"I understood from your telegram that you wanted to see me about Ellen's pendant, though I cannot conceive why you should know anything about its whereabouts."

"I am afraid I don't know anything about _Ellen's_ pendant," was the answer. "But I do know something about the pendant you mistook for Ellen's, on Christmas Day. The ornament Christina Moore was wearing, was not Ellen's, but her own."

"Nonsense, my dear Margaret," Sir Arthur answered testily. "The jewel is unique, and I know every detail of it. I hope you have not brought me here to try to persuade me not to prosecute that wretched nurse of Cicely's. Cicely herself is also trying to make me act against my better judgment, and refrain from calling in the police."

"I think you won't want to prosecute, when you hear why I sent for you," was the gentle rejoinder. "It was a very weighty reason that made me ask you to come, Arthur."

"Why did you telegraph to me?" he asked. "Tell me those weighty reasons----"

"A very strange coincidence has happened, one of those coincidences which are more common in real life, than people think. I--have discovered--beyond all possibilities of doubt, that Christina Moore--is our own niece. She is Helen's daughter."

For a long moment Sir Arthur said no single word; he only looked at his sister blankly, with a stare of incredulous astonishment. Then he said slowly:--

"Our--our--niece? Helen's daughter? Impossible--quite, quite impossible. My dear Margaret--you have been taken in by an impostor.

Such an idea is incredible. And--what proofs have you?"

"There is no question of being deceived. The discovery was not forced upon my attention; I made it for myself. Christina had no idea that there was any relationship between us. She was taken completely by surprise, when I told her she was my sister's child."

"You have let your imagination run away with you, Margaret. How can you be sure of what you say? Where are your proofs? I don't believe for a moment, that Miss Moore had any connection with Helen. I don't believe it at all."

And as Sir Arthur's lips went into a determined line, Margaret smiled faintly, remembering the days of their youth, when her brother had set his mouth in just such obstinate curves, if he were in disagreement with any of his family.

Very quietly, but very firmly, Margaret made herself heard, dominating the man by that strength of personality, of which he had already become strangely aware; forcing him, against his own inclinations, to hear her story, from beginning to end.

"At present I have, as you say, no proofs," she said. "No legal proofs. But those should be the least difficult to find. We must get Helen's marriage certificate, and Christina's birth and baptismal certificates. I have been thinking it all out, when I lay awake at night. And we must make all necessary enquiries at Staveley--the village where Christina lived with her father and mother.

Unfortunately, the clergyman she knew there, is dead; and the solicitor, who seems to have done Helen's business for her, is in Africa, and Christina does not know his address. But--the pendant, the emerald pendant, was certainly sent to Helen by our mother; and before Helen died, she tried to send you a message. She sank into unconsciousness with your name on her lips--'Tell Arthur'--those were the very last words she spoke."

Sir Arthur's severe face softened; some of the hardness in his eyes died away; it was in a shaken and softened voice that he said:

"It is difficult even now to believe that all this can be true; and yet--there is a certain ring of truth about it. I should like to see this Miss Moore. I cannot understand why, if she was innocent of theft, she ran away from Bramwell."

"She is very young; she was very frightened. She knew she could produce no proof of her innocence. And you must remember, Arthur, that I am the only person living, who knows there was a replica of Ellen's pendant. Christina's coming to me was providential. I--think she was sent into my care."

Sir Arthur was silent; indeed, he spoke no more until Christina, summoned by Margaret's bell, came into the room, her face flushing and paling by turns, when she saw the upright figure seated beside the bed.

"I wished to see you," Sir Arthur said, in the magisterial tones which were wont to strike terror into the hearts of guilty offenders. "My sister tells me a very remarkable story; and although, pending much more absolute proof, I suspend judgment, I should like to hear your own view of this strange thing."

"I don't know what to think about it all," the girl answered, a little shrinking fear in her eyes, as they met those piercing blue ones. "I have told--everything I know--to--to--her," she faltered, glancing at Margaret. "I can only say it all over again to you. It is all true.

I have never in all my life said anything that wasn't true," she added proudly.

"Your mother never mentioned any of her relations to you, by name?

Never spoke of her old home?"

"She spoke of her home, and always as if she had loved it dearly, as if it had broken her heart to leave it. But she never told me where it was; she never said any name, until the day she died; until she gave me the----and said 'Tell Arthur'--I think perhaps she could not bear to speak of her people, because she loved them all so much, that it hurt her to talk about them."

"The whole matter must be carefully investigated. I can accept nothing without proof, but, naturally, if it can be proved that you are our sister's child, suitable care will be taken of you. And for the present," he still spoke in the judicial tones, to which the Bench was accustomed, "for the present I shall waive the matter of the pendant.

Meanwhile----"

"Meanwhile, my own strong feeling is that Christina should go back to Bramwell," Margaret put in; "it is not fair to put Lady Cicely to inconvenience, and Christina feels, with me, that she had no right to run away, and leave such a kind and considerate employer in the lurch.

If Lady Cicely would like to have her back, Christina is sure she ought to go."

"Yes, indeed," Christina said eagerly, a little shamed look in her eyes. "I know I ought never to have come away, but I was so frightened, so dreadfully frightened," and she clasped her hands together, with an unconsciously childlike gesture, that stirred the latent humanity in Sir Arthur. Beneath his crust of frigidity, there was a certain kindliness of heart, and Christina's appealing eyes, and suddenly clasped hands, moved him to say, not ungently--

"Well, well, there is no occasion to be frightened now. I will look into the whole of this strange business, and nothing more shall be said about the pendant, until I have found out whatever there is to be found."

"I shall leave the pendant here," Christina said quickly, her eyes meeting those of the old man with a flash of pride, that seemed to give man and girl a sudden curious likeness to one another. "I will fetch it now and give it to her, and then you will know that I am honest--that I shall not run away with it. I will fetch it directly, and give it--to--Aunt Margaret!"

CHAPTER XX.

"SHE HAS A SWEET, STRONG SOUL."

"There was never another man in my world but Max. There never could have been another. Some women are made that way. They can only give their best once."

"But--I would take--the second best. I would be thankful even for the crumbs from the rich man's table. Only let me have the right to take care of you, to give you----"

"To give me everything, and to receive nothing in return? No, Rupert, I could not let you do that, even if----"

"Even if?" he repeated after her, his eyes fastened hungrily on her face, his voice deep and appealing. "Can't you understand that I don't want to worry you for anything in return. I only want to be near you, to do all that man can do for you."

"And I am grateful, more grateful than I can ever express in words.

Sometimes I am sorry you ever chanced to meet me, on that oasis in the desert. I think I have been a hindrance in your life, not the help I should like to have been. No--wait--don't contradict me for a minute,"

and Margaret held up her hand with a smile, as the man on the low chair beside her couch, bent forward in eager disclaimer. "Because of me, you have never married, when you ought to have had a wife, and a home, and children of your own."

"Do you think I could look at another woman, after I had once seen you?" he exclaimed vehemently, and she answered gently--

"Some day, I hope you will have a woman in your life, a woman who will bring you all the happiness you have missed, who----"

"I want no woman but you," he cried, a note of sullen pa.s.sion in his voice. "Margaret--you say--he--was the only man in your world. Can't I make you understand that you are--what you have been ever since I first saw you--the only woman in mine?"

She put out her hand to him, the transparent hand, whose only ornament was its heavy wedding ring, and he stooped down and kissed it, with a curiously reverent gesture that made her eyes misty.

"You have been such a good friend," she said; "but believe me, there cannot ever be anything but friendship between us two and--there is such a little time now left for anything."

"What do you mean?" he asked, with a sudden catch in his breath, his eyes fixed on her thin face, which seemed all at once to have become so ethereal in its whiteness; "why do you speak as if----"

"As if--an end were coming? Because--the end is very near." His eyes did not leave her face, but a look of pain leapt into them, a look of such intolerable pain, that Margaret exclaimed quickly--

"I cannot bear to hurt you, but it is better to tell you just the plain truth, even if it hurts you. The end is going to be very soon. Dr.

Fergusson thinks it can't be far off now, and I am glad, Rupert. I don't think I can tell you how glad."

He made some inarticulate sound, dropping his head into his hands, and her soft voice went on, with soothing monotony--

"There was a great deal of hardship and trouble in my early married life, and I never managed to get over it all. I have been ill almost ever since you knew me, and--in the last few months--I have come to the end of my tether. When Max--went away,"--her voice broke--"all that was left of my life and vitality seemed to go, too. I have tried to live, and I wanted to live, but the disease has got the better of me, and--I am glad the end is in sight."

"Did you send for me because"--he lifted his head and looked at her.