Half Brothers. Stretton Hesba

must trace out what that fate had been. He must at least ascertain whether she was living or dead. What he would do if she was living he need not yet decide. It was impossible for him to undertake this search himself; a search which ought to have been made years before, and without which it was hopeless to think of Margaret as his wife. But he had an agent at hand to whom he could intrust this difficult and delicate mission. There was a clerk in his office who had been in his uncle's employ for over thirty-five years, to whom had been intrusted several important investigations, and who had given many proofs of his ability and probity. He would send Trevor to the Ampezzo Valley, where he had left Sophy seven years ago; giving to him such directions and indications as were in his power for tracing her movements after his desertion of her.

      He arranged and wrote some notes for Trevor's guidance, with shrewd and clear-sighted skill, careful not to incriminate himself more than was absolutely necessary; and yet finding himself compelled to admit more than it was wise for any man save himself to know. He was conscious that he was placing too close a confidence in his clerk's hands, and might have to pay heavily for it in years to come. But he must run the risk; there was no alternative. He could not carry through these investigations in person; and the time had come when he must learn the fate of his young wife.

      "Take the next train to Paris, Trevor," he said, the following morning, giving to him a sealed letter; "those are your instructions, and you can study them on your way."

CHAPTER X.

       CHIARA.

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      Trevor was thirteen years of age when he entered the office of Martin, Swansea & Co., and occupied one of the lowest places in the house. But luckily for him Sir John Martin had taken a fancy to the sharp-looking lad, and had given him a good commercial education. He had a special faculty for learning languages; and from time to time had been sent to most of the foreign branches of the shipping agency, thus acquiring a practical knowledge of many of the European dialects; an acquirement exceedingly useful to him. He had risen to the position almost of a confidential clerk, and received a good salary, but he had not been promoted to any post of authority in the house. His ambition had always been to be at the head of one of the branches of the business; but the attainment of this end seemed farther away from him now Sir John Martin was dead, and Sidney had succeeded him. Trevor was not attached to Sidney as he had been to his early patron. He had a son about the same age as Sidney; and from their earliest years he had compared his boy's lot with that of his master's nephew, always grudging the brilliant and successful career of the latter, and secretly hoping that his uncle might marry and have an heir of his own. There was something painfully dazzling to him in Sidney's present position; while his son was nothing more than the underpaid usher of a boys' school. Almost unconsciously to himself a deep jealousy and hatred of his young master filled his heart; though he never contemplated the idea of quitting his employment, the salary he drew being higher than he could have obtained elsewhere.

      Trevor studied his instructions with profound interest and a growing suspicion. He remembered with perfect distinctness the time that Sidney was away for a year's sojourn on the Continent before settling down to business. It was the year that his boy had entered upon his very different walk in life. He recollected, too, that Sidney had come back unexpectedly a month or two before his time had expired. It was seven years ago; and these instructions bade him take up an event that had occurred seven years ago in this remote region, and to follow any clew he could find whereby to trace the movements of an English girl left alone there. Who was it that had left her alone?

      Trevor was in no wise inclined to be unfaithful to the trust reposed in him; he would not betray his master. But he was quite ready to take advantage of any circumstance that would tend to promote his own interest. Commercial life in the City does not usually foster the highest principles of honor. Here was plainly a secret, which had been lying dormant for some years, and which he was commissioned to take up from its long slumber. Where there is a secret there is generally a profit to be made by the discoverer of it. He pushed on toward the Ampezzo Valley, and drove through the wondrous beauty and grandeur of it with no thought beyond that of getting as quickly as possible to Cortina, and setting to work on Sidney's instructions. He was, if possible, to ascertain what had become of Sophy without referring to any of the authorities of the village, such as the parish priest or mayor, who might be inclined to ask some inconvenient questions. All that he had to discover was to what place Sophy had gone after leaving Cortina, and then to trace her steps from town to town as far as possible, without bringing too much notice to bear upon his search.

      The little one-horse carriage that he had hired at Toblach set him down at the hotel to which Sidney's note had directed him; and he turned at once into the rough and comfortless kitchen on the ground floor, glad to seat himself on one of the high chairs, with his feet on the raised hearth. For the cold was keen at this time of the year after the sun was down, and it had been lost to sight for some hours behind the high rocks which hem in the valley on each side. The great logs lying on the hearth burnt brightly, and the copper pans resting in front of them emitted an appetizing fragrance to those who had been long in the sharp and frosty air. Trevor would not hear of going upstairs to the solitary dining room, where there was neither fire nor company. A few peasants were sitting patiently at a huge oak table; and a brisk, elderly woman, in a short petticoat, and with white sleeves rolled up above the elbows, was bustling to and fro, looking into the copper cooking-pans, and from time to time exchanging a word or two with the foreigner who made himself so much at home.

      At length the landlord came in, and unlocking an old fashioned desk elaborately carved, produced a large volume, strongly bound in leather. It was the Register, in which all travelers were required to enter their names and nationalities, the places from whence they came and those to which they were going, with sundry other particulars possibly interesting to the Austrian police. Trevor in a leisurely manner entered the necessary records, and then turned over the past leaves of the great book. At that time there were not many foreigners passing through the Ampezzo Valley; and he had no difficulty in finding the entries of seven years ago. There lay before him, in Sidney's own handwriting, the words in Italian, "Sidney Martin, with his wife."

      "With his wife!" muttered Trevor, half aloud.

      Chiara was an unlearned woman, and could not read; but she watched every movement of the stranger with sharp and suspicious eyes. She knew the page on which the young English signore had inscribed his name seven years ago; and now she saw the flash of mingled surprise and triumph which crossed the face of Trevor as he uttered the words, "With his wife." It was necessary to do something; but it behooved her to act cautiously. She drew near to him as he bent over the Register, and laid her hand on his shoulders, with a touch of homely familiarity in no way displeasing.

      "You are English?" she asked.

      "Yes," he answered.

      "We have not many English here," she said. "Germans, yes, and Italians, yes; but few, few English; two or three in the summer, but not every summer."

      "English ladies?" he inquired.

      "Sometimes," she answered cautiously.

      "Do you remember a young English gentleman staying here with his wife seven years ago last June?" he asked.

      Chiara paused. Very swiftly she calculated the chances of this Englishman, who could speak Italian easily enough to enter into conversation with anyone he came across, making more inquiries than from herself alone; and she came to the rapid conclusion that it was necessary to tell him everything that her neighbors knew. Other English foreigners had passed through Cortina, but no question had ever been asked about these young people before. She must tell her tale cautiously, and with reserve.

      "Ah," she said, with a sigh of recollection, "the young English gentleman, Signore Martino! He was a fine, handsome gentleman; and the young lady was as pretty as a butterfly. Did they belong to you, Signore? Perhaps she was your daughter?"

      "No," he answered, "the young lady was no daughter of mine."

      "Is