The Yellow Holly

"You know well enough. Here you go to a low house, and while you are there the mistress of it is murdered."

George rose with some indignation. "Good heavens, Mrs. Ward, you don't suspect me!" he cried.

"Oh, dear, no. But it would be unpleasant for my daughter to have a husband mixed up with such a shady affair."

"I am not mixed up with it, Mrs. Ward."

"It's unpleasant," said Mrs. Ward, willfully holding to her opinion. "I don't like it. Find out who killed that woman and I say nothing. But until you do find out, and until the assassin is brought to justice, I must ask you to discontinue your visits to Dorothy."

Brendon saw that she was simply making an excuse to rid herself of his presence so as to leave the way clear for Walter Vane. But he was too strong a man to be foiled in this way, and speedily made up his mind how to act. "Shall we leave the matter to Miss Ward?"

"That means you wish to see her," said the mother cleverly. "Oh, well, there is no reason why you should not. But it will be for the last time, remember. Your character must bear inspection."

"I think it does," cried George, rather nettled.

Mrs. Ward, who by this time was nearly at the door, turned lightly and replied, in her most kittenish way, "Ah, my dear Mr. Brendon, I know more than you think. Lola Velez-"

"Lola Velez." George looked and felt uneasy.

"You change color. Oh, I have heard all about you and that dancer."

"I assure you that my connection with that lady is perfectly innocent."

Mrs. Ward scoffed. "Lady!" she said, sneering. "What next? However, I do not wish to hear the particulars. Such creatures are nothing to me. And if you clear yourself of this very shady business in Amelia Square by discovering the true assassin, I shall overlook Lola Velez."

"There is no need to overlook her or me."

"I think there is," said Mrs. Ward, frigidly, and with a wave of her slim hand. "There is no more to be said, Mr. Brendon. You know my decision, and as Dorothy's mother I have some power, I hope. Now I will send her to you, and you can say what you like-in fact, you can communicate to her the state of my feelings. But," added Mrs. Ward, shooting a Parthian arrow, "I should not mention Lola Velez if I were you. Good-by, I shall not see you for many a long day, I expect."

"And hope," said Brendon, much mortified.

"And hope," replied Mrs. Ward, coolly. "You are the last man in the world I should like for my son-in-law. Marry that dancer," and with a shrill, unpleasant laugh Mrs. Ward vanished.

Brendon paced the room, waiting for Dorothy. How Mrs. Ward had learned of his connection with Lola Velez he could not understand. Brendon was perfectly innocent, and what he had done for the dancer was dictated by pure kindness. But even if he explained the whole circumstances of his meeting and of his philanthropy to Dorothy, she was a woman, when all was said and done, and might not believe him. On the whole, he decided to take Mrs. Ward's advice and hold his tongue on the subject of the dancer. On some future occasion he might be able to explain, and at the present moment he had the satisfaction of knowing that his conscience was clear. He had just arrived at this decision when Dorothy entered the room. The next moment she was in his arms, and the two entered Paradise at once.

"My dearest, I am so glad to see you," said Dorothy in her soft voice as they sat down. "I wrote, but you did not come."

"I was engaged, darling."

Dorothy nodded. "I know, at the inquest which was held on that poor creature."

"Why do you take an interest in the case, Dorothy?"

"Oh, because you went to stop at the house, and it was so strange that she should have died on that very night."

"So your mother says," said George, uncomfortably. "I really think she believes that I have something to do with the matter."

"Oh, that's nonsense," said Dorothy, serenely; "but mother does not like you very much, George, and-"

"She hates me you mean."

"Well," responded Miss Ward, candidly, "if you ask me to tell the truth, I think she does. But you know what my mother is. I-no, if I cannot say good of her, let me at least say nothing bad. But I love you, George, you know that."

"My own heart," and Brendon took her in his strong arms, thanking God for the gift of so steadfast a heart. For a few minutes silence reigned, and the lovers looked at one another with fond affection.

Dorothy was tall and slim and dark, with a Spanish face of that delicate, high-bred cast which is seen to perfection among the women of Andalusia. Judging by her large black eyes, and the serious expression of her lips, Dorothy Ward might have had Moorish blood in her veins. Perhaps she had, as one of her father's ancestors, when ambassador to Madrid in the reign of the first James, had brought back with him a Spanish wife. And Dorothy inherited all the Iberian beauty of that lady. She should have been called Inez, or Paquita, for the purely English name of Dorothy suited her badly. That is a milkmaid's name, and Miss Ward was more of the court than of the pasture.

Her dark beauty contrasted well with the fair comeliness of George Brendon, and seated side by side on the sofa they looked an extremely handsome couple. Certainly they might have appeared happier, for Dorothy was downcast, and in Brendon's blue eyes there lurked a worried look. He was wondering how he could communicate Mrs. Ward's decision to the girl. Dorothy looked at him and smiled.

"A penny for your thoughts, George," she said, taking his hand.

"I'll sell them as bankrupt stock," said Brendon, drawing her closer, and then he took his courage in both hands for the necessary confession. "This may be my last visit, Dorothy," he said.

She looked at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?"

"Your mother-"

"Oh, never mind my mother," broke in the girl, petulantly. "I know she objects to our marriage, so-"

"On the contrary, she told me that she would not object if I could clear myself of complicity in this crime."

"George! Did she accuse you of-"

"Not in so many words," interrupted the lover, "but I saw very plainly what she meant. The fact that I slept in that house on the night Mrs. Jersey was murdered is to her mind a proof that I have something to do with the matter."

"But you can prove conclusively that you have not," insisted Dorothy.

"Certainly. Mr. Train, with whom I was stopping, can prove that I did not leave my room. The key of the sitting-room door was in his possession, and to get out I should have had to make use of him." George paused and thought for a moment. "But there is one thing-"

"What is it?" asked Dorothy, seeing that he hesitated.

"I don't know if I ought to tell you."

"Whatever concerns you concerns me," she said, pressing his hand to her heart. "You know that I love you as dearly as you love me, and nothing you tell me shall ever part us."

"Oh, I don't think what I am about to say will have that effect," was Brendon's reply, "but I have a confession to make about my-my birth."

Dorothy looked at him in amazement. "About your birth?" she repeated.

"Yes. You may as well know all, and I know you will not betray me, even to your mother."

"To her least of all," said Dorothy, vehemently. "Tell me quick."

Encouraged by her faith, and by the tender clasp of her hand, George related to her the story of his birth and of his connection with Lord Derrington. Also he detailed how he had gone to seek Mrs. Jersey, and how she had been murdered before he could get the truth out of her. "Or even see her," finished George. "And now you know, dearest, why I do not wish you to repeat this story. If your mother knew it she might think-think-well, she certainly would not let you marry me."

"She has made her mind up already so far as that is concerned," said Dorothy, quickly. "It is Mr. Vane whom she wishes me to marry."

"My cousin, although he does not know it," said George, quietly; "but I want your advice, Dorothy, and will be guided by it. What shall I do? You see, now that Mrs. Jersey is dead there is no chance of getting at the truth."