Papers Past | Newspapers | Bruce Herald | 15 June 1865 (2025)

HENRY DUNBAR.

By the Author of 1 Aurora Floyd,? '• Lady Audley's Secret,' &c, &c. {Continued Jropn, pur last.)

CHIPTEH XIV.

:, . JVEargayeVa Jptmiey. ; ... . .'Joseph; Wilmot V repeated Margaret, slowly. She had always known, her father by the. • name : of James >, Wentworth ; but ;^hat: -more ; ilikely than that Wilmot was ; his real, name? She had. good reason to suspect that; Weht^orth was a false one; ■ ; - . : ' I'li lend you* a ; newspaper,'. Mrs. Austin said, good naturedly, .' if you .really want to learn, the particulars of this murder.! : ' I -d 0.,, if you please/ . ■ • . ' Mrs : Austin took- a weekly .paper, : from -amongst some others that were scattered upon :a ; side table. . She . folded up this paper and; handed it ; to Margaret. . '■ 'CJtive Miss Wentworth a glass of wine, mother,' • exclaimed Clement Austin ; 'I'm sure all this talk about the murder has upsether.' : ' No, : no, indeed!' Margaret answered, ' I would rather not take anything*. l want i to. ge,t :home quickly. Good evening", .Mrs Austin.' ;'. -„; ■ .. . ■■" She. tried to .say something more, but her ; voice failed her. She had been in the habit of shaking hands with Mrs. Austin and Clement when she left them ; and -the cashier had always accompanied her to the gate, and had sometimes lingered with her there in. the dusk, prolonging', some conversation that had; been begun, in the drawing-room : but to-night she hurried frpm the room, before the widow could remonstrate: with her^ Clement followed her into the. hall.. ; 'Miss 'Vy'entvyo.rth,' he said, ; 'I know that something has agitated you. .Pray return to the drawingvroom, and stop 'with us until you are more composed.' :• f : No -T- no —^ no !' .._ • : .'Let me see you.home,'then-1?.- ----: *Oh ! no I; no 1' she cried, as the. youngman barred her passage to the door; 'for pity's sake don't 'detain me, .Mr Austin ; don; t detain vme,, or. follow me!' . <• . She ..passtep. -by him, ; and hurried, out of the house^jCHe followed her to the gate, and watched .her. disappear in the. twilight and then went back to the drawing-room; sighing, heavily as he went. ... F. I have, no right to, follow. her against her own wish,' he .said to , himself. / .'She has given me no right to : interfere wiph her;- or to think of. her, for the matter of that.' \. . ;-' . : : , ■' „ . , He threw himself , into a chair, and took tip a newspaper,;, but he. did not read half a dozen, lines. . He sat with his eyes fixed upon ; the , .page, : /before him, thinking of Margaret r/ ' Popr • girl !' he said to himself, presently; 'poor,, lonely girl ! She. is too pure and beautiful for the hard struggles of this, world.' .. . „ ;*'..-". * ";.■..*;, *....*...* Margaret ■Wentworth. walked rapidly along the : rqad that led 'her back to Wands^ worth.. She, .held, the. folded newspaper ciutched tightly against her breast. It was ■;.. her. ( deathr warrant, perhaps. She ney ; e£ paused' or slackened her pace until she reached the lane leading down to the •W.ater.'..,, ....■-..■.,... ; : ..'.;.■■ • opened the gate of the simple cottage'garden—there was ho need of bolts or locks for the fortification of Godolphin Cottages— and went up to her own little sittihg^-rJom ;- the room in which her father had told her the] secret /of his life, — the room in which she. .had. sworn to remember the name of Henry Dunhar.. All was darkand quiet in the house, for the mistress of it:; was- elderly. and- old' fashioned in her ways ; and Margaret was accustomed to wait upon herself when she came home afte'r;nightfali.' _' ' , , i: Siie StrucVa lucifer, lighted her: can die, arid sat ; down with the newspaper in her haM-V She unfolded it, and examined the pijges. ; -Slip was not long finding what she wajited. " \ <& The Murder Latest afi."// otiij particulars y f[ ' : ' : '■ ' read?thathorriblestpiy^ ■^ u She ; read.;ttie newspaper fecorpl of the cruel deed that had been donerrr twice —slowly \and:delilje.r.ately, ;f Her eyes were teitrle% ,there^ desperate courage

heart, which seemed, like a block of ice in her breast. '1 swore to remember the name of Henry J) unbar, she said in a low, sombre voice.; ' I have good reason, to, remember it now:' ' ■'..' ■-. . . iFrpmthe first she had no doubt in her mmd—-f rom the first she had. but one idea: and that idea was a conviction. Her father had been murdered by his old master. The man Joseph Wilmot washer father : .the murderer was Henry Dunbar. , The newspaper record told how the murdered man had, according to his own account, met his brother at the Waterloo station upon' the afternoon pf the 16th of August. That was the very afternoon upon which James Wen c worth had left his daughter to go to London by rail. He had met his old master, the man who had so bitterly injured him ; the coldhearted scoundrel who had so cruelly betrayed Him. He nad been violent perhaps, and had threatened Henry Dunbar : and then-^— the rich man, treacherous and coldhearted in his age as in his youth, had beguiled his old valet by, a pretended friendship,' had lured him into a lonely place, ; and had there murdered him; in order that all the wicked secrets of the past might be buried with his victim. \ As to the robbery of the clothes— the rifling of the pocket-book— that, of course, was only a part of Henry Dunbar's deep laid scheme. The girl folded the paper and put it in her breast. It was a strange document to lie" against that virginal bosom : and the breast beneath it ached with a sick, cold pain, that was like the pain of death. ; Margaret took up her candle, and went into a neatly kept little room at the back of the house, — the room in which her father had always slept when he stayed in that house. § There was an old box, a battered and dilapidated hair trunk, with a worn rope knotted about it. The girl knelt down before the box, and put her candle on a chair beside it. Then with her slender fmg ; ers,she tried to unfasten the knots that secured the cord. This task was not an easy one, and her^fmgers ached before she had done. But she succeeded at last, and lifted the lid of the trunk. There were worn and shabby garments, tumbled and dusty, that had been thrown pell-mell into the box : there were broken meerschaum pipes, old newspapers, pale with .age, and with passages here and there marked by thick strokes in faded ink. A faint effluvium that arose from the mass of dilapidated rubbish — the weeds which the great ocean Time casts up upon the shore of the present— testified to the neighborhood of mice : and scattered about the. bottom of the box, amongst loose shreds of tobacco— -broken lumps of petrified caven^ dish— and scraps of paper, there were a few letters. . Margaret gathered together these letters, and examined them. Three of them— very old, faded, and flabby— were directed to ' Joseph Wilmot, care of the Governor of Norfolk Island,' in a prim, clerk-like hand. It was an ominous address. Margaret Wentworth bowed her head upon her knees and sobbed aloud. 'He had been very wicked,, and had need, of a long life of penitence,' she thought; 'but he has been murdered by Henry Dunbar.' There was no shadow of doubt now in her mind. She had in her own hand the conclusive proof of the identity between Joseph Wilmot and her father ; and to her this seemed quite enough to prove that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of his old servant. He had injured the [man ; and it was in the man's power to do him injury. He had resolved, therefore, to get ritl of this old accomplice, — -this dangerous witness of the past. This was how Margaret reasoned. That the ; crime committed in the quiet grove, near St. Cross, was an every-day deed, done for the most pitiful and sordid motives that can tempt a man to shed his brother's, blood, neyer for a moment entered into her thoughts. Qjbher people might thinlc this, in their ignorance of the story of the:past. ■-...•'■... At daybreak the next morning she left the house, after; giving: a very brief explanation of. her departure to' the old woman with whom she .lodged. -She took the firsts train,, to Winchester, and reached the ..station, two ; hours .before noon. , She had ;her,.whple ; stock .of money with ;her,i but nothingr eise. : HerudWiii Iwants, her.. own

necessities, had no place in her thoughts. Her errand was a fearful one ; for she went to tell so much as she knew of the story of the past, and to bear witness against Henry Dunbarl The railway official to whom she addressed herself at the Winchester station treated her with civility and' 'good-nature. The pale beauty of her pensive face won her friends wherever she went. It is very" hard upon pug-hosed merit and red-haired virtue wherever it is met, that a Grecian profile, or raven tresses, should be such a letter of introduction : but, unhappily, human nature is weak : and while beauty appeals straight to the eye of the frivolous, merit requires to be appreciated by the wise. 'If there is anything that I can dp for you, miss," the railway official said politely, ' I shall be very happy, I'm sure — ' 1 I want to know about the murder,' the girl answered, in a low, and very tremulous voice j ' the murder that was committed — ' 'Yes, miss, to be sure, evei'ybody in Winchester is talking* about it ; a most mysterious event ! But,' cried" the official, brightening suddenly, 'you ain't, .a witness, miss, are you? You do'nt know anything about — eh V He was quite excited at the bare idea that this pretty girl had something to say about the murder, and that he might have the privilege of introducing her to his fel-low-citizens. To know anybody who knew anything about the murder of Joseph Wilmot, was to occupy a post of some considerable distinction in Winchester just now. 'Yes,' Margaret said quietly, ' I want to give evidence against Mr. Henry Danbar.' The railway official started, and stared aghast. ' Evidence against Mr. Dunbar, miss/ he said ; why, Mr. Henry Dunbar was dismissed from custody only yesterday afternoon, and is going up to town by the express this night, and everybody in Winchester is full oi the shameful way in which he has been treated. Why, as far as that goes, there was.no more ground for suspecting Mr. Dunbar — not that has come out yet, at any rate — than there is. for suspecting me !' And the porter, snapped his fingers contemptuously. ' But if you know anything against Mr. Dunbar.. why, of course, that alcers the case, and it's yer bounden dooty, miss, togo before the magistrate directly-minute and make yer statement.' ■ The porter could hardly refrain from smacking his lips with an air of relish as he said this. Distinction had come to him unsought. ' Wait a minute, miss,' he said ; I'll go and ask lief to take you round to the magistrate's. You'll never find your way by yourself. The next up is'nt till 12.7—1 can be spared. The porter ran away, presented himself to a higher official, told his story, and obtained a brief leave of absence. Then he returned to Margaret. 'Now, miss,' he said, 'if you'll come along with me, I'll take you to Sir Arden Westhorpe's house. Sir Arden is the gentleman that has taken so much trouble with this case.' On the way . through the back-streets of the quiet ctty, the porter would fain 1 have extracted from Margaret all that she had: to tell. But the girl would reveal nothing : she only said that she wanted to bear witness against Henry Dunbar. : The porter, upon the other hand, was very communicative.' He told his companion what had happened at the adjourned examination. ' There was a deal of applause in the court when Mr. Dunbar was told he might consider" himself free,' said the porter ?.;but Sir Arden checked it ; there was no need for clapping of hands, he says, or for any thing but sorrow that such a wicked deed had been done, and that the cruel wretch as did it should escape. A young man as was in the court told me that them was Sir Arden's exack words.' : : ; ; : They had reached Sir Arden's house by. this -time. It was a very handsome house though it stood in a back street: and a grave man-servant, in- a linen jacket, admitted Margaret into the. oak-pahnelled; ■ hall.- :■ ■■ .• ■ ■ ..-< : v- ■: ■>;:- ;..^--i •She might have-had some : difficulty,: perhaps,: in seeing Sir; Arden^ .had^not <.;tne: railway, porter ; immediately v declared! ;her; Business. But the"name-.o£ the; murdered'

man was ajiasspbrt, and she rviras ushered at once into a low room, which was lined with book-she! yes, and opened into an oldfashioned garden; . •.■■■• '■ ■'■■) Here Sir Arden; Westhorpe, the magistrate, sat at a. table writing. He was^, an elderly man, with gray hair" and whiskers, and wi ( thi ' rather ,a , stern expression ,of countenance. But' he was^ a gpjpd just' man : and thbughC Henry, , Dun.ppr^blad been the Emperor of half.^urope,;ins|jea'^ of ah Anglo-Indian banker^ Sir would have committed' him .for trial, ( had he seen jiist cause for doing so. ;.'.,., . Margaret was in nowise abashed by the presence of the 'magistrate... She b.ad ,butj one thought' in her mmcl-—t he of her father's wrongs : ; aha .sh|B coufil have spoken freely in the presence of ra king.' ' ..... . '."- "'.'. -•■. :-=• 'I hope I am not too : sir, f /she said j I liave heard/ that Sir, ' ( I>s*nb»r has been discharged from custody,, I hope I am not too late to bear witness agains* . him. . , ".'. ■ . ■.';'■■, The magistrate looked up with, an expression of surprise. * That , will . depjend upon, circumstances/ hesaidj 'that is : to. say, 1 upon the nature of the statement' which you. may have to make. r , The magistrate , summoned his $erk from an adjoining room, and tb.en; he prdceed.ed to take down -the girl's ' infor-i mation. ' „-; But he shook his head doubtfully when Margaret, had told him all she had to tell. That which to the impulsive^ girl' seemed proof positive of Henry iDuribar's guilt,' was very little when written down in, a business-like manner by Sir Arden Westhorpe's clerk. ; .' ..'.'/'' 1 You know your unhappy father to have been injured by Mr. Dunbar, and you think that he may have been in the possession of secrets of a damaging nature to that gentleman, but you do not know what those secrets were. My poor girl I Cannot possibly move in this business upon such evidence as this. The police are at work. This matter will not be alloweid to' pass off without the closest investigation, believe, me. I shall take care to have your statement placed in the hands of the detective officer who is entrusted with 'the conduct of this affair. We must wait : we must wait. I cannot bring myself to; believe that Henry Dunbar has been guilty of this iearful crime. He is rich enougbi to have bribed your father to keep silence, if he had any reason to fear what he might say. Money is a very powerful agent, aiid can buy almost anything. It is rarely that a man with almost unlimited wealth at his command, finds himself compelled to commit- an act of violence.* The magistrate read aloud Margaret? Wilmot's deposition, and the girl- signed: it in the presence of the clerk : she sighed it with her father's real name: the name; T that she had never written before uiiftl '. that day. : -.;■■-. Then, having given the magistrate the address of her Wandsworth lodging* : shia L bade him good-morning,' and went onfe into the unfamiliar street, Nothing that Sir Arden Westhorpe had said had an any way weakened her rooted conviction of Herary Dunbar's guilt She | still believed that he was the murderer of ' her father. ■ " : She walked lot some -distance without knowing where she went, then 'suddenly,; she stopped j her -face flushed, her- eyes Lgrew bright, and aa opainous smile lit Up ; her countenance. : . "•■'■■.■- ?! ' • ■ • - f I will go to Henry Dunbar/ she 1 said ; to herself, ' since the law will : not 1 ; help me; I will go to my father's murderer. : Surely he will tremble" when l^ he knows :': , that his victim left a daughter who will? rest neither night nor daymntil she see's : ; justice done/ : : . ' Sir Arden had mentioned the hotel at which Henry Dunbar was staying ;• so Margaret asked the first passer ; to direct ;: her to the Gaorge. <; : - She found a waiter, lounging' in the . doorway of the hotel. ! "".' \ 'I- want to see Mr. Henry Dunbat/ she said.- ■ .:" ■' '';;'' : The waiter looked at her with consider- . able surprise. - , ::: -'. • Ja ;-- ----; I. don't think its likely Mr: Diiiibar "ivill f:see; ydu; miss,'-he said, 'but I'll tsike your 0 riame-up if'you wish it/ : ■' ; -- J ]W !ii^;'” t ' -'I shall be much obliged : if you will v fdo^so^;^/ - •-::--•- •'.=•= r j °-. i - :ii ; • . 'Certainly, miss. If you'll jplease to' sit '^ : -do^n in thdhally I'll gb; td ; Mr.- 'Dunß'arimmediately. Your 'hameis^ ( ; _; l! ; 1 »- cy -^ ' ; v ''My titanic is ; iM^rgaret ;j Wil ! mot.- i i io f;r '

: ] The "waiter 1 starred; as if he . had been '.".■' "Vyilxnoib '■'}' he explaimed; any relation T ;.V-,r : V : \."./;,r . : ; . ■' '.. : ■'■' : . " ' 'answered; quietly. 'You can Mr^P^nbar- sp, ; if 'you ' please.' l". l - <: Yes,. ;inissj I will, miss. Bless my .-soul ! :- You really might knock me down > '^ith a/feather, "miss.' Mri Dunbar caii"nbt possibly Refuse 't'p ■• see you, I ; should tnink, miss • ■' • - The. waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret' as 1 he 1 went. He seemed to think^hat the daughter of the intirdered man .ought to be, in some way .or other, 'different &bm other ybung. women.

7: ;;P4P|P XV.

Baffled. : Mr. Dunbar was^sitting in a luxurious easy chair, with a newspaper lying 1 across his knee. ..Mr. BaHerby had returned to London upon'' v the previous evening', but; Arthur Lovell ; still ? remained i with the Anglorlndian. ...Henry Dunbar was a good deal the Wprse for the close confinement which he Hjid suffered' since his' arrival in the cathe- ; Sral city. Everybody who looked at him sia'wthe-chang'e which the last ten. days had made in his appearance. He was very pale; there were dark .purple rings about nise^yesfj the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright:, and the mouth—that telltale feature over whose expressidn.no man has; perfects ; - control— betrayed that the banker had suffered. .; Arthur jtoyell had been indefatigable in ifre service i'bftite client; not from any fbVe" towards the -many but always influenced niore 1 or ;<less:-ibyi the ; reflection that HenryiiPiinbar rrWas .Laura's father, and that to serve him was in some manner to serve the woman he loved. Mr. Dunbar- had only been discharged from - '>■ custody -on :■ ;the •previous evening*, after -a ; long lt : and , ; wearisome examination and .cross-examination of the witnesses who Had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that additional testimony upon which -the magistrate had issued his warrant. He had slept till late, and he had; only just finished his breakfast when the waiter entered with Margaret's message., ~ 'A : youhgi person wishes to see you, sir,' hW said respectfully. • *• A young person ! '-. exclaimed Mr Dunbar,umpatiently ; 'I cannot see any one. j What.: .should any young*' person want , withme^V ; j * jSlie wants to see you very particularly, sir. j "She says that her name is Wilmbt —Margaret Wilmot ;.*■ and that she is the daughter of-— ' * The sickly pallor of Mr. Dunbar's face changed tp an awful livid; hue : and Arthur, Lbyell, looking at his client at this mo--ment, saw tKe change. It was the first 'time he' had seen any evidence of fear either in the face or manner of Henry Duribar.: ji *I will-iiot see.her- exclaimed -Mr. Dunbar:' I never heard Wilmot speak. of any. daughter.; f.This^ woman, is some impudent imjostpr, who wants to extort money but of^me. ~.T will/not see her :' let her be sent about 'ncr busiriessi* ; ; n^ V ■ - ; ■ The waiter hesitated. . . yeryirespectable-looking persouj/sijc,' h§j saidf.^ she. doesn't look any thing like~ an' impostor/ "^Perhaps'nbt !' ; answered Mr.' Dunbar hangh'tiiy r<j but she is-ariimposter for all that: --Joseph iWilmot had no daughter, to, my knowledge.. Pray do not let me ..tie. business. I have suffered quite enough already on account of this man's death. :. ; . 'He-sankiback, in- his chair, and took up Ms newspaper as he finished speaking. His face ;was completely hidblen behind the new_sp.aper. - ' * Snail ,1 ' go arid speak to this girl ? asked 1 Arthur Lovell. --o ,'On no account ! The, girl is a impostorJ vLet her.be sent, about her business !' pChe waiter left the room. 'Pardon me," Mv Dunbar/ said the y6uii^ lawyer J ''but if you will allow me » to make a suggestion,; as your-, legal adviser in this business, : I • would really recommend ryoji to see this girl.' ■'".", • why?' :."" "■' "'■'" • ■ • ' ■ • ; ; ; ' Because the people in a place-like this: are notorious gossips-arid 1 scandal-mongers. If yoitiVfefttsgtp see this person, who, at any rate, calls herself Joseph WiimoD's

daughter, they may say— -' i ; <r Th§y may say what?' aiked Henry Dunbar. 'They may say that it is because you have some special reason for not seeing* her. . . ' Indeed, Mr Lovell. Then lam to put myself put of the way — after being* fagged and harrassed to death already about this businessr— an,d am to see every adventuress who chooses to trade upon the name of the murdered man,, in order to stop the mouths of the good people of Winchester. I beg 1 to tell you, my dear sir, that I am uttei'ly indifferent to anything' that may be said of me : and that I shall only study my own ease arid comfort. If people choose t© think; that Henry Dunbar is the murderer of his Void servant, they are welcome to their opinion : I shall not trouble myself to set them right.' The waiter re-entered the room as Mr Dunbar finished speaking. ' The young* person says . that she must see you, sir,' the man said; * She says that if you refuse to see her, she will wait, at the door of this house until you leave it. My master has spoken to her, sir ; but it's no use : she's the most determined young woman I ever saw.' Mr Dunbar's face was still hidden by the newspaper. There was a little pause before he replied. 'Lovel,' he &aid at last, 'perhaps you had better go and see this person. You can find out if she is really related to that unhappy man. Here is my purse. You can let her have any money you think proper. If she is the daughter of that wretched man, I should, of course, wish her to be well provided for. _ I will thank you to tell her that, Lovell. Tell her that I am willing to settle an ~ annuity upon her ; always on condition that she does not; intrude herself upon me. But remember, whatever I give is conting-ent upon her own good conduct, and must not in any way be taken as a bribe. If she chooses to think and speak ill of me, she is free to do so. I have no fear of her, nor of any one else.' . • : Arthur Lovell took the millionaire's purse and went down stairs with the waiter. He found Margaret sitting in the hall, j There was no impatience, no violence in her manner : but there was a steady, fixed, resolute look in her white face. The j young lawyer felt that this girl would not \ be easily put off by any denial of Mr Dunbar. He ushered . Margaret into a private sitting-room leading out of the hali, and then closed the- door behind him. The disappointed waiter lingered upon the door ;mat : but the George is a well built house, ' and that waiter lingered in vain. j • 'You want to see Mr Dunbar V he said. 'Yes, sir!'_ • . . i 'He is very much fatigued -by yesterday's business, and he declines to see you. What is your motive for being so eager to see him V. ■ ■ ' I will tell that to Mr Dunbar himself.' j 'You are really the daughter of Joseph Wilmot? Mr Dunbar seems to doubt the fact of his having* had a daughter. 'Perhaps so. Mr Dunbar may have been unaware of my existence until this moment. . I did not know until last night what had happened.' She stopped f or . a moment, half-stifled by an hysterical sob, which she could not suppress: but she very quickly regained her self-control, and continued,, slowly and deliberately, looking earnestly into the young man's face with her clear brown eyes, ' I did not know until last night that my father's name was Wilmot ; he had called himself by, a ; false Dame— but last night, after hearing* of tb^— the — murder,' — -tbe' horrible word sfemed to suffocate ! her, but still went bravely on—' I searched •a box of my father's and found this.' She took from her pocket a letter directed to Norfolk Island, and handed it to the lawyer. s ' Read it,' she said ; • you will see then how my father had been wronged by Henry Dunbar;' Arthur Lovell unfolded the worn and faded letter. It had been written five-and-twenty years before by Sampson Wilmot. ; Margaret pointed to : one passage oh the second page. ..t^our bitterness against Henry Dunbar is very painful to me, my dear Josephye.tjf cannot but feel- that your hatred against my employer's son is only natural. I' know' that he was <:he first cause of your ruin,; ! and' that, but for him, your lot in life might have been yery different. Try

rto forgive him ; try to forget him, even if [ you cannot forgive. Do not talk of revenge. Therevelation of ;that secret which you hold respecting; the forged bills would bring disgrace not only upon him, but upon his father and his uncle. They are both good and honorable men,; and I think that shame would kill them. Remember this, and keep the secret of that painful story.' Arthur JLovell's face grew terribly grave as he read these lines. He had heard the story of the forgery hinted at, but he had never heard its details. He had looked upon it as a cruel scandle, which had perhaps arisen out of some trifling error, some unpaid debt of honor j some foolish gambling- transaction in the early youth of Henry I) unbar. But here in the handwriting of the dead clerk, here was the evidence of that old 1 story. Those few lines in Sampson Wil mot ? s letter-suggested a motive. The young lawyer dropped into a chair, and sat for some minutes silently poring over the clerk's letter. He did not like Henry ■ Dunbar. Plis generous "young heart, which had yearned towards Laura's father had sunk in his breast with a dull, and chill feeling of disappointment, at his first meeting with the rich man. Still, after carefully sifting, the evidence of the coroner's inquest, he had come to the conclusion that Henry Dunbar was innocent of Joseph Wilmot's death. He had carefully weighed every scrap of evidence against the Anglo-Indian ; and had deliberately arrived at this conclusion. But now he looked at every thing in a new light. The clerk's letter suggested a motive, perhaps an adequate motive. The two men had gone down together into that silent grove, the servant had threatened his patron, they had quarrelled, and — No ! the murder could scarcely have happened in this way. The assassin had been armed with the cruel rope, and had crept stealthily behind his victim. It was i not a common murder : tho rope and the slip-knot the treacherous running noose, hinted darkly at Oriental experiences : I somewhat in this fashion might a mur -derous Thug have assailed his unconscious victim. ! But then, on the other hand, there was one circumstance that always remained in Henry Dunbar's favor — that circumstance ! was the r.qbbery of the dead man's clothes. The Anglo-Indian might very well have rifled the pocket-book, and left it empty I upon the scene of the murder, in order to throw the officers of justice upon a wrongscent. That would have only been the work of a few moments. But was it probable — was it even possible — that the murderer would have lingered in broad daylight, with every chance against him, long enough to strip off the garments of his victim, in order still more effecttally to hoodwink suspicion? Was it not a great deal more likely that Joseph Wilmot had spent the afternoon drinking in the tap-rom of some roadside publichouse, and had rambled back into tbe grove after dark, to meet his death at the hands of some everyday assassin, bent only npon plnnder ? All these thoughts passed throug-h Arthur Lo veil's mind as he sat with Sampson's faded lecter in his hands. Margaret Wilmot watched him with eager, scrutinising eyes. She saw doubt, perplexity, horror, indecision, all struggling in his handsome face. But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the interests of his his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in his own breast. Nothing but his conviction of. Henry Dunbar's guilt could justifo him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt. • • - ' Mr Dunbar declines to see you/ he said to Margaret ;.-' and I do not really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between you.. .In ..the: mean time if you are in any way, distressed, — and you must most likely need assistance a& such a 1 time as this, — -he is quite ready to help you : and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require it.' '; .. ; He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face. : V.I. would sooner .crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest strangers in^ this cruel world,— l would sooner die from; . the ling-ering agonies of starvation, — than I would accept help

from Henry Dunbar, TSTo power on earth will ever induee _ me to take' a sixpence from that man's hand/ . 'Why .not?'": ' ' . 'You know why mot. I . can. see that knowledge in your 'face. Tell Mr Dunbar that I will wait afc the door of this house till he comes to. speak to me. twill wait uu til I drop dead.' ; Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said. ; Mr Dunbar • was ; walking- up and down the room > with his head bent moodily upon his breast. . ' , '. 'By heavens !' he cried angrily, ' I will have this girl removed by the police^**! He stopped abruptly,. and his head sank once more upon, his breast. .-, ' I would most earnestly advise you to see her/ pleaded Arthur Lovell j *if she goes away in -her present frame of mind, she may spread a horrible scandal against you. Your refusing to see her wiU confirm the suspicions which — * ... ' What /' cried Henry Dunbar ; ' does she dare to suspect me V ' I fear so.' ' Has she said as much V ' Not in actual words. But her manner betrayed her suspicions. You must not wonder if this girl is unreasonable. Her father's miserable fate must haye s been^a miserable blow to her,' 'Did you offer her money?' 'I did." 'And she—' „. V , : ' She refused it.' , . Mr Dunbar winced, as if the announce-, ment of the girl's refusal had stung -hinx to the quick. . ... ' Since it must be so,' he said, 'I will see this importunate woman. But not today. To-day I must and will have rest. Tell her. to come to me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. I will see her then.' Arthur Lovell carried this message to Margaret. Tke girl looked at him with, an. earnest, questioning glance. . 1 You are not deceiving me V she said. ' No, indeed.' . [[. ' Mr Dunbar said that V 'He did.' ' Then I will go away. But do not let Henry Dunbar try to deceive me ! for I will follow him to : the end of the world. I j care very little where I go in my search for the man who murdered my father!' I She went slowly away. She went down into the Cathedral yard, across which the murdered man had gone arm-in-arm with his companion. Some boys, loitering about at the entrance to the meadows,, answered all her questions, and took her, to the spot upon which the body had been found. It was a dull, misty day, and there was a low wind wailing amongst the wet branches of the old trees. The rain-drops from the fading leaves fell into the streamlet, from whose shallow waters, the dead man's face had looked up to the moonlit sky. Later in the afternoon, Margaret found her way to a cemetery outside the town, where, under a newly-made mound of turf) the murdered man lay. A great many people had been to, see; this grave, and had been very much disappointed at finding it in no way different; from other graves. : ' Already the good citizens of Winchester had begun to hint that the grove near St.. Cross was haunted ; and there was a vague report to the effect that the dead man-had been seen there, walking* in the twilight. : Punctual to the very striking- of :, the clock, Margaret Wilmot presented herself^ at the George at the time appointed by Mr Dunbar. She had. passed a wretched night at a. humble inn a little way out of the town, and had been dreaming- all night , of her • meeting with Mr Dunbar. -• In those troubled dreams she had met the rich man perpetually: now in one place^ now: in another : out always in the most places : yet she had never" seen hi&7 face.; ; she had tried to see it; but by some strange;: develry or other, peculiar to the "incidents . of a ; dream, it had been always hidden.from her. ■:■:■■. ■ : :?-di<> ■'■■.'•■■ (To le continued.) . ;. . .;