turned to go down? The danger and the delivery from it, the fear and the friend in need? Or was it a Cinderella's treat, which no fairy godmother would recall to her, with which no lost slipper would connect her? She could almost believe this. For no Cinderella, in the ashes of the hearth, could have seemed more remote from the gay ball-room than she crouching on her thin mattress, with the breathing of the children in her ears, from the luxury of the famous salon.
Or, if it was true, if it had happened, would anything come of it? Would Lord Audley remember her? Or would he think no more of her, ignoring to-morrow the poor relation whom it had been the whim of the moment to own? That would be cruel! That would be base! But if Mary had fallen in with some good people since her father's death, she had also met many callous, and a few cruel people. He might be one. And then, how strange it was that her father had never named this great kinsman, never referred to him, never even, when dying, disclosed his name!
The light wavered in the draught that stole through the bald, undraped window. A child whimpered in its sleep, awoke, began to sob. It was the youngest of the daughters of Poland. The girl rose, and going on tip-toe to the child, bent over it, kissed it, warmed it in her bosom, soothed it. Presently the little waif slept again, and Mary Audley began to make ready for bed.
But so much turned for her on what had happened, so much hung in the balance, that it was not unnatural that as she let down her hair and plaited it in two long tails for the night, she should see her new kinsman's face in the mirror. Nor strange that as she lay sleepless and thought-ridden in her bed the same face should present itself anew relieved against the background of darkness.
CHAPTER III
THE LAWYER ABROAD
Half an hour later Lord Audley paused in the hall at Meurice's, and having given his cloak and hat to a servant went thoughtfully up the wide staircase. He opened the door of a room on the first floor. A stout man with a bald head, who had been for some time yawning over the dying fire, rose to his feet and remained standing.
Audley nodded. "Hallo, Stubbs!" he said carelessly, "not in bed yet?"
"No, my lord," the other answered. "I waited to learn if your lordship had any orders for England."
"Well, sit down now. I've something to tell you." My lord stooped as he spoke and warmed his hands at the embers; then rising, he stood with his back to the hearth. The stout man sat forward on his chair with an air of deference. His double chin rested on the ample folds of a soft white stock secured by a gold pin in the shape of a wheat-sheaf. He wore black knee-breeches and stockings, and his dress, though plain, bore the stamp of neatness and prosperity.
For a minute or two Audley continued to look thoughtfully before him. At length, "May I take it that this claim is really at an end now?" he said. "Is the decision final, I mean?"
"Unless new evidence crops up," Stubbs answered-he was a lawyer-"the decision is certainly final. With your lordship's signature to the papers I brought over-"
"But the claimant might try again?"
"Mr. John Audley might do anything," Stubbs returned. "I believe him to be mad upon the point, and therefore capable of much. But he could only move on new evidence of the most cogent nature. I do not believe that such evidence exists."
His employer weighed this for some time. At length, "Then if you were in my place," he said, "you would not be tempted to hedge?"
"To hedge?" the lawyer exclaimed, as if he had never heard the word before. "I am afraid I don't understand."
"I will explain. But first, tell me this. If anything happens to me before I have a child, John Audley succeeds to the peerage? That is clear?"
"Certainly! Mr. John Audley, the claimant, is also your heir-at-law."
"To title and estates-such as they are?"
"To both, my lord."
"Then follow me another step, Stubbs. Failing John Audley, who is the next heir?"
"Mr. Peter Audley," Stubbs replied, "his only brother, would succeed, if he were alive. But it is common ground that he is dead. I knew Mr. Peter, and, if I may say it of an Audley, my lord, a more shiftless, weak, improvident gentleman never lived. And obstinate as the devil! He married into trade, and Mr. John never forgave it-never forgave it, my lord. Never spoke of his brother or to his brother from that time. It was before the Reform Bill," the lawyer continued with a sigh. "There were no railways then and things were different. Dear, dear, how the world changes! Mr. Peter must have gone abroad ten years ago, but until he was mentioned in the suit I don't think that I had heard his name ten times in as many years. And he an Audley!"
"He had a child?"
"Only one, a daughter."
"Would she come in after Mr. John?"
"Yes, my lord, she would-if living."
"I've been talking to her this evening."
"Ah!" The lawyer was not so simple as he seemed, and for a minute or two he had foreseen the dénouement. "Ah!" he repeated, thoughtfully rubbing his plump calf. "I see, my lord. Mr. Peter Audley's daughter? Really! And if I may venture to ask, what is she like?"
Audley paused before he answered. Then, "If you have painted the father aright, Stubbs, I should say that she was his opposite in all but his obstinacy. A calm and self-reliant young woman, if I am any judge."
"And handsome?"
"Yes, with a look of breeding. At the same time she is penniless and dependent, teaching English in a kind of charity school, cheek by jowl with a princess!"
"God bless my soul!" cried the lawyer, astonished at last. "A princess!"
"Who is a good creature as women go, but as likely as not to send her adrift to-morrow."
"Tut-tut-tut!" muttered the other.
"However, I'll tell you the story," Audley concluded. And he did so.
When he had done, "Well," Stubbs exclaimed, "for a coincidence-"
"Ah, there," the young man broke in, "I fancy, all's not said. I take it the Princess noted the name, but was too polite to question me. Anyway, the girl is there. She is dependent, friendless; attractive, and well-bred. For a moment it did occur to me-she is John Audley's heiress-that I might make all safe by-" His voice dropped. His last words were inaudible.
"The chance is so very remote," said the lawyer, aware that he was on delicate ground, and that the other was rather following out his own thoughts than consulting him.
"It is. The idea crossed my mind only for a moment-of course it's absurd for a man as poor as I am. There is hardly a poorer peer out of Ireland-you know that. Fourteenth baron without a roof to my house or a pane of glass in my windows! And a rent-roll when all is told of-"
"A little short of three thousand," the lawyer muttered.
"Two thousand five hundred, by God, and not a penny more! If any man ought to marry money, I am that man, Stubbs!"
Mr. Stubbs, staring at the fire with a hand on each knee, assented respectfully. "I've always hoped that you would, my lord," he said, "though I've not ventured to say it."
"Yes! Well-putting that aside," the other resumed, "what is to be done about her? I've been thinking it over, and I fancy that
