The Lamar Register

"Oh, yes, at Ilmington! You can
leave the bag there and go. Woodward,"
directed Miss Elmslie. "Nona,
my child, how pale you are! Let me
give you a cup of coffee; you should
not have come down to breakfast. I
was surprised, when I passed your
room, not to find you. Here, dearest,
drink this, and let me see a little more
color in your cheeks."

Miss Branscombe obeyed so far as
putting the proffered cup to her lips
went, but I observed that throughout
the meal she only played with her
food, and she did not address a single
word to me. She resented the want of
tact I had shown in regard to what, I
was now convinced, had been an ac-
idental and-to Miss Branscombe-an
awkward meeting. She was evidently
determined to ignore the whole mat-
ter, and, but for the paramount con-
sideration of the missing will, I must
of course have followed her lead. But
with that in the question, and Colonel
Branscombe's funeral fixed for the
morrow, what was to be my next step?

CHAPTER X.

The good old Colonel was laid to
rest in the family vault, and the
neighboring gentry who assembled to
pay the last token of respect to the
man who had filled so honorable a
place among them were duly received
at the Lea, and left it again with little
gratification of their curiosity as to the
next owner.

I had made searching investigations
at Molton. I had exhausted every
means at my command in the unsuc-
cessful attempt to trace the missing
will. I lingered at Forest Lea for an
opportunity of making one more ef-
fort toward inducing Miss Branscombe
to solve the mystery of which she un-
doubtedly held the key. It came-the
opportunity-upon me suddenly, and,
strange to say, by Miss Branscombe's
own action.

It was the day after the funeral, and
I was gloomily pondering the awk-
wardness of the situation, when a
shadow across the French window,
which stood open disturbed my medi-
tations. I looked up to find Miss
Branscombe, alone, looking in upon
me. I rose instantly.

"You have something to say to me.
Will you not come in?" I said im-
pulsively, answering a certain appeal
in the wistful eyes-they looked larg-
er than ever out of the pale, sad face.

She came in at once and stood on
the mat just within the door.

"Mr. Fort," she said, "you are going
away tomorrow, Cousin Emma tells
me. Have you found the-the will?"

"No," I answered; "it is still miss-
ing.

"It was in the bag which you lost?"
she asked.

"Yes," I returned, briefly.

"But there is generally more than
one copy of a will, is there not?"

"Generally; but in this case there
had not been time to make another
copy."

"If it should not be found, what will
be done?"

"I can hardly tell; there are two or
three courses open. But it must be
found, Miss Branscombe"-I tried to
speak severely. "It is incredible that
such an important document should
be accidentally missing for any length
of time, and in the face of the efforts
I am making to recover it."

"But if it should be really lost, then
I cannot inherit my uncle's estates? Is
it not so, Mr. Fort?"

In that case," I admitted,
"there
would be-ahem-difficulties.

Never was a man in a more painful
position. Here was I, under the eyes
of the woman I loved, forced either to
play her hand-which was showed, in
her simplicity, all too plainly--or to
perjure myself in order to save her.
My lawyer-like tact and presence of
mind utterly deserted me.

"The will must be found, Miss Brans-
combe," I repeated weakly. "Its sup-
pression amounts to-to felony!"

My voice faltered as I uttered the
veiled threat; I felt like a brute-with
that pathetic glance full on me, too,
and the droop of the young figure in
its clinging black garments, telling so
eloquently of past and present suffer-
ing, straight to my heart. My dar-
ling-how could I torture her? She
bore my last stroke without a change
of countenance; she could not well be
paler, it is true, but the eyes still
looked unflinchingly into mine.
My

brutal insinuation-as I now felt it to
be-had passed her by.

(TO be continued.)