MR. PERKINS Of New Jersey, OR, THE STOLEN BONDS.

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 143, 18 June 1888, Page 6

MR. PERKINS Of New Jersey, OR, THE STOLEN BONDS.

CHAPTER IX.,

He could nob bear to leave all to Dorset affection for his daughter. <Heis a brutal fellow,' he thought;'perils ho doenrt care for her.' for Ethel hud been at. his house for over a week, anrl yet no tidings. Perhaps he had gone crazy. Perhaps he feared Patrick had divulged more than ho had, and so was afraid to return. In that case how long xvas his mother to be kept a prisoner: and a priwner np and hurried oil to sco Applei beloie detective said, 'besides being bad i th Rirl, for that trifling lover of J^™°J believe never did mean her any poojj-™j been round to headquarters.to securea detective to hunt her up, ancl if hei findsi her at your house there would be tiouble enough! Don't let her go down town where Morion; 'I can't keep her a-pris °n«. .■ • / < Let her go out in the dusk of the evenin" with that servant woman. I judge her something of a dragoness.'. ■ 'She is in that line,' said Marlow, halt Sm'Fof'that reason don't send for the girl's clothes, but get her new ones. I tell you she is the strongest card with her fathei , 1 wouldn't lose her for anything. ' Suppose I warn her then nob to go \eiy far from home ? I might tell her Jeilreys is a ' Well,' you are a goose,' said Appier, losing his temper. . < Anyone can see, Mr Marlow you know nothing about women. You couldn b take a better plan to make her flyja> him. Let her think he has cast her oft, for ho really means her no good. In hiding her you are savins the girl from a rascal, so save your tender conscience with that thought. • But what excuse can I have to keep her shut up?' said Marlow, annoyed at the other's manner. • •Does she show any disposition to go out?' .■

'None.' '. ■ n'Then encourage her staying m. Give the servant woman a hint. Trust a woman anytime for that sort of thing. Let her take her to walk in the dusk of the evening, and don't you be over seen with her. When he went home that evening, Jiitnei met him with a half sad smile of welcome. Looking so helpless and so young in her simple school-girl dress, and her hair plaited down her back, again the feeling of pity possessed him, and he greeted her very kindly though very gravely. ,„,.,.• ' I tear you have passed a. dull day, he said, noticing that her eyes still bore marks of tears. ~ ~ -~ , «I can't help crying,' she said sadly, 'not but what I can feel you are very kind, but I can't help feeling so unhappy about papa. I know something must have happened to him, or he would not keep away from his little girl.' ' " Marlow ground his teeth and was silent. Ethel wept softly to herself, but, afc last, chilled by his.silence, dried her tears and sat mute and downcast. ' It is very terrible,' Marlow said, his conscience smiting him for his lack of sympathy. 'I know exactly how you ' It is the frightful uncertainty,' said the girl in a broken voice, forced to speak in her hunger for sympathy. 'If I only knew I think I could nerve myself to endure the worst. But this uncertainty is worse than death. I think sometimes it would be an inexpressible relief to even know that papa v/as dead. Ido not believe that he has an enemy on earth, and how could he ? He was so good and kind to all! If he is alive he must be out of his mind, else he would never leave his girl so long.' «I have heard,' she continued, as Marlow remained silent, ' that sometimes people's minds are wiped out without a minute's notice, and he had been very much worried of late, perhaps of that. And to think of him in that state, a wanderer on the face of the earth !—no one knowing him or caring for him '—perhaps cruel or wicked people ill-treating him !—thrusting him into prison as a vagrant or into an asylum—dreadful asylums^!—to be swallowed up and lost to me for evermore !It breaks my heart! It breaks my heart!' she cried, wringing her hands in her despair. _..._.. ~, ~ 'Don't think of it! Don't think of it! said Marlow, shuddering, for tho picture she drew came home to him. ' Ah, how cruel lam when you are in the same state !' ' You have described better than I could my own feelings,' said Marlow hoarsely. He covered his eyes with his hands while his breast heaved. She impulsively stroked the hand that rested on his knee. Marrow took it in his, and after a desperate struggle recovered his composure. 'Pardon me,' he said, 'I doivt often break down this way.' ' I don't wonder you break down. You £ive yourself no rest. It was long after midnight when you came home, and you ■were gone betimes this morning.' ' And how did you know that ?' 'I heard you.' ' Then you did not sleep either ?' 'Not very much. I have terrible thoughts, and I see such frightful sights night and day,' her lips quivered. ' Poor child i poor child!' he said, and he forgot the father. * I see such terrible things,' the girl went on at last, finding it a relief to speak, 'that if I knew papa was dead—not dead as they keep telling me—but dead and buried somewhere, where I could go and sit by his grave and dress it with, flowers and think of all his past life, so good and noble, and kind to all, I would be almost happy. Marlow rose abruptly aud walked the floor. This was unendurable. These panegyrics on that scoundrel! and he forced to listen and assent to them, and with his own heart tortured with anxiety for his mother! Oh, he couldn't and he ■wouldn't!

4 The scoundrel!' he uttered between his clenched teeth.

'To .put my head down on his grave and whisper to him,' continued poor Ethel, who felt that on this point there was entire sympathy between her and her host.

Of the other sorrow that was nearly killing her, her heart was too sore to speak, and Certainly not to him would she ever open her lips. To her father she must, bub no onoelse.

1 Just as I manage to forget it, she dashes it back in my face,' thought Marlow, as he crossed the room to and fro with long strides. Then he turried abruptly to her : 4 My dear little girl,' he said imploringly,'don'o let us talk any more about that; I wnnot bear it. We harrow ourselves up, 1

Ethel was surprised, disappointed, she fek intensely hurt. Marlow came and seated himself by her. ' Men and women are different^ he said ; 'women seem to derive a certain comrort from noing over and over their troubles, but if a man were to do that he would go raving mad. 1 try to forget wine; I try to thiw it behind me. elsel could not do my work. Do I hurb you, little one .' as she remained silent. 'I am not a child, lam grown, she said a" \iV you grown ? I thought you were on the debatable ground, where the brook and river meet,' said he smiling. ' No, I have crossed the .river, she said &a<l Try nob to dwell so constantly on the thought of your father, for fear you would meeb" the fate you so dread for him-go

I Oh, that would be terrible !' she shuddered. , , < Don't be alarmed. You are brave and strong, though you look so frail and slight, and havo endured what would have driven many a man to frenzy or suicide. Bub, little one, don't strain your nerves too far, btnve not to think ; try to forget.' I 1 cannot; I have nothing else to think of,' she said mournfully. ; ' Can'fc you read ?' ' I can't keep my mind fixed on a book. 'Sing then ;* practise your music' ' For whom?' she asked with a sorrowful smile, that told Marlow he had made another blunder. 11 would love to hear you, said ho gently. She shook her head. ' Net yet; my vo ca is out of tune. ' I've cried so it its all choked with tears,' ' Poor little girl! Poor little girl! said Marlow, filled with a great pity, as he stroked her hair.

He was playing with edged tools !

CHAPTER X,

When Marlow returned home the next evening the dreary stillness of the hous 0 was broken by the notes of the piano. How mournfully it sounded ? Then Ethel's voice

chimed in

' 0, had I the wings oE a dove Then would 1 fly away and be at rest.

The voice wailed out like the cry of a crushed and bruised spirit. At last it sank and died away, and her head dropped on her breast. Marlow stood in tho parlour, unseen, unheard; then his voice broke the stillness: ' My poor child ! is it as bad as that? The girl started. ' I did nob know you were there,' she said. ' I have just come in and heard you.' 'I could nob help it. It spoke my feelings.' . 1 You have, indeed, been beaten of the windy storm and tempest, but I hope your troubles will soon be over.'

Ethel arose from the piano. ' I have no hope,' she said, shaking her head mournfully as she moved away. Days lengthened into weeks, but still nothing was heard of the missing parties. Ethel had ceased to speak of her father to Marlow, seeing it was a painful subject; and Marlow* was fast forgetting that she was his enemy's daughter. As for his own mother, he had exhausted every effort to find her, and though he and Appier still kept up the search, and followed every clue that came in their way, both she and Patrick seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

♦I am sorry for you, Mr Marlow,' said Appier; ' we can but wait, sir.' And while waiting Marlow tried to think, for it made him so nervous he could neither eat nor sleep and, it began to tell 011 his health.

In his emergency Ethel contributed greatly to his comfort—she took his mind off himself. He was equally efficacious to her ; stunned as she was by her lover's vileness, he kept her faith in mankind from dying out. Her love, her admiration for Jeffreys had vanished, crushed out of her at one blow, but with them it seemed as if her very soul would part from her. Tho daily presence of Marlow and his persistent cheerfulness saved her from' a hopeless melancholy. JeOreys had again and again advertised for ' her, but Marlow carefully hid the papers, till one morning when coming.in to" breakfast he found her reading a paper he had thrust behind a sofa.

' I missed several of these papers,' said she; ' for I make .a constant study of the advertisements, and here I find them stowed away under the sofa.' She was trying to appear calm, but she was greatly excited.

1 Have you found anything that interests you ?' he said, feigning an unconcern. ' Yes ; ' she looked him full in ' the face and saw that he knew.

' Will you answer it V ' Not for worlds !' she shuddered. ' I think you are wise. Here, drinkyour coffee, and try and forget.' ' You talk as if memory was an effort of will."

1 Well, it is in a great measure. We can harp on a thing till it becomes a mania. We can resolutely banish it till at last from forco of habit wecease to think of it and it fades away.' ' Do you really think that possible ?'

' Try it and see.' ' It is terrible,' said the girl, still all in a quiver, ' to make us idols and to find them clay !' 'It must be,' said the unsympathetic Marlow, buttering his toast. ' Did you never think anyone great, grand—a perfect hero, and find them '—she paused—' find them all that was bad ?' ' Never.' Ethel looked chilled at his lack of sympathy. Marlow smiled. 'My dear little girl,' said he, 'I am not enthusiastic. I don't think anybody great and grand.' ■ . • Not even your father ?' 'Not even my father,' said Marlow, his face becoming grave. ' But suppose it was a woman,' said Ethel, 'and you though her all that was lovely and good, and she was all that was ugly and bad ?'

' That would be awful,' said he.

' But what would you do ?' ' I would strain every nerve and fibre and tear her out of my heart and throw her memory behind me.' His face looked quite stern; and Ethol felt that he meant it, and was a little startled. She had never seen this phase of his character before. ■

' You don't know that you could do it,' she said.

' Yes, I do ; she would simply not be the woman I had loved and I would cease to care for her, and cast her memory from me.'

He went down town and left Ethel ruminating on what he had said. Rousing herself at last, she opened the piano and tried to play and sing, but her voice did not sound well. Then she hunted about for a book to read.

In a library-rsise in the dining-room she found Tennysun's Idyls. She opened the book and tried to read it. It was a long time before her mind, lone on the rack, could fix itself on anything, but after many efforts she became absorbed in the melancholy story of Elaine. When Marlow came home he found her with the book in her hand. •

'Ah, you have been reading,' said he, well pleased. 'Yes, and such a pretty story, about Elaine and Sir Lancelot, and the Holy Grail that the knights were in eursuit of. I love to read about Sir Galahad. Do you think there are many men like him V

• Not many, but certainly some.' •And Sir Lancelot? striving to do good and failing ?'

1 Many more like him.' 'And Sir Gav/ain, only wishing to do good V ... , . , 1 Oh ! a great many more like him. ' I have always regarded it as a sorb oi allegory of this life,' she said, ' of the constant struggle of the human soul upward and onward. In some the sou] only faintly moves. In others it struggles and fights. Others, like Sir Galahad, press on and on, higher and higher, Heaven opening to them heTe below—showing them yet greater joys until, at last, they grasp the Holy Grail— the end of their human course—their reward in Heaven IAs she spoke, her face beamed and her eyes grew luminous. Marlow felt awed before this creature from another world ; he felt as standing on holy ground. The girl sank into silence and seemed wrapped in thought; ab last sho returned to earth, and said : ' I fear I am very bold and forward fco advance my views to one so much older and

.wiser.' ' Older, but not wiser. You have opened a new iield to me—one I have never seen before.' She seemed a little embarrassed by her burst of feeling, and soon "went upstairs. 'What a strange mixture!' Marlow thought when he was alone. ' Half a woman, half a child t—better say half an angel! How unlike the girl of the period ! How strange that she should be Dorset's daughter! She would make a good race for the Holy Grail.' He reverenced his enemy's daughter. When he went to sleep that night ho was still thinking of his guest, and when he awoke the next morning ho laughed ab the queer dreams he had had. ' I declare,' said he, ' one would suppose I had been saying the old childish rhyme :

' Four corners to nay bed. Four angels round my bed,'

such a legion of them seemed to surround me.'

And all of them wore Ethel's lovely face.

She came down to breakfast in the morning in a white muslin wrapper, with delicate ribbons. Sarah had spent her own money for these; the wrapper she had fished out of the trunk of cast-oil finery and had done over. In this costumo she looked like a lovely blossom, and Marlow viewed her with fresh admiration.

Sho brightened up the table and gave him a good appetite for his breakfast. The coffee tasted sweet for her pouring. And Sarah, as she tiitted round the room on one pretext or another, thought: ' What a pretty,' innocent little creetur ! and Master Alex himself, how gumpus he is !' By which sho meant a heavy stylo of innocence.

In spite of Ethel's loveliness, Marlow was beguiled away from contemplating it by the charms of the morning paper. It was his bachelor habifc to read it at breakfast.

First down the colutans of personals ran his eye as. it had been doing for months. Pie started as he read :

' Ethel—Come to your anxious, unhappy father—T. D., 45, George Place.' Marlow started violently ; the paper fell from his hand. As he met Ethel's grave eyes he hastily stooped to pick it up. 1 What is it ?' she asked. 'Nothing,' he answered, 'nothing,' as he hastily rose and loft the room, taking the paper with him. Snatching his hat, ho hurried from tho house.

What could be the matter? Ethel wondered what had ho seen in tho paper ? L'robably something about his mother. * Boarding the nearest streot.car, Marlow hurried off. 'Lot me get. ahead of her,' he thought, 'or she will utterly handicap me.'

As lie went along ho felt almost wild. Now he would find out about his mother. Now he would take his enemy by the throat and say : ' Wretch ! Monster !' Here Ethel's image rose before him ; his imaginary grip on his enemy's throat slackened. No, he would do him no violence, but he would say, 'Release my mother and go! Leave this country at once, before I hand you to tlie police ! Here, take your child.' Oh! to think of that pure, innocent creature given over to the tender mercies of that wretch who had desorted her for so long ! *

So his distracted mind wandered round and round. Yes, he would tell him what he thought-what ho deserved—what he would have done to him but for his daughter ; for her sake, to save her shame, he would refrain from handing him over to justice—to save Here he reached St. George Place; he found 45 and rang the bell. Of the servant who answered the bell. Marlow inquired for Mr Dorset. The servant looked a little puzzled; 'The new lodger, I suppose,' she said, and ushered him into a neat sitting-room where a man was taking a comfortable breakfast.

It was not Dorset, but—Jeffreys !

Pie looked up in surprise. « ' There is some mistake here,' said Marlow. \I wish to soo Mr Dorset in answer to his advertisement in the 'Herald."

'Yes,' said Jeffreys, 'I put in one. What do you know of the younp lady ?' • You are not Dorset,' said Marlow, not noticing the question. ' Of course not, but I am his friend and agent. But who are you ? What is the young lady to you ?' ' Nothing,' said Marlow. 'But I wanted to see Mr Dorset, and seeing the advertisement, I answered it. Can you tell me where he is ?'

'Noc ab present,' said Jeffreys, hesitatingly. • But,' he persisted, ' who are you V ' That is none of your business,' said Marlow, losing his temper, bein<* provoked beyond measure to find he had fallen into a trap. 1 Then can you tell me where Miss Dorset is?' Jeffreys continued, ignoring the other's rudeness.

'That is none of your business either,' said Marlow doggedly. 'It is my business. The young lady is my affianced wife.' ' Indeed ! After that affair at the hospital I think you will find yourself mistaken,' said Marlow contemptuously.

' Who are you ?' Jeffreys again repeated, alarmed to find the stranger posted about him.

' One who knows you well.' said Marlow, grimly. 11 believe that you have abducted the girl, and I will have you- arrested,' cried Jeffreys, full of jealous rage.

' And, how daro you advertise under another man's name? I believe you are trying to abduct the girl, 3 retorted Marlow, grimly. 'I will send for a policeman,'said Jeffreys, half rising and extending his hand toward the bell, ' and have you arrested as » suspicious character.'

'I would advise you to do it,' said Marlow, contemptuously. ' You would make a pretty figure in a police court; you who go about preying on helpless, defenceloss women. But know, once for all, that Dorset's innocent young daughter is well protected and beyond your reach, and should you dare to trouble her you will be severely dealt with.' 'I will not stand such language; it.is insufferable !' cried Jeffreys, incensed, but alarmed.

' Your bluster will nob go down with me,' said Marlow, sternly ; ' and if that advertisement ever appears again, I will have you arrested for using another man's name with the 'intention of abducting his daughter.' Before Jeffreys could recover his astonishment, Marlow had left -the room, full of rage and disappointment. He hurried away before his anger, got the better of him, for he was aching to take Jeffreys by the throat. He was wild with jealous fury,

but he did nob know it, and thought he was actuated by stern justice;

' 1 am glad Ethel did nob see the paper, and she shall not, either,1 he thought. ' And I'll go and see Appier before he meddles and. makes a mess.'

'Well!' cried the .detective, as Marlow burst into his office, 'I have been waiting for you ; thought you would be here every minute.'

' About that advertisement ? I've been to St. George Place.'

' Already ? You are quick on trigger !' ' Yes, I wanted bo have it oub with Dorset alone. But it wasn't he ; 'twas Jeffreys hunting for Miss Dorset. She wouldn't answer his advertisement, so he tried her father's name.'

' And you had it out with him ?'

'I did,' said Marlow sternly. 'I told him to take that advertisement out, and to meddle with her ab his peril.1

' That was well done, Mr Marlow,' said the detective. ' It makes me think better oE my species to meet a man like you ; I see so much of the bad side.'

' Worthless wretch !' cried Marlow indignantly, indifferent to the compliment, 'to be hunting1 down a helpless creature like that!'

' Just so ! Just so !' said Appier. Marlow went off to cool down at hjs leisure, without tho vaguest idea of what was the matter with him.

After he was gone, Appier laughed and shook his head.

' Over head and ears in, love with his enemy's daughter ! and as jealous as a Turk ! Well, human nature is a queer thing !' (To be Continued.)