RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER
"Why, I've met Miss Lisle several times," said Mrs. Thayne after
hearing Fran's account of the exciting end of the picnic. "She's a
charming girl and her father is the finest type of an English
gentleman. At the lawn party this afternoon she spoke of meeting two
girls on the beach and asked if one wasn't my daughter."
"Oh, I do hope I can know her," said Frances happily. "I think she's
the sweetest thing I ever saw. But, Mother, do you suppose what Mrs.
Trott said about her and the Italian prince is true?"
"That was a bit of gossip which Mrs. Trott should not have repeated to
girls of your age," commented her mother, "but since you have heard it,
I suppose it will do no harm to say that Prince Santo-Ponte undoubtedly
does visit at the Manor, though I do not believe that any engagement
exists between him and Miss Lisle. As for Mr. Max, as you call him, his
father is Professor Rodney Hamilton, the noted scientist. Max has been
much with the Lisles and to all purposes is the son of the house."
"The day when I really meet Miss Connie will be the happiest of my
life," declared Frances solemnly. Later, her amused mother learned that
Edith was equally smitten.
In his quiet way, Win was most anxious to see more of Max and it was
partly with this wish in mind that he set off one morning shortly after
the picnic at Orgueil, to stroll on the road leading past the Manor. On
so pleasant a day he might encounter the young people riding or walking.
When Win reached the Manor gates, no one was in sight, and he sauntered
past, not caring to intrude on private grounds. One longing glance he
cast at the chimneys above the laurels, twelve that he could count from
that angle. What a rambling old structure the Manor house must be!
Surely in its existence stretching back through the centuries, many
interesting things had happened under that roof. What fun it would be
to try to find them out!
Absorbed in pleasant thought, Win walked farther than he realized,
lured by the blue sea and a most interesting little church almost on
the water's edge. The doors proved locked, but Win resolved to come
again when he could gain admittance, for from outward appearance the
building was extremely old.
On turning, Win was soon aware that he had overtaxed his strength and
was in no shape to walk to St. Aubin's. Pleasant as the sky still was,
a strong sea breeze had risen, bringing difficulties for a person who
required very favorable conditions for any prolonged exercise. Only
slow progress was possible and when he again reached the iron gates of
the Manor, he was really too tired to go on. Choosing the sunny slope
of the hedge, he sat down to rest.
Before long, voices approached on the other side of the laurels, voices
speaking in French, and Max came through the arch, accompanied by a
gardener carrying tools.
"Why, Win," he said. "You're not stopping at the gate, I hope. The
house is just beyond."
[Illustration: A MOST INTERESTING LITTLE CHURCH ALMOST ON THE WATER'S
EDGE.]
Win smiled. "I sat down to get my breath," he explained. "I've been for
a stroll and the wind knocked me about a trifle."
Max looked at him keenly. "It's a bit cool to stop there," he said.
"Come up to the house. We'll slip into the library and you can rest
properly."
Win demurred, thinking he would detain Max from his business.
"Uncle only asked me to direct Pierre about some planting around the
cottages," Max replied. He added some words in French to his companion,
who nodded and struck off toward the shore. "I'll not stop for you,"
Max went on, taking Win's arm. "There isn't a person at home, and you
will have the library to yourself."
Win yielded at once. Aside from the pleasure of seeing Max again, the
suggestion of books acted as a magnet.
They crossed the beautiful Manor lawn,--green as in June,--not toward
the main entrance but in the direction of some big French windows
opening on the terrace. The casement yielded to Max's touch and the two
entered a room that would have made Win gasp with pleasure had he been
less exhausted. He received only the impression of spacious beauty and
countless books, as he was established on a big old settle beside a
fireplace where cheery flames were flashing. Before he knew precisely
what was happening, Win found himself tucked among comfortable cushions.
"There, go to sleep now," said Max, flinging over him a soft blue
Italian blanket. "I've an idea this thing belongs in Connie's room, but
since she left it here we will make use of it. There's no one at home
and the only person likely to come is Yvonne, one of the maids. If she
appears to look after the fire, just tell her you are my friend."
Max departed and Win soon fell into a reverie. He did not sleep
immediately but as his physical discomfort lessened under the influence
of rest and quiet, he began to look about him.
The three rooms composing the library were very high and opened into
one another by arches. From floor to ceiling the books climbed, rank on
rank, on the upper shelves in double tiers, in some places overflowing
window seats. Narrow stained-glass casements threw pleasant patches of
color on the polished floor. Age had blackened the oak ceiling and the
handsome wall paneling where books did not conceal it. Here and there
hung portraits, evidently of the family, judging from certain recurring
resemblances. Their quaint costumes dated from the days of the Stuart
kings.
The utter quiet of the place, the time-faded bindings, the old
pictures, the spots of crimson and blue light, the faint odor of
leather, mingled with the scent of fresh flowers from some invisible
source, all had their effect upon Win, who sank into a state of mind
where he was neither awake nor quite asleep. His last wholly conscious
thought was for the curious coat of arms above the fireplace, a shield
that bore the date 1523.
An hour later, Win came to full consciousness and at the same time to a
sense of familiarity with his surroundings. "Of all queer things!" he
thought as he sat up and looked around him. "The first day I was in
Jersey I dreamed of this room or of some room like it. That man up
there in the picture is mighty like the old Johnny that was around.
I've been dreaming about him now, only I can't remember what."
Try as he might, Win could not recall that dream, a fantastic jumble of
persons and an impression, almost painful, of a fruitless search.
"This is a house where anything might have happened," his thoughts ran.
"How I wish I could have a chance at these books!"
Shelves framed even the ancient fireplace, their contents within easy
reach of Win's settle. His eye ran idly along the titles, a History of
the World, an edition of Defoe, some old hour-books. Tucked in with
these were two volumes of very modern philosophy, their bright cloth
bindings looking curiously out of place. With their exception, nothing
in sight looked less than a century old and examination proved most to
be even older. Many bore marks of ownership by Lisles dead and gone.
His enthusiasm thoroughly aroused, Win examined volume after volume,
lingering over the quaint bookplates. Finally he took down a book
unlettered on the back, but with a rubbed leather binding that showed
marks of use. It proved a very old copy of the Psalms, a book that some
one had once read often, for its pages were worn not only by time but
by constant turning.
Opening to the front, Win searched for a bookplate. There was none, but
in fine handwriting appeared: "Richard Lisle His Valued Book." As Win
replaced the volume a paper slipped from its pages.
Picking it up, he glanced idly at the single sheet which seemed a page
perhaps lost from some letter written long before, possibly a leaf from
a diary. The penmanship was like the autograph in the Psalter, the ink,
though faded, perfectly legible on the yellowed paper.
The extract began in the middle of a sentence. Win, who started to
decipher it from mere curiosity, ended by reading it five or six times.
It ran as follows:
"having fed my Prince and Eased him after his hard Flight we took
Counsel anent his Refuge.
"That he should lye at ye Manor looked not wise. Ye Castel seemed ye
better Place.
"Lest he be curiously viewed of Many we did furnishe Other garb and a
Strong Bigge Cloake. And those who knew did safely lead him through ye
Towne.
"Ye honoured Relicks my Sonne and I did place in ye Spanish Chest and
convey by Lantern light to that safe Place beyond ye Walls. So shall
they Reste till happier Times shall Dawne.
"Strange that this Day should bring such Honour to Mine House."
Win's eyes grew interested and excited as he studied this message from
the past. For whom was it meant and why had it lain all these years in
the old Psalter? Did the Manor family know of its existence? The
prince, the castle, the town, mentioned by a Lisle of Laurel Manor,
must refer to events of island history.
After thinking a few minutes, Win drew out his notebook and made a
careful copy. Surely that was not abusing Max's hospitality and could
do no harm. If he discovered anything interesting in looking up the
matter in some history of Jersey at the public library, he would share
his knowledge. Or there surely must be books of that kind here at the
Manor. Perhaps he would be permitted to come again and investigate this
fascinating room more thoroughly. He wished he knew Max better. If he
only did, he could show his find at once and ask for an opinion. Well,
that might come later. Anyway, it would be great fun to study the
enigmatic paper and see what he could make of it.
When Max came quietly a few minutes later, Win made no mention of his
discovery. Surprised to find it so late, he thanked his host, and
declared himself entirely fit to walk back to Rose Villa.
"Come again," said Max as they parted at the gates. "I know you liked
the library and that will please Uncle Dick. You must come when he's at
home and he'll show you all his special treasures."
Win went on with a happy face. That meant he would certainly have
another opportunity to browse in that fascinating old book-room, and
perhaps become so well acquainted with the Manor family that he could
share his puzzle with somebody who would be equally interested in
finding out what it meant.