The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 21, 1902, Page 2

because she wanted the man who was just opening the door to see her before he could pass by. This was not the young man who had at the window, but & very on indeed, and his appear- other entirely out of Miss d for the moment. It was not i that she remembered on and the various cir- re in Dorothy’s whispered n the queer look of alarm sudden “weakness of her extremo pallor. she had enough to occupy the extraordinary conduet of end the man who had just he room. d scarcely have been & between two men than nd the other. e one who had looked and vanished the night, out of place e. He who was now to shake hands with a lady of Ashburton House under ry nose of her chaperon suggested ld baths, hunting and per- as—for he looked like a sol- He ribly too, was dark and tall (which pos- explained Cissy’s odd way of taking Lane's first announcement), but t more than 27 or 28, ana d hetf was almost black and thick lashes an inky line is eyes were bright, laughing blue. ‘How do v 7" he said to Clssy, though the words were as common- place as words could be, he gave her a look that turned them &t once into & cipher. His eyes sald a thousand things, ell at once, every one of which Miss Mor- Jey resented. “How do you do?”" answered Cissy, fling, letting him keep her hand in ment. rre's school was some- from most boarding ly took eight or ten pu- y were not restricted by the s of such establishments. 1 supposed to be honorabls hey were treated f they had been mily. Therefore, ing any hard v talking to & young less public place With- aving been personally approved k Nevertheless, ectly certain that s nce meeting. She did coincidences, and ever been in love with he knew enough about passion to understand ves could say to a girl. dark-lashed blue ones was trying to tell Cissy ve come to her through he could not have 1y other way, and she event their saying more. I really think we d, with a rigidy would ha water ' exclaimed Cissy. “In then. But may I in- rd Carrismoyle?” g with all her juite careless of g and a thrill went ircle at the newcomer’'s was faintly im- never in her life met Mo r woman of title, except a Lord a w whose daughter had once e f Ashburton House. She something brusquely ecus would have liked, to stop for a word or two because he was se he was young it would have ty to reconsider, was time to de- glving nd egain; and seemed to oriey perceived eived—something from the man’s had ever taken ge, and she did ¢ She could not not demand then uld “hold out her eiress had been 8 too, she had at case, if she to task, she npleasant posi- therefore, with g look which must her conscience if Morl bowed to haled her = a boy in buttons ted in opening and the young Irish th's existence, and looking straight 1s she pa . Miss Mc ou € self was not so bad were going towe school. The girl w practically ceased to be one of e lambs r whom she among others if Cissy chose to be in- ee was her own and her 5 Still, the chaperon was ghtt the way back to House hour after- she was still taken place in apped smartly exclaimed, wondering rriéd sound, and there € 3ra still in the pretty the smart d with chin- o'clock. In less ner time, for s feminine house- rley opened her e s v dressed the girl ex- d ask a ques- going till a telegram y a few mi ng 1 was uld and go Miss Morley nothing hours erre is e station, and, t at the other ong drive. I 30 o'clock, I for a telegram Redways is not 1ll,” re- ot. But he said in the was rtant I should | he’s wired Lady woul rstand and I et her know. By this nk the cab must be at Miss Morley. I member you and every- arton House. Thank you for the your You packing?” exclaimed 2 can't have got all ich short notice? ties of dresses.” though her lovely face with anxiety about her boxes ar® to be sent after me, “Iom only taking a hand- I've plenty of things at agal A warm hand pressure, Cissy had never pre- f doors, as she stood at tairs looking down. queer thing,” she sald under her breath. “A very queer thing, indeed!” o il Nella Kynaston, who was to be maid to Miss Cecily Grant when she came home, was In & quandary. She was in love with a young saflor on the Terrible, and if she did not get off the letter which she had written to him that afternoon it would miss the outgoing mall, and be a long time delayed on the way. They had had a quarrel and she had not meant to write &t all; but suddenly she had felt that she could not bear to run the risk of losing Tom just for the sake of a foolish pride, and of course now that she had written the letter she could hardly 2it to have it go. But the difficulty was that Stonecross Abbey, Sir Redways Grant's place, was four miles distant from the nearest vil- lage; that is, it was four miles distant if she went by road. There was a short cut, but Nella had never been that way It lay along the cliffs of the sea, “haunted cave,” about which there Long before aione. and one had to pass the called o Man's,” were such horrid stories. ghe could reach home it would be éark, too. Still, there was the letter, and if Nella went by the road into the village of Waycross she could not get back be- fore her future mistress should arrive from London, which she was expected to do before 6 o'clock; so that alternative, of course, was out of the question. She could save herself at least half an hour by the short cut; and this half hour would make all the difference - in‘ the world. - She could just manage it; and she was practically free to do as she chose until Miss Grant—whom she had never seen—should be in the house. Nella started out bravely, almost run- ning after she had passed the lodge and got into the road. Presently she came to tke spot where the ways divided, and in- stead of turning to the left and making the long detour she tock to the ‘“cliff path.”” It was really much shorter than the road to Waycross, but it went 80 by ups and downs, save for the short walk along the beach, that comparatively little time was saved. And it was this easy bit of going on the beach which Nella dread- ed, as she thought of her return after dark. Now, however, it was only half-past three, and still broad daylight, though a purple gloom hung over the sea, and there was a flurry of snow in the air. As she passed Nella looked quite scornfully at the cave which was supposed to be haunted. After all, it was only a silly story, she said to herself and only silly women would believe it. Of course, the smugglers who had made use of the place In old days, when there had been no “‘ghort cut” along the cliffs and beach, nad invented the tale to keep people away, especially after dark, when their business was carried on. Perhaps there really had been an old man mur- dered and his body hidden In the cave, a hundred years ago, but as for his ghost haunting the spot and moan- ing piteously, that was all nonsense. It would be a very stupid old ghost to hang about where the associations were so un- pleasant, when presumably it could stop in a pleasanter abode if it liked. So Nella Kynaston, who was an Exeter girl and had been to London, and Paris, : “ALocker!® e _zxtl.m’fimp, too, with her last mistress, turned up her rather pretty little nose at No Man's Cave—a mere picturesque hole in the dark rock, shut up now with a dilapidated door of wood, and went briskly on toward ‘Waycross. The innkeeper's wife there was a relative of hers—in fact, she owed her present situation to Mrs. Mellish's recommendation; but Nella had not meant to go near the Gramt Arms, lest she should be delayed. However, as luck would have it, she met her cousin near the postoffice and had to stop and talk for a few minutes. Mrs. Mellish thought that Miss Cecily Grant was, without ex- ception, the most beautiful and talented young lady on earth, and it did not occur to her that Nella could possibly hear too much in praise of the young mistress whom she was to see for the first time on this fateful Monday afternoon. So that it was only by painting to her relative the horror of being late for the arrival that Nella finally managed to get away at all. She posted the important letter which was to make all the difference between a bright future and a gray one; and, having stopped at a stationer’s to buy herself a THE SUNDAY CALL. penny magazine, containing a serial with an alluring and alliterative title, she set her face toward home. She would now only just have time to reach the abbey before Miss Grant was expected, without the “smarting’’ process in which she had meant to indulge. And already it was growing dark—so dark that, once or twice, being almost a stranger, she lost the way, and wasted some moments find- ing it again. She had only been at Stone- cross Abbey for three or four days, and her one experience of the cliff path had been the walk she had taken on Sunday with the upper housemaid. The snow was coming down faster now; the sky was blurred with it, and big white feathers fluttered before her eyes or alighted on her face, llke pale night- moths. But by the time she got to the beach, aleng which she must go for half a mile or more, deep night seemed to have fallen, though it was not much af- ter 5 o’clock. Only the snow flakes closest to her face looked white now, and the long line of breakers were coming in with such a rush that she could not help shrinking back as if the big surf-wave would spring at her. In a few moments more she would have to pass the cave. Nella reflected that she must have been very brave to deliberately choose this way, when Emma, the house- maid, said that not one of the ‘“natives” would go by No Man's after dark. Yet she was not afrald. No, certainly she was not afraid. Just as she was telling herself this, a curious sound came to aer ears, mingling with the moaning of the wind among the rocks. It was like the noise of digging in the pebbly sand with a big shovel. In spite of her courage, Nella’s heart gove a great jump. She had been walking rapidly, but she stopped short and lis- tened through the ringing in her ears. The sound went on monotonously; she had not imagined it. And there was something else besides the digging and the muttering of the wind. "Men’s voices were muttering also. She ‘was close to the cave now, and had ccme to a standstill just behind a broken pillar of rock, fallen long ago from above, which| formed a sort of one-sided porch for the cave itself. ““Why not have put if in the sea?” a voice spoke [out of the darkness, and the curl- ous echo which follow2d the harshly whis- pered words told even Nella’s unaccus- tomed ears that they had been uttered under the roof of rock. “Because it would have come back with the tide,” was the murmured answer, which sent -a prickling sensation like “goose-flesh” over Nella's body. “All the weights in the world wouldn't have kept it down. That's why.” “Well, if it did come back,” retonted the first speaker, “what then? What's to prove it hadn’t been a suiclde—drowned, and beaten against the rocks, till—it was like this?" “You must be & fool,” was the gruff response. “Why should we make trouble for ourselves to save a bit of work?” “It's not the work I'm afraid of, though it ain’t pleasant. It's the danger of being caught at it, I think of.” “Pshaw! Haven't I told you nobody ever comes this' way after dark? It's as safe as a church, though it's scarce night yet. Better if it could have beenlater, but you know why we couldn’t pick the time. A few minutes more and we'll have done. Then, it will be over, and what we've put here will never get us into trouble till the end of the world.” Nella Kynaston felt as she had felt sometimes in nightmare. It seemed too horrible to be true that this thing could be happening. Even it she had not all the sensations of slowly turning into stone, she had presence of mind enough left to know that, if she made the slightest sound and it were heard she would prob- ably be silenced forever and laid with the mysterious “it"” that was never to make the hidden speakers any trouble till the end of the world. Her knees shook under her and she was s0 weak that she had to lean against the cold rock, instinctively nestling behind it more and more, inch by inch, so that she should not be seen in the aarkness if the men canie suddenly out. How long she stood there, shivering, cold and hot. by turns, with her heart pounding so loudly it seemed as if other ears than hers must hear it, she could not tell. All fear of not.getting home in time to be ready when she should be wanted by Miss Grant was gone. She thought of nothing but the awful present, pray- ing that it might soon become the past, and whether ten minutes or an hour went by in this way she could make no guess until long afterward. But, just as she had begun to feel that her suspense would never end, there was a creaking as of an old door on rusty hinges, then footsteps padding and scraping in the sand. Nella did not consciously peer out; in- deed, she did not dare even turn her head. Only her wide, staring eyes moved; but she caught one fleeting glimpse of two figures hastening away—one with something over his shoulder—seen only for an instant, and then swallowed up in darkness. For a moment or two she continued to hear their footsteps, but the sweep of the next incoming wave over- whelmed all lesser sounds. The girl knew that she was alone again, save for the near vresence of that which lay in the cave—to be hidden for all time. She was safe now, for those two would not come back again—never again would they be near this spot if they could help it, she thought. But the horror was upon her still, as sickeningly as before. She desired above all things to go, yet some- thing seemed to hold her back. In her ears rang a still, small voice, calling— calling her to see for herself what was the work that had been done in No Man's Cave. For a moment, she resisted; then, she knew that there would be no peace for her any more unless she yielded. The old wooden door which closed the aperture in the rock was not fastened. Doubtless those who were gone would gladly have secured it if they could, but for many a year there had been no key, and to have had a new lock made would only have been to court discovery of a mystery, even had they had time to spare for such details. Not once in ten years dia y one venture inside the cave. Young people of the scattered neighbor- hood were too indifferent, perhaps; chil- dren, if they strayed so far from home, remembered the ghastly legend and were afraid. Besides, as the sound of the shovel had told Nella Kynaston, precau- tions had been taken to hide the secret even should curious ones come close to it. Nella pushed the door, which moved heavily, as if obstructed by pebbles or sand, and fearfully peeped into the cave. All was blackness there, except for a glimpse of gray, like & mound of irregu- lar shape, showing pale against a dark ‘wall of rock. “There’s the sand they heaped with the shovel,” she whispered, dry-lipped. « “Whatever it {s, must be under that.” Down she went con her _..-.c, wi. A seemed to bend without her will; and tremulously pulling off her woolen gloves she began to clear away the sand with her fingers. As fast as she dug the sand fell down about her hand. Still her fingers went further and further into the mound— which might have appeared to ignorant eves as If heaped up by the wind, or the sea at high spring tides. At first her wrist was covered, then her arm wup to the elbow, and she was diving deeper into the mass. ‘“‘After all, I belleve there’s nothing; though how can that be- "’ she had begun to say to herself, ‘when suddenly she gave an exclamation, and would have drawn back with a start had she not exerted all the self-control ghe had. She had touched something, and she would not draw away after all she had gone through. With a supreme effort she forced herself to grasp what she had found; but, having touched and felt it fully, nothing on earth could have kept her from letting go and springing to her feet with a cry. For one instant of horror her hand had clasped another hand, as smooth as marble and as cold. CHAPTER II. THE COMING OF THE BOX. “Great nuisance this cough of mine!” grumbled Sir Redways Grant. “Why couldn't this brute of an influenza have come a fortnight ago—or waited a fort- night, instead of laying me up just when my little girl's due? She'll think me a regular old fraud for not meeting her.” “But Miss Grant's to be with Lady Stanton, isn't she?” asked Dr. Lester, in an absent-minded way, as if his thoughts were somewhere else. And so they wers, though not far off. There was & thing which he was exceedingly anxious to say to Sir Redways, but he did not for his life know how to begin. “Yes, she’s traveling down from Lon- don with Lady Stanton. of c?nursr." the old man admitted. ‘“And the arrange- ment is that Lady Stanton’s carriage meets them, as our place is on the way to Martinscombe Hall. She’s to drop Clssy, and I hove to persuade her to stop for a cup of tea. . A kind soul! I belleve she went up to town last week on my girl’s account, more than s though she talked about Chri ping. Still, Lady Stanton or Stanton, I wanted to be at the st and I'm so much better that I ve let me out, Lester.” e y to-morrow i I doctor. “Look here, Sir ere’s somett Was that broke in the Im wheels? that he had not even heard th t hear it,”" Lester answered, get- rom his chair, and then stand is hand graspin e back of t be getting off; but before I go— He 1lated Redways. made this be any mortal since you've seen her. She- very bright at that time. Y was a little—er—misunderstanding—our first. But she’s got all over that, and she’ll be a different girl. I can tell you 1 punished her more than myseif in pack- ing the poor child off to school. And I shall be glad enough to have her back again. Last Christmas was one of the most miserable days of my life; dut I hope this one will make up for it—te both of us.” He was talking more to himself than te Robert Lester now; but the doctor, though younger than he by twenty-five years, was a valued friend, and happened to know all about the circumstances to which Sir Redways referred. They were in a room usually spoken of as Sir Redways’' “study,” ever since the time—years ago—when he had actually written a book there, describing his travels in the Bast. Being an invalid for the moment, Sir Redways sat near the hearth, in a big ‘“grandfather’” chair, which kept away draughts, and the fire- light flickered fitfully over his white halr and clear-cut, clean-shaven features, soft- ening away the petulant frown between the heavy white brows. He was a very handsome old man, and though he looked every one of his sixty-five years, it was still easy to understand how Ceclly's mother—a famous beauty, and his second wife—had fallen deeply In love with him when he was 4 and she 19—just Clssy's age now. Perhaps if she had lived she might have regretted her resolve to con- sole the handsome, middle-aged sold! for all that his first wifs had made h suffer—for Sir Redways had a passionats temper as well as a warm heart. But she had dled when Cissy was a year or two old and that brief time, at least, had been all happirfess. Dr. Robert Lester was 40, and because of his light curly hair, small tache, turned-up nose and cleft chin, s oke almost bayish, but there was cloud on his good-natu countenan night. He had been trying so the chance he wanted—or ought to wan but if Sir Redways would not give it him, what was he to do? “Do sit down again,” sald the man, “unless you've got another patfent waiting for you?” “No-0,” Lester confessed, “the state health In this county is so good at pres- ent that it's quite discouraging to us poor chaps. Really, I took it as a personal vor that you should come down with ‘flu.” But the fact is—'" On this occasion a ¢ intesrupted him by stri “By Jove, it's time st claimed Sir Redways. And have his watch and Lest pared with the c But all three together. Sir Redways began to abuse the rallway company served Waycross. Of course, t a place, you couldn’t expect m: but that was no excuse stop always being late. As the minutes passed he grew more and more restless, and Lester ceased his efforts to make a certain revelation. Sir Redways was after all not in the mood to listen, and he must hear the thing at some other time in some other fashion. The doctor lived only a mile away and he had ridden to Stonecross Abbey on his bicycle, meaning to stop at least an hour (he had intended then to combine private with professional matters) and wishing to save his horse exposure to the cold while waiting. He and his sister and a guest who bad arrived that day would not dine till 8, and he could flash home In no time, so that there was no great hurry for him; and as the Inv; grew nervous and more feverish under the strain of waiting, he tried to soothe his patient by introduc- ing toplcs of outside Interest. But Sir Redways, usually an irritably keen poli- tician, did not seem to care to-night what happened in the great world. Half past § came, and the old man was just wondering aloud if it were possible there could have been a big snowstorm to block the line when a footman appear- ed at the door. “If you please, sir,” he announced, box you were expecting has ved. You sald you wished to know immediately It came—" “Yes, of course,” Sir Redways cut in, impatiently. “Bring it up at once.” For the first time he showed an Int something besides the non-arriv: daughter and Lady Sta that box has come,” he went on, turning to his.friend, as the footman departed, “though I hardly expected row. It's full of Christmas things Stanton was good enough.to get what I wanted for me in town, as I couldn’t go ard for " fa- he lock on the masr myself. And, by the way, there's a book in it—or should be—which I promised to your sister I'll have the box opened while you're here, and you can take it to her when you go home if you domn't mind.” Of course, the doctor did not mind, and while he was assuring Sir Redways of the pleasure he would have in the commis- sion there came the sound of steps out- slde the door—heavy footsteps, as of sev- eral persons weighted down by some bur- den they were car The two gentlemen looked up expect ly, and also in some suprise, for app: ently it was a very large ob. was on its W side; then door ope - men entered, one backing in in advance of a large wooden box, which he support- ed at one end, while the other end was held by his fellow hind. 'Good _gracious! ejaculated Sir R ways. “This can’t be_the right box. W it's as big as a coffin!" Afterward all those who heard these words and he who had spoken them re- called them with a shudder. “I don't think there ean be any mis- take, sir,” said the footman who had come before, as the box was carefully set down. to sir, and brought it.” t must be all right,” dublously, “I did servant, walking be- “Well, I suppos replied Sir Redway order a lot of and omne never knows how much room these professional packers make everything take up. Still, I should ne ave thought— ter. Have you brought a screw r chisel,” or something of the sort, to pry the top open?” This the footman had prudently done, feeling sure his master would be impa- tient to see the contents of the box, once it had been brought upstairs, and be vexed at any delay. He cut the cord which was securely tied round the big box, pried up the nails and then he and