CHAPTER VI.

CONCLUSION.

Three days after my meeting with Juanita in Leicester Square, I was lying propped up in bed in the hospital, feeling very weak and miserable, when one of the nurses came to tell me that two visitors were coming up to see me.

"Who are they," I asked,--"men or women?"

"Ladies," the nurse replied, as if she were speaking of a third sex. "Drove up in their own carriage."

"Ladies!" I said. "Who _can_ they be?"

Any further wonderment was put a stop to by the entrance of the ladies themselves, escorted by the house surgeon. Can you guess who they were? One was a lady I had never seen before, a chaperon, I suppose. The other was--but there, I must leave you to imagine who alone would have sufficient pity to forget the past, and to come and comfort the sick and sorrowful? _It was Maud!_ The Maud I had treated so shamefully, to whom I had done so great a wrong. I could hardly believe my eyes! With that exquisite grace that always characterized her movements, she floated up the long bare ward to where I lay, bringing with her sunshine and happiness unspeakable.

"Jack, Jack," she began, taking my great brown paw between her dainty hands, "welcome home, ten thousand welcomes home!"

Though the words she uttered were nothing more than ordinary, there was something in the way she said them that invested them with a charm no other woman could have given them.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked, when the first embarrassment was over, and she had taken a chair by my side.

"Papa saw it in the paper," she said, "and we immediately made inquiries."

"And you were forgiving enough to come and see me. Oh, Maud, how little I deserve it!"

"Hush, you mustn't talk like that. Of course I could not let you lie here without coming to you. Some people might be shocked at the idea of a young lady visiting a gentleman in a hospital. But I do what I think right myself. Now, the doctor tells me you are better, and will soon be able to come out. Directly you are ready, you must come to us."

"Come to you, Maud? Your father would never allow that."

"Papa wishes it as much as I do, so be quick and get well. I have such a lot to tell you, and messages to give you, Jack, from your poor dear mother. I was with her till the last."

"I guessed you would be. Poor mother!"

We were both silent for a minute, then I said--

"Maud, can you tell me one thing? How is the woman who was found in the room with me?"

"Dead, Jack. She died while the police were examining her this morning."

The shock was almost too much for me. It was some time before I could realize it.

"Dead? Oh, poor Juanita! Then her wish was gratified after all. She gave her life for mine. Maud, there is the end of a tragedy. Poor Juanita!"

"Don't think of it for the present, Jack. Wait till you are stronger. I must go soon, or the doctor will say I'm keeping you from getting well."

"Nonsense, your presence will do me more good than all his drugs put together. Forgive me one question."

"A hundred. What is this one?"

"Maud," I asked, almost afraid, "you are not married?"

She shook her head a little sadly, I thought. Oh, if I could only find the pluck to put another! I would try, at any rate.

"Maud, have you only come here in pity, or do you--do you----"

She must have divined what I meant, perhaps she read it in my eyes, for a great blush spread over her face, as she bent towards me and whispered--

"How cruel of you, Jack, to make me say it! I am here because I love you,--because I love you!"

My emotion was so great that I could not speak. My eyes overflowed with tears; I could feel them coursing down my cheeks. The doctor and nurse had taken the chaperon to the other end of the ward, and as I had a screen round my bed, we were quite alone. At last I found my voice.

"Maud," I faltered, "I am not worthy of you, my dear, I am not worthy. You do not know what my life has been."

What she said in reply has no business here but I know that it acted on me like a magic potion. When she went away, I only let her go on the strict understanding that she should come again as soon as she could spare the time. After the door had closed on her it was as though all the sunshine had gone out of the ward; but she had left behind in my heart a greater happiness than I had ever known before, one that can never leave me again as long as I live to feel it.

A little later the doctor came to examine me. He was struck by the improvement in my condition.

"Why, man, what on earth have you been doing to yourself?" he asked. "You're a hundred per cent. better than you were when I saw you last."

"Happiness, doctor," I answered. "I have had some news which has done me more good than anything your science could prescribe for me."

"It looks like it," he said, and went on to the next bed laughing.

But though my heart was full of joy because I knew that Maud still loved me, it was not unmixed with a feeling of sorrow. In the first place, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was not worthy of my darling's love; and in the second, how was I, a pauper, to ask her to be my wife? My fortune, if it had ever been a fortune, had been stolen from me, and even if I returned to my old profession, the sea, I should stand but a poor chance of ever making enough to justify me in asking Sir Benjamin for her hand. Consideration of these things was, however, postponed for the present by the arrival of the police and a magistrate, to take my deposition for use at the inquest on poor Juanita's body. She, brave soul, had sacrificed herself for me, and it should go hard if any exertion on my part should be wanting to bring her murderer to justice. In the evening I had the satisfaction of hearing that a verdict of wilful murder had been returned against John Macklin, and that a warrant was already out for his arrest.

By special favour, Maud was permitted to see me every other day, until I was in a condition to be moved. When that happy moment arrived, she herself came to escort me. The carriage was at the great hospital door, and in it we set out for Holland Park.

When we reached the house, who should open the door but Sir Benjamin himself! His welcome could not have been more cordial had I been his own son returning after an absence of many years. On his arm I entered the house, tenderly watched by Maud. We passed into the drawing-room, and I was soon seated in a comfortable chair before the fire.

"Sit yourself down, my dear boy," Sir Benjamin said, "and you'll just take a glass of wine and a biscuit before you do another thing. I prescribe it myself, and surely I ought to know. Hum, ha! Maud, my dear, God bless you."

I never remember having seen Sir Benjamin so much affected before. Tears stood in his eyes, and his hand trembled so violently that it was as much as he could do to pour out the wine for me. Dear old man, I had always misjudged his affection for myself, though why he should have felt any was a thing which, personally, I could never understand.

It was not till after lunch that I got an opportunity of a private conversation with him. Then, as I had made up my mind I would, I told him my whole story, from the time of my leaving England on my last voyage, up to the present moment. As my yarn progressed, I was alarmed at the change in his face. From its usual rosy hue its colour passed to an extraordinary pallor, and when I reached the account of my scene with Juanita, and my attempted assassination, with the robbery of the locket, I thought he would have fainted. He gasped--

"You say that Marmaduke, my nephew, gave you that locket containing the piece of paper?"

"Yes, and bound me by a promise that I would not open it till I had been a month in London."

"Then, John, God forgive me, I have done you an awful injury. I have, unconsciously it is true, robbed you of L200,000!"

"What!" I cried, in my turn astonished by his words. "What had you to do with that affair?"

"I was the custodian of it; my nephew sent it home to me from Chili to keep for him, with the proviso that if ever he should send a messenger for it, bearing a certain piece of paper, I should give him whatever amount, even up to the entire sum, he should ask of me."

"And that messenger?"

"Came the same day that we heard of your accident, and brought the scrap of paper; he said my nephew was in great danger, and wanted his money immediately; he took away my cheque for L200,000 and accumulated interest, and, as I have found out by inquiry, cashed it the same morning. By this time he has probably left the country!"

"What was he like, this messenger?"

"Well, he was the most extraordinary little man I ever set eyes on. He was a deformed Albino."

"The Albino! Then you've seen the murderer--the man who killed Juanita, and attempted to do the same for me."

"Good heavens! What's to be done now?"

"Nothing that I can see. The police are searching high and low for him. We can't recover the money, for we haven't the vestige of a right to it. You must remember it was to be the property of whosoever brought you the paper. The Albino brought it, and he has got it. We must grin and bear our loss. You are not a bit to blame, Sir Benjamin."

I saw that he felt he had injured me, and to try and drive the subject from his mind, I spoke to him of my views regarding Maud. In a second he was another man.

"Jack, my boy, God bless you for that idea! My carelessness, though certainly I did not know any better, has deprived you of great wealth; now I can make up for it. You love Maud. Maud has never wavered in her affection for you. I'm not going to ask what your life has been since you left us, because I trust to your honour not to ask me for my girl if there's anything against it. On the point of money we'll split the difference, and on your wedding-day I'll make you a present of a cheque for L100,000. Will that suit you?"

"No, Sir Benjamin, I cannot let you do it. If when I'm strong enough you'll help me to some appointment which will enable me to support Maud in a proper manner, I should be just as grateful. But I can't take your money in compensation for what was not your fault."

"It shan't be in compensation then, it shall be as a free gift. See, here is Maud; if you want to talk about it, let it be to her. I must go into town, and find out if the police have discovered anything regarding that Albino."

With this excuse the old gentleman hobbled out of the room, and I was left alone with Maud. When I told her of her father's generosity she became very silent, and her dear eyes filled with tears, but you may be sure they were not tears of sorrow.

"There's one thing I want to tell you, Jack," she said. "I asked papa to undertake on your behalf the funeral of that poor woman. He did so, and now she has a quiet resting-place in Wendthrop churchyard, under the great yew-tree near the lych-gate. I knew you would like to think she had been given a proper burial. Some day we will go together, and see the grave of the woman who sacrificed her life in such a noble way. We must never forget her nobility, Jack."

"No, dear, pray God we never may! Poor Juanita, her troubled life is over! Surely all her sins have been atoned for by her last act of self-sacrifice!"

And so it came to pass, a month or two later, when summer was on the land, that we twain, as man and wife, went down together to the little village, in the churchyard of which Juanita takes her last long sleep. It was evening, the after-glow of sunset was still upon the sky, and bats were flitting hither and thither among the tombs. In the dip below the churchyard the dear old river ran its silent course towards the sea; a faint chattering sounded from the rooks in the elms above us, and across the meadows came the gentle tinkling of cattle-bells. We passed through God's acre to the old yew-tree, beneath whose ample shade a grave was just beginning to show signs of the care that had been bestowed upon it.

Hand in hand we stood beside it, thinking of the woman whose body lay beneath us. In _my_ thoughts I was far away from England. Thursday Island rose before my eyes; the bay dotted with shipping, clouds upon the hill-tops, the noise of the surf upon the beach, the rustling of palm-trees, and Juanita's laughter ringing from the Orient Hotel.

Before we came away we made a resolve that once every year, as long as we two should live, we would repeat the visit. The grave will be our constant care. For in that way alone can we show our gratitude to the woman whose resting-place it is.

But to return to a more cheerful topic. My long story is fast drawing to a close, and, as I don't doubt, you will say it is about time. But there are two more circumstances of importance to be recorded before I can with satisfaction call a halt.

The first is the matter of my marriage. But when I tell you that it only happened a couple of months ago, you will see that I am hardly in a position yet to describe it with the care such an important event demands. Suffice it then that it took place at the parish church without any ostentation or fuss. I'm not going to tell you how Maud looked in her wedding-dress, because I was far too nervous to find that out for myself. A tiny cousin acted as her bridesmaid, and an old sea friend was good enough to officiate as my best man.

After the ceremony, which took place in the afternoon, we drove back to the house, where Maud held a little reception; and here occurred the second event to which I desire to draw your attention.

Among the guests who came to offer their congratulations were two people whom I had seen before under very different circumstances. That they had not recognized my connection with that affair was evident. So waiting my opportunity, I took Maud on my arm, and bidding her listen, approached the lady, saying politely--

"I think we have met before!"

She stared in blank surprise, grew very confused, and at last replied--

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken, Mr. Ramsay; I don't think I have ever had the pleasure of seeing you before!"

"And yet I think I carried you in my arms once, and for a considerable distance!"

"You, Mr. Ramsay? Surely you must be mistaken! Pray tell me when."

"In Australia. You were staying at the Federation Hotel the night it caught fire. A fireman carried you down a ladder in his arms!"

"Good gracious! You were not that fireman?"

"I was, though please say nothing about it. If you do, I shall be sorry I recalled the circumstance to your memory."

"But you saved my life. Oh, where is my husband? I must tell him. Maud, do you hear what Mr. Ramsay says?"

"Yes, I have heard about it before, and I am very proud of him," said Maud; and that little sentence was more than sufficient praise for me.

Next moment Major Welbourne--for he was Major now--was overwhelming me with protestations of gratitude, and I was bitterly regretting having said anything about the matter. But for all that it was a strange coincidence, wasn't it?

As soon as the reception was over, we bade Sir Benjamin good-bye, and started for Southsea, _en route_ to the Isle of Wight, where, as the guests of Mr. Sanctuary, Maud's cousin, we proposed to spend our honeymoon.

It is under his hospitable roof that this account of my strange adventures has been written, and now comes to a conclusion.

I am loth to say "farewell," but what more can I tell you? Only the other day I discovered that Bradshaw the banker, whose embezzlement was the primary cause of all the trouble, had the misfortune to be extradited soon after the loss of his money, and now occupies a cell in one of her Majesty's criminal lunatic asylums. Of the ill-fated pair who left Valparaiso in the schooner _Island Queen_, Veneda lies buried on an island off the Sumatra coast, Juanita in an English churchyard. So far nothing has been heard of the Albino. Despite his extraordinary personality, which, one would be tempted to believe, would render it the more difficult for him to escape, he has succeeded in completely baffling the police. Whether I shall ever hear of him again is a matter outside my power to tell, but that he will some day overreach himself, and suffer the penalty of his crimes, I am as certain as that I am one of the happiest of men to-day. And nothing can be more certain than that!

And with the assurance of that fact I bring my story to a close. My only hope is that I may be permitted to be the husband to Maud that she deserves; and my only regret is that I cannot prove myself better worthy of her love. Surely a life devoted to achieving both these ends cannot be altogether spent in vain!

THE END.

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This story of the reign of Louis XIV. is a typical "romance of the cloak and sword." The Gascon hero is bold and daring, like all those of his race. He is an accomplished swordsman, a gallant cavalier, who pays court to an inn-keeper's daughter or the niece of a cardinal with equal grace and equal success.

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Price, per volume, Fifty Cents

Heir of Linne, The Robert Buchanan Her Faithful Knight Gertrude Warden His Word of Honor E. Werner In the Golden Days Edna Lyall In the Roar of the Sea S. Baring Gould In Strange Company Guy Boothby Kidnapped Robert Louis Stevenson Little Cuban Rebel, The Edna Winfield Living or Dead Hugh Conway Lorna Doone R. D. Blackmore Lucky Young Woman, A F. C. Philips Man in Possession "Rita" Master of Ballantrae, The Robert Louis Stevenson Master of the Mine, The Robert Buchanan Miss Kate "Rita" Mr. Meeson's Will H. Rider Haggard Nobler Sex, The Florence Marryat Of the World, Worldly Mrs. Forrester Perilous Secret, A Charles Reade Price He Paid, The E. Werner Averil Rosa Nouchette Carey Bam Wildfire Helen B. Mathers Black Rock Ralph Connor Beatrice H. Rider Haggard Bondman, The Hall Caine Black Carnation, The Fergus Home Cardinal Sin, A Hugh Conway Consequences Egerton Castle Cruise of the Cachelot, The Frank T. Bullen Dead Secret, The Wilkie Collins Difficult Matter, A Mrs. Emily Lovett Cameron Doctor Jack St. George Rathborne Dugdale Millions, The Barclay North Facing the Footlights Florence Marryat Fatal Silence, A Florence Marryat Fever of Life, The Fergus Hume First Violin, The Jessie Fothergill Frozen Pirate, The W. Clark Russell Gentleman from Gascony, A Bicknell Dudley Heaps of Money W. E. Norris Ralph Ryder of Brent Florence Warden She Fell in Love With Her Husband E. Werner Should She Have Left Him? Barclay North Splendid Spur, The "Q" A. T. Quiller Couch Stormy Wedding, A Mary E. Bryan That Beautiful Wretch William Black Thelma Marie Corelli Those Girls John Strange Winter Treasure Island Robert Louis Stevenson True To Herself Mrs. J. H. Walforth Uncle Tom's Cabin Harriet Beecher Stowe Under Two Flags "Ouida" Wedding Ring, The Robert Buchanan Wee Wifie Rosa Nouchette Carey White Company, The A. Conan Doyle We Two Edna Lyall Won by Waiting Edna Lyall Wormwood Marie Corelli Yale Man, A Robert Lee Tyler Young Mrs. Jardine Miss Mulock

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BY Gilbert Patten

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3--THE ROCKSPUR RIVALS. A Story of Winter Sports.

Each volume contains about 300 pages, 12mo in size, cloth binding, per volume, $1.00

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BY BURT L. STANDISH

For a great number of years Frank Merriwell has been a name to conjure with among the boys of America. Frank, with his chums, has been deservedly popular, but his adventures and achievements have never before been published in book form. It was in response to a clamorous demand for the Frank Merriwell stories in this form that this series was prepared. These are unique among boys' books; indeed, so filled are they with incident and action oL every kind that it would be impossible to give here any adequate idea of what they contain. Frank Merriwell was no ordinary boy, and it falls to the lot of very few fellows to have as much fun and strenuousness crowded into his school life as will be found in this all-absorbing history.

The first titles in the series are:

FRANK MERRIWELL'S SCHOOL DAYS. Illustrated. 12mo, 302 pages. Cloth binding. $1.00

FRANK MERRIWELL'S CHUMS. Illustrated. 12mo, 302 pages. Cloth binding. (In press.) $1.00