The lost clue

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

"A letter for you, Marjorie," said Phyllis, who had gone to meet the postman at the gate, "and it has such a black border."

Marjorie took it hastily from her; she knew the writing well; it was Patty Holtby's. Such terrible news the letter contained, poor Patty had been almost broken-hearted as she wrote it. Her father had gone to the works the day before, apparently quite well, but a short time after he arrived there, he had been seen to stagger and fall, and when they went to him, they found that he was dead. It had been an awful shock to them all, and Patty said that she could hardly yet believe that it was true.

Marjorie felt as if all the brightness of her holiday had passed away. She realized now how fond she had become of the people with whom she had lived for the last year, and she longed to be with them in their time of trouble. She wrote at once, offering to return immediately if it would be the least comfort to them; she would only be too glad to come to them.

Marjorie waited anxiously for the answer. It came in poor Mrs. Holtby's writing. It would be an unspeakable help to have her there, she said, but their plans were so undecided now that she thought it would be better for her to wait for a few days. Her brother had come for the funeral, and he was helping her to arrange matters, and she would write again shortly.

When Mrs. Holtby's next letter came, it was a very sad one. She was grieved to have to say that it would be impossible for Marjorie to return to them. They were leaving Daisy Bank, and her brother, who was now a widower, had invited them to come and live with him. Of course now she would have to be very careful of expense, and could no longer afford to have a mother's help. She added that she could never thank Miss Douglas enough for all she had done for them; she would miss her more than words could say; but she felt sure that she would rejoice to know that Patty had profited so much by the good training she had received from her, that she was becoming the greatest comfort and help to them all. She ended by saying that she could hardly bear to think that Marjorie was not coming back to them; it was one of the most painful consequences of her heavy bereavement.

So that chapter of Marjorie's life was ended. Daisy Bank was, as far as she was concerned, nothing but a memory of the past. Never more would she climb the pit mounds, or watch old Enoch tending his roses, or walk amongst the furnace débris. A year ago she would not have believed that she would have felt the parting so much as she did, nor that she would have so many pleasant remembrances of their Black Country.

Now she must begin life again somewhere, and where would it be? She dreaded the thought of going once more amongst strangers, and even Colwyn House had become a kind of second home to her. Well, she must not be faint-hearted; she had been guided so far, and she knew that her Guide would not forsake her.

But January passed away, and February came, and no opening had been found for her. Marjorie was beginning to feel anxious on the subject of the family finance, when one day, returning from a walk, she found Colonel Verner's carriage at the door.

Louis had long since returned to Oxford, and Mrs. Verner was an invalid and not able to call, so she was somewhat surprised to see the carriage, and wondered whom she should see when she went into the house.

She heard voices in their little drawing-room, and her mother came to the door and culled her in. Marjorie found Colonel Verner, and with him a lady whom she had never seen before. The Colonel introduced Marjorie, and she found that the lady's name was Mrs. St. Hellier, the Honourable Mrs. St. Hellier, she discovered afterwards. She was Colonel Verner's cousin, and she was spending a few weeks with him at Grange.