spoke when at table, and at other times was for-
ward, smoking and talking with the sailors, tiierefore she
had been thrown entirely into the company of Philip
Clitheroe. Strong as were her feelings against him, she
admitted to herself that he had behaved with the greatest
consideration for her position. Beyond seeing that she
was comfortable when she came on deck, he had abstained
altogether from forcing his company ujjon hor, seldom
addressing her until she made a move to go below.

" He wishes to inspire me with confidence," she said
bitterly, but at any rate he pays me the comi)liment of
showing that he recognizes that I am not the sort of girl
who appreciates familiarity. This will be a lesson to me
for life, not to trust in appearances. It is not a pleasant
lesson, certainly, but it is not one that I am ever likely to
forget."

" This is very nice, Annette. I have had nobody to
talk to on deck at all since we started, and felt ralhcr a
forlorn little being. I told you before we started tliat I
could get on very well by myself, and of course I could
have managed somehow, still I am very glad you came."

" Yes, it is not nice, ma petite, for girls to travel alone.
They can make acquaintances fast enough, but as a rule
the acquaintances they make are just those that they would
be better without. Men are ready enough to sjjcak to a
girl who they see is alone, but women are very slow in
doing so."

" Why shouldn't women help each other, Annette? "

" Women are not nice to each other, my dear ; it is the
way of the world."

Several gentlemen had, in fact, while Constance had
been sitting alone, stopped in their walk and asked her if

•«; W

222

A HIDDEN FOE,

she was cold, or if they could get her another wrap ; but her
" Thank you, I am perfectly comfortable," had been so
decided as to discourage any attempts at conversation.
Now the two young Byfleets, who had also recovered from
their sea sickness, came up and began to chat to Madame
Duport and her':,elf ; and after he liad smoked a pipe or
two, Philip also joined the party, chatting principally with
Annette, while a merry conversation went on between the
two lads and Constance.

** This has been a pleasant morning," the latter said to
Annette, as they went down to lunch. " It has been very
dull work for the last three days, but now I think we shall
really enjoy the voyage."

" It will be better when it is warmer,"

'*It will get warmer every hour," Constance said. " Mr.
Brown tells me we shall find it downright hot by the time
we arrive at Gibraltar. He said we shall be there by to-
morrow evening."

They had, indeed, splendid weather all the way to Alex-
andria. At Gibraltar and Malta the cabin passengers, with
the exception of the engineer, went on shore together.
Annette suggested that the others should be asked to join
the party, as they would otherwise be obliged to remain on
board. Both were quiet young women, who had been
several years in their mistress' service, and were no draw-
back to the pleasure of the party on shore.

At Gibraltar they visited the Galleries, walked out to
Europa Point, were delighted with the semi-tropical foliage,
and with the great hedges of scarlet geraniums and ^n.ctus.
At Malta they visited the Cathedral, drove out to the old
town and saw the mummified monks, made the tour of
the fortifications, eat Tangerine Oianges and ices, and
bought laces and silver filigree jewellery and coral. They
had three or four hours to see Alexandria, while the bag-
gage was being landed from the Mandalay, and then twelve
hours of dusty travel in the train to Suez. The passage tc
Point De Galle was delightful ; although the heat in the
Red Sea was very oppressive. Then the passengers bound
for Calcutta left to go on by tiie next steamer, as the Agra
was bound for Melbourne. This reduced the number of
nine second-class passengers to seven, a change which
Philip regarded with satisfaction.

Madame Duport was the only one in the forward saloon
who had not enjoyed the voyage. When she had assumed

! h

/f HIDDEN FOE.

2^3

the responsibility of accompanying Constance, she had
thought only of saving her from the inconvenience attend-
ing travel by an unprotected girl, and the possibility of her
falling in love had never occurred to her. She did not
know that she v/as falling in love now, but the fact that
she was thrown continually with one whom Annette her-
self acknowledged to be a very pleasant and gentlemanly
young man, certainly rendered the contingency possible.
Who he was, Annette had formed no idea. He seldom
spoke of his past, beyond mentioning various places in
Europe to which he had traveled. Annette's experience
was sufficient to assure her that he was a gentleman by
birth ; his means must be small or he would not be travel-
ing second-class; but his prospects might be good enough
for aught she knew to render him a suitable match for
Consiance if her endeavor to prove herself the heiress of
Corbyn Court failed.

But if she succeeded, nothing could be more unfortunate
than an affair of this sort. During the last three months,
Constance had grown into womanhood, and what but a
short time before had been but a promise of beauty was
now being verified. With her face, and as the owner of
Corbyn Court, she would, Annette knew, make a sensa-
tion in society, and it would indeed b'j terrible were she to
lose her to this young fellow going out to fight his way in
Australia. Annette was at her wits' end. If she could
have found any possible excuse for doing so she would
have proposed landing at Ceylon and waiting there for the
next steamer for Australia, but no valid excuse for so
strange a step i>resented itself to her. As to warning her,
she felt that it was a step likely to be attended with little
result. Constance had from a child been accustomed to
have her own way in the little house'.^old at St. Malo, and
was likely to have it now. Still Annette felt that she must
say something. It was indeed on the evening of the day
they sailed from ('eylon that she spoke when they were in
the cabin together.

" Do you know, Constance, I think that it is rather a
pity that Mr. Brown did not land with the others to-day."

"Do you," Constance said in surprise. "Why do you
want to get rid of him, auntie?"

" Well, dear, I think it would nave been better for the
young man if he had been going on to Calcutta. You see,

224

A HIDDEN FOE.

Constance, he is thrown a great deal with you, and there
is no doubt that you are very pretty and taking."

" Thank you, Annette, that is quite unexpected," Con-
stance said demurely.

" I don't wish to flatter you, my dear, but there is no
doubt that you are so, and it is quite evident that this
youiig man thinks so too. My dear, you should reflect.
It would be of all misfortunes the greatest for you to fall
in love with a young man who is a nobody, of whom we
know nothing except that he is a second-class passenger
going to Australia."

" And you think I am falling in love with him, auntie ? "

" I don't know, my dear. Sometimes I think that you
are, although you do not know it yourself. ' You talk with
him and laugh with him as if you had known him for years.
I have watched you closely, as is my duty, and sometimes
I feel sure that you like him. Sometimes 1 notice an ex-
pression in your face that I do not understand, and u
seems to me that your voice is hard and your laugh un-
na^iral, and I hardly recognize you. It troubles me
sortly."

" Do not let it trouble you, auntie. I have no more idea
of marrying Mr. Sam Brown than I have of marrying you.
If he were the only man in the world I would not take
him."

There was a strength and earnestness in the tones which
assured Annette of their truth, but her surprise for the
moment exceeded her relief. She herself had from the first
taken a strong liking to this young man, and it seemed to her
that with his pleasant manner, his hearty laugh, his frank,
honest expression, and his fine figure he was just the sort
of man to wir a girl's love. This very decided expression
of opinion, therefore, with regard to him took her com-
pletely by surprise.

* I am very glad that it is so, Constance, very glad to see
that you are so sage and prudent ; but you surprise me.
Had this young man been v/ealthy and of good family I
own that I should have nothing to say against him, for he
seems to me to be one that anyone might like. You are
not a, co:;uette, Constance, you have never been at all like
that. Why, then, since you dislike this young man so
much as all that, have you been so pleasant with lim? I
do not say you have encouraged him, I would riot even

A lUDDEN- FOE.

2«!)

think such a thing, but surely you must have seen what his
hopes have been. Of course we know that it is absurd,
and that >liss Corbyn cannot marry a young fellow who
has probably run through a fortune and is being helped
out by his friends to Australia to begin afresh there. But
he knows nothing of this, and guesses perhaps that you
are going out to teach French or music in Australia. I
think he will have a little, just a little cause to reproach
you."

" I think not, auntie," Constance said, with a smile that
puzzled Madame Duport. " I do not think that he will
complain."

" Well, my dear, you know best ; but it does not seem
to me like you to act in a way that people might think was
heartless, and to give pain to anyone. I do not under-
stand you."

** You will understand some day, aunt. I think Mr.
Sam Brov/n and I both know what we are doing."

Constance would have been blind indeed had she not
noticed the increasing devotion of her fellow passenger.
She had indeed marked, almost before he was conscious of
it himself, how from the time Annette had appeared upon
deck his attentions had gone on increasing, until he was
seldom absent from her side, and she had not been long in
arriving at a conclusion regarding his intentions.

It was curious that in her talk Constance had never
mentioned her destination. He had assumed that she was
going out as a governess, but from the first the unpleasant
idea that she might possibly be going out to be married
had sometimes occurred to him. It was certainly more
probable that an aunt would come out to escort a niece
bound on such an errand, and to see her comfortably
settled in her new home, than that she would make this
long journey only to chaperon her were she going into a
family as a governess. He had over and over again re-
solved to find out by a direct question the object of her
voyage, but had never bee;^ able to muster up sufficient
courage.

One day, soon after leaving Malta, Constance took the
role of questioner. She was sitting working by the side of
Madame Duport. Philip had been talking about Australia,
and Constance looked up very quietly and said,

Ill

! : >

irn

226

// niDDEK FOE.

" But what are your views, Mr. Brown ? You said the
other day that you had no friends out there. What do you
intend to do — to take a farm ? "

" Well, not at first," he said. " I shall knock about a
bit and see what sort of openings there are, and learn
something of colonial life before I make up my mind as to
what it is best to settle down to. When I get to Mel-
bourne I am going on to Sydney in the first place."

" Are you ? " the girl said, with sudden interest. " Do
you think New South Wales is a better colony than Vic-
toria or Queensland ? "

" I don't know that. I have not thought much about it.
Miss Renan. I have some business to do there ; after
that I shall be free to look about me."

" We are bound for Sydney, too," Annette said quietly.

** I am glad indeed to hear that," he said in a tone of
such lively satisfaction that Constance looked up in admir-
ation at his acting. " That will be pleasant indeed. I had
no idea that I should have the pleasure of your company
beyond Melbourne. You are going to stay in the town I
suppose ? "

" Our plans are not yet finally settled," Madame Du-
port said quietly, and Philip saw that he could not pursue
the subject further.

When they were a week out from Ceylon he spoke. It
was a lovely moonlight night. They were standing at the
bulwark together, while Annette was half dozing in her
deck chair, within sight bat out of hearing. He had not
meant to speak until the voyage was nearly over, but the
soft beauty of the evening and the hope he entertained
that she was not indifferent to him prompted him to act
upon the moment.

** I have not a great deal to offer you beside my love.
Miss Renan, but at leust I can promise you that you shall
never feel the anxieties of life. I have property in England
from which I can anyhow draw an income sufficient to live
upon in comfort, if my own efforts to cut out a path for
myself should fail. At any rate I can offer you a deep and
honest love. You know nothing of my past, or why I left
England. That I must for the present ask you to take on
trust, and I think that you must know enough of me to
feel sure that whatever is the reason of my leaving England,
nothing disgraceful on my part is the cause of it."

A HIDDEN FOE,

227

Constance stood immovable while he was speaking to
her. She had not attempted to draw away the hand he
had taken when he began, she had not looked round to-
wards him, but had stood gazing over the sea. Now she
drew her hand away suddenly and faced him.

"Are you sure that it is an honest love you offer me?
Are you quite certain that your conduct has been that of
a true gentleman — that there is no disgraceful action in
the past ? "

Her voice was clear and hard, and Philip Clitheroe
stepped back as if he had been suddenly struck.

" What do you mean ? Good heavens, Miss Renan,
what do you mean ? "

" Do you call it the conduct of a gentleman to play a
double part, and fight against a woman with secret
weapons ; and to have her every movement dogged by
spies, and while protesting that you meant her well, to
work against her in the dark ? Was it a gentleman's part
to try to destroy the one proof which would have put her
in your place by mutilating a register in a church and
stealing her proof? Was it honorable and honest, when
you learnt from your spies that she was going out, to
search for the one living witness to her mother's marriage,
that you should take a false name, and go out in the same
ship with her so as to forestall her in her search? Was it
a gentleman's part to try to win her love, so that if you
did not succeed in gaining all you might at least share it
with her? I thank God, Mr. Clitheroe, that I had seen
you before, and recognized you at once when .1 saw you
or> board, and that I knew you for what you are and not
what you seem to be, and that I knew that your pleasant
face and your assumed frankness were but a mask which
hid one of the meanest villains on earth."

Philip Clitheroe stood as one bewildered when Con-
stance first began to pour out her accusations against him.
She had spoken at first in a hard, cold tone, but her voice
rose and the words came faster as she went on, and there
was a ring of Dassion and pain in them as she closed the
indictment.

*' My God ! " he said, in low, husky tones when she had
finished ; " and this is what you have thought of me all
along."

" I did not think, I knew," she cried. " You are a fine
actor, Mr. Clitheroe," she went on, bitterly, " and I tender

I' !

li 1!

228

A HIDDEN FOE.

you my compliments. If I had not been forewarned, if I
had not known you all along, you would have deceived
me, and when I some day learned t'^e truth I should have
been one of tlie mort miserable women on earth. You
thought that while you knew me I took you for the Mr.
Sam Brown you pretended to be — the young man going to
fight his way in Australia. Happily I had seen you at
Bath, and my part has been a comparatively easy one to
play ; but I was getting very tired of it, and am glad it has
come to an end."

"And you are Constance Corbyn," Philip Clitheroe
said in a low, dazed ione.

" Don't carry it on any longer, Mr. Clitheroe," Con-
stance said, contemptuously. *' The first part of the game
is over, and you have lost so far. You think that there is
another game yet to be played in Australia, and that you
will beat me there. Perhaps you may, the odds are hardly
fair — a man against a girl ; but I have shown myself no
contemptible opponent so far, so do not make too sure of
success in the end. Now, Mr. Clitheroe, I will wish you
good-night."

The bitterness of the girl's tone stung Philip Clitheroe
from his bewilderment, and he grasped her arm suddenly
as she turned to leave him.

" One moment, Miss Corbyn," he said. '* You have
had your say, I have a right to mine. A man whom you
have charged with being a mean villain — with having set
spies upon a woman — with having committed a felony to
deprive her of her rights — with having feigned a love for
her to save his estates — has at least the right of reply. You
will not believe me ; but I deny every accusation that you
have brought against me. As to your last accusation, that
when I pretended love for Miss Renan I knew that she was
Constance Corbyn, I swear to you that it is false, that I
did not know that Constance Corbyn was on board this
ship ; that had I known that you were here I would have
shunned you as the pest ; for from reasons known to my-
self, of all women in the world, Constance Corbyn is the
last I would marry. I do not expect you to believe all this.
I don't know why you should ; knowing only what you
know it is natural you should think as you do. May I
return you the compliment you paid me on my acting? You
are magnificent. Miss Corbyn. You have won hands down.

A ITIDDEhr FOE.

229

The happiness of my life has been the stake, and I have
lost. I felicitate you on your triumph."

He loosed his hold of her arm and walked aft. Con-
stance stood looking after him, as if turned to stone. Then
she suddenly caught at the rail, and stood panting and
catching her breath in short gasps. As yet she could not
think, only she seemed to hear over and over again, keep-
ing time with the beat of the engine through the skylight
close behind her, the words, " I swear to you that it is
false," " I swear to you that it is false."

At last she turned, and with difficulty staggered to her
chair by the side of that of Madame Duport, and almost fell
sideways into it.

" Dear ! how you startled me," Annette said. " I do
believe I was asleep. I think it is time to go below."

Constance did not answer. Madame Duport put her
hand on the girl's arm and drew it towards her. There
was no responsive movement, and there was something in
the way the arm dropped as she released it that so startled
Annette that she leapt to her feet and stooped over Con-
stance.

" What is it, my dear; is anything the matter? " There
was no reply, and the moonlight shewed that the girl's eyes
were closed and her face deadly pale.

'' Mon Dieu ! the child has fainted ! " Annette exclaimed.
'' What can it be ? "

Annette, in the course of her service, had seen fainting
women before, and was equal to the emergency. She went
across to two gentlemen v/ho were smoking and talking
some little distance forward.

" Pardon me," she said, " but my niece is suddenly taken
ill and has fainted, I think. Would you kindly lend your
aid to help her below. It is nothing, and she will soon
recover. Perhaps it is the moon and the night air, but
she will be best in her cabin where I can attend upon
her."

Constance was at once lifted and carried below, and
Annette and the stewardess then took her into her cabin
and laid her ir her berth.

" Poor young lady," the stewardess said, compassion-
ately, as shf; assisted Annette to loose the girl's clothing
and sprinkle water on her face ; " and she seemed so well
and strong too."

Ii !

liil

230

A HIDDEN FOE,

" Doubtless it is the moon and the night air," Annette
said, " and it has been hot and close to-day. It will pass
off, doubtless, and she will be herself again to-morrow.
Girls are subject to these thingr. Thank you, her eyelids
are moving and she will soon recover. It is better that
she should find no one here but myself. If she sees any-
one else it might startle her, and it is better that for to-
night she should not know that she has fainted."

" Perhaps it would be best," the stewardess said. " I
will make her a nice cup of tea and bring it to the door in
a few minutes ; that will do her good when she begins to
come round."

" It is all right, my dear," Annette said, soothingly.
" You have not been quite well. They say it is bad to stay
too long out in the moon, and it is close and hot to-night.
But you will be well again after a little rest, and the stew-
ardess is making you a cup of tea."

For a minute or two Constance did not reply, then
Annette saw a flash of recollection come into her eyes, and
she gave a little wailing cry, and turned her face towards
the side of the bunk.

" What is it, my child ; has anything happened to you ? "
Annette asked, anxiously.

" Please leave me alone. I will tell you to-morrow," she
said, faintly.

She shook her head when the tea came, but drank a
little, evidently rather to get rid of Annette and to be quiet
than because she wanted it.

" Shall I take off your things, dear?"

" No ; I only want to be quiet."

Annette threw a light shawl over her, and then, partly
undressing, lay down in her own berth.

What could have happened to Constance that her illness
had not arisen from the causes she had assigned to the
stewardess ? She was certain the sudden start and the look
of distress when she began to recover showed that it was a
shock of some kind that had brought on the fainting. An-
nette knew that just before she had herself dozed off, Con-
stance was standing talking with Mr. Brown. No doubt
what she had foreseen had taken place, he had told Con-
stance he loved her, and she, of course, had refused him.
There could be no doubt about that after what she had
said the evening they had left Point De Galle, but in that

A HIDDEN FOE,

331

case, why should she be upset ? She had herself warned
Constance that the young fellow would have a right to say
that she had encouraged him. No doubt he had done so,
and perhaps with force and bitterness. Still even that
would hardly account for Constance being upset to this
extent.

The girl's conduct had indeed been a puzzle to her
throughout the voyage. She had certainly accepted the
attentions of their fellow passenger with a readiness al-
together at variance with her character. Then to Annette,
who knew every turn and inflection of her voice, she had
never seemed to be herself. Her laughter was forced, and
there was an undercurrent of bitterness and sarcasm so
wholly unlike her that Annette had wondered, but in vain,
what had come over the child. If she had meant all along
to refuse this young man, why had she not shown him so
from the moment his attentions became marked? From a
child Constance had been strong in her likes and her dis-
likes, and had been equally frank in showing them. The
whole thing was a puzzle, and it was some time before
Madame Duport went off to sleep.

2J2

A HIDDEN FOE»

CHAPTER XVI.

'! I

Not until daylight broke did Constance Corbyn close an
eye. She had been looking forward to her triumpii, to Uie
discomfiture of her enemy, to overwhelming him with scorn
and contempt. Everything succeeded according to her ex-
pectations ; she had taken him completely by surprise, one
by one she had formulated her charges, and had told him
that she regarded him as the meanest villain on earth.
What had been the result? He had told her that her
charges were false, fiilse from first to last. He had denied
that he was aware of her identity, or that lie even knew she
was on board. He had declared, too, that Constance Cor-
byn was the last woman in the world he would marry.

Could all this be true, or was it but a piece of acting in
keeping with all she previously thought of him ? She tried
to persuade herself that it was so, but failed altogether. As
he had spoken, an absolute conviction had seized her that
he was speaking the truth, and that there had been some
terrible mistake. "The happiness of my life has been at
stake, and I have lost." Surely he could not have been
lying, for taken by surprise as he must have been, accused
of treachery, of a crime, of deceit and baseness — and tliis
at a moment when he must have expected a favorable reply
to the words of love he had spoken — was it possible he
could have rallied so soon, and while congratulating her
upon her victory, have crushed her beneath a feeling that
she had committed a terrible error, an error which involved
her happiness as well as his.

Then her thoughts turned to the words, had he known
that Constance Corbyn was on board the ship, he would
have shunned her as the pest; she was the last of all
women in the world he would marry.

" What does he mean ? what can he mean ? " she re-
peated to herself scores of times. *' What have I done that
he should speak so of me ? Does he think me so unmai-
denly for thus coming forward to struggle for my rights,
for thus striving to clear the memory of my dead mother ? "
And thus the long hours of the night passed, until exhaus-
tion at last closed her eyes.

A HIDDEN FOE.

333

She did not wake until nearly noon. Annette was
sitting beside her, working, with a look of grave concern
in iier face. The events of the past evening came in a rush
upon the girl.

" Wliat is it, mapetitel what has happened? tell your
old nurse."

Constance held out her arms. Annette threw herself on
her knees beside the berth and took her in her arms, and
as the girl burst into a passion of tears, soothed and
caressed her, as she had done in the troubles of her child-
hood.

" Tell me all about it, dear," she said at last, as the sobs
gradually ceased. "It is about Mr. Brown, that goes
without saying. Tell me all, Constance ; you knr>w I am
never hard with you. Have you made a mistake, have you
found out that you deceived yourself when you said that
you did not care for him ? "

'• I will tell you, Annette. You must know that I found
out the first hour after we came on board that this Mr.
Brown was Philip Clitheroe."

" Are you losing your senses, ma petite ? " Annette ex-
claimed, in more anxiety than surprise.

*' I did not tell you," Constance went on, without heed-
ing the interruption, " because I knew that you would not
approve of my plan, that you would keep him at a distance,
and that he would soon see that we knew him." Then she
went on to tell all particulars, how she knew him by sight,
how she had played her part throughout, and how, when
Philip Clitheroe had told her of his love, she had poured
out her indignation and scorn upon him.

" And you did rightly," Annette said, earnestly. '* I see
not that you have anything to reproach yourself with.
This coquin deserved all that you said to him. I would
have said as much and more h -d I known wlio he was."

" Yes, Annette, but I was wrong all the time. He did
not know me, he had no idea that Miss Corbyn was on
board."

" Hah 1 " Annette said, with disdain, " you believe that
story? I thought you wiser, child. Of course a knave will
lie when he is found out."

" I will tell you what he said, nurse, and you shall judge
for yourself," and she repeated without the change of a
word what Philip Clitheroe had said, for every word
seemed burnt into her brain.

234

A HIDDEN I'VE.

*• Well, we shall see, child," Annette said, " but do not
fret over it. The matter will come right in time, these
things always come right in time, and you see he acknow-
ledged that it was natural you should ha/e thought as you
did. He will see that you are not to blam^i in the matter,
and will have no harsh feelings towards you. If what he
says is true he may be a worthy and honorable gentleman."

Constance shook her head. " If I have wronged him I
have wronged him beyond forgiveness," she said. '* I
have fooled him and led him on and then spurned him. I
have called him a traitor, a thief, and a m.an villain. Let us
say no more about it, it is done, and it is irremediable."

Annette was too wise to attempt to argue, but she had
her own opinions. She had in the course of her life seen
many quarrels between young men and young women, and
that if they cared for each otiier the quarrels were generally
made up in the end. That Philip Clitheroe did care for
Constance she had been convinced after the first week of
their voyage. As to the girl's feelings she had been alto-
gether at fault, but she thought it probable that whatever
Constance might have previou sly thought of him, her strong
conviction that she had treated him with cruel injustice
would tell immensely in his favor. Annette had been too
wise a woman ever to hint to Constance that she thought
the possession of the Corbyn estates could be far better
settled by an arrangement between the claimants than in a
law court ; but the idea had often occurred to her, and it
now seemed to her more than ever that this would be the
satisfactory conclusion of the affair.

Constance did not leave her cabin until the evening, but
she insisted upon Annette going up on deck for a time to
enjoy the fresh air.

A few minutes after she had taken her seat Philip
Clitheroe came up, and lifting his hat, as usual, said, " May
I say a word to you, madame ? " and then sat down in the
chair beside her.

" You will have heard what happened between me and
Miss Corbyn last night," he went on. '* I do not wish to
discuss it, and I speak at present merely for her sake.
You know how people gossip on board a steamer. It has
doubtless been noticed and commented upon that I have
been a good deal in company with you and her. If it is
observed that we no longer speak, it will be coupled with

A rfrnpFN" foe.

«3$

' but do not
time, these
J)'-* acknow-
iiyljtas you
the matter,
I'vvliat he
,cntleman."
•nged him J
said. *• I
led him. I
ain. Let us
-liable."
>iit she had
er life seen
^omen, and
generally
'\*\ care for
rst week of
L>t-'en alto-
t whatever
her strong
bl injustice
d been too
le thought
far better
s than in a
ler, and it
Lild be the

ming, but
a time to

at Philip
id, " May
wn in the

1 me and
t wish to
ler sake.

It has
It I have

If it is
led with

her sudden illness yesterday evening, and will be made the
subject of talk and conjecture. Had it not been for her ill-
ness I should have naturally abstained from addressing
you or her. People would have said that I had proposed
and had been rejected, and that I had taken it to heart and
was sulking. That would not have mattered at all, but
her illness might give rise to other conjectures, and blame
might fall upon her. Therefore, I propose, with your per-
mission and her's, that for the short time we shall remain
on board together, our intercourse should not be entirely
broken off, and that at least I should render to you the
ordinary civilities of a gentleman to two ladies of his
acquaintance. Have I your permission to do this ? "

'* Certainly, monsieur, and I thank you," Madame Du-
port said. "Constance looks very ill, and it will seem
natural that she should not wish to talk as before. What
you propose will save her from painful comment, and I
thank you."

Philip sat talking for a few minutes in a cold and con-
strained voice upon dincrcnt subjects, and then left her,
and a few minutes later Annette got up and again went
down to the cabin. Constance shivered when she heard
the arrangement that had been made.

** I do not like it, Annette. I do not care what people
might think and say. Anything would be better than
having to speak to him."

** It is for the best, my dear," Annette said, decidedly.
" You must not be talked about ; anything is better than
that. It is not for long, and you will have but little to say
to him. You look so ill, it will be easily understood that
you need quiet and rest, and are unfit for conversation. It
is in all respects the best, and whatever be the truth as to
this strange affair, Mr. Clitheroe is behaving like a thought-
ful gentleman in his proposal."

When Constance came up in the evening with Annette
Philip Clitheroe met them as usual at the top of the com-
panion, took the shawls Annette had brought up, walked
beside them to their chairs and seated them there, and as
other passengers came up to inquire how Constance felt,
gravely expressed his hope that she was better. Annette
answered for her.

•* My niece' is better, but, as you may see, she is still
weak and unfit to talk. I fear she will be some time before
she is herself again."

23*

A HIDDEN FOE.

h'M

The wan face of the girl spoke for itself. Even in the
twilight the pallor of Mer face and the dark rings round her
eyes were unmistakable signs of the truth of what Annette
said. She was evidently absolutely uniit for conversation,
and the change that the twenty-four hours had made in her
appearance was so startling that the voices were hushed, and
all drew ofif silently, leaving Annette and Constance to
themselves. In half-an-hour Philip returned.

" I think, Madame Renan, that we are going to have a
change of weather," he said, quietly. " There is a dull-
ness about the sky, and you see there are no stars visible,
and the moon is rising red and dull. We have been very
fortunate so far, but I think that we are likely to have a
storm before long. There is an oily look on the water, and
I heard the first mate tell the chiet engineer just now that
the glass was falling rapidly."

" Oh, I hope v/e shall not have a storm," Annette said.
" I hate storms. I think we will go below now ; will you
please give my niece your arm."

Constance uttered a little exclamation of objection, but
Philip paid r.o attention to it. He gravely held out his
hand to help her to her feet.

Constance felt so weak that she was forced to avail her-
self of his arm. Annette collected the shawls hastily, and
moved after them. " Thank you," she said, when she
reached the top of the companion. '* I will help my niece
down. Will you kindly bring the shawls? "

He left them at the door of the cabin.

** 1 will not go up any more," Constance said, as she
threw herself down on her berth. •' I will not leave the
cabin again until we reach Melbourne."

The weather had changed still farther before morning ;
the wind had got up, although it could not as yet be said
to be blowing hard, and the sea had begun to rise and the
air was thick and hazy.

** What do you think of it?" Philip Clitheroe asked the
second officer, who had come off duty at eight bells.

" Don't quite know what to think of it," he replied.
**The glass has been going down since yesterday, but
slowly, not like the sudden drop that generally is before
bad weather in these seas. No doubt we are going to have
some wind, how much I cannot say, but 1 don't think it
will be anything of a gale. It is a queer looking sky too,

A HIDDEN FOE.

for these parts. One expects thick weather in the Atlantic,
but one doesn't often get it here, and i^ is getting thicker
loo."

During the day the wind inc-eased steadily, and was
blowing half a gale by nightfall. The weather was still
thick, but was patchy, at times clearing up so that the sky
could be seen overhead, while five minutes afterwaids
clouds of vapor seemed to sweep down and they could
scarce see a ship's length around them. To the passengers
the change was not an unpleasant one after the long spell
of fine weather and cloudless skies they had been having.
The motion of the vessel was not too great to prevent
walking on deck, and the question whether the wind would
increase to a gale afforded a topic of conversation and
argument very welcome in the monotony of a sea voyage.

Constance Corbyn had not left her cabin all day. Ma-
dame Duport came out at meal times and reported that her
niece Ji^ not seem to be able to shake off the effects of
her fainting fit. She had a headache, and the ship's doc-
tor, who had seen her that morning, had said that she had
best keep quiet for a day or two. No doubt she felt the
heat and wa j 1 m and nervous. In a few days they would
get cooler weather, which would set her up again. There
was nothing to be at all uneasy about.

If nf^t uneasy, Philip Clitheroe Iiad been worried and
uncomibrtable during the forty-eight hours that had elapsed
since he had spoken to Constance. The first night he had
not gone below, as sleep was out of the question, and put-
ting on an ulster to keep out the heavy night dews, he passed
the hours alternately pacing up and down the deck and
leaning against the bulwark rail gazing out over the sea.

He had had a terrible blow, a blow at once to his love
and to his self-respect ; and his indignation was at first
almost greater than his disap])ointment. He was conscious
that he had done all that an honorable man could do. It
was horrible to have been suspected of such things as
those of which Constance had accused him, and which were
all the harder to bear inasmuch as the words had not been
spoken in an outburst of anger, but with a bitter sarcasm
that had cut like a knife. But that he should have been so
accused gave him but comparatively little concern. The
wound that had first smarted the most was the thought that
while he had hoped and thought that his love for this girl

2-8

A HIDDEN FOE.

;;i SI

was returned, she had all the time been playing with him,
that she had led him on to speak simply that she might
avenge the v. rong she thought he had done her by thus un-
masking hii... He felt the pain of this more keenly at first
than that of the disappointment of his hopes, and for a
time was more angry than grieved ; but during the long
hours of the night watch his anger died out.

Thinking it all over as he had heard the story from James
Ferris, he saw it was perfectly natural that when she saw
him come on board under an assumed name, she should
have suspected that he it was who had been striving to
prevent her from obtaining the proofs she sought. He was
alone interested in doing so ; he had been present with
Ferris when her letters to her father were found ; and she
might well think that he had come upon some other docu-
ment which had convinced him that her claim was a just
one, and had at the same time given him such particulars
as to the marriage and its witnesses as enabled him at once
to take steps to thwart her.

Whom else could she suspect ? James Ferris, who knew
all the circumstances, admitted that he was altogether puz-
zled, and this girl, who did not know him, could only sus-
pect that it was his work. When therefore she saw him
on board, she could not but conclude that his object was
either to forestall her in her search in Australia, as she be-
lieved he had done in that at home, or to protect himself
by securing her hand. In that case the course she had
taken was a natural one, and she had led him on to dis-
cover his object only to humiliate and shame him by telling
him he had been acting a part all along and how base a
thing he was.

She was not to be blamed. Here was she, without a friend
in the world, save this good old nurse of hers, coming alone
and unaided to England to prove what she believed to be
her rights, and finding herself met with the foulest man-
oeuvres, her footsteps dogged, the precious register, which
would have cleared her mother's name and proved her
rights, foully abstracted ; what tho;.'»ht could she entertain
of him whom she had good reason to believe her secret
enemy bu; hatred and contempt ? It must have been hard
for her to play her part so well, when at heart she must
have loathed him.

Her sudden breakdown when it was over showed how
great the strain had been. Well, she would know in time

^''k

A HIDDEN FOE.

239

that she had been mistaken. When she got the letter from
Ferris, who would he supposed send it through his friend
Harbut, she would see that he could not have been acting
as she had accused him of doing. Not that it would make
any difference to him ; he should never see her Cvgain, for
if the crime of which slie had charged him was not his, it
was his mother's, done for his sake, and would stand like
a wall between them — a barrier that nothing could over-
come. What a fatality that he should have embarked in
the same ship \ How did it come about?

Then he thought over his conversation with Ferris, and
remembered that when he had said that he had not made
up his mind whether to go to the Colonies or the United
States, Ferris had at once suggested Australia, and said
that a steamer would sail in a couple of days, and that he
himself had adopted the idea because the search for Mor-
son would give him an object on first landing. Yes ; it
was entirely Jim's doing, and now he thought of it, it was
likely — nay, it was almost certain — that he must at the time
have known that his cousin would be on board that ship,
and that they would come together. Ferris could not have
known that Constance knew him by sight, and could but
have had one object in thus throwing them together.

He had told him what a charming girl this cousin of his
was, and might well have thought that he would fall in love
with her, and that a pleasant solution of the diffici.ity might
be arrived at. Jim knew nothing of this other terrible busi-
ness, and such an ending to the affair would have seemed
to him the most desirable that could be arrived at.

" As far as I was concerned, his idea — for I have no
doubt that it was his idea — turned out a correct one ; but
instead of bringing me, as he expected, safe into port, it
has been the finishing blow to me. I should have forgot
the other business in time ; in fact, I seemed to have done
so already. Thinking I had set matters right before I
sailed, and that Constance would be at once placed in pos-
session of the Court, and that the injury could thus be
atoned for, I had nut it aside and thought of nothing else
but this girl. \ suppose I shall get over this too in time,
but it is hard to think that she will always despise me.
She will know when she gets Jim's letter that I had na
thought of keeping her out of her rights, but she will always,
think I came on board this ship xyilh the intention of mak-

r ■ ■

240

A HIDDEN FOE,

M "fi-'
W

\\i

ing love to her before she knew that her claim to Corbyn
Court was acknowledged. I denied it to her yesterday,
but she will never believe my denial, and my statement
that Constance Corbyn was the last woman in the world I
would marry will seem to her a pitiable lie, coined to meet
the occasion, for she will never know that my mother's
crime stands between us."

Philip was not surprised when next day Constance did
not leave her cabin. " She doesn't mean to see me again,"
he said. " I could feel how she shrank from me last night,
how her hand trembled with indignation when she put it
on my arm. I dare say she is really unwell ; it has been
enough to make her, poor child. It must be an awful time
for her, thinking that I was playing a part all the time, and
smiling and being pleasant, and hiding her knowledge and
fooling me to the top of my bent, while she loathed me like
poison. I am a most unfortunate beggar, there is no doubt.
Well, I will have one more pipe and turn in," he said, as
he paced the deck restlessly late that evening. "It is of
no use thinking and worrying any more. I did not sleep
many hours last night, and none at all the night before, so
I hope I shall go off to-night as soon as I turn in. It is no
use crying over spilt milk, and I have got health and
strength and means to give me a new start and a reserve
to fall back upon if I fail. I have made a mull of it so far,
and I have got to set my teeth hard and begin afresh.
There is no going back to C'itheroe now with her at
Corbyn Castle, so I have got to make up my mind to build
up a new home in Australia ana stick to it. I shall be
better off than men who can never get over their hanker-
ings to be in the old country again. Hello ! What's
that ? "

There was a shout from the look out on the bow of
" Ship a-head," followed instantaneously by the order from
the officer on the bridge, " Hard a-port, hard a-port for
your life," and the sharp ring of the engine bell.

In a moment Philip sprang up on to the forecastle and
looked ahead. Looming through the mist, about a cable's
length away, was a ship in the act of crossing the steamer's
bows, and he saw at once that a collision was inevitable.
It was too late for the rudder to affect the steamer's course,
and she must strike the vessel somewhere amidships.

Another ten seconds and the crash would come, and to
avoid the wreck of falling spars Philip sprang down from

A HIDDEN FOE.

241

the fo'castle again, as did the man on the look-out. He ran
a few yards and then grasped the rails to steady himself for
the sliock. He had scarcely done so when there was a
terrible crash. The great steamer shook from stem to stern,
there was a sound of crashing timber and falling spars, and
then a momentary silence, for the screw had ceased to
revolve the moment the blow was given ; shouts and
screams then rose under her bow, while a confusion of
noises broke out on board the steamer. The sailors poured
out from the fo'castle just as they had sprung from their
berths, the watch came running forward, and screams were
heard from below.

Then came a stern shout from the officer on the bridge :
" Silence below there. All hands to your stations at the
boats ; see that they are ready to be cleared away and
lowered at once. We shall have to save those on board tlie
ship we have run into. Quartermaster, go to the bow and
see, if you can, whether we have sustained any damage."

There was a moment's pause, and then came the order :
'' Lower down the two lifeboats. Steady, my lads, but as
quick as you can ; she is going. Ah, good heavens, she
has gone ! "

It was but half a minute since the collision had taken
place, but the captain and other officers had already ap-
peared on deck, having only stopped, as they leapt from
their berths, to pull on their trousers.

•' Mr. Thompson, do you take command of the port life-
boat ; do you take command of the starboard boat, Mr.
Green," the captain ordered. " Do you say that she has
gone down, Mr. Hawkins ? "

" Yes, sir; she had but just cleared us when she went
down ; we must have cut her nearly in half. We did not
catch sight of her through the mist until we were our own
length off. I stopped the engines at once and ordered
* Hard astern,' but our way could scarcely have been
checked when we struck her."

'* What was she ? "

" She was a barque, sir, of seven or eight hundred tons
I should say."

"Are we much damaged ? "

" 1 cannot say, sir ; I have sent the quartermaster for-
ward to examine her."

" I will go and have a look for myself," the captain said.

242

A HIDDEN FOE.

■f! \

Just at this moment the quartermaster hailed the officer
on watch : " Her stem is badly bent, sir, and some of the
plates have started." •

" I will take the command, Mr. Hawkins ; do you get a
gang at once, and open the fore hatchway and see if the
collision bulkhead is all right. Take the carpenter down
with you and get some spars and see that it is wedged uj)
and strengthened as much as you can. Quartermaster, send
and get some blue lights and light up so that the boats can
keep us in sight. Any of the stewards there? "

" Yes, sir," several voices exclaimed.

"Well, just go below and tell the passengers that there
is no immediate danger. I hope no danger at all. Tell
them to dress themselves, and if possible to stop that
screaming and hubbub."

Taking a blue light from the quartermaster's hand as
soon as he came up, the captain lit it and went to the bow,
and holding it over his head leant over the rail to examine
the injury. " Boatswain," he shouted as he handed the
blue light to the quartermaster, '* get a sail up at once.
We must stretch it over the bows. There is no stopping
the leak, but it may ease the pressure on the bulkhead."

" Now, gentlemen," he said as he went aft and met
several of the male passengers who had hurried up half-
dressed, " I must trouble you all either to go below or to
keep well aft. You will only be in the way forward and
can be of no assistance. Tell every one to dress quietly
in warm clothes and to gather any valuables they may have
in a small bundle,
is nothing like everyone being prepared."

The passengers retired aft and Philip descended to the
second-class cabin. The other male passengers had run
up on deck, the two ladies' maids had gone aft to the main
saloon. Philip went to Madame Duport's cabin and
knocked.

" Are you dressed, madame ? " he asked.

The door opened and Annette came out wrapped up in
shawls.

" What is the matter, Mr. Clitheroe? " Annette asked.
" We felt a terrible shock, but have heard nothing since,
but from the running about on deck, we are sure something
has happened. The steward came and said something, but
there was such a noise of shouting and screaming from

There is no immediate danger, but there

A HIDDEN- FOR,

243

some of the passengers that we could not hear what it was."

"We have been in collision with a large ship and have,
I am sorry to say, sunk her. Two of the boats are away
trying to pick up some of her crew. We have stove in our
bows, but it is hoped that the bulkhead will hold. But it
is well to take all precautions. There is no occasion for
haste, but I should advise you to dress comfortably in the
clothes which would be most suitable for a long voyage in
a boat. Each tale a small bundle 01 bag with such things
as are most absolutely requisite, and should we be obliged
to take to the boats, which I sincerely trust will not be the
case, put on as many shawls and cloaks as you can ; you
will find them very useful. You can do all this quietly and
without haste. I will come down from time to time to let
you know how things are going on. '

" Thank you," Annette said, quietly j " we will take your
advice, Mr. Clitheroe."

The young man hesitated for a moment as if he wanted to
sav more, then turned and went to his own cabin. He
open^id his portmanteau, put on a flannel shirt instead of
that he was wearing, placed a pocket-book with some letters
and papers in his pocket, put on a pea-jacket over his vel-
veteen coat, and strapped up a bundle of rugs.

" Let me see, is there anything else that I may want?
Ah, yes ; this may be most useful of all," and he took out
a revolver from the portmanteau, dropped it into one
pocket and a box of cartridges into another. He chose a
long clasp knife from the articles he had been persuaded
to buy at the outfitter's, and a large flask which he had had
filled with brandy. He took off his coats and slung this
by its strap over his shoulder, and then put on his coats
again. '* That may be a last resource," he muttered, " and
I had best keep it hidden. That is about all, I think.
Oh, I will add those two waterproof cloaks to the bundle ;
all the rest must go." Having thus made his preparations,
he went up on deck just as he heard the engines again in
rotation. The boats had returned, and the crews were
hoisting them up to the davits.

" Have you found anyone ? " he asked one of the men.

" Not a sign of one. We found some pieces of wreck-
age, but not a soul."

Philip was not surprised. The catastrophe had been so
sudden that no one below would have time to get up on

244

A HIDDEN- FOE

deck, and those on the watch had doubtless been carried
down with the sinking ship.

The steamer was rolling heavily in the trough of the
waves. Looking over the side he saw by the white foam
that the engines were reversed and the vessel going astern.

A great spout of water was pouring from her side.

** They are using the circulating pumps to keep down
the water," he said to himself. " I am afraid there is no
doubt that the bulkhead has given way to some extent.
It is a bad look-out, especially in such weather as I am
afraid we are going to have."

Presently one oi the enginec-s, with whom he had often
chatted, came on deck.

" So you have set the main engine to pump, I see."

" Yes, she is taking in water fast through that bulkhead,
or else, as is more likely, aftrr such a smash some of the
plates have opened aft (jf it. It is nearly up to the stoke-
hole gratings already. I am afraid it is all up with the
Aden. Fortunately we are not a very full ship, and the
boats will carry us well enough. See, they are making pre-
parations already."

As he spoke some of the stewards came along carrying
cases and barrels, which they placed in the boat abreast
of where they where standing. The second officer came
hurrying along,

"Can I be of any use? " Philip asked.

"Yes, the captain has just called for volunteers to help
to get up stores."

Philip ran down below and again knocked at Madame
Duport's cabin.

*• I don't wish to alann you," he said, as Madame Du-
port and Constance both <.<ime to the door, " there is no
immediate danger whatever, but the vater is coming in,
and I fear that we shall certainly have to take to the boats,
though I hope not for iiorne hours. I am now going to
help to get up provisions, so may not be able to come again
for some little time. There is sure to be ample warning
before we take to the boats. Would you not rather go aft
to the saloon, you will find all the other ladies there."

" I think we '"ould ratlier stay where we are," Madame
Duport said. '' Wh? t do you ?--ay. Constance ? "

" Yes, I think we may as well remain here." Constance
agreed. " We are as safe in one placs as in another. Mr.

T. :/^

A HIDDEN FOE,

245

cer came

Clitheroe," she said, moving past Annette, " I may not get
an opporlunily of speaking iO you again, we may not be in
the same boat, wc may neither of us ever reach land. I
wish to tell you that I believe all that you said to me the
other evening, that 1 am sure you have acted as an honor-
able gentleman, and I regret — oh ! so deeply — tiiat I should
have thought you otherwise. Can you fo'rgive what I said
to you? Remember," she went on pleadingly, as he was
silent for a moment, "that I am but a girl, that I may be
soon going to face death, and that it will be so hard to die
knowing that I have so cruelly wronged you."

" I forgive you heartily and wholly, Cousin Constance,"
he said, taking both her hands, " if there be anything tc
forgive. You have been cruelly wronged, and though — as
God hears me — it was not I who wronged you, it was
natural you should have thought so, and that thinking so
you should have spoken as you did. I have not blamed
you for a moment, for in your place I should have acted
precisely as you did. God bless you, little cousin. I
trust that there are happy days in store for you yet ;" and
stooping down he kissed the girl's forehead, and then,
dropping her hands, hurried off, and was soon engaged
with a number of other passengers in carrying ui) stores
and in placing them in boats, under the directions 01" the
second officer, the other officers being at work forward with
the crew, endeavoring by means of piled up bedding and
blankets to stop the inrush of the water.

It took some hours' hard work to get all the c and
boxes required sorted out from the mass below, t ...n up
on deck and stowed away in the boats ; and the morning
was breaking before the work was completed. Hot coffee,
grog and biscuits were handed round when the work was
done, and Philip took two mugs of the coffee and some
biscuits, and carried them forward.

'' I think that we shall not be long before we take our
places in the boats," he said, when the ladies came out, in
his usual cheerful voice, '' and you must make as good a
meal as you can before you are called up. Then, I think
you had better go aft to the saloon s'^ as to em])ark with
the other ladies."

Constance looked at Madame Duport, who said, " Do
all the ladies go in one boat together ? "

" As a rule in case of hurry," he said, " the women al-
ways embark first ; but I shoula think here they will be

I iff

i4tf

A HIDDEN hOE.

\V\

\m^\ \

told off between the larger boats so that tiieir husbands
and sons can be in the same boats with them."

" We hope that you will be in the boat with us, Mr.
Clitheroe. It would be a great comfort to us to be with
some one we know. Jiesidcs, as you are Constance's
cousin, you are her natural protector."

" I shall certainly try to go in the sa ne boat with you.
I will go aft and see what arrangements ; ave been made
that way."

" We will wait here until you come back anyhow,"
Annette said.

He returned in a few minutes saying that the lists had
been made up, and that the four female second cabin pas-
sengers were told off to the boat hanging on the starboard
side opposite the door leading down to their cabin.

" I was in the boat on the other side," he said, " but
I have just spoken to Davis, one of our fellow passengers
who was in your boat, and have got him to change places.
Of course it made no difference to him, so he will answer
to my name when it is called and I shall answer to his.
These two boats are nothing like so large as many of the
others, but I think you will be quite as comfortable in
them, as there being so few women we can manage to make
more room for you than would be possible in the larger
ones.. The second engineer is in charge of the boat. He
is a very good fellow, and will, I am sure, do everything
to make you comfortable."

A short time afterwards the bell rang sharply, as a
signal for the passengers to come up and take their places.
The ship was already very low in the water, the fires in
the engine room had long before been extinguished, and
the pumps had ceased to work. Everything was con-
ducted in perfect order. The officer in charge of each
boat called out the names of those who were to lake their
places in her, and one by one the boats were lowered with-
out misadventure.

That in which Philip Clitheroe and two other cabin

passengers, with the four women, took their seats was

manned by six lascar sailors and eight stokers, the latter

^being Africans from the Coromandel coast, known on

board the steamers as Seedy boys.

The boat rowed eight oars, the six men not required
taking their seats on the floor of the boat. The second
engineer took the helm.

// lirnDF.N FOE.

Annette and Constance sat on one side of him and the
other two women on the other, the male passengers on the
bench next to them, PhiHp being next to Annette. The
work of lowering was safely accomplished. The vessel
was now so deep in the water that her action of rolling was
dull and heavy, and the boat was lowered without difficulty
and the falls safelv cast off. The waves, now that those
in the boat were so near the surface of the water, looked
alarmingly high.

" There is not the least fear unless we get it a great deal
worse than this," the engineer said. "They are first-rate
boats, and will live in almost any sea. This is one of the
smallest of them, but I don't know that I wouldn't as lief
be in her as one of the big ones, especially as being wider
they are more closely packed with passengers, and have a
store of provisions and water in proportion. There you
see how easy she rides ; not a cupful has come into her.
You will soon feel quite at honie in her, and think nothing
of the waves. Can either of you gentlemen steer ? "

" I can," Philip said. " I have been knocking about in
yachts, and can manage a sailing boat fairly."

The other two passengers shook their heads.

"Then we must do watch and watch, Mr. Brown, while
the wind lasts. After that anyone can steer who has got
eyes in his head. What is our course ? I have got it all
down on paper in my pocket, but I have not had time to
look at it yet. My orders are to keep as close together as
we can. The captain is on board the jolly-boat and will
hoist a lantern at night for us to steer by. The Keeling
Islands lie about three hundred miles south-east by south.
The captain is going to make for them. If we are blown
out of our course and cannot make them, then we shall
steer for Java, but keeping as much in the ship track as
possible. We are sure to be picked up before long. There,
the last boat has left the ship. Thank God they have all
got away safely. It is always a risky business getting boats
away from a sinking craft, and it is well indeed that we had
plenty of time to get everything done quietly and regularly."

While they were talking, Constance and Annette sat
perfectly quiet. Constance saw at once, by the way the
lascars took their seats in the bottom of the boat to wind-
ward and made themselves as comfortable as they could,
that they had no thought of immediate danger, and though

348

A nrnDEN foe.

the sea looked to her terrible, she supposed that this was
only her inexperience, and began to look round at the other
boats. One of Annette's hands grasped her arm, and each
time a wave rolled up the grasp tightened.

" You must have seen worse seas than this, Annette, by
along way, among the Islnnds."

" Yes, I can remember some terrible storms there .; but
then you see I was not out in a boat in them."

" I suppose you will not call this a storm at all ? " Con-
stance said to Mr. Solden, the engineer,

" No," I should call this a fresh breeze. I fancy we shall
get it a bit stronger yet, but I can assure you there is no
safer craft in the world than a good open boat, well handled,
and though I have not had very much to do with boats
since I entered the service, I was always sailing when I was
a boy. I was born at Portsmouth. My father was an
engineer in the dockyard, and that is how I came to take to
it ; but I had two uncles who owned wherries, and until I was
apprenticed to my trade I was always knocking about with
them, and could handle my boat as well as they could.
The first officer would have sent a quartermaster with us,
but he is an old acquaintance of mine and knows that as far
as handling a boat goes I am as good as any seaman."

In an hour or two the sense of danger passed off, and even

the other two female passengers, who had wept copiously

.on first leaving the ship, partly from sheer fright, but more

from the thought of their dresses and valuables that were

lost to them for ever, cheered up.

" Now, Mr. Brown, I appoint you second in command,
and your duties will be to take your trick at the helm. You
two gentlemen I appoint joint pursers ; you will have the
issuing of rations. There is no means of cooking food, but
under my seat there is a kettle and spirit lamp stowed away,
and a quart of spirit and a canister of tea I like a cup of
tea before I turn in after my watch below, and always keep
the means of making one in my cabin. Knowing there
would be ladies on board, and that it might be a comfort
to them, I slipped them in under here when the stores were
being put on board."

" That was good of you, Mr. Solden," Constance said,
gratefully. " How far do you say it is to these Islands ? "

" About three hundred miles."

" How long shall we be doing it ? "

A HIDDEN FOF..

■49

"All, that depends upon the wind. If it keeps as it is
now, and we can lay our course, we shall be there in two
days and a half or thereabouts. 1 take it we are going
about five knots through the water now,"

250

A HTDDEN FOE.

CHAPTER XVII.

At twelve o'clock the party had in the boat their first meal.
It consisted of tinned meat and biscuits, and there was a
'rmall keg of rum aft, and each sailor received hishalf-a-pint
of water with a tiny measure of rum in it. The male
passengers had the same, while for the ladies the kettle was
set to work and tea made. As the engineer had stowed
away two tins of preserved milk with the tea, nothing was
wanting. There were but iwo cups, one of which was
allotted to Constance and Annette, and the second to the
other two women.

" I think, Mr. Solden, that I could manage to rig u]) a
sort of partition, six feet from the stern, for the ladies.
Two of them can sleep upon the sheets and the other two
in the bottom of the boat. If we lengthen the tiller lines
a bit we could steer forward of that."

" It will be a very good plan if you could manage it, Mr.
Brown; but I doubt whether you will find it easy, as we
have no hammer or nails."

** I can cut the two uprights from one of the bottom
boards, and by jamming the end in behind these stringers
and cutting notches for them to go into they will be pretty
steady. I have got a pocket knift with endless contriv-
ances. Among them is a gimlet, and by makiiig a couple
of holes in the upper plank I can with a bit of lashing
fasten the upright perfectly firm and secure. When they
are done it only needs a line across the top and a rug
thrown over it. Then when the ladies like to be alone they
can have the screen, and can take it down when they
choose 10 give us the pleasure of their company."

"Capital," Mr. Solden said, while an exclamation of
gratitude broke from the ladies.

Philip got up one of the bottom boards and with his
great jack-knife cut off two strips three inches wide and
three feet and a iialf long.

A HIDDEN FOE,

251

" They would look better if they were not so wide," he
said, *' but that is no great consequence, but it is necessary
to have them strong, or the wii^d would be too much for
them when we get the rug on. Now, Mr. Gifford, do you
cut a notch in your side just the width of this strip and I will
do the same here."

Half-an-hour's labor and two notches were cut, and the
suppoits when fitted in these and jammed firmly behind
the stringers seemed fairly stable.

" Now for the lashing," Philip said, and taking down his
strip he made two holes through the upper part of the plank
of the boat, and then handed the gimlet to Mr. Gifford to
do the same on his side.

•' Now, before wc put them up, lash them, and we will
make three holes at the top."

" What do you want three holes at the top for ? " Mr.
Solden asked.

" One for the cord to carry the rug, the other two for
stays. If wc make a couple of hoL-s, one three feet for-
ward and the other three feet aft we can then stay them so
that they will be as firm as posts."

When the contrivance was finished it was pronounced
perfect. The rug was hungup and two holes cut through
it for the yoke lines to pass. One of the boxes was placed
in the middle for a seat for the helmsman, and the other three
men sat in the bottom of the boat.

" The wind is freshening," Mr. Solden said in a low tone
to Philip, " I am afraid vc are in for a big gale. You see
it is heading us already, and we can't lie our course
now. We are two points off it," he added, as he looked
down at the compass between his feet. " I don't so much
mind the gale, for she is a capital sea-boat, and though she
would be better if she were a couple of inches higher out
of water I have no fear of her living through it. What I am
afraid of is that we may be blown altogether out of our
course. It may blow from all points of the com'^»ass before
it is done, and there will be nothing for us to do but to run
before it — there is no lying to with a boat of this rig.

*' If we are once blown away from the island we may have
a bad time of it. It is some six hundred miles to Batavia,
which lies a little to the north-east of the point where we
abandoned the ship.

2S2

A HIDDEN FOE.

Ill
m

.11 1

f: > !l

\ ' 'if

" We have got provisions enough on board to last with
care for a month, but I don't think the water would hold
out for anything like that time if we get hot weather. Of
course, we might be picked up, but the sea is vide, and
there is not a very great deal of traffic upon it. I hope
and trust we may make the Reelings."

Towards night the wind rose and it was blowing a gale.
The sail had been reefed down to the smallest dimensions,
and before it got dark all the boats had been put dead
before the wind, and for some time the lantern in the jolly-
boat could be seen whenever .hey rose upon a wave. It
was delicate work steering, as it was necessary to keep
the boat dead before the following waves which would
have filled her in an instant had she broached to.

Before night "had quite set in the ladies had been made
as comfortable as possible. Constance had taken the seat
on her side, Annette preferring to lie at the bottom of the
boat. All had plenty of wraps, as this had been strongly
impressed upon them, and when they had Iain down a rug
was tucked over them extending right across the boat and
completely shutting them out from the whirl of the storm
outside.

" The light is fainter than it was," Philip said, as at
midnight he handed over the lines to the engineer. " I
think the jolly-boat is going faster than we are, and is
gradually getting out of sight."

"That is likely enough ; she has a lot more beam and can
stand more sail than we have. Do you think we could
show a little more ? "

" I don't think so," Philip said. " As likely as not we
should carry the mast away, and then we should broach-to
before we could get out oars. It will be far better to loose
the other boats than to run that risk, especially now as we
are altogether off our course and are running nearly due
east. I have just struck a vesuvian lo have a look at
the compass."

As soon as moiiiing broke Mr. Solden and Philip looked
round anxiously for the other boats, but even upon the top
of a wave no sail was visible.

" There is no saying where they are," the engineer said.
"Some may be in front of us and some behind, or they
may be on one hand or the other. When you are sailing
close hauled boats will all travel about the same line, but

yl HIDDEN FOE.

253

in running they will soon scatter. One may carry her sail
to port, and the other to starboard, and as long as they
are full you cannot tell on a dark night whether you are a
point or two off the wind or not. Well, it cannot be
helped, but I wish we could have kept together."

For three days the gale continued, blowing in turns on
all points of the compass. The sea was a terrible one, and
half the men by turns were kept bailing, the empty meat
tins serving well for the purpose. All on board were wet
to the skin day and night from the spray that dashed over
them, though Philip's two waterproofs spread over the
women kept much of the water from them.

" I think it is nearly over," Philip said on the fourth
morning. " The clouds seem breaking up."

" Yes, I think the worst is over. Thank God for it. T
thought several times yesterday that the end was come.''

'* So did I," Philip agreed ; " I thought nothing could
have saved her once or twice ; but she is a splendid sea
boat."

An hour later he got up, and said cheerily. *• Ladies,
you can look out now ; the storm is breaking, and we shall
have the sun out in a minute or two."

There was a movement among the mass of wraps. Con-
stance was the first to sit up.

" I do not see much change," she said, looking round,
" the waves are as high as they were yesterday. I peeped
out then for a minute or two, but it was too terrible to
look at."

*' It will be some hours before the sea begins to go
down, but look, there is the sun," and as he spoke the
r.iouds cleared away and the sun burst out from among
ihem.

" That is better, indeed," Constance said. " Get up,
Annette, here is the sun out. You will soon get warm
and dry now. There, let me pull you up."

" If you will pass me the kettle and spirit-lamp I will
make you some tea, Constance."

" Indeed, you will do nothing of the sort," Constance
said. '' You and Mr. Solden have been working for us for
the last four days. It is hard indeed if we cannot manage
to boil some water for ourselves, or rather for you, for I
shall insist that you take the first cups. Now put up the
rug, please, while we tidy ourselves up a bit."

a54

A HIDDEN FOE.

ii i\

iio

They were indeed four dishevelled-looking women. For
three days and nights they had been covered up, expecting
instant death, wetted by the spray wliitii in spite of water-
proof and wraps found its way in. Thrice in each day
they had luuJ .i ration of biscuit and meat passed to them,
andwaier, qualified with brandy from Philip's flask, which
they received peremptory orders to drink. But the heat
of the sun si)eedily ri vWed them. Hand])ags were opened,
and combs and brushes taken out, and by the time the
water was boiling they looked comparatively fresh and
bright. Tremendous as the sea still was, it had lost its
terrors for them.

Constance kept to her determination. Mr. Solden and
Philip had to drink the first cup of hot lea. Then the
four women partook of it, and by the time they had done
the kettle was boiling again, and Mr. Gififord and his com-
panion were served. The kettle was kept at work until
all the crew had been provided with a pannikin of hot
grog. •

By mid-day the wind had dropped greatly and the sea
was sensibly calmer. The sun had not again been obscured,
and his powerful rays had completely dried all the wet
clothes, and with a renewed sense of warmth and comfort
the spirits of all rose, and even the woe-begone looking
lascars, who had lain almost without moving through the
gale, began to look cheerful, while the Seedy boys, in a
group forward, chatted and laughed in high glee. The
screen had long since been taken down.

" Where is this island, Mr. Solde ? You said two days
and a half, and it is now more than four days since we left
the ship. We ought to have been there long ago. I am
sure we have been going fast enough."

** You are asking more than I can tell you," the engineer
said. " We have been going fast enough through the water,
but we have been going east, west, north, and south, to
say nothing of the other points of the compass, and I have
no more idea where the islands are than the man in the
moon. You see my business is to drive a ship along but
not to navigate it, and even if I were a navigator I could
do nothing without a quadrant or sextant."

** Then do you mean to say that we are quite lost, Mr.
Solden ? " Constance asked in dismay.

*' Well, it is not so bad as that. We have got our com-
pass, and we know whereabout Java lies, and we have now

A IIIDDEi^ lOE.

255

: women. For
up, expecting
spite of water-
in each day
ssed to them,
5 flask, which
But the heat
were opened,
the tiriie the
;ly fresh and
had lost its

r. Solden and
\. Then the
ley had done
and his corn-
it work until
inikin of hot

r and the sea
Jen obscured,
all the wet
and comfort
gone looking
[through the
y boys, in a
glee. The

aid two days

since we left

ago. I am

the engineer
^h the water,
nd south, to
and I have
; man in the

ip along but
jator I could

ite lost, Mr.

^ot our com-
ire have now

got our head in that direction. Java is a big island you
see, and we are sure to hit it. We may not liit it just at
the port we want to find, which is Batavia, but we are safe
to strike it somewhere, and must coast along until we do find
a port. But I hope that we shall be picked u]j long before
we are there. You see all the shipping between Australia
and India comes somewhere along in the line wliere we are,
and it will be hard if we don't manage to get sight of
something or other before long."

" I will set to work and pack these things a little more
ship shape," Philip said, " they have shifted a bit during
the gale."

So saying he again packed the barrels of biscuits and
rases of preserved meat, which was piled across the boat
just aft of the stroke oar's thwarts, forming a sort of low
barrier between the passengers an'^ the crew. Between
the next thwarts were four eighteen gallon barrels of
water.

•' Just tap them with that thole pin^ Mr. Brown." The
first tapped was the one in use, which was ah-eady three
parts emjiiy. The next two gave a hard sound. " Full to
the bung," Mr. Solden said approvingly, but as Philip
struck the fourth he uttered an exclamation of Hismay.
'* Empty, by thunder, here, take the helm." He threw the
rudder lines into Mr. Gifford's hands and sprung forward.
" What has happened ? " he asked.

" I don't know," Philip said, " here is the bunghole at
the top all right."

The engineer passed his hand along the barrel, the hoops
at one end \'^ere loosed.

" There is the mischief," he said. " It may have been
they were loose before they filled them, it may be that as
the boat rolled these two casks may have bumped a
bit each time. However, there it is ; it has allowed the
staves to open a little, and every drop is lost. This is a
most unfortunate affair, Mr. BroWn, ""»ost unfortunate.
Our supply before was short enough in all conscience, and
the loss of this water may cost us all our lives. You see
we have got now only thirty-six gallons, and say eight gal-
lons in the cask we first broached — forty-four gallons.
There are twenty-two of us, so that gives us two gallons of
water apiece, eight quarts. Suppose we allow a pint each,
that is only sixteen days' water."

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■■/ ninni X i-n:.

"Sixteen days will take us to Jiiva/' P'Hip sai(!.

"Ay, with favorable winds ten would do, or even eight ;
but suppose we have calms ? "

" What then ? Would it be best to try and find these
islands ? "

The engineer shook his head decidedly. " I have not an
idea of their position," he said. " My opinion is, as far as
I have an opinion, that we are not very far from the point
we started from. But that is little more than guess work.
Blown about as we were for three days, and running all
the time some seven or eight knots an hour, I don't be-
lieve that an> sailor could spot our place on the chart
within a hundred and fifty miles. As it is, we know that
we are going in the right direction, aiid that we cannot be
very far out of the course of ships. 1 think our position
is a bad one, anyhow ; but our best chances lie in holding
on our present course."

"That is settled then," Philip said. "What do you
say? Shall we say anything about the barrel being
empty ? "

" They know it forward already," the engineer replied.
" They know the difference between a full and empty cask
a<5 well as I do, and in any case I would have told them so
as to reconcile them to being put on such short allowance
of water. I am afraid we shall have difficulties with them
before we have done. I have my revolver in my coat
pocket. I always had it hanging in my cabin, and 1 knew
that on such a voyage as this it might come in useful."

" I have a revolver, too," Philip said.

" I am heartily glad to hear it. You and I with revol-
vers can keep all those fellows at a distance."

The very next day the number of mouths was reduced
by one. One of the passengers was a delicate young fellow
who was making the voyage for the sake of his health.
He was in a weak state when they left the ship, and the
three days and nights of incessant wet had exhausted the
remnant of his strength.. After drinking the hot tea in
the morning he had lain in the bottom of the l^oat with his
eyes closed. Mr. Solden, looking at his face, had said to
Philip, " I am afraid that poor young chap won't last long."
They had from time to time given him a little brandy and
water, but he was scarcely able to swallov/ it.

Just as night came on Philip, bending over him, touched
his arm. He started and put his hand over the young

ilfen

A nrnni-.N foe.

^■^1

fellow's heart and listened for his breathing. *' He is gone,"
he said in low tones to Mr. Soldcn : '* don't say anything
about it now. It will be a shork to the ladies. Let him
lie where he is, and we can dro;i him overboard after dark.
There are no means of burying him."

" And no occasion, poor young chap," the engineer said.
" It will make no difference to him whetherOie sinks down
in a hammock with a shot at his feet or whether he Hoats
awhile. I don't think in any case he had many weeks to
live. I noticed him several limes on the way down, and
it seemed that he was losing strength fast instead of gain-
ing it."

The body was quietly put overboard during the night,
and in the morning Philip took the news to the ladies that
one of the number was gone.

Another week had passed, and as if the wind had ex-
hausted itself during the three days' gale, it had dropped
into a dead calm, and the sail had been lowered and the
oars got out. There had been great discontent on the
part of the lascars and Seedy boys when they were in-
formed that the allowance would be cut down to a pint a
day, for the sun blazed down with tremendous power, and
as soon as they took to the oars they began to suffer
severely from thirst. Two of the lascars and one of the
Seedy men understood English, and Mr. Solden explained
to them they had certainly six hundred miles to go, and
that unless they happened to strike at the right point their
distance might be considerably increased.

*' We shall not do more than fifty miles a day at the
utmost," he said, " though we may do over that the first
two or three days \ but we cannot rely upon it, so that we
shall anyhow be twelve days, and unless we hit the right
point at first may be several days more than that. We
are a strong crew. There are fourteen of you and only
eight oars to man. These two gentlemen and myself
will take it by turns to row, so that we shall have a full
relief, and can change every four hours. We will all rest
for four hours in the middle watch, which will give us all
eight hours' sleep at night. We shall want that to keep
our strength up. If you are patient, and do your duty, we
shall all be saved. At any rate, you will have to obey
orders and do your best. The ft -st man that mutinies I
shall put a bullet into his head."

258

A HIDDEN FOE,

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-.-^r;

So the work began ; but although for the first two days
something hke fifty miles a day was made, this distance
then began to fall off rapidly. The boat was laden with a
number far beyond her proper burden, and rowed heavily.
The heat was exhausting, and the want of water told ter-
ribly on the men.

The lascars, by no means a strong race, succunbed
rapidly.

*' Th 'Y arc ,io ,^ood for hard work,' the engineer said,
co'itern.uiousi). 'They do well enough for washing the
decks o\ ;i mi ■•iTier, but that is about all they are fit for.
The fcllov! ;> havi- pot no backbones. If you were to take
one of these fello'^ ^ by the feet, Mr. Brown, and I were to
take him by the head, just as you would wring linen, I be-
lieve we could twist him up into a rope. Those Seedy
boys are worth three of them when it comes to work."

Fortunately among the stores put on board was a good
stock of tobacco, and the negroes when not at work
smoked incessantly. Philip had also brought a large can-
ister, and kept his pipe going, except when at the oar.

" I envy you," Mr. Gifford said,
as a furnace as it is, if I were to try
choke me."

" So it would me," the engineer said. " I like a pipe and
a glass of grog together, but 1 could no more smoke with
this sun pouring down upon me than I could fly."

" It is quite the contrary with me," Philip said, ** I am
never thirsty wlien I am smoking, and cvev< now I do not
feel any great want of water."

The ladies suffered less. Philip had on the first day
that the sun came out with full power erected two wooden
stanchions in the stern of the boat similar to those he had
befce made, and over these and the others he fixed a large
rug like an awning. Sitting there quietly, and free from the
labor of the oar, they suffered less than the men, but at the
same time they felt the heat greatly, and the fact that they
knew that until evening they could get no water increased
their thirst.

By Philip's advice Annette and Constance, instead of
drinking their allowance, which was made into tea night
and morning, soaked their biscuits in it, and so took it
gradually, keeping the tea that was not sopped up, and con-
tenting themselves when thirsty by dipping a corner of

" My mouth is as dry
and smoke it would

./ niDDEN TOE.

259

their iKindkcrchicfs into this nnd sucking it. The other two
womt-n, however, had not the same self-control, but drank
off iheir portions as soon is they received them, refusing
even to wait until they were made into tea. One of them
was from the first very ^lesi)ondeni, and was constantly
expressing her convictica that they would never see land.
She presently sank into a state of dull despair.

" That woman will die unless we increase her allowance,"
Philij/ said one evening to the engineer.

'* Then she must die, Mr. Brown," he replied sternl}'.
She is infinitely better off than the men, or than we are,
who have to work ten hours a day at the oar. All our lives
are dependent upon making our store of water last. If
she chose to be patient and quiet, as Madame F .^^n and
her niece are, she would do as well as the dc- but
whether or not, I am resolved thnt the allowan- , si, not
be exceeded by any one. The water is comn> n uoperty,
and if one has more, the others have a right 10 '^nve more,
too."

On the ninth day after leaving the ship tl vriandied.
She was wrapped in a rug, some lashing put lound it, and
was lowered overboard into the sen.

The lascars now absolutely refused to work longer, and
several of the negroes were wholly unfit for the labor.

** What do you think, gentlemen ? Is it worth while to
bring on a fight over this ? If I thought there was a chance
of reaching land before the water was gone I would say
'make them pull;' but I don't see there is a chance of
that. The last three days we have only been crawling
along ; we have not made twenty knots a day on an aver-
age since we began rowing. Two or three of the Seedy boys
have rowed fairly, but the rest have only just dipped their
oars in and taken them out again. We had three chances
at first, one has gone. We have but two left; one is that
the wind may get up and take us along, the other that a
ship may pick us up."

*' I agree with you, Solden " — for in the companionship
of common danger they had become Solden and Philip to
each other, for the latter had winced whenever he was
addressed by the name he had assumed, and had asked the
engineer to call him by his Christian name instead. *' I
have been thinking for the past two days that we might as
well give up the rowing, for we could never get there in

26o

A IIIDDEK rOE,

time. If we had as many Englishmen on l)oard as we have
these fellows we should have reached land by this time."

"Ay, perhaps we should; but I don't know. Thirst
takes a terrible lot out even of the strongest men. But Wv*
must look out now, Philip. When they have once given
up rowing they will take to talking, and we are pretty sure
to have trouble. You see, argument is not much good to
a man half mad with thirst. You may tell him that if he
is content to suffer a bit and hold on, he gives himself a
fair chance of being picked up. That is true enough ; but
his view is, * I am dying of thirst. I may as well die to-
morrow as a fortnight hence. Let me have one big drink
first.' Well, if they won't worL they must drink less. I
think, Philip, we ought to reduce the ration to half-ai)int.
We have got, I calculate, a gallon a man left. That will
give us sixteen days, and even in these regions we may
calculate on having a breeze before that. Besides, we have
another ground for hope. Some of the other boats arc
pretty sure to have got separated from the rest, and will
obey orders and make for Batavia, and if one of them gets
there the Dutch are safe to send out a steamer at once to
search for the rest."

*' Yes, that is so," Philip said. " I am sure, as far as I
am concerned, I can do with half-a-pint of water, now there
is no more rowing to be done, as well as I could with a
pint when I was working away all day in the sun. Besides,
Solden — and I wonder we haven't thought of it before —
the meat might help us ; we haven't openeda tin now for the
last six days, for nobody would touch the last, but I think
that if small quantities were served out it would do to chew
even if we could not swallow it. There is a certain amount
of moisture in meat, and it would give us strength too to
hold out."

"Yes, it is much the best plan," the engineer said. " I
will tell the men that as there will be no more rowing, and
we can rig up a sort of awning with the sail and shall only
have to lie quiet all day, that I sliall reduce the ration to
half-a-pint, and that will enable them to hold out for nearly
three weeks, and we are pretty sure to get the wind before
that, even if we are not picked u]) by the search steamers
which may be sent out to look for us. But mind there is
pretty sure to be a row,, so keep your pistol handy."

The engineer stood up and informed the men of the
determination that had been arrived at, and of their

A iiihnr.y loi:.

261

reasons for it. The announcement that there would be no
more rowing was received with satisfaction, but there was
a cry of dismay and anger when they understood the ration
of water was to be reduced. There was a hasty consulta-
tion among themselves, and then several of them drew
their knives and were about to rush aft, but the sight of
two levelled revolvers at once quelled their courage, and
ihey threw themselves sullenly into the bottom of the
boat. They roused themselves, however, when Mr. Solden
ordered them to lower the sail and to rig it up as an awn-
ing. The yard was used as a ridge pole, one end being
lashed against the mast and the other supported by one of
the floorboards, eight feet long, placed on end, and stayed
to the sides of the boat. Two oars were cut in half, and
with these the sides of the awning were stretched out.

All hands, including those aft, now poured buckets of
water over each other as they had done several times a
day since the termination of the gale, as they thus obtained
considerable relief. The ladies had refused to adopt this
method.

" We are doing very well," Constance said. " Our
clothes don't dry as yours do, and the discomfort would
more than counterbalance the relief. We douche our
heads two or three times a day, and keep our hands and
wrists hanging over in the water, and I think that does us
a deal of good."

They had heard, in silence, the engineer address the men.
" It is a hard thing to determine to lessen our supply,"
Philip said to them when the work of fixing the awning was
completed, " but I am sure it is the best."

" I should think so," Constance said. '' Annette agrees
with me that we can do with less water than we have been
having. It must have been terrible for you, working so
hard, but sitting here quietly and taking it so gradually it
has been plenty for us."

The other woman had heard the announcement with
cries of anguish, and threw herself down in the bottom of
the boat, where she was now lying. Constance looked
down at her and shook her head.

" She would suffer no more than you do," Philip said
sternly, *' if she would behave as you do."

He had for days been irritated by the constant com-
plaints and outbursts of temper on her part. '' If she will

2^)2

A /iiniU'lA'' FOE,

not bcluive as a sensible being, she nuist suffer. She is no
wore off than anyone else, and I consider her conchicl lo
be disgraceful. I saw her snatch the cup out of your hand
this morning before you had finished it, and drink the
remainder, and Solden and 1 had determined that if she
docs anything of the son again we will send her forward
among the natives, and you shan't be annoyed by her any
longer."

To Philip the change was a pleasant one. He had be-
tween his spells of rowing been too exhausted and too
parched with thirst to talk, but he was now able to sit
quiet and chat with the ladies.

Annette bore up wonderfully well. She had always been
of a contented disi)ositiun, and now did her best to keep up
her spirits for the sake of Constance. The girl herself was
unfeigncdly cheerful. In spite of the hardships they were
suffering she felt a strong sense of happiness. The cloud
between her and Philip had entirely cleared away. She
saw how he exerted himself to keep up the spirits of the
party, how thoughtful he was for their comfort, and she
felt that wht tever had been the temporary effect of the
words she had spoken to him that his feelings toward her
were unchanged.

Mr. Gifford was a light-hearted young man and did his
share in keeping up conversation, and many a laui^ii rose
from the stern of the boat, startling the men forward, who
muttered angry assertions to each other that the passen-
gers must have got a secret store of water of their own.
They had kept night and day a watch upon the cask, and
were assured that it was never touched except when the
rations were drawn and served out night and morning in
equal quantities to all.

In the evening Constance always started a hymn, the
others joining in. After half-an-hour's singing, Mr. Solden
offered up a short prayer that lielp might be forthcoming,
and that they might be saved from the perils that surround-
ed them.

Forward there was for the most part gloomy silence.
Several of the men had taken to drinking sea water, which,
though giving temporary relief, enormously increased their
sufferings.

On the twelfth day of the voyage two of the negroes
became delirious and jumped overboard, and on the next

A urnnr.x foe.

363

and did his

day one of the I.iscars and another of tho Seedy boys died.

Constance implored Mr. .Soldc.n to increase tl»e allow-
ance of water.

" We can bear it, Mr. Solden, l)ccaiise we are patient and
because we know that we are in God's hands ; but those
])Oor creatures have nothing to sustain them."

" I am sorry for them," the engineer said, *' but they
iiave tiie same chance of life as we have, and I won't throw
away what chances we have. It is possible to support life
on the allowance we have. If they choose to throw away
their chance by their own mad conduct in drinking sea
water, they must do so ; but tiiey shan't throw away ours.
You agree with mc, gentlemen ? "

'* Entirely," Philip and Mr. Gifford said at once.

" You see, young lady," Mr. Solden went on, " they
ought to suffer less than we do instead of more, fbr they
are accustomed to a hot climate, and do not feel the heat
as we do."

All this time a vigilant look-out had been kept for a sail,
but the line of the horizon remained unbroken, and one of
tlie party aft watched by night as well as by day against
any sudden movement on the ])arl of the men forward.

On the fourteenth day, Mr. Solden, stanchng up to look
round as usual, uttered an exclamation of joy.

" There is a dark line on the water to the west," he said.
" Thank God, there is a breeze coming. Now, men," he
said, cheerfully, "get down the awning, lash the sail onto
the yard and get it up. Mr. Gifford, do you take my pistol
and I will go forward and lend a hand."

In a few minutes the sail was hoisted, though several of
the crew were too exhausted to be able to assist.

It was another half hour before the breeze reached
them. It was very liglu, but sufficient to fill the sail and
make ^'io boat move through the water.

The . 'dies' awning was also taken down to enable them
to get the full benefit of the breeze. For three or four
hours the boat glided along, and the spirits of the crew
rose, and they took their rations of water with more cheer-
fulness than usual, and two or three took a biscuit, though .
for the last three days these had been untouched.

"lam afraid," the engineer said, standing u'' on the
boxes to get a wider view, " that we shall lose 'irs little
breeze before long; but you must not be disheartened,

it >i

J H

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W-')!

If 'i!

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264

A HIDDEN FOE,

ladies, the change- has set in, and we may rely upon wind
before long.'

By twelve o'clock the light air had entirely died away.
The disappointment of the» natives was extreme, and
although Mr. Solden tried to raise their spirits by the same
assurance that he had given to the ladies, it was useless.
Some of the men threw themselves down at the bottom of
the boat ; others sat rocking themselves backwards and
forwards, groaning and crying at intervals.

" Pray give them an extra ration, Mr. Solden," Constance
pleaded. " You say we may hope for wmd now, ^o
surely we can afford a quarter of a pint each."

" Well, I think we may," the officer agreed ; '* and we
will put a spoonful of rum in each allowance. I have been
keeping that for bad weather, and we can spare it very
well."

There was a cry of joy from the men when Mr. Solden
announced that an extra allowance would be served out,
and one by one they came forward and drank their gill of
weak grog ; some tossing it off at a gulp, others sipping it
little by little. To three men who were too weak to raise
themselves Philip carried their allowance, as the men could
not be trusted to pass it forward.

The rest of the day passed slowly, no signs of another
puff of wind in their vicinity were to be seen, but Mr. Sol-
den several times made out light flaws of air in the distance,
and assured them that there was every prospect of wind
before many hours were over.

That night Philip kept the first watch from eight to tv/elve,
Mr. Solden the middle watch, and^at four o'clock Mr.
Gifford took up the duty. -

Two hours later Philip was aroused from his sleep by a
loud cry and a heavy fall. He sprang to his feet. The
natives were pouring aft. He took the situatioii in at a
glance, Gifford must have dozed on his watch, and the na-
tives had seized the op])ortunity.

They were headed by two of the lascars, the leadinr;
man had struck down young Gifford, and with a bo'iud
had thrown himself upon the engineer. Philip saw his
knife descend, just as Mr. Solden struggled to his feet, and
as he sank back again and his assailant lifted his hand to
strike again, Philip closed with him, grasping the arm that
held the knife with one hand. He heard a scream from

A HIDDEN FOE.

265

Constance, who had torn down the rug that had served as
an awning, and sprung to her feet, and he saw another las-
car with uplifted knife close upon him.

By a desperate effort he hurled the man with whom h»
was struggling against the new-comer just as his knife
descended, sending him staggering back, and the next
moment flung the assassin overboard. At the same instant
the engineer's revolver cracked, and the second man fell
dead.

The sound recalled to Philip the weapon in his pocket.
In a moment it was out, and two sharp reports sounded,
and the nearest of the Seedy boys fell. The rest, with a
yell for mercy, dropped their knives and threw themselves
down. At this moment Constance joined Philip, holding
Mr, Solden's revolver in her hand.

" It is all over now, Constance : I knew we should have
it sooner or later. We shall have no more trouble with
those fellows."

" You are wounded, Philip."

" There is no great harm done," he said. " It is only a
gash on the shoulder. I wish it were no worse with the
other two. Will you stand here, dear, on guard, while I
can see what can be done for them."

Constance nodded. She was trembling, and her color
had faded now that the danger had passed, though there
had been a flush in her cheek and her hand was steady as
she took her place by the side of Philip.

266

A HIDDEN FOE,

ill .«

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CHAPTER XVIII.

Leaving Constance on guard, Philip Clitheroe turned to
the wounded officer.

'* Bravely done," the latter said, feebly. " You have
thrashed the scoundrels handsomely. You can do nothing,
lad ; they have done for me ; the fellow stabbed me over the
left breast, and it has gone through my lungs. I had just
strength for that one shot, and then as I dropped the pistol
that brave girl snatched it up. You have won a treasure,
Philip. She is one in ten thousand," for from their call-
ing each rther by their Christian names, Mr. Solden had
supposed that Philip and Constance were engaged.

" Can't I do anything? " Philip urged.

" You can give me a drink of grog, lad ; then let me lie
here, and look toGifford. I hope to God he is not hit as
hard as I am."

Philip raised Gifford and placed him in a sitting position
by tlie side of the boat. Annette had by this time joined
the r -^rty.

"Here is the wound," Philip said, "just below the
shoulder. He was struck from above, and I hope that the
knife has g'lanced down inside the ribs without touching the
lungs. I know you have scissors, Annette ; will you cutoff
his coat and shirt. I will help you directly, but I must first
get some drink for Solden."

He lowered the dipper into the cask and poured some
rum into the water.

" I don't think there is any occasion for you to watch
any longer, Constance. The fellows are too disheartened
to try again. Will you attend to Mr. Solden, while we look
after Gifibrd."

Philip now tiiined to Gifford again. " Tear a strip off" the
bottom of your petticoat, Madame Renan," he said. " It
is an awkward place to bandage, but we must manage
somehow."

As soon as the strip was torn off" Philip cut off a portion
of it and wound it up into a wad, which he placed over the

A HIDDEN FOE.

267

e turned to

wound, and bandaged this on as tightly as he could )3y
passing the rest of the bandage two or tiiree limes round the
body and over the shoulder.

•* I think that will do," he said, " if you put a pin into
this end."

Then he mixed a little strong rum and water and poured
it between Gifford's teeth, previously laying him down in
the bottom of the boat and placing a rug under his head.

" Now, madame, I must get you to see to me, for I am
bleeding pretty freely, and it won't do for me to get weak
just now. Take hold of the sleeve of my coat and draw it
off as gently as you can. That is it ; now you can slit tiie
shirt sleeve up and get at it."

It wasanvigly gash extending from the shoulder to the
elbow.

" Cut the sleeve off altogether," he said, " and make a
roll of it and lay it along the wound. Then I will have
another strip of your petticoat for a bandage. That will
do ; don't be afraid of hurting me. It must be done tightly
to bring the edges together. Theirs, that will do capitally."

At this moment the sail gave a flap and then bellied
out,

"There is the breeze again, lad," Mr. Solden said faint-
ly. " I told you it would come. Thank God, you and this
brave young lady may be saved to be happy together yet."

Constance was kneeling by the dying man's side, and
Philip could not see her face, but he felt his own flush
hotly.

" Don't grieve for me, my dear," Mr. Solden went on.
" I have no one at home to take it to heart, and it makes
little matter whether it is now or twenty years hence. I
was getting pretty near tired of voyaging to and fro. It
seems such a long time since I was a boy at Portsmouth.
They were pleasant days, too, when I used to sail across to
Ryde, and sometimes up to Southampton. There was
Tommy Johnson used to go with me — a round-faced chap
with blue eyes, and my cousin Joe ; poor Joe, he was
drowned when I was serving my apprenticeship."

His voice had become slower and fainter as he went on,
and Constance could scarce hear the last words. Tlic lips
moved again and he muttered ''Full steam ahead." Thc~e
was one more struggling breath and then he lay still and
quiet.

268

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Philip but his hand on her shoulder. *' Yoa had better
go back to your place, Constance, the poor fellow has gone.
Draw the screen again."

During this scene the third woman had never moved,
but lay listlessly with her head on the gunwale.

" Philip, please give mc some brandy and crater. Her
lips are black and parched, and she seems quite insen-
sible."

Philip filled a half-pint pannikin and passed it aft. '' Do
you and madame take a drink first, Constance, I am sure
that you must both want it. Pour a little down the woman's
throat. If she revives I will give her some more. We
need not be so particular now ; there are less mouths to
feed, and it seems to me that the wind is freshening steady.
We shall have a nice breeze ere long, and it is just in the
right direction."

" Now, you forward there, examine if there is any life in
those three men. If not, heave their bodies overboard.
There are two others forward, who, I think, died in the
night."

The men who had been shot • .-re all dead, as were the
two in the bow. " Now, men, 1 advise you to return to
your duty, and if you work cheerfully and well until we
get in I shall say nothing about your share in this affair.
If you don't, I shall hand you over to the Dutch authori-
ties as mutineers, and you will be all hung to a certainty."

** We plenty ready work, sah," one of the Seedy boys
said. ** Those bad men led us wrong. We plenty sorry
made bobbery."

" Well, you had better not do it again, anyhow, for I
shall clear the lot of you out if you do. Now just tell the
other men what I say, and tlien get some buckets and a
mop and wash the boat out thoroughly. If you behave
well I shall serve out a double allowance of water for
breakfast to-day."

There were now but six of the crew left forward, and as
those who had led the attack were doubtless the moving
spirits in the affair, Philip had little fear that they would
again venture on any such step. In half an hour the boat
M as thoroughly washed down and all signs of the late con-
flict removed.

The boat V- IS running through the water at some four
kaotV; an hour, for she was now fairly in trim, being greatly

A HIDDEN POE.

269

ever moved,

lightened by the loss of half those who had started in her,
and by the water and provisi'-ns consumed.

When all was clear, half a pint of weak grog was served
out forward, with some biscuit and meat. The bree«e
moderated the heat, and th,e rustle of the water against the
bends was a grateful sound in their ears.

" How is your companion ? " Philip asked through the
screen.

" She is better, and she will be better still, I think, when
she has had something more to drink."

" We must have breakfast," Philip said cheerfully, " and
that will do us all rjood. I have just given the men ar'ou-
ble allowance and we will take the same. I want you to
manage something to keep the sun off Gifford. I think
you might try him with another spoonful or two of brandy
and water, and put something wet round his iiead. Now
that we are sailing I must attend to the rudder lines."

The breakfast was eaten with more zest than had beei
felt since the calm set in. Gifford was then attended to,
and presently opened his eyes.* He looked round in a
dazed way.

*•' Don't try to move, Mr. Gifford," Annette said, stoop-
ing over him. " There has been trouble with the crew,
but that is all past. You have been badly wounded, but
we hope you will get over it. You must lie quiet."

** We will soon get you round, old fel:ow," Philip said
cheerfully. " We have got the wind at last and are bowl-
ing along merrily. Don't ask any questions now, or try to
talk ; you have had a very narrow escape, and .ust keep
yourself quiet for a bit. If we go on like this, a^ I should
not be surprised if we go faster, we shall see t' coast of
Java in another four days, and then v/e will soc have you
on your legs again."

Gifford smiled feebly and then closed his es, and by
his regular breathing they saw ere long that he was asleep.

The wind continued to freshen, and by ih<^ afternoon
they added a knot to their speed.

" That will do for us nicely," Philip said. '' We want no
more and no less."

The wind continued to blow steadily, and in the after-
noon of the fourth day after the fight Philip saw the men
forward talking excitedly together and pointing ahead of
the boat.

270

A HIDDEN FOE.

) I

Dar is land, sah, sartln sure dat land."

Philip saw somer.hing that looked like a faint haze in the
distance, but could not have told whether it was land or a
light cloud.

His eyes indeed were heavy. He knew on the morning
when the breeze sprang up that lie could not steer alone
for the four or five days which must elapse before they
could reach land. Constance also had recognized this fact,
and as soon as they had settled down after their first meal
she said, ** You must give me lessons in steering, Cousin
Philip. It does not seem difficult. You seem to hold both
the ropes tight and the boat goes along straight."

" I shall be glad to teach you, Constance. With a quiet
steady breeze like this there is really no difficulty in it, but
it wants attention and care. You see that black mark on
the side of the compass case ? "

" Yes, I see that."

" Now you see that the letter E on the compass is just
in a line with that. Well, you have to keep it so. If you
see the E go to the right of that mark, you have to pull the
right hand cord. If it goes to the left, you pull the left
hand ; but with a breeze almost dead aft like this she al-
most steers herself, and the less you pull the lines the
better."

" That seems perfectly easy. Now give me the seat and
let me try." She found it was at first much more difficult
than it looked, and do what she would she could not keep
the E on the black mark.

" You pull the strings much too hard, Constance. The
least touch is sufficient."

"But I cannot keep my eyes off the compass at all,
Philip. You only glance at it occasionally."

" I steer by the sail as long as the wind keeps perfectly
steady. It is only necessary to glance occasionally at the
compass, and you will soon see that if you let the boat go
on her own course she will keep very near to the point,
and an occasional slight pressure on one line or the other
will be all that is required."

After two or three hours' practice Constance learned that
she could keep the boat straight with but little trouble.

" Now, Philip, you must lie down. It is quite impossible
for you to keep up night and day. I will steer, and Annette
will keep a watch upon the men."

! l

A HIDDEN rOE.

271

I will lie down then," Philip replied. " I don't tliink
the men will give any more trouble, but we dare not risk
it. If I am to be vigilant to-night I must get a few hours
sleep, if possible, in the day ; but be sure and wake me if
there is any change whatever in the force or direction of
the wind."

And so during the next three days Philip slept five or
six hours each day. The woman in the stern had improved
much. The comparative freshness of the air, the some-
what larger supply of water now served out, and above all
the hopes rekindled by the steady progress of the boat,
effected wonders for her.

Young Gifford seemed to be making progress, but his
recovery was retarded by his bitter regret that he
should have slept on his post, and tiiat that sleep should
have cost the life of Mr. Solden. Still, he was mending,
and Philip began to entertain hopes that his diagnosis of
the wound had been a correct one, and that no vital part
had been injuied by the lascar's knife.

The joy of all on board was great liu'^ed when they
became assured that it was really land ue*"';^ them.

As soon as they could see that it stretched right across
their course, Philip turned the boat's head somewhat to
the north.

" The Straits must lie there," he said. " We will bear
on the course that we are now holding until we get close in,
and then coast along until we get to the northern point of
the Island. If we see a village and the landing seems easy
we will run ashore and get a barrel of water and some fruit."

'*' Are the natives friendly? "

" Oh, yes. The island has been in Dutch possession for
hundreds of years, and the natives are semi-civilized, cul-
tivate spice plantations and that sort of thing. There is
no fear of any trouble whatever with them."

The next morning when Annette and Constance woke
they saw that the boat was running along the shore at a
distance of about half a mile.

" I think that wc are just at the northern point of the
Island," Philip said. " It seems to me to trend right away
there, but in another few minutes we shall open a point far
enough to see." *►

It was indeed, as Philip supposed, the entrance to the
Straits, in a few minutes the sheet '.vas paid out, th^ heira
put up, and they were again .steering east.

272

A IUDDEX FOE.

I'i-

A pint of water was served out to eachj and Constance
made tea for those in the stern, a hixury that had for the
last four days been given up, as the supply of spirits for
boiling the water had almost come to an end.

They passed several villages, one or two of which were
large enough to be called towns, but they agreed that as
the wind was so favorable it was better they should go on
at once to Batavia, where they would be sure to find com-
fortable accommodation, people who could speak English,
and a ship perhaps that would take them on their voyage.

The coast was very beautiful, and after seeing nothing
but sea and sky for so long was doubly appreciated. Native
craft stole along by the shore ; inland hills rose one behind
another, for the most part covered with verdure, though
soiiic of them rose boldly up in rocky precipices almost
from the water's edge.

The next day a large town, with shipping lying anchored
off it, was made out, and a couple of hours later they landed
at Batavia. As they neared the wharf they were hailed
with shouts and waving of hats, and as they set foot on
shore were surrounded by many of the crew and passen-
jrers of the Aden, and their hands warmly shaken by many
with whom they had not exchanged a word on board ship.
The captain was among them.

" We had almost begun to give you up," he said. " We
iot 111 six days ago, and a steamer at once set out to look
tor you."

" Arc we the only boat that was missing? "

" No, there is another, the cutter, still unaccounted for.
The other boats all arrived safely, droj oing in one after
the other. The last came in two days ago. But I see
your number is greatly diminished. Whei ^ is Mr. Solden ?
He was in command."

" He is dead, sir. He was stabbed by one of the las-
cars. One of the male passengers and one female died,
and one is, as you see, seriously wounded, but he is, I
hope, recovering. Five of the natives either died or jumped
overboard ; four were killed in the fight."

By this time Mr. Gifford had been carefully carried
ashore by four men.

" Well, I am heartily glad to see some of you safe," the
captain said, " your story will keep. We will go up at once
to the hotel and get the ladies and this poor fellow intc
quarters there. The place is pretty full as you may imagine,

A JJWDEN J'OE,

27.1

l)Ut some of the g> ntlcmcn will turn out to make room for
ihcm. Tlicy will find out rooms for you. We were de-
li^'lilcd, as you may imagine, when tlie report came that a
white boat under sail was approaching, for we felt sure
tluU it could be no other than one of our missing craft."

As soon as the ladies were safely cared for, Philip sat
down to a licarLy meal, and while he was eating it, learned
from the captain how the other boats had fared. After the
storm tlicy had all to take to their oars, but being as it
seemed fu ther to the north tnan was Mr. Solden's boat
when the wind dropped, had been occasionally helped by
light breezes. They had all been on short allowance of
water before they reached Batavia, but had not been
reduced to great straits.

Many of the passengers were quartered in the houses of
the Dutch merchants, who showed them the greatest kind-
ness and hospitality. Some of them had already left in a
sailing ship for Australia, and an arrangement had been
made with another vessel to take on the rest in a week's
time. The officers and crew ot the Aden were to go up to
Singapore in a steamer which had come in on the previous
evening.

The surgeons who examined Mr. Gifford'f. wounds gave
strong hopes of his recovery. He would have died long
before this, they agreed, had his lungs been pierced, aiid
unless fever or some unforeseen complication set in there
was every ground for ho{)e that he would pull round.

Philip saw nothing of his cousin or Annette for the first
two days after his arrival in Batavia. The latter broke
down completely after the strain was over, and Constance
remained in attendance on her.

On the evening of the third day Philip sent up a note to
Constance, begging her to come down and take a stroll in
the cool, as he was sure she would be ill if she sliut herself
up so long. He was waiting for her when she came down-
stairs, and but few words were said as they went out
together.

The sun had set, and the short twilight was fading and
the stars beginning to show the deep blue of the sky.

'• I can hardly believe it is all over, Philip, and that that
terrible voyage has come to an end."

" It was terrible in some respects," PhiHp said; "yet I
tlnnk that on the whole, in spite of its discomforts, I was

274

A HIDDEN FOE.

;.M

i i:

11 ^\^^

i i

never happier in my life. You sec, Constance, we goi to
be really cousins, which we should never have done other-
wise."

The girl was silent. " 1 have thought over the past very
often, Philip," she said, alter a long pause, " and there is
one thing I must ask you. because it has puzzled me ever
since. ^Vhy, if you had known who I was, should you
have shunned me like the pest ? 1 know it wasn't because
you hated nic for depriving \ ou of your fortune. I know
you too well to think that for a moment ; but if it wasn't
that, what was it } You have never heard anything against
me, liave you ? "

"No, no," he said earnestly, '' it was not that; how
could you dream of it? "

*' But it must have been something, Philip. You wc^r
speaking from your heart, and I felt that every word was
true, and that as well as the rest."

" And you believed that when I told you I loved you,
that was true also."

" Yes, Philip, I could not doubt it. Why else should
you have told me so when you did not know who I was ? "

" Why, indeed," he relocated, " and if I loved you then,
when I had only seen you in i)leasant times and in f:iir
weather, how much more must I do so now that I have
seen you in trials and dang(*rs — now that I know so much
more about what you are."

" We both of us know each other better," she said gently.
" And yet I feci that altogether in that you are changed to
me, that whatever it was that would have niade you shun
me like a pest was still between us. 1 think I have a right
to know what it is."

Philip was silent.

" My dear," he said, after a pause, "it is a secret not
altogether my own. It was that wliich drove me from
England — a shameful action that [ feel has dishonored my
name. Not niy own action, Constance, but which yel
seems to weigh more upon me tlian if it had yet been. It
is a secret I cannot tell even to you."

*' And yet you would have married Miss Renan." Con-
stance said after a long pause.

" Yes," he said, " but I should have married her as l^am
Brown. Not for years, not until after an event that may
be years distant should I have told her my name."

^1 IIIDDEX lOE.

ice, we goi to
e done otlici-

■ tlic past Very
" and there is
:^lod me ever
', .should yon
usn't because
"le. I know
It if it wasn't
'ihing against

>t that ; how

^- Vou Worn
i>' word was

I loved you,

else should

vJio I was ? "

ed you then,

' and in f-.ir

tliat I have

"ow so much

• said gently.
3 changed to
'c you shun
have a right

. secret not
e me from
lonored my
which ye;
t been. It

nan," Con-

Jier as Sam
: that may

a7S

" Is that all you are going to tell me, Philip? All you
will ever be able to tell me? "

•' I don't know," he said, hoarsely ; " perhaps some day
-" and he sto]j])ed.

" Is that quite fair, Philip?" Constance urged. ''Quite
lair to me as well as yourself? "

" It is not fair," he said passionately. " I will tell you
before we separate, before you sail home, your mission fub
filled. You have a right to know, and when I have told
yi)U you will feel that it is impossible for me to say to Con-
stance Corbyn what I said to Miss Renan."

" You give me your solemn promise that you will do so
before we part ? "

" On my word and honor, Constance ; it will be a hor-
rible story to have to tell, but you shall hear it."

*•' I am content with that," she said, quietly. " Now let
us go back to the hotel."

A few days' rest and quiet restored Madame Duport, and
she was almost herself by the time *he vessel was ready to
sail for ^lelbourne.

•• Is there anything the matter between you and Mr.
Clitheroe, Constance i^ '' she asked, when they had been
two or three days at sea. " You do not laugh and chat
together as you used to on board the Aden. You are not
even as you were in the boat. Vou are friendly, but it is
quite different. Has he asked you again, and have you
refused him ? I thought it would have been different this
time, and I hoped so so much. It would have been such
a happy ending to your troubles."

'' lie has not asked me aga n, Annette. I don't know
that he ever will, though ho knows well what my answer
would be now. We have had a talk together, Annette. I
cannot tell even you what it was, but I shall know some
day. Please don't speak any moie about it."

" It cannot be about money," Annette urged. " One or
other of you must own ihe Corbyn estates. If you love
each other, what maLU.rs it which it is? "

"Money!" Constance repeated with scorn. ''Had
r.^ilher of us a penny in the world, and were Philip
Clitheroe a cripple and unable to work, I would slave for
liiui with my bare hands."

After this Annette liad nothing more to say. It was
another of the i)uzzles connected with the child's affairs,

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Z'jG

A HIDDEN FOE,

'i m

A 1

and she supposed like the rest it would be solved in good
time.

The voyage was uneventful, and they had a speedy run
to Melbourne.

" And where next, Constance ?" Philip asked, as they
leant upon the bulwark and watched the shore.

Constance looked round in surprise. " I forgot you did
not know where Morson lives. It is near Brisbane. We
shall have to take a steamer from here, at least so Mr. Har-
but told me. It is a comfort having you with us. When I
talked about coming out here, I said that I didn't see any
reason why a woman should not travel alone, still less two
women ; but I have changed my mind about it now, and it
will be very nice with you to see about everything, and act
as protector in general. I only hope that we shall not find
Morson gone."

'* Why should you find him gone ? " Philip asked.

" Well, you know, that was wliat I told you when I was
so stupid as to suspect you."

" I am sure you did not tell me anything about Morson
leaving. You did not say a word about him."

" No ; of course, I did not enter into particulars. Our
idea was, Mr. Harbut's and mine, you know, that the
people, whoever they were, who had been down to Wood-
stock to get Morson's address out here, might have either
sent out or written to him. Of course we don't know for
certain that they did get this address. When Mr. Harbut
asked Morson for it — I mean the Morson at Woodstock —
he told him that he was not sure what his brother's address
was, but that he would write out, and perhaps he would let
him know in about three montlis. Mr. Harbut found out
that the brother was telling a story, for that he often got let-
ters with the Australian postmark ; so what we thought was
that his brother had told him not to give his address to any-
one until he gave him leave. Well, these other people had
been at Woodstock a short time, ten days or a fortnight, after
my father's death, and there would have been time for a
letter to go out to Sydney and for an answer to come back
before Mr. Harbut went there. Mr. Harbut said the
butcher seemed a malicious sort of fellow, and to take a sort
of satisfaction in keeping him in the dark, and he thought
it likely enough that he had promised to let these other
people know if anyone else called to inquire about his

A HIDDEN FOE,

277

'■ed in good

speedy run

"d, as they

got you did
bane. We
5o Mr. Har-
is. When I
In't see any
till less two
now, and it
ng, and act
lall not find

sked.
when I was

)ut Morson

liars. Our
V, that the
ii to Wood-
have either
't know for
^Ir. Harbut
:>odsi.ock —
;r's address
e would let
found out
en got let-
lought was
ess to any-
>eople had
night, after
time for a
:onie back
said the
take a sort
le thought
lese other
about his

brother. Our idea was, Philip, that when these other
people knew we were on the track of Morson, they would
send out at once, if they had not done so before, to get
him out of the way, or to bribe him to refuse to give us any
information. So I determined to start by the next steamer,
thinking it quite possible that whoever they sent out might
be a passenger by it too. That was how — " and she hesi-
tated.

" How you came to suspect me, Constance, and very
natural too," Philip, who had been listening, with a troubled
face, said quietly. " And you thought these other people
would know you on board the steamer ? "

'* We were almost sure they would, Philip, for we were
watched on our way to the office, and though we got out
of the cab and went on in an omnibus, Mr. Harbut said
that he did not think we had thrown them off the track."

"Poor little girl," Philip said, "you have been horribly
persecuted. What you say is quite possible," he went on.
" These other people may have written out before you
found out this man's address, or they may have sent some-
one out in the steamer. By-the-way, how did you find out
the address if the butcher would not give it?"

'• Mr. Harbut found out that the man who is here had a
married sister living at Banbury, and he went there and saw
her, and she gave him the address at once."

" He seems to have been very busy, this Mr. Harbut,"
Philip said, shortly.

** He was wonderfully good and kind," Constance said
simply, "he and. a young lady he is engaged to, a Miss
Leicester ; she got nie the post of companion with Miss
Peyton, who is an aunt of hers, and who was as kind to
me as they were."

Philip stood some time watching the shore in silence.
*' We will go on by the next steamer, Constance, and I hope
that, as you say, we may find this Morson at the address
you got. Of course, a good deal of it will depend upon
whether he is an honest man, and then a good deal will
depend uj)on how he is doing out there. If he is an honest
man he will, of course, refuse to accept a bribe, and will
probably knock down the nan who tries to make it. If he
is not honest, but at the same lime is doing well, it will
probably take a larger bribe than these other people can
give him to sell out and move. What was the offer you
were going to make him? "

278

A HIDDEN J'O/:.

\\ 1

** I was going to offer him a thousand pounds to come to
England to give evidence that he was present at the mar-
riage, or if he would not agree to that, to offer him a
smaller sum to make a deposition before a magistrate.
Mr. Harbut said that it would be far better that he should
come to England, because we should have to get all sorts
of proof to satisfy an English court that the magistrate was
a magistrate."

'* I think we shall find Morson there, Constance, and
shall get him to give his evidence either there or in England.
Ferris told me it was Harbut's idea that the man is aware
your father never acknowledged you, and has been intend-
ing to make money out of you or me. When he sees us
both there together, and sees that there is no possibility of
getting money out ( f cither one or the other, he may not be
averse to tell what he knows."

" Unless he has been bribed by the other people," Con-
stance put in.

" A man who will take a bribe from one side will take it
from the other," Philip said. " Besides, he may only have
been promised money, which is a difficult thing from get-
ting it. They would not send him over a large sum of money,
even if they had it, till they knew that he accei)ted their
proposal, and you sec even if they knew that you have
started for Australia, they cannot know that you have got
his address, and will think that you may never find him, or,
at any rate, that you will be months before you do so, and
that there will be plenty of time to write again to him
when they get his answer, and to bribe him to silence
before you get at him."

*' That is so," Conslance agreed. " It is all so extra-
ordinary who these people can be. It is not you, and
who else can there be interested in preventing my proving
mv mother's marrirge. I suppose you have not the least
idea, Philip ? "

Philip did not reply, and Constance, glancing up, saw
such an expression of pain on his face that she was startled.
It was the expression she had seen there when her eyes
first fell on him on board the Mandalay.

She laid her hand wistfully on his arm, and his face
softened. _

" You shall hear all about it someday, Constance : don't
ask me now."

A HIDDEN FOE.

279

A steamer was starting in two days for Sydney and Bris-
bane, and after a pleasant voyage they arrived at the latter
town. The i>arty went to an hotel, and as soon as they
were settled there Philip went out and inquired at the
Police-office whether the /e was, or had been, a stable keeper
or horse dealer there of the name of Morson.

" Oh, yes ; there was a man of that name had a stable
here two years ago. What do you want to know about
him ? "

" I am an English barrister, and have come out to make
some inquiries about him."

" He was here some years ago," the inspector said; " he
came from Melbourne. I fancy we made Victoria too hot
for him. A good many of these horse dealers are sharp
hands, but I think he is sharper than most of them. I
heard that in Melbourne he was accused of buying up horses
stolen up the country, and clipping and fattening them till
their ownr:s wouldn't know them. I don't know that he
was absolutely caught at it ; 1 suppose he wasn't, else he
would not have got away here ; but the suspicions are
pretty strong against him. When he got here we had u
report from them, and he got a hint that a sharp eye would
be kept on him. Anyhow for some years he went on, so
far as we know, straight enough. Then he began to get into
his old ways, and we had two or three complaints against
him for fattening up old screws and selling them at high
prices to greenhorns. There was one very bad case we
heard of, but when it came to the last the man wouldn't
prosecute. I suppose he didn't like to risk being laughed
at for having been taken in over a horse. However, after
that Morson thought it was as well to clear out for a bit,
and he sold his business, or pretended to sell it — one is as
likely as the other — to another man, and went out to a farm
he has got about twenty miles from here. He always bred
a few horses there, but I believe since then he has gone in
on a biggish scale. He has bought up another farm or two
adjoining, and runs two or three hundred horses there, and
if he will but keep straight ought to do well, for I have
heard tb.at there is no better judge in the colony of the
points of a horse. He has got a few thorough-breds there,
and ought to breed good stock."

" Then I am likely to find him there, I suppose ? "

'' Yes, as far as I know. But, of course, he may have
gone up the country buying horses."

28o

A IIIJ'>DEN FOE.

H i

li i|

" Thank you, I am much obliged to y»)u," Philip r^\t.
** I have nothing absolutely against the man, but I want to
find out the particulars of a transaction in which he was
mixed up in England years ago."

'• I don't think you will get much out of him, unless it
suits him to tell," the inspector said. " He is a close
fellow, and a very shrewd one."

** I am ready to pay well for my information, inspector."

" Ah, well, in that case, if it does not incriminate him-
self, you may get it."

The next morning early a carriage from the hotel started
with Constance, Annette, and Philip for Ash Farm.

When they reached the house, which was of good size,
but had a neglected appearance, as if its owner cared but
little for appearances, they alighted from the vehicle.

Very few words had been spoken during the drive out.
Constance was anxious and agitated, now that the moment
was at hand when she would either succeed in obtaining
evidence which would prove her mother's marriage or fail
altogether.

Philip was silent also, and had it not been that Con-
stance felt perfectly assured that the loss of his estates was
not weighing on his mind, she might have thought tiiat,
disinterested as he might be, he felt a little regret now that
the moment had arrived when the matter would be defi-
nitely settled.

Annette was the only one of the party who was at all
disposed to be cheerful. This trip was to her the end of
her long journey, and whatever came of it she would shortly
be on her homeward way towards Victor and her comfort-
able cottage at St. Malo. She greatly wished that Con-
stance should attain her object, but she felt sure that if she
failed she would become in another way mistress of Corbyn
Court.

A man come out from the house as they drove up, and
in answer to Philip's inquiries said that the boss was out
somewhere on the farm, but would be back at twelve o'clock
to his dinner. As it was already past eleven, it was no use
going out to look for him, and they walked about the place
and looked at some young foals in a paddock near the
house until the hour approached.

Just as they reached the door a man rode up who an-
swered so accurately to the description Robert Harbut

hotel started

A rUDDEN^ FOE.

%%\

had received of him from the porter of St. Boniface, that
Constance was sure he was the man they had come so far
to meet. He was dressed in horsey style, with tight
breeches, high boots, a cut-away coat, a drab waistcoat,
and a green scarf with a horseshoe pin. His face was
clean shaved, he had a thin, crafty mouth, eyes with many
wrinkles at the corners, and light, thin eyebrows j his hair
was brushed smoothly down on his face, with a slight cutl
lying close on the right temple.

38a

A IIIDDEX FOE.

CHAPTER XIX.

Thomas Morson drew up his horse as he came up and
leapt off.

" Well, sir, what can I do for you," he said to Philip.
*' If you want cither driving or riding horses for ladies I
have ?L. nice lot I can show you."

" We have not come to buy but to talk to you on some
other important business, Mr. Morson."

The keen eyes closed a little, and a sharp glance was
shot at the speaker.

♦' Come in," he said ; " it is easier to talk sitting than
standing."

He led the way into a room that was half parlor, half
kitchen, and opened a door leading into another room
behind.

" Keep dinner back, Jones, till I call for it," then closing
the door he stood with his back to the fireplace and looked
at his visitors, who had taken seats on the rough wooden
chairs.

" Now then, sir, I am ready ; what is your business ? "

" In the month of November, 1844, you were present at
the marriage of Mr. Corbyn with Miss Constance Purcell,
at Folkestone Church."

They saw a swift change come over the man's face.

" Oh I was, was I ? " he said. " I was not aware of it ;
and who may you be, sir?"

** I am Philip Clitheroe, nephew of that gentleman, and
I supposed until a few months ago his heir. This is Miss
Corbyn, my cousin, daughter of the Mr. Corbyn you accom-
panied on his tour in Europe. It is my wish, as well as
hers, tliat this matter should be cleared up. We know that
the marriage took place, but it will be more satisfactory
to obtain the testimony of a living witness of the cere-
mony."

Intense surprise, disappointment, and anger were ex-
pressed in the man's face. Then another change passed
over it.

j4 hidden foe.

383

^ou on some

" That won't do, young fellow ; you are no more Philip
Clitheroe than I am. It was clever of you, very, and you
took even me in for a moment ; but tliat cock won't fight.
This may be Miss Corbyn or it may not ; anyhow you are
not Philip Clitheroe. I don't know who you arc and
don't care. You had better have come to me by yourself,
young lady, and I miglit, maybe, have been able to come
to an arrangement with you. I say maybe. Now you have
tried to get round me with this cock and bull story you
have lost your chance. I don't say it wasn't clever of you,
'cause it was, and I might have been taken in if I hadn't
happened to know ^ little about Philip Clitheroe. Now
that your business is done the sooner you are off the bet-
ter I shall be pleased. I want to get to my dinner."

" I am not surprised at your suspicions," Philip said,
quietly, " though I own I did not foresee them. I can
guess why you think that I am not myself. I believe you
have received a letter making you an offer to secure your
silence, and you tliought that letter came from mc."

" You are a clever young fellow," Morson said with a
sneer, " and I have no doubt you are thought much of in
the London detective force. But old birds are not to be
caught with chaff."

"That letter," Philip went on, without noticing his
words, " was no doubt written by someone who thought he
was acting in my interest. Don't build on it, Morson. I
am Philip Clitheroe and you will never be paid a halfpenny.
The writer of that letter has heard long ago that I have no
intention of fighting this case against my cousin, and that
your silence is no longer worth buying. Here are some
documents that may help to convince you that I am speak-
ing the truth. Here are circular notes issued by the Bank
of Australasia in London to the amount of two hundred
pounds, payable to the order of Philip Clitheroe. Here is
another letter from the same Bank saying that bills to the
amount of a thousand pounds, drawn upon Messrs. Ferris
and Ferris of New Inn, The Strand, London, and signed
by Philip Clitheroe, will be duly honored, the Bank guaran-
teeing that payment. Unless you suppose that I have
stolen these from Philip Clitheroe, you cannot doubt that
I am he. Besides, these papers show at least that at the
time they were written Philip Clitheroe was on the point
of starling for Australia,"

al4

A HIDDEN FOE.

The man stood examining the papers Philip had put in
his hand, glancing at him from time to time wiih his keen
shifty eyes, and rubbing his chin nervously.

" All I can say is," he said at last, " that if you are
Philip Clitheroe, and if this is Corbyn's girl, you are a
pretty blackguard. I can see how the game has been
worked. First of all you write to me so as to square me.
Then you get hold of this girl and soap her over, and make
her think you are a fine disinterested party, and when you
have got her to agree to marry you, you think you can
afford to throw me over. But you won't. In the first
place J don't believe you are Philip Clitheroe, and if you
are you will get nothing out of me. You can give out that
your wife is Corbyn's legitimate daughter, but you cannot
prove it, and no one will believe you. There, that will do.
I have nothing more to say to you, so you can be off as
soon as you like. Jones," he shouted, " see that that trap
is brought round to the door at once."

Philip Clitheroe had flushed for a moment and then
turned white at the accusation Morson had made, and he
would have sprung to his feet had not Constance laid her
hand on his arm.

" It is my turn to speak," she said, as the man ceased.
'* You are altogether mistaken, Mr. Morson, with respect
to my cousin, and no such deceit as that you impute to him
was practical. I was perfectly well aware who he was from
the first day I met him. He was equally aware that I was
the lawful heiress of Corbyn Court, and therefore there was
no deceit practiced whatever, and the situation was per-
fectly understood."

Philip had by this time mastered his emotion of anger
and continued quietly,

" You are a little hasty, Thomas Morson, but I can
make allowances for you. You are naturally disappointed.
Unless I am mistaken you have reckoned for a long time
upon making a big thing out of this. You thought that
Miss Corbyn was in ignorance of her rights, and would be
glad to pay you very handsomely for information that would
prove her to be entitled to a fine estate. Unfortunately
she has found this out without you, and I can quite allow
for your feelings of disappointment."

"Well, I don't want any more jaw," the man said,
savagely. " You will get nothing out of me, so you can
walk as soon as you please."

•'m

/f HIDDEN FOE.

a8s

" One word more, and we will go. This is our offer :
We are of course ready to make you a payment for the
trouble you will have in giving your evidence. We can
do without that evidence, but it will be more satisfactory
to have it, and we are ready to give you a thousand pounds
if you will come to England to testify that you were present
at the marriage."

Thomas Morson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He hatl
no doubt now of Philip's identity, and felt that the game
he had waited for so long and patiently was lost.

" Well," he said, suddenly, " I have only your word on
the matter yet. Who may you be, ma'am ? " he turned
suddenly upon Annette.

" I am Madame Duport, of St. Malo, the woman at whose
house Mr. and Mrs. Corbyn lodged. I think I can remem-
ber you when you came up with their luggage the first day
they came. The coachman let one of the boxes fall as he
carried it in from the gate to the house, and I remember
you cursed both in French and English."

The incident came back to Morson's memory as she
mentioned it.

" That is right," he said, " and are you ready to take
oath that this young lady is the child who was born in
your house, and that she is Constance Corbyn ? "

" I am ready to take oath to that," Annette replied.

•♦ And that this is Philip Clitheroe ? "

" I can take oath to that also," Annette said, " not of
my own knowledge, but because Miss Corbyn told me so.
She had met him in England."

" Is this so. Miss Corbyn ? "

" It is," Constance replied. " I saw him in England,
and am ready to take oath that he is Philip Clitheroe."

" Well, I will let you have my answer this afternoon," the
man said, after standing for a minute in thought. " Where
are you stopping in Brisbane ? "

Philip gave him the name of the hotel.

" Well, if you drive back, I shall be over there pretty
near as soon as you will. I have a horse that will take me
over an hour quicker than yours. I will eat my dinner
and think it over as I drive. I won't ask you to take any-
thing, for the place is not fit for ladies, besides I want to
think this over, it has come upon me too suddenly to take
it all in."

386

A HlDUliN I'OM.

" He will agree," Philip Clitheroe said, as they drove
away from Ash Farm. " He may hold out for a little more
money, Constance, but you ran afford to pay him that."

Constance gave him a quick, reproachful glance.

"We will talk about that afterwords," she said quietly.
"Anyhow, whether he is paid one thousand or two it makes
little matter so that all this can be cleared up."

" He is a clever scamp," Philip said. *' How quickly
he jumped at his conclusions. But of course," he added
bitterly, " it is what everyone would think."

Constance did not reply. She knew to what Philip was
alluding — the accusation that he had seen that the safest
plan would be to marry her, the accusation .she herself had
cast in his teeth. As she sat with her head bent down a
tear fell on her hand. Philip saw it.

" I beg your pardon, Constance," he exclaimed, taking
her hand, " I am a brute. The fellow did hit me hard,
but I was a brute to avenge myself on you. Stop the
coachman, I am not fit to ride in the same carriage with
you."

** What are you going to do ? " Constance asked, laying
her hand on his.

" I am going to get out and walk," he said. ** No, Con-
stance, you may forgive me but I cannot forgive myself."

" Do not be foolish, Philip. I have never thought you
foolish and I don't want to think so now. I know that it
was not meant as a reproach to me, but it was simply a
cry of pain, a natural cry. It is horrible to be suspected
falsely, and I think I begin to understand what you must
have suffered."

The journey back was as silent as it had been on the way
out. Philip sat back in his corner with his cap pulled low
down over his eyes. He was a brute, he told himself over and
over again, and utterly unworthy of the love of such a wo-
man as this. He would tell her what he had to tell and then
go away and never see her again. He knew she loved him,
but in any case, even putting aside this barrier between
them, he would not consent to her throwing herself away
upon him. He would fight his own way as he had intended
to do, and make the most of his life, and it would be best
for him never to set foot in England again.

Constance was thinking over the idea that had flashed
across her when Philip had said that the letter had been

// IIIDDEX I'OE,

^%^

written by someone who believed thai he was acting in his
interest.

She thought it strange now thai it had never occurred
to them before lliat it was hi^ mother, the luuighiy woman
she had seen at Bath and to whom Miss Peyton had taken
so strong a dishke. It must have been she who had thus
fought for her son's interest, had set spies on her, had
stolen the leaf from tlic register, and had written to bribe
Morson to silence. Pliilip had discovered it, and in his
shame and grief had left England and taken a false name.
How he must have suffered. But how could lie suppose
that his mother's fault need stand between her and him,
especially after all that had passed ? Had he not saved her
life on board the boat, had he not tenderly cared for her,
and now was her happiness and his to be sacrificed because
his mother had been unscrupulous in fighting for him ? No,
not if she could help it, not even — and she flushed suddenly
— if she had to sue instead of being sued. He had told
her once he loved her, and she had scorned him ; it was
but a just penance that she should have to sue now.

They had taken a basket of provisions with them from
the hotel, and the fact that neither of her companions
would touch them did not interfere with Annette's appetite.
Things seemed to her to be going on very satisfactorily, and
if these young ])eople chose to be foolish and quarrel she
could not help it. She had had quarrels in her time with
Victor, but of course they made it up in due time, and
equally of course Constance and Philip would both be sorry
for it presently. Young ])eoplc were always foolish, and
she supposed that even Constance, who was generally a
thoroughly sensible girl, would be foolish like other people
when in love.

So Annette placidly eat her cold chicken, and looked
forward to meeting Victor again at St. Malo, wondered
how things had gone on in her absence, and hoped the girl
had been satisfactory and had got Victor's meals punc-
tually, and had not put too much pepper in the made
dishes ; Victor could not abide pepper. And so at last
they arrived at the endn)f their journey.

Philip did not offer to go upstairs with the others, but
said he would smoke a pipe outside until Morson arrived.
He had not long to wait. In twenty minutes a light trap
drawn by a fast-stepping horse dashed up to the door.

' '■ . i

288

A HIDDEN FOE,

II i

" Ah, here you are, Mr. Clitheroe," Morson said as he
alighted. *' I am not long after you, you see. I gave you
an hour and a half's start, and I suppose you have not
been here very long. I have done it in an hour and forty
minutes."

** We have only been in a quarter of an hour," Philip
said, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and led the
way into the hotel, and up to the private sitting-room
where the ladies were awaiting them.

Morson's manner had changed. He had thought the
matter over, and made up his mind that the game he had
played for was lost. He did not in the slightest degree
believe Philip's assertion that he was not the author of the
letter he received. " Of course it came fi om him," he said
to himself; "who else could have sent it. No doubt he
meant it when he wrote it, but when he found the girl had
got on my track — though how she did so is more than I
can say — he saw at once that it was the safest and best
game to make up to her, and nicely he seems to have hum-
bugged her. But all that is right enough. We have bo'h
played to win, and the trumps have fallen into his hands.
It is hard when one reckoned on ten thousand at least to
get only one. However, that is bettci than nothing, and
will come in very handy. I daresay I can squeeze another
five hundred out of them."

Having thus made up his mind to deal, Morson was
shrewd enough to know that he was more likely to make a
good bargain by civility than otherwise, and when he pre-
sented himself before the ladies his manner was an admira-
ble mixture of that of a respectful college scout and of a
shrewd horsedealer.

** Well, Mr. Clitheroe and Miss Corbyn, I have thought
this business over, and see that it is best for me to meet
your wishes as I can. I am sorry now that I spoke so
roughly when you came to my place ; but you will under-
stand that when a man has a secret that he has looked upon
for nearly twenty years as being as good as a big mint of
money, it riles him up more than a bit to find that it has
just slipped him. But I think it is worth more than you
offered me for it. There is no other man living who can
prove what I can prove ; there is no one else who can set
this matter so straight that no one will be able as much as
to whisper that Miss Corbyn has no right to her name."

A HIDDEX FOE.

2«9

sittmg-room

ler name.

I think you have a right to vahie your testimony,'*
Philip said, '* but there are other ways of proving a mar-
riage besides the testimony of one who was present at it."

" Not in this case, Mr. Clitheroe ; not in this case. You
and Miss Corbyn would not have taken this long journey
if you could have done without me. Now, it won't suit me
to go away to England for six months. As you saw, I have
got a biggish business here, and it is growing, but I can do
all you want me to do without that."

Philip shook his head. " It is your personal testimony
we want. If you were to make an affidavit here we should
have no end of trouble over it. We might have to send
out a commission — in fact it might give us no end of
bother."

*' I am not going to make an affidavit, Mr. Clitheroe.
But I tell you what, I will make you a fair offer, and what
is more I will leave it to you and Miss Corbyn whether or
not you think what I shall do will cover the ground. My
offer is this : You shall write out a promise to give me two
thousand pounds, if I thoroughly satisfy you, and you shall
both sign your names to it."

" Two thousand pounds is a very large sum," Philip said
gravely.

"It is less than half a year's rental of the estates," Mor-
son replied. " I tell you, Miss Corbyn, my information is
well worth the money to you."

Philip looked at Constance, who slightly nodded J.er
head.

" Now, look here," Philip said, " we will sign the pro-
mise you speak of, if you on your part will sign another
agreeing to go with us to England and give the evidence
we require should we not be satisfied with the manner in
which you propose to settle the matter here."

" I agree to that," Morson said, without hesitation. *' Now
if you will give me paper and pen I will write out the one
agreement; do you write out the other."

The two papers were written out and signed.

" There is one more ihing, before we get to business,"
Morson said. '* I don't want any fuss over this affair. I
don't say whether I have acted straightforward all along or
whether I have not. I don't say whether things have come
into my hands by the gift of others, or how they have come
in. I don't want any questioning or any bother, so before

290

A HIDDEN FOR,

wc come to the last point I will get you to give me youv
promise, Mr. Clitheroe, and yours, Miss Corbyn, that the
matter drops here, and that there are no questions asked,
and that bygones are treated as bygones."

Philip signed to Constance to come to the window
apart.

" I don't know what the fellow is driving at, Constance,
but I should think we might agree to that. If he can set
this matter straight it is nothing to us what knavery he may
have been at."

" I quite agree with you, Philip."

"We agree to your conditions," Philip said, as they
returned to the middle of the room.

" How do you propose to pay the money, sir? I know
that you're a gentleman, but there is nothing like having
these things settled straightforward beforehand."

" I have no objection to that," Philip said. " As the
paper I showed you states, I am authorized to draw for a
thousand pounds on Messrs. Ferris. I will give you a
bill for that amount at three days' sight. I will give you
another bill for the same amount payable three months
after sight. It may go home quicker than we shall, and I
shall have to arrange that it shall be met."

" That is quite fair, Mr. Clitheroe, I have got bill stamps
in my pocket. I generally pay for my horses in that way.
Now will you write out those bills and sign them and hanji
them to this lady here for her to hold until you say you
are satisfied that I have carried out my part of the agree-
ment."

Philip sat down without hesitation and wrote the two
bills, and then handed them to Madame Duport, who was
working at her knitting as usual, as if she were an entirely
uninterested spectator of the scene.

" Is there anything else ? " Philip asked drily, for he had
not the least belief that any proposal the man might make
could prove an acceptable alternative to his going in person
to England.

" There is nothing more, Mr. Clitheroe, I am quite satis-
fied with your promise and that of Miss Corbyn, that
bygones shall be bygones."

In spite of his quiet manner Philip saw that Morson's
face had grown pale, and that there was a nervous ring in
his voice. The man put his hand in his breast pocket and

A HIDDEN FOE.

391

he window

drew out an envelope. He walked across to Constance
and placed it in her hand.

"That is my part of the business," he said.

The envelope was unfastened. Constance drew out the
contents — a printed paper folded double. She opened it
and gave a cry.

" Oh, Philip ! the missing leaf of the register ! "

Philip stood as if stupefied, and then sprang upon Mor-
son, seized him with both hands by the collar and shook him
violently.

" You villain," he exclaimed, " then it was you who stole
the register."

" This is not acting according to promise," Morson said.
" It was agreed that bygones were to be bygones."

Constance's hand on his arm did more than the man's
words to disarm Philip Clitheroe. He loosed his hold.

"You are right, Constance, we have so much reason to
rejoice that it is folly to be angry. Thank God, dear, your
rights are fairly established now. None can question now
that you are the lawful heiress of Corbyn."

" Thank God, my mother's name is cleared," Constance
said. " That is what I have striven for, and that only,
Philip. From the first the estates have been nothing to
me."

Philip walked across to Annette, took the two bills from
her hand and gave them to ]\Iorson. '' You have performed
your part of the bargain," he said, " here is your money.
May it do you as much good as you deserve."

"Thank you, sir," the man said, putting the bills into
his pocket-book. " Is there anything that you would like to
ask me before I go ? "

" I should like to know how it was you came to carry
out this detestable scheme. It would be satisfactory to -
know how it came about."

" I have no objection to telHng you," the man said.
" There was a man, I don't say it was me, but there was a
man who knew that Mr. Corbyn had married Miss Purcell
at Folkestone Church. He had heard that Mr. and Mrs.
Corbyn had taken up their residence at St. Malo before
that lady's confinement. As he knew that the marriage
was not known to Mr. Corbyn's father, he thought that
this was natural enough. Then he heard from a man at
St. Malo that Mrs. Corbyn had died, and that Mr. Corbyii

292

A HIDDEN FOE.

:i:

I liiii'

8 t

had gone away, leaving the infant there. Of course, this
did not mean much one way or the other, but the man in
question thought it n^'ght be worth while to watch.

" Well, this man went abroad. Someone paid his ex-
penses and gave him a hundred or two to help him over,
but he thought it worth while to learn from St. Malo, and
from friends in England, how things were going on. After
six years he heard that old Mr. Corbyn was dead. The child
was still at St. Malo, and Mr. Corbyn went on as usual
at Bath. Then it seemed to him that his secret was worth
money. So he came all the way back to England. He
only stopped there a week, but in that week he got what
he wanted. It may be that he got short of money and
sold what he got to me, it may be that it came into my
hands some other way, that is neither here nor there.

" Anyhow, when I got hold of this document it seemed
to me, just as it had seemed to liim, that there was big
money to be made out of it if I did but wait. If Mr. Cor-
byn, as was like enough, married again and had children,
or if he didn't, whoever might be his heirs, they not know-
ing of the existence of that document, would find them-
selves disappointed. It was not likely that Miss Corbyn
knew much about her father's affairs, and when he died
that document would be worth a big sum of money to her.
Anyhow it would be a valuable paper some day, and so it
has turned out, though not by a long way so valuable as I
had expected it to prove. I think that is all, Mr. Clitheroe.
I am afraid I must trouble you to walk down to the Bank
with me with that letter of yours, to show them that this
bill is worth more than the paper it is written on."

Philip took his hat. " It may as well be done at once,"
he said. " I shall not come back for an hour, Constance,
you will like to be alone with Madame Duport."

Constance had stood still and quiet, holding the certifi-
cate of her mother's marriage in her hand, until the two
men left the room. Then she turned, threw herself on
her knees by her old nurse, and laying her head on her
bosom burst into a passion of happy tears.

It was some time before she was composed enough to
speak, and Annette was nearly as much moved as she was.

*' Oh, Annette, I am so happy ; first for my mother's
sake and then for his."

A IIIDDIIX FOR.

20. •?

" For his ? Ah ! I see what you mean, ma petite. You
mean because you can give yourself and your estate
together to him."

" No, I did not mean that," Constance said, flushing
brightly, '* I meant something else, but as that is a secret
of his I cannot tell you."

" I hope there are no more secrets," Annette said,
alarmed. ** I am sure we have had enough of them. I
never want to hear of another secret all my life."

" There is nothing to alarm you here," Constance said,
as she dried her eyes. " This is only something between
him and me and not terrible at all. And now when he
comes back, I wish you to slip out of the room, for I want
to have a talk to him by myself."

** That is natural enough, dearie," Annette said, with a
smile, *' I will be out of the way. I think he has a right to
a talk with you, for had it not been for him I don't think
with all your cleverness you would have induced that bad
man to give up the paper."

In an hour Philip returned, Annette had left the room
before he came in.

'* Constance," he said, "I could not speak while that
fellow was in the room, but I congratulate yon with all my
heart. I know that the property is as nothing to you in
comparison to the pleasure you must feel in having cleared
the name of your mother. You will believe me, dear, wlien
I say that I feel no sort of envy at your good fortune, and
that from the first moment when I heard of your existence
my only desire has been that right should be done."

"We can talk about the property presently, Philip.
Now you can tell me, can you not, why I am the last
woman in the world you can marry."

" Yes, I can tell you now, Constance, and that, thank
God, with somewhat less pain than I had looked to. I
think I can tell you everything."

" I know it is hard for you, Philip, it is very hard for a
son to speak of a mother's faults even to the woman he
loves."

" So you have guessed, Constance," Philip exclaimed
with a start.

" Only to-day, Philip. When you said that it was done
in your interest, the truth flashed across me, and I knew
it for certain from the cry which broke from you when

it al

994

A HIDDEN FOE,

that man produced the certificate, and your face as you
seized him. It way not mere anger at the theft. You
knew it had been stolen, and would naturally have felt
more pleasure at its recovery than anger with the thief. I
thought it over as we were driving back from the farm,
and wondered that we had not guessed it before. Who
should defend her son's rights but a mother. She con-
sidered that you had been wrongly treated and placed in
a false position by my father's silence — and she had a full
right to consider so — and she determined to defend what
she considered your rights to the last. She knew that you
would not fight for yourself, and she took the burden upon
her, and in fighting for you and for you only adopted
means perhaps that slie would not have used had she been
fighting for herself. You suspected that it was she who
cut out the leaf of the register, and it was the thought of
that that drove you from England. I read it in your face
just now as plainly as if you had spoken. We now know
it was not so, but even had it been so we should remember,
Philip, that she did it for you. Is this all that stands
between us, Philip, is this why you would have shunned
me as a pest? You thought your mother had injured me,
had even sinned against me, and that this must stand like
a barrier between you and me."

*' I am glad that you have guessed the secret, Constance,"
Philip said, taking her hand almost reverently and raising
it to his lips, " and I thank God that this terrible wrong
was not her act. But, dear, I owe it to you and myself to
tell you all, to tell you why I suspected my mother — a
horrible thing for a son to have to do. She did not commit
that crime, but it was because she was forestalled. I went
down to Folkestone and learned that she had been there,
that she had even contrived to be alone for a minute with
the registers. I cannot doubt what she went there for.
She went there to destroy the evidence of the marriage.
Thank God, she was spared the crime — it had already
been committed.

" I have thought it all over, Constance. She must have
known of the marriage. Since I made that discovery I
have thought over every circumstance. She went over to
see my uncle on the afternoon before his death and they
had a long talk together. On my return I noticed how ill
she looked, and begged lier to put off some friends who

A Jrr/IPF.X FOE.

295

Constance,

were coming to dinner. Your father, wlien he was killed
the next morning, was on liis way to France. His servant
said at the inquest that his master iiad told him he was
going for a week to Fiance. I cannot but think that he
told my mother at that meeting of his marriage, and that he
was going over to fetch you home.

" When he was killed, the temptation came suddenly
upon her. No one else knew of the marriage. Why
should it ever be known ? She knew from him where it
had taken place, she even knew who had accompanied
him. How else could she possibly have known that they
were married at Folkestone, when you only learned it
accidentally from a postmark on your mother's letter.
How else can she have been able to send to find out where
Morson was, within a fortnight of mv uncle's death ? How
else could she have known of your existence, and have set
detectives to watch you almost from the first? "

" It may be as you say, Philip ; the temptation was a
great one, and she loved you, and she thought that you
had been wronged, and in her love she may have deter-
mined even to commit a wrong to right you. But people are
not judged by their intentions but by their deeds. Your
mother has committed no crime, her intentions are known
only to you and me and God, and you and I are not her
judges. Remember, dear, the words" — and she put her
hands on his shoulders in her earnestness — " ' Her sins are
forgiven Tor :he loved much.' "

Philip could not reply. He took the girl to his heart
and held her there.

" Do you know, Philip," Constance said, a quarter of an
hour later, " that that story you told me just now has made
me very happy ? "

" It has, Constance ! " Philip said in surprise. " Ah !
you mean in its consequences."

" No, I don't, sir," she said, saucily, and 'then went on
more seriously, " No, Philip, it has always been a grief to
me that I have had to think ill of my father. I have tried
so hard to believe that he did not mean to wrong me and
that he meant to have acknowledged me some day, but I
could see nothing to justify the belief, hard as I clung to
it. But if your theory is true, he intended all along to
acknowledge me, and only waited till he thought I was old
enough to take my place at Coibyn Court, and when he

agCi

A HmDEN FOE.

was killed he was coming over to fetch me home. You see
I can think of him now as having loved me, anhough he
did not care to have me with him as long as I was a child.

*• I feared so much that it was not so, I have even feared,
Philip, that it might have been he who mutilated the regis-
ter in order that there might be no proof left of the
marriage. I think even Mr. Harbut thought this at one
time, though he never said so. That burden was lifted
from my mind wlien this man produced the leaf, and now
your story has removed the doubt whether he ever meant
to acknowledge me. It is strange, dear, we should both
have suspected our parents of the same fault, and that it
should turn out that it was the work of another.

** Now, Philip, I must go up and see' Annette, and tell
her that all our troubles are over and that we are going to
be happy, and that the division of the Corbyn estates no
longer offers any difficulty. I am afraid she won't be very
surprised, for I think she had quite made up her mind as
to what would come of it. You must love her too, Philip,
for she has been as a mother to me."

** ri r\^(Q. is no need to tell me that, Constance ; I Iciiow
how much I owe her. Now I will go round to the post
and ask for letters for you. You know you said you
expected some here."

" I had forgotten all about it," Constance said almost in
consternation, " there will be letters from Hilda and Miss
Peyton and Mr. Harbut."

'* Well, we have been here little over twenty-four hours,"
Philip said smiling, " indeed I had not forgotten ; but I
thought it better that you should not get them until I had
told you my secret. I wanted you to be unbiased."

"As if anything they could contain would bias me
against you, Philip," Constance said indignantly, "and
please will you see about dinner. It is seven o'clock, and
we have had nothing to eat since breakfast. We have been
accustomed to starvation, but it is rather hard to starve in
the land of plenty."

" I had forgotten all about dinner, but now you remind
me of it I do feel hungry. I will tell them to send up any-
tliing they may have at once. I will be back in a quarter
of an hour."

A HIDDEN FOE.

997

CHAPTER XX.

By the time Philip returned the dinner was on th*? table,
and Constance and Madame Duport v re downstairs.

Philip went up to the latter and kissed her affection-
ately.

" I am glad," she said, " I am sure you will make her
happy, Mr. Clitheroe."

" Philip, if you please, madame. I am going to be a
sort of son-in-law to you, and I am not going to be called
Mr. Clitheroe any longer."

" Where are the letters, Philip," Constance said, hold-
ing out her hand, " I am sure there must be some for me."

" There arc three," Philip said, calmly, " and one is a
bulky one ; but as we are all famishing I am sure they will
keep very well until we have finished."

" He is beginning to tyrannize already, Annette," Con-
stance said, as she seated herself at table. " This is what
comes of a girl being won too easily."

The meal was not a long one, and when the cloth was
removed and the waiter had left the room, Philip took out
from his pocket a bulky packet and handed it to Constan"'*

" That is not the one I meant," she said, as she glanc
at the address, " that is from Mr. Harbut, and is all about
business. As that is all settled now, it will keep very well.
I want the other two first."

" I want you .to read this first, dear. I have a particular
reason for it."

Constance took the letter dutifully, and opened it. It
contained two enclosures, the one a sealed letter, the other
a folded sheet. Constance first read Robert Harbut's let-
ter, and then, without speaking, turned to the open enclo-
sure and read it. A tear fell on to the paper.

" Oh, Philip," she said, " it is horrible to think how I
spoke to you that night, and to know that while I was
accusing you of every bad sort of thing, you had gener-
ously given up everything to me. Oh, Annette, this paper

:-*

99«

A HIDDEN FOE,

is a deed which Philip signed before he left England, say-
ing that being absolutely convinced that 1 was the lawful
heiress of Corbyn Court, he had relinquished his claim to
that property and made it over absolutely to me. Why
did you not tell me so at once, Philip? not that I should
have taken it, I never wanted llie estates. I thought it
was very hard that you should be deprived of them, and I
told Mr. Harbut that in any case 1 should wish you to
have Corbyn Court and most of the estates, for that I should
not be happier for having them. Not so happy, indeed,
for I should be alone amongst strangers, and I only
wanted enough to enable Annette and her husband to live
without working, and to have enough to live comfortably
all my life. Why did you not tell me, sir?"

" Perhaps it was because I was too hurt or too pained
to defend myself at the time, Constance, and since then it
would have seemed as if I wanted to win your love by
making you my debtor. Besides, dear, you know that we
did not speak till the night we were wrecked, and after
that we had other things to think of, and at one time it did
not seem likely that the disposition of the property would
make any difference to either of us. Then when we had
once reached Batavia, and I knew that I must tell you
sooner or later what it was that, as it seemed to me, would
prevent me from ever again asking you to become my
wife, I was still more anxious that you should not know
of the deed I had signed until we had settled that point
between us. You could hardly look at the matter fairly
had you known of it. It seemed to me that it never could
be, and yet had you known of this deed, it would have
made it impossible for you to look at the question fairly.
I wanted you to take me, if you did take me, from love
and not from gratitude. So even had you thought of the
letters when we arrived yesterday, I should have asked you
not to send for them for the present."

" You must have had a pretty idea of me," Constance
said, half laughing, half crying, "to think that I was going
to throw away my happiness — to say nothing of yours —
because somebody else had done wrong. However, I am
glad you did not tell me, dear. I am glad that I did not
know about this deed until we quite understood each other.
Now, am I to open this other enclosure next ? Mr. Harbut
only says that Mr. Ferris had given it to him with the
request that he would forward it to me at once."

A HIDDEN i'OE,

S99

" I think you had better open it, Constance. I believe
that it is from my mother, and it is written in consequence
of one that I wrote to her the day I left England."

Constance opened it with nervous hands. It ran as fol-
lows : —

** Miss Corbyn— My son Philip has written me a
strongly-worded letter, and has, he tells me, been weak
enough to sign a deed making over the Corbyn estates to
you on the ground that he has asccitained beyond doubt
that you are the lawful heiress. What can have induced
him to come to that decision I know not, nor is it material ;
after the step he has taken nothing appears to me material.
One can fight a game against circumstances, but one cannot
fight against human foolishness. My son requests, in words
which convey a distinct threat, but which I own I do not
understand, that I will give you every assistance in my
power to esta))lish your legal position. As he has already
placed you in possession of the estates, I see no reason to
abstain from doing so.

" There are some, perhaps, who would think that I have
acted wrongly, but I am in no way ashamed of myself. My
brother Algernon, by his miserable weakness in shrinking
from avowing the marriage, gave Philip the right to con-
sider himself as his heir. I have regarded him so, and so
has everyone else, and I consider that to place another in
his position was a distinct and cruel wrong to him, a wrong
which there was nothing whatever to justify. Upon the
day before his death, your father related to me the story of
his marriage, told me of your existence, and said that he was
about to proceed to France to bring you home and install
you at the Court j,s his heiress. I was naturally and right-
fully indignant, and left no doubt on the mind of my brother
Algernon of my opinion of his conduct.

" The next day his body was brought into my house.
Among the letters in his pocket was a copy of the registry
of his marriage. That copy I burnt. At the time I did so
I had no distinct idea of depriving you of your rights. I
imagined that among my brother's papers there would be
documents found relating to his marriage, andtliat he would
at any rate have taken the natural precaution of furnishing
you, or the persons you lived with, with a copy of your
mother's certificate. But Algernon was always a weak
man, and did things in a half-hearted way, and had never

300

/t IlinDEN /'OK.

Ii I

l\' 3

taken even ordinary precautions to place you in a position
to prove your claim should anything happen to him.
Perhaps, for a time he had not made up his mind whether
he should ever produce you or not.

•* At any rate, I soon found that no proofs of such :i
marriage had been found among his papers. That some docu-
ment or other probably alluding to your existence had
been found, I was convinced by the manner of my son.
Knowing full well that he would be likely to take a quixotic
view of the affair, I then determined to defend his rights
to the utmost, and to prevent the daughter of a village
schoolmaster taking her place as mistress of the old home
of the Corbyns, and to insure my son's retaining possession
of it. That in doing so I was not acting according to what
ordinary people think right, troubled me very little. I was
defending my son's rights, and the honor of tiie family.

" To him this property meant everything ; to you it could
mean little or nothing. I knew that Philip, once aware of
the existence of even an illegitimate daughter of his uncle,
would be ready at once to offer her an allowance. That
would have enabled you to live as you had been brought
up, comfortably at St. Malo, and to marry in accordance
with that bringing up, while your position as mistress of
Corbyn Court after such a bringing up would be at once
uncomfortable and ridiculous. Therefore, I considered
myself justified — I still consider myself justified — in doing
my best to prevent your attaining that false position. I at
once set detectives to work, and soon found that the family
lawyer had been over to St. Malo, and had seen you, and
shortly afterwards that you had come to London. Then I
saw, in the first place, that you had no proofs whatever of
your birth, for if so, formal notices would have been given
to my son immediately after the lawyer went over, and, in
the second place, that you were dangerous. There was
but one thing to be done, and I did it without hesitation.

" I believed that you could not possibly know the church
at which your father was married ; had you done so, Mr.
Ferris would at once have gone there and obtained a copy
of the certificate. I determined, therefore, to lose not a
single day in destroying the proof. It was a crime, you
will say, an offence against the law. No doubt, but that
did not deter me for a moment. Philip's fortime was at
stake, and improbable as it seemed to me that you could

A ninnEN lot.

J»»

ever find out where this marriage was performed, ii was
better to make the matt*^ •■ safe. I went down to Folkestone
and found tluit the leaf of the register had already been
abstracted. There .vcre, so far as 1 knew, only two persons
who could know of its existence. My brother Algernon,
and the man who had signed as a witness, one Morson, who
I remember Algernon once speaking of as having been a
college servant, and who had two or three times travelled
with him on the Continent.

** I was sure that it was not my brother Algernon who
had abstracted the register. He had his faults, hut he was
not a man to take energetic actionof any kind. I therefore
made up my mind that it was Morson, ascertained after
three moiiths* delay his address in Australia, and wrote to
him offering him a payment of five hundred a year so long
as he refused to answer all questions respecting the mar-
riage of my brother. That letter was only sent off a fort-
night ago. I should have paid the money from my own
income, as Clitheroe is mine until my death, subject to a
certain yearly payment to my son. A week since I learned
that you were on the point of starting for Australia, two
days after I received the letter from my son saying that he
had made over all his rights in your favor, and I have now
learned from our lawyer that he has gone out in the same
ship in which you travel. But Mr. Ferris tells me that he
was ignorant of your being on board, and that he took
passage in that ship at his suggestion.

" After what has happened there is nothing more to be
said or done. In accordance with my son's request, made
in a manner which, as I have said, I do not understand,
I send you Morson's address, which cannot, I have
reason to believe, be known to you, and which you might
search for a long time in vain. He is living at Ash Farm,
near Brisbane. Whether he will give you any information
I cannot say, but from what I have learnt of this man, I
should imagine he will not do so unless he is well paid for
it. It is possible that my son and you may have recog-
nized each other on the voyage. I hear from my lawyer
that it is his intention also to search for Morson. If you
arrive there together the man may see that with the two
claimants before him his secret is no longer worth money.

" If my son and you have not recognized each other, and
the man refuses to give you information or to sell you the

302

A HIDDEN FOE.

certificate, your best course will be to find my son, who
took passage under the plebeian name of Samuel Brown —
although why he should have chosen such a name is more
than I can say — and get him to accompany you to Mor-
son's.

" I do not know that I have anything more to say. I have
carried out my son's wishes, and have given you all the
information in my power. You think me no doubt a very
bad woman. I am in no way ashamed of what I have done,
and only regret that I have failed owing to the inconceiv-
able weakness of my son.

Augusta Clitheroe."

Constance read it through twice, and then sat for a
moment or two twisting it mechanically round her fingers.

" Well, Constance," Philip said at last, " what is it ?
What does she say ? You are keeping me on tenter-hooks,
can't I read the letter ? "

" That is just what lam thinking, Philip ; I don't know
whether you had belter see it or not. It is a funny letter,
you see," and a smile crossed her face, " and I like it much
better than if it had been written in a different way. She
just tells the whole story, dear, and says that she did it
for your sake, and that she is not a bit ashamed of having
done it, and that she thinks you very weak, but lliat as you
have given the whole thing up it is of no use her fight-
ing any longer. And then she sends Morson's address,
which she supposes is what you meant when you enjoined
her to do what she could to aid me to prove the marriage.
I don't know, Philip, that it would be the least good for
you to read it through ; still you can see it, of course, i^
you want to, although I dare say it will annoy you,
although it has not annoyed me at all."

" Oh, I had better read it," Philip said, " and have done
with it. I shall only be wondering and bothering myself
over it. I promise you to put it all out of mind as far as
I can. So I had better read it now, and have done with
it."

Constance handed him the letter. He read it, and gave
it back with a rueful laugh.

" I don't believe any woman before ever wrote such a
letter to another whom she had done her best to wiong."

" It is straightforward and honest," Constance said,
" and a thousand times better, Philip, than if it had been

A HIDDEN FOE,

303

hypocritical and double-faced. Your mother has done us
both an immense service, and we ought to feel very grate-
ful to her."

** How on earth do you make that out ? "
" Well, if it had not been for her, you would never have
come out in the Mandalay. You would never have come
out at all. I should have succeeded at last, though with
a good deal more difficulty and at a much higher price, in
getting the certificate from Morson. Then I should h-'.ve
appeared as the heiress, and you would have at once recog-
nized my rights. I know quite well you would have refused
any proposal for the division of the estate, you would
never have come to care for me, and if you had, you would
never have said so. Altogether, Philip, your mother's
interference has turned out most happily for both of us."
" Well, I suppose it has," Philip admitted. " But "

We won't have any buts, Philip. 1 am perfectly happy
to-night, and I do not want to have a single unpleasant
thought of anyone. I have not a shadow of malice against
your mother, and I like her all the better for that letter."

As Annette had gone quietly out of the room directly
she saw that the conversation was turning upon Philip's
mother, Philip was able to answer Constance in a manner
satisfactory to both parties.

When she returned, half an hour later, Philip said, " I
want your support, Madame Duport. I have been trying
to persuade Constance that the best plan in every way will
be for us to be married at once. It will get rid of all sorts
of difficulties, and then you see if we are wrecked again on
our way back I shall be the better able to take charge of
her."

" I am sure, Annette," Constance urged, " that it will
be by far the nicest way for me to go back with you to St.
Malo, and for him to come over there to fetch me. Besides,
we do not want to be staying here, and it will be impos-
sible to be married in such a hurry as that."

But Constance did not, as she expected, find an ally in
Annette.

" I think, my dear, that it will be very much better for
you to be married at once. I have been thinking so as I
was sitting upstairs. I see no reason whatever against it.
You can get anything you want here just as well — indeed
a great deal better — than you could at St. Malo. You do

3«H

A JiJDDEK FOK.

% ^

' xC*llH

' \

i ■

: :

■1

■

!■

\ '. f

not want a great trousseau, you can get all that afterwards.
If you did not get married here I should say that it would
certainly be best that Mr. Clitheroe " — " Philip," the young
man put in — " that Philip should not go back to England
in the same ship with you. People would talk on board,
and it would be soon seen how matters stood between you,
and it would be pleasanter in all ways that you should go
man and wife. I should say the same thing if you were
my own daughter."

" But the steamer will sail, Philip says, in ten days' time,
Annette," Constance urged.

" Very well, my dear, that will give us plenty of time to
make all the arrangements, oceans of time."

And so Constance had no further excuse for resistance,
and was indeed at heart grateful to Annette for having sided
against her, and when the steamer sailed ten days after-
wards the names of Mr. and Mrs. Clitheroe and Madame
Duport were among the list of first-class passengers.

Hilda Leicester was spending the morning with Miss
Peyton, in South Audley-street.

** I do wonder why we have not heard from Constance
again," the old lady said.

*• I don't think there could possibly be time, aunt. You
know when she wrote from Melbourne she said she was just
starting for Brisbane, and that if she succeeded there she
should come back by the next steamer. Her letter from
Batavia, giving us a full account of that horrible time in the
boat, said that she was none the worse for it, so there is
nothing to worry about at all."

" I should not be surprised a bit," Miss Peyton said
positively, " if the next letter tells us that silly girl is going
to marry this man with the horrid name — this Mr. Sam
Brown. There is no doubt, I suppose, that it was owing
to him that the boat and those who were left alive in her
got to Batavia, and you saw how she spoke of his bravery
and the care he had taken of her and Madame Duport.
And in her last letter she mentioned, in a casual sort of
way, that this Mr. Brown had come on to Melbourne with
them, and that his destination was also Brisbane. It was
the casual way that was suspicious, Hilda. The moment
I read that sentence I said ' this unfortunate girl has fallen
in love with this man.' This is what comes of trapesing
about the world. I had made up my mind all along that

J HIDDEN FOE.

303

lat afterwards,
that it would
lip," the young
clc to England
alk on board,

I between you,
^o\\ should go
g if you were

en days' time,

nty of time to

or resistance,
r having sided
n days after-
and Madame
iengers.
ig with Miss

)m Constance

le, aunt. You
d she was just
led there she
:r letter from
)le time in the
t, so there is

Peyton said
' girl is going
lis Mr. Sam
it was owing
: alive in her
f his bravery
ame Duport.
isual sort of
Ibourne with
me. It was
The moment
:irl has fallen

cf trapesing

II along that

the only possible satisfactory ending to all this business
would be that she should marry her cousin, which would
have made matters comfortable all round, and now she
takes up with a man with such a name as Sam Brown, and
one knows at once what sort of man anyone with a name
like that must be."

" I am sure, aunt," Hilda said indignantly, " that Con-
stance would not fall in love with any one but a gentle-

>»

man.

" Not under ordinary circumstances, Hilda, I am quite
ready to admit that, but you see these are not ordinary
circumstances. A girl is thrown for three weeks with a
man in a boat, he is kind and attentive, he defends her and
shoots down people ; he is a hero in her eyes. She says
to herself what if he does drop his h*s and if his grammar
is a little shakey ; what are such trifles as these in compa-
rison- to a true heart. Why the man's very defects tell in
his favor with a girl like Constance," and Miss Peyton
rubbed her nose violently.

The door opened and the servant entered with an orange-
colored envelope.

" I hate telegrams, my dear," Miss Peyton said, taking
it. " In nine cases out of ten they bring you no pleasant
news, in fact in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Either
somebody is ill, or at the last moment cannot come to
dinner, and there is a vacant chair that it is too late to fill
up, or the friends whom you are starting that afternoon to
stay with have got measles in the family, or the dressmaker
has fallen downstairs and cannot send home the gown you
had depended upon. Telegrams are a mistake altogether,
my dear."

" Well, aunt, you may as well see whether this is an
exception."

Miss Peyton opened the envelope.

"Just what I expected, my dear, the very thing I ex-
pected. Constance has married this Sam Brown."

Hilda uttered an exclamation of dismay, for she too
had shared to some extent in her aunt's opinions.

" What does she say, aunt ? "

" Brindisi. My husband and myself and Annette are
coming straight back. Proofs of mother's marriage ob-
tained; everything satisfactory. Shall come direct to

$o6

A HIDDEN FOE.

b ^^

town, leave luggage at hotel, and drive straight to fee you.
Will telegraph from Dover."

" There, my dear, she has done for herself for good and
all," and Miss Peyton handed the telegram to Hilda.

Miss Leicester looked at it, clapped her hands suddenly,
and gave a cry of delight.

" What in the world is the matter with you, child ? "

" You did not not read the upper part, aunt. Don't
you see it is to Miss Peyton from Constance Clitheroe.
She has married her cousin after all. You know, aunt,
Robert told me he was going out in the same ship with
her."

" That must be a mistake, my dear, altogether," Miss
Peyton said. " She has never said a word about her
cousin in any of her 'letters ; and if he had been on board
of course she would have mentioned it. No ; Constance
has evidently had her head so full of these business affairs
that she has, without thinking what she was doing, written
Clitheroe instead of Brown, and small blame to her.
Besides, you know the list of passengers in that unfortu-
nate steamer was published with the accounts of the wreck,
and there was no such name as Clitheroe among them.
Do not buoy yourself with any false hope. Constance
Corbyn has become Mrs. Sam Brown, and a most lament-
able affair it is. Well, my dear, as soon as I get the
telegram saying they are at Dover, I will send off to you
and Robert to come and meet them here, for I am sure I
shall never be able to welcome her and this Mr. Sam
Brown with decent warmth. I am disappointed in Con-
stance, altogether disappointed."

" Well, aunt, we must hope that Mr. Brown is a very good
fellow in spite of his name. I have great faith in Con-
stance, and cannot believe she would have married anyone
that wasn't nice."

" He was a second-class passenger, Hilda. I looked
particularly in the list when Constance wrote about him."

" Well, aunt, she was a second-class passenger, too, and
I am sure she is nice, so there is no reason why he should
not be."

Four days later Miss Peyton received the expected
telegram. As it was this time sent from " Constance " to
Miss Peyton, she had no means of proving the correctness
of the conviction she had expressed that the girl had

A HIDDEN FOE,

nstance " to

signed the wrong name by mistake, and she and her niece
awaited the arrival of the party in South Audley Street
with anxiety and impatience.

Robert Harbut had some difficulty in repressing a smile
as he listened to Miss Peyton's lamentations over the folly
of her prot6g6. As soon as he had received a letter from
Hilda, giving the contents of the telegram, and Miss
Peyton's conviction and her own that Constance had
married the Mr. Brown who had been a companion in the
boat that reached Batavia after so much suffering, then he
seized his hat and rushed down to see James Ferris.

The latter, as soon as he heard the news, gave a shout
of exultation.

" Hurrah, Bob, it has come all right, and the very idea
of sending Philip in the same ship she was going by has
set everything straight. I felt sure that things were going
all right when I read the account of the wreck and saw
that he was in the same boat with the girl, and that they
had gone through all sorts of hardships together, and that
he had put down a mutiny and had been wounded. I felt
sure then how it would be, and so it has turned out. Well,
this is a happy ending to the affair. You see she says she
has obtained the proofs of her mother's marriage, so that
in fact she gives him Corbyn Court instead of him giving
it to her. Upon my word that plan of mine of sending
them out together to Australia was the happiest idea that
ever occurred to me."

" I shall not say a word about it in Audley-street,"
Robert Harbut said when their first excitement had calmed
down. " Hilda and the old lady are evidently in a great
stew about it. It will be the best fun in the world seeing
Miss Peyton try and make up her mind to be civil to Sam
Brown. I won't tell Hilda, because I am quite sure she
could not keep the secret from her aunt." And so Robert
Harbut derived intense amusement from the conversation
of the two ladies as they awaited the arrival of the party
from Australia.

"There is the cab," Miss Peyton said at last, as a
vehicle was heard to drive up to the door.

" Now, Hilda, we must really try our best not to let the
poor girl see how disappointed we are in her, and I do
hope I shall be able to endure her husband whatever he
may be like." '

3o5

A HIDDKK' FOR,

tiii^!

The door opened and Constance entered first, and run-
ning up to Miss Peyton threw her arms round her neck.

" Welcome back, Constance. Welcome back, my dear.
I heartily congratulate you."

Constance then turned to Hilda, who had while the
embrace was taking place glanced at the gentleman who
had followed Constance into the room, and had instantly
assured herself that she and her aunt had formed an
altogether erroneous impression of Mr. Sam Brown, and
that he was not only a gentleman but a very good-looking
one.

As soon as she had greeted Hilda and shaken hands
warmly with Robert Harbut, Constance turned to Miss
Peyton.

" Miss Peyton, this is my husband, Philip Clitheroe."

But Miss Peyton had already recognized the young man
she had seen at Bath, and was standing in stupefied
astonishment.

" But, Constance," she stammered, " I thought," and
she paused.

"You thought what. Miss Peyton?" Constance asked
in surprise at her manner.

" Miss Peyton thought that you had married Mr. Sam
Brown," Robert Harbut said gravely, heedless of an indig-
nant " Robert ! " from Hilda.

" SvO I did marry Sam Brown," Constance said with a
merry laugh. ** We both sailed under false names, Miss
Peyton. I was Miss Renan, you know, and Philip was
Mr. Sam Brown. I knew him from the first, but he had no
idea that I was Constance Corbyn, or knew that Constance
Corbyn was a fellow passenger of his, until after he had
asked me to marry him."

Miss Peyton now recovered herself and held out both
her hands to Philip. " I am glad, Mr. Clitheroe, more glad
than I can say. This was what seemed to me the best
thing that could happen from the moment when Constance
first told me her story, but when she wrote to me about
what this fellow passenger of hers had done for her, and it
was not very difficult for me to discover what she thought of
him, I was afraid my hopes that way had failed altogether."

" But, Miss Peyton, I thought my telegram would have
told you. I sent it from Constance Clitheroe."

" Yes, my dear, but I thought your wits had gone wool-
gathering, and that you had been thinking so much of the

A HIDDEN FOE.

309

nstance asked

impleasantness of having to turn your cousin out of his
estate that you had put in his name by accident instead of
your new one."

In the meantime Hilda had turned indignantly upon
Robert Harbut.

" Do you mean to say, Robert, that you have known all
along that Philip Clitheroe and Mr. Brown were the same
person, and that you kept me in the dark about it? "

" Not all the time, Hilda. Ferris had never mentioned
to me the name Clitheroe had booked under, and though
I guessed how it was directly you read me the telegram,
it was not until I went to see him that I found that Sam
Brown and Philip Clitheroe were one and the same man ;
but it was too funny listening to your joint lamentations to
enlighten you until the time came."

" I am extremely angry with you, sir. You might have
told me if you did not think fit to tell my aunt."

** You know very well you could not have kept the secret,
Hilda."

" I could, sir. I can hold my tongue just as well as you
can."

" Perhaps you can, Hilda, but your eyes would have
told it for you. Miss Peyton would have learnt it five
minutes after you had been in the room with her."

By this time. Miss Peyton was warmly shaking hands
with Annette, while Constance introduced Philip to Hilda
and Robert Harbut.

" I owe you both so much," Philip said. "Constance
has told me how great your kindness has been to her.
Indeed, I don't know what she would have done if it had
not been for you both."

After a general conversation for some time, Constance
drew Robert Harbut aside.

" Mr. Harbut, I want to add to my obligations to you by
asking you to get this sent down to the Bath papers.
Philip knows nothing about it, and I have written it myself.
You know how ill-natured people are, and although we
know how false it is, there are people who might say that
Philip married me to keep Corbyn Court. So I have written
this. I wish you would look through it and alter anything
that you think badly worded, and put it into the bost shape,
Aad send it down as from yourself."

3IO

A HIDDEN FOE,

" I shall be glad to do so, Mrs. Clitheroe. I think your
idea is a very good one, and I will see that it is carried
out."

Bath was two days later astonished by a paragraph which
appeared in the various local papers.

"A Romantic Marriage. Truth Stranger than
Fiction. A marriage was solemnized on the 21st of June
at Sydney, New South Wales, which will come as a surprise
to Bath and its neighborhood. Upon that day Mr. Philip
Clitheroe was united in marriage to Miss Constance
Corbyn, only daughter and heiress of the late Mr. Algernon
Corbyn, of Corbyn Court. To our readers it will be a
matter of news that Mr. Corbyn was married, but the event
took place nineteen years ago, during his father's lifetime.
His wife dying in childbirth at St. Malo, in France, Mr.
Corbyn thought it better for various reasons not to make
the marriage public until his daughter was of an age to take
her place as his heiress at Corbyn Court. She was most
carefully brought up and educated abroad, and Mr. Corbyn
was actually on his way to fetch her home when the sad
accident occurred which terminated his life. Some evi-
dence as to the marriage being found by Mr. Clitheroe
among the late Mr. Corbyn's papers, he devoted himself
to the search for legal proofs of the marriage that would
place his cousin in her proper position as mistress of
Corbyn Court. Finding that one of the witnesses to the
ceremony was alive in Australia, Mr. Clitheroe determined
himself to go out there to obtain the requisite proofs, leav-
ing before he started a deed with his lawyer assigning his
life interest in the Corbyn estates to his cousin, and stating
that he was morally certain that a marriage had been duly
solemnized between her mother and his uncle.

•' Unknown to him, Miss Corbyn was herself going out to
Australia with the same object, under the charge of the
lady by whom she had been brought up. This circum-
stance was, however, known to Mr. Clitheroe's lawyer, who
conceived the happy idea that it would bring about by far
the most pleasant termination of the business were the
two young people to come together, and it was upon his
advice that Mr. Clitheroe took a passage on board the
same ship with her. Both parties being desirous that the
matter should be kept private until their investigat'ons

A HIDDEN FOE.

3»»

I think TOUT
t it is carried

ragraph which

SANGER THAN

e 2istof June
I as a surprise
lay Mr. Philip
5s Constance
Mr. Algernon

it will be a

but the event

her's lifetime.

France, Mr.
not to make
in age to take
>he was most
i Mr. Corbyn
'hen the sad
Some evi-
^r. Clitheroe
oted himself

that would

mistress of
lesses to the

determined
proofs, leav-
ssigning his
, and stating
d been duly

?oing out to
arge of the
his circum-
awyer, who
bout by far
s were the
s upon his
board the
us that the
estigftt'Ions

were concluded, took their passages under assumed names.
The desired result was attained. Mr. Clitheroe fell in love
with Miss Corbyn without having the slightest idea that he
was her cousin, and the terrible wreck of the Aden, which
will be fresh upon the memory of our readers, brought the
affair to a climax. The Mr. Brown who so distinguished
himself in the conflict with the mutineers in the open boat
was Mr. Clitheroe, and among the ladies who owed their
lives to his bravery was his cousin.

" The eclaircissement duly took place, and Mr. Clitheroe
and Miss Corbyn found that their marriage settled the
question of the ownership of Corbyn Court without further
trouble. Their search for the witness of the marriage
proved successful, and it was found to have taken place at
the Parish Church, Folkestone, being duly recorded in the
register of that church.

" Our readers will agree with us that a stranger and more
romantic marriage seldom came about, and Mr. and Mrs.
Clitheroe are alike to be congratulated upon an event
which, it must be admitted, was of all others the most suit-
able and satisfactory. We understand that Mr. Clitheroe
and his wife will shortly come down to take possession of
Corbyn Court."

The same post that took down this notice for the news-
papers carried a letter from Philip Clitheroe to his mother.
It was the joint production of himself and Constance, this
being necessitated by the fact that he had written and torn
up a dozen letters and given the task up as hopeless when
she came to his assistance. It was short and to the
point : —

'* My Dear Mother,— Your letter to Constance came
duly to hand. We both say let bygones be bygones, and let
us start as if the last six months had been wiped out. We
both know that what you did was done from your love of me,
and Constance is quite of opinion that this would justify
almost anything. When we meet, therefore, let there be no
allusion to the past, certainly no allusion will ever be made
to it by either of us. Happily I shall still be joint owner
of Corbyn Court, though not in the manner you had
thought, and everything has turned out for the very best,
and indeed Constance asserts that it could never have
come about had it not been that we were both driven by

313 A HIDDEN FOE,

circumitances to go out to Australia. We intend to come

down this day week to Corbyn Court, and both sincerely

hope that we shall find you there to welcome us. Wc shall

be accompanied by Miss Peyton, Miss Leicester, and Mr.

Harbut, who have very gratefully befriended Constance,

and their presence will help to smooth away any little

stiffness that might otherwise attend our meeting."

There was, however, no stiffness beyond that natural to

her, in the manner in which Mrs. Clitheroe received her

son and his wife on their arrival at Corbyn Court. She

had during the previous week received the warm congratu-
lations of her numerous acquaintances, and had led them

to believe, without absolutely saying so, that she had from

the first been aware of her brother's marriage, and that

everything had turned out precisely as she had anticipated.

" My greatest regret in the affair is that I think it
probable that my son will take the name of Corbyn. It is,
of course, an older one in the country than our own, but
it will nevertheless be a matter of regret tome that the heir
to my husband's estates should not bear his name, but
perhaps that difhculty may be got over hereafter."

Notwithstanding the manner of their reception, Miss
Peyton expressed to her niece her renewed conviction that
Mrs. Clitheroe, senior, was a detestable woman ; and when
two days later she announced her intention of leaving for
Clitheroe, where she had business that rendered her
presence necessary, there was a perceptible feeling of relief
among the party at Corbyn Court.

It may here be said that although the Dowager Mrs.
Clitheroe always publicly expressed herself in terms of
strong affection for her daughter-in-law, and of complete
satisfaction at the turn events had taken, she spent but a
small portion of her time at Corbyn Court, where it must
be owned that her society was but little missed, even by

A HIDDEN FOE,

•3^

intend to come

both sincerely

; us. We shall

:ester, and Mr.

led Constance,

iway any Utile

leting."

that natural to

! received her

n Court. She

^arm congratu-
had led them

t she had from

iage, and that

id anticipated.

»at I think it

Corbyn. It is,

our own, but

e that the heir

lis name, but

ifter."

ception, Miss

3nviction that

m ; and when

of leaving for

rendered her

eling of relief

)owager Mrs.
in terms of
of complete
spent but a
'here it must
sed, even by

her son. Madame Duport returned to St. Malo. She
obstinately refused to accept the income which Philip and
Constance pressed upon her.

" We were earning enough to keep us comfortably. As
you know, my dear, Victor would feel lost without his
teaching, and now that you have gone, I shall want to
have lodgers to look after to give me something to do.
Victor and I will, as you say, come over once a year, when
it is holiday time in the schools and out of the season for
visitors, and stay with you for a month, and you know how
pleased we shall be if you can run over sometimes and pay
us a little visit at St. Malo, but as for taking money from
my child, it is not to be thought of."

But when five years later Annette lost her husband, she
disposed of her house at St. Malo and came over to live
at Corbyn Court, where she was installed'as supreme head
of the nursery, declining altogether to yield to the earnest
entreaty of Constance and Philip that she should take the
position of their friend and guest.

** No, my dear," she said, " I shall be much more com-
fortable in my proper place. When you are quite alone I
will often take my breakfast with you, but I do not like
your late dinners, with your men behind the chairs. When
we are in the nursery you will be my Constance again, but
it would be unpleasant for me to be mixing with your grand
friends."

It was some little time before Robert Harbut succeeded
in convincing solicitors that he was not so young as he
looked, but having at length a chance given him, he did so
well that he rose in his profession rapidly, and is now a
leading member of the Midland Circuit. His marriage
with Hilda Leicester came off very shortly after the return
to England of Constance and Philip. Mr. and Mrs. Har-
but and Miss Peyton, who is now a very old lady, are still

A HIDDEN FOE,

the dearest and closest friends of the Clithcroes, for Philip
did not ciiange his name, but it is understood that his
eldest boy will upon coming of age add the name of Corby n
to his own.

THE END.

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