The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

When the train had gone on its way and the platform was clear of people, Clement drew her into the little waiting-room, which at that hour they had all to themselves. He had already given John and Miss Brancker all particulars in connection with his second visit to Stavering, and it seemed to him that the present would be a capital opportunity for doing the same by Hermia. Accordingly, he proceeded to tell her all about his interview with Barney Dale, and how it had resulted in a promise on his part that Hermia should go to Stavering as soon as possible, when an opportunity would be found by the old servitor for introducing her to Miss Pengarvon. Of that which the girl's heart hungered most to know--whether one or both of her parents were still alive--Clement could tell her nothing.

When he had brought his narrative to an end, Hermia cried a little softly to herself. Why she did so she could not have told anyone, but at her age so curiously are the emotions intermingled, and so close akin does joy seem to sorrow, that both alike find their readiest outlet in tears.

Presently Clement said,

"And now, darling, have you nothing to tell me in return? All of us, your uncle and aunt equally with myself, have been on the tenterhooks of suspense ever since you left home with such mysterious suddenness. I hope we may congratulate you on having achieved the object of your journey, whatever it may have been."

"You may, indeed you may," she exclaimed, turning on him an April-day face in which smiles and tears were exquisitely blended. "I have succeeded beyond my wildest hopes. I have much, very much to tell you--a surprise in store for you all such as none of you dreams of. But Uncle John and Aunt Charlotte must be there when I relate my adventures, such as they are, because, you see, dear, what I have to tell concerns them equally with yourself, and I want one telling to be enough for everybody. So, not a word more about it till evening."

They parted at the gate of Nairn Cottage. Clem, who was in a state of utter mystification, was to return at half-past seven.

At that hour they were all assembled--John, his sister, Hermia, and Clement, in the little sitting-room at the Cottage.

There to her wondering listeners did Hermia her tale unfold.

Over the congratulations and felicitations that were exchanged between one and another of them, when at length she had come to the end of her recital, it needs not that we should linger. The dark cloud, in the shadow of which they had dwelt for so long a time, had lifted at last and vanished into thinnest air. Their mood, however, was less one of jubilation than of reverent thankfulness. If Hermia had not been dear to Clement before, that night would not have failed to make her so. But, indeed, it was not possible for him to love her more than he did already.

"It seems a thousand pities," said John Brancker, who for some minutes had been lost in thought, "that Richard Varrel should have gone to his grave without having had his mind disabused of the belief that he owed it to Mr. Hazeldine, and not to Mr. Avison himself, that he was brought to trial and the charge against him pressed sternly home. In point of fact, Mr. Hazeldine did everything that lay in his power with the view of extenuating Varrel's crime; but Mr. Avison's orders in the matter were imperative, and he had no option but to carry them out. Had Varrel but known this at the time many things might perhaps have fallen out differently; but of course it was nobody's business to enlighten him, and to his hand was due the death of the man who had done his utmost to befriend him."