MARION'S UNCLE.

A Case for the Detectives.

By SYLYANUS COBB, Jen.

CHAPTER X

A HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE.

A week had passed; another Saturday evening had come; and Marion Wil mot sat alone in the library that had heen her father's home sanctum. Since his loss she had become attached to that room. There her uncle sat with her when he had opportunity; and slie had come to love him so dearly that even the knowledge of his nearness gave her sweet content. Her feelings with regard to her late bereavement, she did not attempt to .analyse. She could not have done it had she tried. She remembered her father with a tenderness so deep and permeatiug, and with an affection so strong and so '.clinging—remembered him so fondly, and so happily—that he did not seem to her as one dead. -This was due, in a measure, to her constitntiphai—her inborn and,inbred ,—cheerfulness; her happy disposition :to look on the bright side always. She' was' an optimist, through and through. If it chanced that an object, or a prospect,,had no bright side, then she looked for a silver lining. Should even this be wanting, she could con sent herself with the thought that the .infinite good had been wisely hidden, from her.

And this happy state was in auother measure due to the influence of her dear uncle. Love of him had filled her heart completely. He had entered into her life without jar or friction, commanding her confidence and esteem in the outset, and winning her teuderest affection in the first hour of their sympathetic communion. Moreover, he was so like her father that there ■were times, when they were together, in which she wholly forgot the sad break in her life—when she felt that it was'in very deed her own dear papa who kissed her and blessed her. Furthermore, Walter Vernon had been with her almost every evening. 'Him she loved with the whole strength and fervour of her generous,loyal heart. Upon him her hopes of the future were fixed, and she trusted herself. One evening her uncle had quoted the well remembered line: ,«There's nothing true but Heaven !' when she added, with a beaming of happy, holy faith in her beautiful countenance : 'Yes, there are my uncle and Walter. Could they be false, I think I could doubt everything.' .She knew that Walter's heart was all her own, and she believed him to lie true and steadfast. To her he was a prince among men, a man whom she could respect aud esteem while she loved and adored.

1 Oh this Saturday evening she was alonel Uncle Stephen and Walter had gone to the meeting of a society of which they were interested mem bers. She sat in the great easy-chair that had been her father's favourite lounging s#at, with her head bent upon one of her plump, fair hands, while the other, clutching a crumpled letter, hung at her side. 'By-and-by she lifted her head, and lifted the crumpled letter. Then she turned to the shaded Argand burner, and when she had smoothed the page into readable shape, she read it through for the third time, not that she might be sure what it contained, but that she might the'more easily consider how she should answer it. The following was .what was written : It had been written by an earnest, honest hand. 'The calli graphy was beautiful, but riot of the flowery, secretive kind. It was round and full, every letter perfectly formed, yet free and easy "and natural. The man who. penned those characters must have been frank and truthful. So much the handwriting clearly told :

"Marion Wilmot: —Permit me'to say this brice, pit never again, My' Own. Dear Marion! I beg that you will read kindly and attentively what 1 shall herein wiite. I)o you not know that I love you 1 Have you riot seen ib for many months, if nob for years? How could I have known you and nßfc loved you 1 I had planned to speak ■with your father on the very day of his death ; and more than once havo I taken my pen in hand for the purpose of telling you what I how will tell.' I have refrained because1 I failed to see how I cbuld sup port a-: wife. But the altogether unex pected bequest of my la to uncle— my mofcher'a .brother-—has removed that barrier. I can now offer my wife a comfortable home, to be allher'own. Marion, will you be my wife ? 0! I will love you to my life's end as I love'you how-—with all my "heart and soul and strength. There is no need that I should protest more. Can you love me in Tet&rii i I have sometimes thought you did so.:' 'Ildo not mean that you have possibly trifled with me — God forbid! But you have been so good and kind and frank, you have been so bright and so happy in my society,that I have dared to hope that I had won a warm and tender .place in your heart. " ""' 0! do not tell me lam mistaken. Yet, if mistake is mine, I would know it quickly. I can live, and, perhaps,'prosper, let what will' betide; but without your dear love life will never be to me what I have dared to hope ib might be. 'Once more, dear Marion, will you be my wife ? My heart you already possess ; and air I have I lay at your feet. Let your answer be what it may, that God will bless you, and all good angels guard and guide you, now and evermore, is the sincere prayer of yours, devotedly and always, ,

'Arthur Singleton.'

'Poor Arthur! I knew he loved me; but 0 ! not like that! I never thought that—never ! And he never spoke a word. Why—Walter told me of his love, and tsked me to promise that I would be his wife, years ago. 1. had given him, with papa's full con- Sent,iny promise before he went into tlie army. 0, how brave my Walter is, and how noble and loyal! Arthur is good and true, but ho is not brave and gallant, like Walter, — Poor Arthur! What shall I write? How would it do for W*lf<?F to see hire . Bnd tell hitti 'all about it?' 1 am surprkod

that he did "not know of my engage ment to his old friend and fellow clerk. How could he help seeing and understanding it? Ha! I see. I will get Uncle Stephen to see him, and—' What else she had thought of em powering Uncle Stephen .to do in her behalf we cannot say, for at that moment the sharp clang of the front door bell smote her ears and started her thoughts in a new direction. Pretty soon a servant appeared, with the announcement that a gentleman wished to see Mis 3 Wilmot. Marion had begun to reply that she could not receive visitors, and that of business she knew nothing, when the servant was unceremoniously pushed aside, and Jasper Renwick stood before her, his hateful, sinister face twisted into a horrible smile, aud his green eyes glar ing with triumph. The servant, hav ing recognised the confidential clerk of the bank, had withdrawn imme diately. ' Marion !—Dear Marion ! Do not look at me in that surprised way. There's nothing wonderful, is there, in my paying you a friendly visit V

'Mr Ken wick !' the girl cried, flash-: ing upon him a mingled look of indig nation and detestation —she had arisen and stepped back to where a bell-rope hung against the wall—' what is the meaning of this ? Did not the servant tell you my uncle was out ?' 'I think she did, but I am not sure. However, I did not come to see your uncle. I see him sufficiently at the bank. I came to see you. Come, sit down, and listen to what 1 have to say. Don't be afraid. Do you think I could find it in my heart to harm you V ' Sir! how dare you V 'Tut! Tut! Don't go on in that way. Sit down, please, and listen to me.—Ha ! Take care !if you ring that bell and call your servants, it shall bo the sorest job you ever did. My dear lady, let me whisper it in your ear. I can tell that of your father which will sink his name and his memory in deepest infamy. So beware!'

Marion's first emotion upon hearing this was of fright. She would, as she then felt, rather die than that infamy should be attached to her father's name; and in the moment of sudden terror she thought there might be cause of fear in that direction; not that she could be brought to believe that her father was ever guilty, but appearances might be' against him. There had been something very strange in the manner of his death, and in the way, too, in which his funeral had been hurried and his remains almost spirited away out of the pity. It had worried her more than she "had been willing to acknow ledge. But in the midst of her fears came the memory of words that her uncle had spoken, and she quickly found her courage.' And now she thought more calmly. Discretion would be the better part of valour. Certainly Jasper Renwick would not harm her. He would not dare. So, after a little reflection, she pointed her visitor to a seat; and when he had obeyed her motion, she sat at a little distance, facing him, but within reach of the bell-cord.

This had all passed very quickly. Marion had given, perhaps, five seconds to thought—notmore than that—and as tlieriian had seated himself immediately upon receiviug her sign, the silence had been brief.

• Now, sir,' she said, assuming a calmness which she was far from feel ing, 'ifyou have anything to say lam willing to listen, provided, of course, that you are—-' 1 That will do, 5 interrupted Renwick, as the lady slightly hesitated for a word. 'I will be respectful, never fear. Ah! if you knew the depth and the strength of my feelings, you would not deem it necessary to caution me. Marion, your father told me he had Written a letter for your eye alone. .You met me as I was coming from his room, one week ago this very evening. You remember V

'Yes, sir; I remember very dis tinctly," . - ;

' Yes. Well, on that occasion he spoke to me as though he was going away. He gave me to understand that he contemplated a journey that ringht necessitate a prolonged absence on his part; and he bade me that I should look to your interests while he was gone. I will not say that I then sus pected what he was about to do. Had I done so, 1 should certainly have taken means to frustrate him. But he was too quick for me. However, we will pass over that for the present. I thiiik you received your father's letter.' ""

'Why should you think so ?'

' Simply because I chanced to see it lying on his desk,after we had found his.lifeless body.'

'Well, sir;' said Marion, speaking slowly and steadily, and looking the man straight in the face, 'a letter.such as you describe, and bearing my father's name, was given to me.' 'Are you willirig to tell me what was the purport of the letter V

'No, sir, I am not.'

' May I ask, why notf

' For several reasons, the chief of which.is that I desire to forget, if I can, that such a letter was ever written.'

' Why should you wish that ? Do you fancy your father was not in his fight mind when he wrote it?'

. Marion hesitated, but only for a brief space; her colour deepened, aud her gaze was fixed keenly upon the man before her as she replied : ' Jasper Renwick, if my father wrote that letter, it bears proof of his loss of reason in every, line. But lam happy in the belief that hia hand had no part in it.'

For the life of him the base plottor could not moot the gaze of the proud girl without'quailing,' In spite of his most earnest efforts to look her steadily in the faa'a,' his eye.s dropped, and his naturally pale faoe grew paler,

' «Indeed !' he cried, pulling himself together with a mighty effort. ' Per haps you think I wrote it!' 'I'have not said so. Yet, she added, her calm gaze unshrinking, «if my father was in full possession of his reason while that letter was being written—if I could be assured of that fact—l should sooner believe that your hand did the work than that he ever traced a syllable, or a character, of the senseless trash.' 'Well! Upon my soul!' ejaculated the startled man, his cadaverous face taking on half a dozen different shades, in as'many seconds. As soon as he could control himself he assumed a look of astonishment, which quickly gave place to fury. Before the storm-, -cloud had burst, however, he had, by a powerful effort, so far conquered his wrath that he was able to hold back the profanity that had hotly sprung to his lips. He could curse and swear terribly when his passions gained the upper hand ; and when he had once comraeuced, he was apt to exhaust the blasphemous vocabulary before he stopped. He probably thought that loss of temper, with such an opponent, would help materially to loose him the

game: ' ' Upon my word ! You are very free with your insinuations, I must confess. I wish you would let me look at the letter.'

• What I might do if I had it, sir, I cannot say,'she replied, still speaking calmly and bravely. ' The letter, how ever.is not in my possession.' ' Ah ! I suppose your dear uncle has it.' 'I gave it to him. Whether he destroyed it, or not, I cannot say.' Renwick paused here, and seemed to gather his forces. By-and-by, bend ing forward and fixing upon the startled girl a wicked look, he opened his battery: 'Marion Wilmot, I am going now to speak plainly. If it shall hurt you, it will not be my fault. You have forced me to it. Your father's name—his character, for all time—is at my mercy. Do you know what caused his death?' Marion caught her breath, and pressed her hand over her heart. 'Do you know what occasioned your father's death?' the villain re peated, mercilessly. • Yes everybody knows. It was heart-complaint.' •Oh ! have they made you swallow that ridiculous lie 1 Bah ! his heart \va3 as sound as is your own at this moment! Did your uncle tell you that we found, where he had dropped it from his dying hand, the phial from which he had taken the last thing that ever passed his lips ? No, I am sure he did not. I will tell you the truth. It was labelled ' Poison /' Doctor Vanwert smelled it, and pronounced it jmtssic acid/" What think you of that V

Tlie unhappy girl could not speak. She had no thought of pronouncing the man a liar. There had been several things connected with her father's sudden death that had appeared to her strange and incomprehensible. Aye, there had been things for which only this terrible story would clearly account. But—why should he have done it ?

1 Marion! do you doubt the truth of what 1 tell you ?' Renwick asked, after studying her painfully working features until he was satisfied that Ins disclosure had made a deep impression. 1 Yes, my poor child, your father did really take his own life.'

• 0 ! no, uo, no ! He was so good ! He loved me so dearly, and so truly. Why—o ! why—should he have done it ?'

1 Ah! Marion '.—dear Marion !— thereby hangs a talc. Shall I tell it to you V

She looked at him with a dazed expression, pale and quivering.

' Dear girl,' he went on, not afraid to meet her gaze now that she was sorely frightened, \ your father trusted me with his most hidden secrets, He was forced to do it, for lie needed help which I alone could give. Eight days ago a single sentence from my lip's, spoken to a justice, would have caused Matthew Wilmot's arrest, and placed him behind prison bars. Jri siieM* 1 of that,' hoiwever, "I* did all I could io ,'saye him. But alas! my help, it spems, could not avail. "* He had gone so far—had gone in so deeply- that the. terrible result had become inevitable. Exposure was sure. So he took the only means within his reach to escape the disgrace.'

Every word had fallen upon the sufferer like so many dropping coals of fire—they had pierced her bosom like sharp-pointed instruments of torture. She remembered her last interview with her father; she remembered that he had bean sad and distrait; that he had appeared to have a burden on his mind that was torturing him. And then his longing, yearning, prayful look when he had told her that he was going away on a long journey. He had been away before—had been long distances—arid had gone cheerfully and gaily, without dreaming of such a thing as to send for companionship for her. Look at it as she would, she could not put away the fear—almost belief—that Renwick had told her the truth.

There was another thing that oc curred to her: She called to mind ex pressions of her uncle—words and looks —that seemed now, as she remembered them, to point to that terrible catas trophe. Yes; Uncle Stephen had something on liismind. He was carry ing, a secret that gave him continual unrest. She knew it—was as sure of it as she was that she lived.

Suddenly a thought flashed upon her. If her father had done what this man had said—if exposure arid ignomiiiy had been so imminent—why had not tho story been told ? Why had not the death of the guilty man set the ready tonguog of scandal wag ging ? And she put the question to Jasper Renwiclc, (Ah!' he said, with a doleful shaV*

of the head, 'the worst of his— What shall I call them V Must 1 say ; crimes ? I hate to do it; but so the law will call them ( when they are known, and even I cannot keep the curtain down much longer. Your uncle has paid a great deal of money out—a great many thousand dollars— aud thus kept the shortcoming of his brother from the knowledge of the world; but, by-and-by-I could lift the veil to-morrow—a sura will be called for which Stephen Wilmot can not raise ; and then the blow^ will fall. No power can prevent it. But, Marion—dear, dear Marion —I can save you. If you will— 'Sir.' The fellow had arisen and was coming towards her with out stretched arms as though to take her to his bosom. His evil face too spoke volumes. It was the face of a satyr! 'Sir.' What do you mean? You— save—me ! Stand back ! Stand back sir!' Her trembling had ceased; every nerve was strained to its utmost, and her eyes"literally blazed. But the man was impetuous. Des pite her stern command he advanced another step and laid his two hands on her shoulders.' With a bound she broke from him and caught the bell cord. She had caused an unusually loud and angry jingle pf the noisy bell, and had then darted to the fire-place and taken up the heavy shovel, then hurried footsteps were heard approach ing. Renwick's ear caught the sound in the distance, and his course was quickly resolved upon. He sprang to the door communicating with the hall, and threw it open, and there turned and raised his finger towards the girl at bay. 'Marion, hold your tongue, and I may save you longer. Expose me, and your father's name is blasted for ever! I will proclaim his. crimes, his disgrace, and his suicide, in the public highway 1 Beware !'

A moment later two servants hurriedly entered, and were surprised upon finding their young mistress alone, standing erect before the fire place; pale as death, looking for all the world as though she had seen a ghost. In their startled condition they did not hear the outer door opened, and carefully shut. Marion, when she had somewhat recovered herself, and had reflected upon the situation, led the anxious hand-maidens to believe that she had been just aroused from a horrible nightmare, and had rung the bell in her stupid fright.

(To be Continued To-morrow.)

THE GREAT SENSATION OF THE DAY!

NOW READY, THE STORY OF THE Langworthy Marriage, WITH PORTRAIT OF Mps LANGWORTHY. A STRANGE, TRUE STORY OF TO-DAY, SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS : Portrait of Mr E. M. Langworthy " A Sweet Girl Graduate" The Luck of London Betrothed "Toa Woman engaged in Teaching, Never !" The French Marriage Why not an English Marriage ? The Belgian Marriage A Brief Honeymoon Adding Insult to Brutality Discovered by a Dream ! In the Year of Grace ISB4 The Lie in the Affidavit A Struggle for Life After Darkness, Light at Last " The Slow Drag Chain of the Law's Delay" ' " My Lord, we admit everything" Gagged in Court Mr Danby tells us why Stung to tho Quick Langworthy claims ithe," AUegedChjld" £1,200 a Year Alimony— on Paper Alone in London A Struggle with Starvation Hunted Hard In" the Service of the Poor Another Stab in the Back The Lords Justice decide against Mr Langworthy Mr Langworthy returns to England On a False Seen A Clever Capture " Absolutely Denied"—but True The Pitiful Plight of Mrs Langworthy Breach of Promise—Damages £20,000 Mother-in-law at Bay Muzzling the "Times" How it was done "If you say anything more about Mrs Langworthy, well mak© it hot for you' Suicide 2 " Mad from Life's Mystery" Some Polite Letter-writing Delay, Delay, still more Delay • A Guilty Conscience and "a Loaded Revolver - The Modern Rack "The Weapons of a Warrior, not the Dagger of the Assassin" The Bankrupt Millionaire " No. my Lord, I cannot defend it" The Langworthy Clan The Subpoena and the Hunt Party • " Spenlow and Jorkins" More Advantages from the Lie in the Affidavit A Natural Query Messrs Bircham's Offer No Compromise A Friend in Need Holding the Pas 3 What is to be Done ? To the Argentine Conclusion

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