Chatterbox | Page 9

and a week or two later he arrived with the announcement that 'everything had been arranged.'
'Windlesham has been very strongly recommended to me,' he explained. 'The Reverend Matthew Windlesham, to give him his full title.'
'Has he a living?' inquired Aunt Marion.
'No, but he has a capital house, with a large garden and a meadow, at a place called Castlemore.'
'Where is that?'
'About a hundred miles from London. Windlesham has a wife and five daughters, and at present there are only six or seven pupils. As Jack is rather backward, it will suit him better than a larger school.'
So everything was decided, and I fancy that Aunt Marion looked forward to my departure with a satisfaction equal to my own--it could scarcely have been greater. Boys and girls were at that time an unknown quantity to us, as were most of their sports and pastimes.
It was true that there were scarcely enough of us at Ascot House for football or cricket; nevertheless we did our best in the meadow at the bottom of the garden, our scanty numbers being eked out by Mr. and Mrs. Windlesham's five girls. They were nice, kind people, and, when the first shyness had worn off, I settled down happily at Castlemore. During the next three uneventful years I received occasional visits from Captain Knowlton, while I grew greatly in stature, and, it is to be hoped, in knowledge.
The holidays were, for the most part, spent with Aunt Marion, sometimes in boarding-houses at the seaside, sometimes in London, and I had no anticipation of troubles ahead until shortly after I passed my fourteenth birthday.
(Continued on page 12.)
[Illustration: "'Does Miss Everard live here?' he inquired."]
[Illustration: "His grandfather lay gagged and bound on the floor."]

THE CASTLE LIGHT.
'I wish you would tell me, Grandfather, how it was you first thought of building a lighthouse tower.'
'Well, Conrad, if you will know, you shall hear the story,' and Sir Matthew Cairns, as he said these words, looked kindly down into the bright young face uplifted to his own.
'It was twenty years ago that the thought first came to me that Cairns Castle might serve as a beacon to those far out at sea. The reason for this was that on a certain winter's night a vessel was wrecked on these shores, solely on account of there being no light to warn her of her peril. More than a hundred souls went to their doom, to the joy, it is said, of the wreckers, who made a fine harvest on the coast at daybreak.'
'Oh, Grandfather,' Conrad said with a shudder, 'how awful! Surely we have no such people about now?'
His grandfather sighed, and, to turn the subject, proceeded to explain to the little lad his method of lighting the lamp.
Cairns Castle was an ancient building which overlooked the sea, its isolated position rendering it a very lonely dwelling-place. Sir Matthew, its present possessor, though by no means a wealthy man, had spent a considerable sum of money in adding a lighthouse tower to the castle. From the window-panes shone forth a gleam so clear and brilliant, that many a gallant seaman was guided safely home thereby.
'Let me light the lamp to-night, Grandfather,' said Conrad, after listening intently to all Sir Matthew's instructions. 'Perhaps it will guide Father and Mother on their way home from India.'
'Aye, laddie, perhaps it will; the good ship Benares should be nearing our coast by this time,' was the reply.
'Then may I, Grandfather?' said Conrad.
'Yes, my boy, and I will look on to see that you do it properly.'
Ah! little did Sir Matthew think, as he said these words, of the incidents which would take place, ere the castle light should next fling its friendly rays across the sea.
* * * * *
The November afternoon was creeping on apace, and Sir Matthew, absorbed in thought, drew long whiffs from his pipe, as he sat over the dining-room fire. The wind was wild and stormy, and dashed against the window-pane with angry force.
Conrad, who was busy preparing his lessons for his tutor next morning, looked up anxiously. But the words he was about to say were checked by the entrance of a rough-looking man of the fisher type.
It was William Forrest, or Black Bill as he was called by his neighbours, partly on account of his swarthy appearance, and partly because of his evil deeds.
The baronet rose in surprise, wondering at his entering the room unannounced.
'Good evening, Forrest,' he said.
'Evening, master,' was the sullen reply; 'I have come on business, and I want to see you alone.'
Sir Matthew bade Conrad take his lessons into the library, whilst he spoke to his visitor. The boy obeyed, unwillingly enough, for instinctively he felt that Black Bill meant no good to his dearly loved grandfather.
Somehow he could not give his mind to his