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

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 147, 22 June 1888, Page 3

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

CHAPTER XIV

When Marlow came home, Sarah drew him into the dining-room. I Well,' said she, • did you see Mr Perkins?' 'Yes, and he says he can't keep the child. He will send ber to some friends m Philadelphia. Bub I hate tohavo her knocked about among strangers.' 'This is no place for her,' said Sarah. ' If her uncle won't have her, I will find a place for her to stay.' But Sarah would not listen to this. JNo, her uncle is the proper person to have her. The dining-room door was open. In their excitement they had spoken louder than they were aware. Ethel started downstairs to make the peace. She had been very rude to her kind benefactor, she told herself. Aa she came, her ear caught her name and then the words: ' This is no place for her.' 'If her uncle won't take her, I will find her a home'elsewhere.' ■' She can't stay here.' ' But there is no hurry,' said Marlow. 'No hurry,' repeated Sarah, 'can you keep up this brother and sister farce ?' •No,' said Marlow, bitterly, ' I can't.' ' Then let her go ' But Ethel waited to hear no more. Maddened with grief and shame, she flew to her room. Hunting up her old dress, she put it on. She would rid them of her ! Sne would go if she had to beg her bread 1 And downstairs she crept. Hearing a slight noise, Marlow came out in the hall, arid there stood Ethel clad in the old suit, with the open door in her hand, about to go out. 'Why, Ethel,' "he said, :rwhat does this mean ?' 'It moans,' said the girl, ' that lam going ; that I will never be ah unwilling dependent ! I will go -where you will never hear of or see me again !—Oh ! why,' she cried, as M'arlowstboddumbfounded, ' why did you nob tell me you wanted me to go ? —and not. leave me to the shame of ' Her voice failed her—tears streamed down her face—she seized the handle of the door. Then Marlowrousedfrom'hisstupbur and throw prudence to the wind. He suddenly caught her in his arms and strained her to his breast. ' I love you !' he cried, 'you must not go ! -you shall not go !—I love you—l cannot Hve without you—don't leave me! don't leave me-Ethel, my darling, I love you! I love you !' He covered her face, then her hands with which she hid her face, with his kisses ; he was like one gone mad. 'Oh !' cried the girl at last, * don't! don't!' Marlow slowly returned to his Senses. He relaxed his grasp, and Ethel stood trembling and breathless. Then *he leaned against the wall, and covering her face, burst into tears. Marlow stood before her, his broad chest ''heaving, struggling with himself to keep down his emotions. What had he done ? "How had he treated her? And what had become of all his fine resolutions ? 'Ethel,' he said at last, in a gentle voice. ' Ethel; my darling, listen' to me. Pardon ray violence. Pardon it. lam ashamed of myself. But your sudden flight threw me 6ft' my^guard. I-liave loved you for so long, £$el Ktptr -gtia'rded my'Sec^t, $ofs hot force my love on an iinproteeted girl under my own rp(sf, lest if you could not $e,tufn it, iybjv cti;^4 fnot a ,'sQ;,l i^so^d1 'to wait. Butlove laugh's at rules ! Then I thought to take you to your uncle, and safe with-him I could, urge my suitbut that cannot be—and .jitat now I lost my control. But hear me, Ethel. I love you with all-my heart —as I never loved woman before. But, my darling, if you can't loye me, I will fight my hopeless passion, and as brother, friend, guard and; watch over you here under the shelterof my roof;' ' The girl was silent, but her sobs had ceased. ' Ethel, -iay darling, Could you—could you—care for me-if it were just a little? Could you give me jusb a littie'hope to live on ? Look up, sweetheart.' Ethel timidly obeyed. ' I love you ! J love you-! Can you hot; love me?' He held out his amis. Ethel' sank upon his breast and hid her face there. Marlow held her close. The next day, when Marlow had recovered hissensesa ti'ifle, he began to think what Ke'should do 'abdut taking Ethel io her uhele. But before speaking to her, he determined to go back and make a clean; brea«t to Mr Perkins, and 'see if some arrangement could not be made whereby Ethel Could'remain in "the city "during her uncle's absence in the West; some plaice where he could, go and visit 'her. , FuH'of his idea he hurried to Mr Perkins's house, otily to find it in wild commotion. iSdgar had 'been taken in the night with violent meningitis, arid lay at death's "door. The house Was full of a suppressed confusion of servants running to arid fro on 'tiptoe, arid speaking, With bated breath ; of doctors coming and going and holding anxious consultations. Mr Perkins was all but beside "himself, and of course could not see him. IVlarlow ventured 'to stop one of 6he doctors as he was going out 'and make some, inquiries;' and learned that the lad had overheated himself, and then chilled off suddenly, and meningitis was the consequence. ' It often attacks boys like him in the full flush, of health and "strength in consequence of some impruderice,' said the doctor. And Marlow thought of yesterday's scene. ' And is there no hope f 'Little or none. The boy is unconscious. As a last resort the doctors are using a hot iron.' Herb the sufferer's shrieks rang out through £he still house and were echoed by the cries and sympathetic groans of his father from the library, where he lay on a sofa with his hands over his eyes. Marlow caught a glimpse of him as the door opened arid the housekeeper came out. ' Oh, how dreadful!' cried the young man shuddering. 'The boy really "is not conscious of any pain,' said the doctor, ' but his father won't' believe it.' f ,, '% don'b wonder,' thought Marlow, as he 'hastened away. He went down town with a saddened heart. In spite of his new happiness, liis thoughts constantly reverted to the dying toy. He contented himself on his return with telling Ethel that her cousin was very ill, "lam very sorry, 5 said the girl, ' but I hope how I won't have to go to my uncle's, for I don't like him.' ' Why ?' 'I don't know. I don't like him. Papa didn't like him either. They Were always aparritig, and he said uncle William always got the better of him ; that even as boys grandmother would side with Unelo William £s against him, and so got him marry a whipping.' 'I don't wonder/ thought Marlow. 'I dare say he deserved every cut he got.' But aloud he said, 'I am very sorry for the boy.' I 1 don't know him,' aaid /Ethel. ' Papa would not let me play with boye. I wonder what he would sky if he iartr.ine now-,' she isked, Bmilirig, as shis sat wjth her head resting !a^aiti*t Marlow^ isnoTutctfer anti his linns around hifr w^iit. ' I

'That he .approved, I hope,' said MarloW his life had been so bare of all events. 'What are you, thinking-of? askea Ethel, looking up and wondering at his Sil 'e Ohe*how happy lam ! oh, how much I aSowfcs^Xe a%t PS 6ta goose you are!' said Ethel, "fetf happy constitutes a goose, then there was never a greater,said he. ' Such a foolish boy i' said the, girl, w t£ a happy smile on her face. Such a foolish b°' yNot as foolish you think'said Marlow, drawing the caressing hand to his lips. But how could he marry Jer, suspecting her father of his mother's abductiot», Imnossible! That must be cleared up insc. wTatl Appier after ?He would see him in the morniug. *, ~ h Marlow, ou his way to town the next morS, stopped at Mr Perkins's house; from ?£ dooV floated a black and white Str < pSfboy ! Poor boy !' he thought, and entered to ask after Mr Perkins. 'Hews s all but wild,' said the servant, 'the doctors had him in hand and he could, see no one.' Marlow remembered his sympathy for him in his trouble. ' Pray say to Mr Perkins,' he said, ii A can be of any, service to him, call on me. Before tbe»an could reply, the library door flew open, and Mr Perkins, mhis restless march; came out. His face was drawn and his eyes wild. Full of pity, Marlow approached him. , , 'MrPerkins,'he said gently, 'I feel for you from the bottom of my heart. The wretched father looked at him in a dazed fashion, and then, as he recognised him, uttered a shriek, and retreated towards the library. . . 'Don't mind him,' said the phj'sician, who had followed him out, 'he is almost! crazed.' . Full of pity, Marlow left the house ana took his way to Appier's office. 'Appier,' said he, 'something musfa b« done to find Mr Dorset and my mother.' . •Your mother and Mr Dorset/ thought the detective, involuntarily taking note that something had happened. 'I have and am doing my best, Mr Martew, ha said. ' But you do nothing,' said Marlow, impatiently, ' at least, nothing comes of it.' ' lam not a magician, neifcbtts: am I a god,' said Appier, provoked. 'If the people have killed themselves, I can't find 'em.' ~ ■ . 'But there is Patrick,' said Marlow, ignoring Appier's sombre suggestion, ' you might at least find him.' Appier winced. Patrick had been a thorn in his. side ; he was very sore to think that the man had escaped him without leaving af trace behind. ' It seems incredible,' said Marlow, ' than he should have gotten away from us. There was a blunder somewhere.' Having relieved his mind, he departed, but every day for the next week he came back with the same cry, for Sarah was urging him to marry Ethel. ' Marry Ethel ! He would not, could not, till the suspicions about her father were at rest, though he would not tell Sarah this, for fear she should let it out.

He became more and more anxious, though he began to fear that it was a hopeless , expectation. As for Dorset, one moment he longed to find him, the next he wished he would disappear for ever. Ib vexed him to think of Ethel as his child. '.How is it possible?' he thought, looking at her pale delicate beauty and recalling Dorset's harsh face. ' I don't believe it. I beb she is a foundling, or a child with no name, he Jbas adopted. Mercy knows, I wlshit waifsoj^'d 'marry her to-morrow.'--'But how could he marry tho child of his pother's abductor ?—murderer, perhaps ! He 'began" td'lfeer allo'nedge with suspense. Would it never end ?

(TobeOonlimied.)