The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

But it was not a time to ask questions. Advancing a step or two she said, "My name is not Isabel, Miss Pengarvon. I am Hermia Rivers. Do you not remember seeing me here when I was a little girl?"

"Hermia Rivers!" echoed Miss Pengarvon, in a whisper loud enough for the others to hear, as a person at the moment of waking might repeat with a kind of frightened surprise some name which, spoken in his ear, had been enough to break his sleep. "And who, pray, may Hermia Rivers be?" she demanded next moment, as she rose slowly and not without difficulty from her chair and drew herself up to her full height. "No such person is known to me." Then, turning abruptly on the trembling Barney, she said, "How many times have I given you my orders that, on no pretence whatever, should you introduce any one into my presence without having first obtained my permission to do so? Take this young woman away at once--at once, I say--and never let me see her face again! She is an intruder. I know her not!" With an imperious gesture she pointed to the door. The old man beckoned sorrowfully to Hermia, and the two left the room without a word more.

Barney's experiment had resulted in failure; but for that the old man was in no way to blame. He had done his best to bring about an explanation between Miss Pengarvon and her niece, and that he had not succeeded was no fault of his. Saddened and disheartened, our trio went back to Stavering.

Not knowing at what hour they should be back, they had left the question of dinner till their return, and they now separated, pending its preparation. As Hermia passed up the staircase on her way to her room, she encountered a middle-aged, military-looking man, with a grey mustache, who happened to be coming down at the same moment. The lamp at the head of the staircase shone full on Hermia, and as they passed each other the stranger, whose eyes had been fixed on her face, gave a palpable start, and at the same instant made a clutch at the balusters as if to keep himself from falling. Then he turned and gazed after Hermia's retreating figure; and then, instead of keeping on his way down stairs, he re-ascended them and went back to his room with the air of a man who was at once puzzled and disturbed in his mind. He was none other than Major Strickland. He who, but a month or two before, had met with such a decided rebuff at the hands of Miss Pengarvon. He had come down to Stavering again in the hope that Miss Pengarvon, who in the meantime would have had ample time to think over and review certain particulars which he had then laid before her, might now see fit to accord him the information she had then refused him, which, so far as he could judge, it would be hopeless for him to seek elsewhere.

Accordingly, on the morning of the day when we meet him for the second time, the Major had again walked over to Broome and had sent in his card by the hand of Barney Dale, whom he now saw for the first time. It had been brought back to him two minutes later, torn in half by Miss Pengarvon, who refused absolutely to see him, and ordered Barney to shut the door in his face--an order, however, which the latter chose to interpret in his own way. Then had the Major returned to Stavering, disheartened and sad at heart, even as, a few hours later, three other persons had come back from Broome.

On returning to his room after being so startled by the vision he had encountered on the stairs, Major Strickland opened his portmanteau and took from it a miniature painted on ivory, in an oval case. Opening it, he gazed long and earnestly at the likeness inside, which was that of a very beautiful young woman, apparently not more than about twenty years of age.

"The resemblance is certainly most extraordinary," he soliloquized aloud. "But for the changed fashion of dress and the different arrangement of the hair, it seems to me that each of them might sit for the other's portrait. Who can she be? Gruding may be able to tell me something about her. I will seek him at once."

"The name of the young lady is Miss Hermia Rivers--at least, that's the name entered in the register," said the landlord, when found and questioned by the Major ten minutes later. "But you are ill, sir. What can I get you? What can I do for you?"

"It is nothing--nothing at all. I shall be better in a minute or two." Then to himself he added: "It is she--it must be she! The name alone is enough to prove it. How strange and unaccountable are the ways of Providence!" He seemed lost in thought for a few moments, then rousing himself, he said: "From the fact that Miss Rivers is staying under your roof, I presume that, like myself, she is only a visitor here?"

"That is all, sir. They arrived yesterday--the three of them--though the young gentleman was here before, about a fortnight since."