DEEDS AND DIAMONDS.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume xxviii, Issue 7030, 19 November 1906, Page 4

DEEDS AND DIAMONDS.

(By Sophie Osmond.)

CHAPTER XLIII. (Continued.) Silent tears were coursing down Gertrude's face; insensibly she was- growing less obdurate, not so much at he,r, sister's words as at her haggard face, and* utter dejection. Then the memory of that last day at The Crest rushed over her with fiery vividness, choking-the rising, feeling of compassion, and only allowing, room for the thought of the wrong she had suffered., "It is the cruel lie to Jack that I cannot

forgive." ■"■■„., '.Thave never forgiven myself! Donjt

look at hie with such contempt—it is

true! When I came to my senses,, and saw the evil I had done* I would have

given anything to, put things right, but the luck was against me; I had to chance!" .

A ired ispot flamed in GfentovudVs pate face.

"You should have made the chance! It 1 is mere effrontery to pose now as more | sinned against than sinning!" "I am not excusing myself," interrupted Bernice, regaining something of Iher old dignity as she also flushed at her sister's taunt. "I have been a poor, weak fool all my life, just like father, rushing £t everything without thought, and then falling into panic at the consequences. When I found Jack Cassiter knew aboutthe diamonds; " "Ah, then, you admit the necklace was in that package you gave me to mind! Yet you declared they were pearls, and then denied, before Mr Cassiter, ever having given me the package at all! Now you convict yourself out. of your own mouth. No, Bernice, my heart is too sore and full of cancour. I cannot forgive you. It is only the. remembrance of our mother- that keeps down the hate you deserve^". Distracted by warring emotions, Gertrude paced to and fro, ignoring the unhappy woman who watched hungrily for some sign of. yielding. "If it be any satisfaction to know my humiliation," said Bernice 6lowly, and then came a pause. "Jack Cassiter has [ found me out —-" "Not before you took his cheque for the diamonds.. His own mother told me that. It was with the greatest difficulty that she refrained from, going to Sir Philip and exposing you." A sharp cry broke from Bernice, who lay back in her chair breathing lhard. Another enemy! She did not dream that the knowledge of her infamy had reached Mrs Cassiter.'s ears. In self-de-fence, the old propensity to work evil seized her. "If she dar«s to intermeddle " But the scorn in the grey eyes near by ma«4e her pause. There was menace even in | the tall, slim figure. Bernice hid her | face. I "Xow I know why Jack Cassiter aid not work more actively in his search. * He feared you! h\en when he found you out, his fear of you was greater than his love of me, : for. you hieild the secret of Batrnaby Husbridge's death! I see it all! That is the threat you held over him* -ie it not so? Tell the truth for once!" And clutching Bernice by the shoulder, the .younger: sister forced, her back so that she could read the answer, even though it might be unspoken. But she was utterly unprepared for the dreary, ashen-grey misery in the face. "I wish I were dead, and the. whole thing ended in the only ending there can j ever, be!" i The hopeless, hollow voice told its own j story of wretchedness. Again: Gertrude's j anger died down. The retribution that j had overtaken her sister was of no human agency. In a dull, stupefied way, die only; wished that Bernice would leave her.

: "Whatever.unhappiness I caused you, Gertrude, has been paid back tenfold. If Philip goes to extremities, I haven't a friend in the world. Even as it is, those that-1 have tried, to help talk of- me, and couple my name with HarryDax. Yet, guilty as I am otherwise, there I am innocent.." I wanted the loyal friendship of— iti a younger man, like many other women fools, and because he was such an idol, I thought it would be. a fine, thing to have the idol at my feet. I fancied I saw a way by extricating him from his debts. I did not realise what a thorough scoundrel he was. Before I quite knew what I was doing I lent him some securities of Philip's^r-—-' "Oh!" Gertrude's cry was sharp and ISorror-stricken. "He raised money on bhem, and from that day I was in his power. Yes, I hid the diamomds—it was my only means of raising money —but Clarette nearly discovered them on. the night I came to you. They were tied iiTa handkerchief to avoid notice, and without a thought as to what might happen if the package were opened, I rushed to you with them. You know tho rest. When you and Jack followed me to the cottage " "You vowed that you did not go> to

the cottage," interrupted Gertrude coldly,

"I told a lie! I did go. I was frightened by the-hints of the detectives, and it was imperative that I should see him at once. I told one lie to screen another. It's the whole miserable story; ;but as God judges me, this is the truth now. I hurried back to The Crest to pretend that I was waiting for you, when I thought of the diamonds, thrust them as they were into my pocket, and ran home!" "Yet you ask me to forgive you! I cannot. Oh, it is too dreadful, I cannot!"

"I have never had a happy moment since. I proved Dax a mean-spirited, treacherous cad. Yet I was in his power and had to give him Jack Cassiter's cheque to recover the securities. That was the end of the miserable romance.

Gertrude, I beg of you, believe me, there

j iWas no more in ithan I have said. Ber fore heaven lam speaking the trutih! I have been a fool, but nothing worse. To prevent discovery and avoid suspicion I rushed at anything that offered a promise of safety, never thinking. This is the climax! If I have to face Philip's cold: ' accusing eyes much longer I'll end it some- ■ how—it will be my last hope—my only: hope—of escape. I don't care how soon it comes!" Tthe resentment in Gertrude's breast was giving pxace to pity, and her own sufferings seemed little in comparison to the hell of torment that must have filled her sister's life, I

Bernice, looking up drearily afc the same moment, read the chastening effect of sorrow in the wistful grey eyes. The next instant she threw herself at Gertrude's feet and clasped her waist.

"Gertrude, speak to me! Just.a word fco say you will try to forgive me. I ha vein't had a kind woxid from a living soul for an eternity! Oh 1 speak to me! not in anger, though I deserve it all, God knows; the bitterest words you can utter are no more than my due; but I have a greater punisSment than you could mete out."

She threw back her beautiful fair head, and gazed earnestly into her sister's eyes. Gertrude made no attempt to withdraw from t/hat passionate, pleading embrace, and in somo strange way the memory of sorrow slipped away.

"I am sorry for you, Bernice." she whispered tearfully.

---, "Ah, God bless you for those words. I am a >bad woman, yet not wholly bad. Save me uowj Gertrade, and. feflp ihs

best of the little good that is in me," and still kneeling, she seized Gertrude's hand and fondled it pitifully while she added in a broken, quivering voice, "Come back with me to the Dale—let Philip think we are friends! We were good friends once, you and I. Try to remember those days first I"-

But there came no answer; the silence in the room deepened with the mystery of destiny, as one woman trembled and t\ c other thrilled before the magic wand of memory.

Bernice, fearful lest she might lose the ■little- advance she ihad made, could spy no more. The false and ready tongue was powerless, but the wild pleading cf her eyes spoke the voice of her soul, and she pressed a little nearer to Gertrude.

"I will try to save you, Bernice," came the tremulous whisper.

"Ah! and return wita me to the Dale?"

"Yes. But do not ask me to be friends. What Ido is for the tie of blood that unites us. lam sorry, unutterably sorry tor you, but I cannot forgive you—yet." (To ibe continued.)