ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 277, 22 November 1899, Page 6

ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE.

By MARY ANGELA DICKENS.

Author of "Prisoners of Silence," "Against the Tide," "Some Women's Way," "Cross Currents," "A Mere Cypher," "Valiant Ignorance," etc etc., etc. CHAPTER Xni. A NEW IDEA. "Rachel!" The voice Was very timid, very uncertain, even inclined to tremble a little. It was about three o'clock on the following Saturday afternoon, aud Violet had come into the Cochrane's sitting room some twenty minutes before. She was looking pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, as though she had slept little. She carried a thick roll of manuscript in. her hand, and she had seated herself by the window with a glance halffurtive and half-wistful towards the only' other occupant of the room. Rachel Cochrane. Rachel, however, made no response whatever to the glance. She did not even seem to have observed Violet's entrance. In a few minutes the girl rose again from her chair, and began to move aboht the room, witrfh a restlessness that was most unlike her usual placidity. But if she hoped to attract Rachel's attention she was disappointed. Rachel's eyes were never lifted from the theatrical magazine she was reading. There was something like desperation on Violet's face at last, as she came up to the fireplace by which the other girl sat, and made her timid appetl. It. was unheeded, and she rep.s.ed it. "Rachel!" Rachel Cochrane lifted her head. Her face was set like a stone. "Well?" she said. "I don't kmnv<vvha.tto do, Rachel," Violet went on. "Mr Hamer gave me this, last night." She held out the manuscript as she spoke, but Rachel did not even glance at it, "Well?" "It—-it's the new play he has written. He's finished it. He asked me to read it, and—and tell him what I thought of it." "Read it, then," returned Rachel, "and tell him what yon think of it." Violet flushed painfully. "I have read it," she. said. "I read it last night, and I'm sure it's beautiful. But there's something else.". She paused, but Rachel made no comment, and she went on: "He .wants me to read the part to him. He's coming—to-morrow. Rachel, what am I to do?" "Why, read it to him, of course." "But I can't!" cried Violet, pressing her hands painfully together. "I've been awake all night, thinking about it. Raehael, you know —it makes me so ashamed to say it—you know I can't." ! Rachel put down her paper sudden"Why does it make you ashamed? she said, Inerciiessly. "You weren't ashamed when I taught you Virginie." "I have deceived him so," Violet said, piteously; and as the quivering tones fell on her ear, Rachel's lips tightened. "I couldn't help it—but he'll be so disappointed." Rachel surveyed her coolly. "Yes," she said. "He will be disappointed." There was a moment's silence, and, then Violet said, in little more than a whisper: "Aren't you going to help .me any more?" "Not at present," returned Rachel. "I think you shall see what you can do for yourself." Violet drew a long, quivering sigh. Then she straightened her slight figure and lifted her head. "I think I'm glad," she said, simply. "Because now, he must knoAv all about it. He must know that it's you, and not I." She turned away as she spoke, and Walked across the room to the window. She did not see the sudden movement with which Rachel leaned forward in her chair, gripping its two arms. She did not see the extraordinary tempest Of emotion that swept aci*oss Rachel's face, or the battle that fought itself out there. "Sylvia!" The summons was harsh and imperioits, and the girl started as she heard it. Almost before she could turn, Rachel's voice went on: "I've changed my mind. Give me the play." Violet went swiftly across the room and stood beside her. "I don't understand, Rachel," she said, nervously. "How have you changed your mind?" "I shall teach you the part," said Rachel. She stretched out her hand and took the manuscript from the girl's hand. "Go away," she went on. "I don't want you here while I read it." Violet was looking down into her hard, dark face, with dilated eyes in which the helpless tears were rising "Oh Rachel, no," she faltered. "Please, I do so Want him to know." "And 1 do not want him to know," returned Rachel, suddenly and fiercely., "I say that he's never to know — never! Now go away." She leaned back in her chair, opening the manuscript deliberately at the first page. Violet hesitated a moment and then walked submissively towards the door. Before she reached it, however, it was opened from outside, and Cecil Cochrane came in. He paused on seeing Violet, and then, contrary to his usual habit, he went up to her and held out his hand. "Good morning," he said. "I hope you're not over-tired after your hard week's work. Eight performances are more than« we ought to allow, I think!" He spoke with a certain efllusion of manner which was new in him where Violet DrummOnd was concerned, and he held her hand an instant longer than was necessary. She drew it away directly he released it. "Thank you," she said, shyly and hurriedly, "I am not at all tired." She made an instinctive movement

suggestive of a vague desire to escape, and he followed her and opened the door for her. "It was hardly necessary to ask, perhaps," he said, suavely. "For you look—as usual. Is it possible to find a term of higher praise?" She looked up at him, half-frighten-ed, half-perplexed,- murmured something under her breath, and disappeared. | Cecil Cochrane shut the door after I her, walked deliberately to the fireplace, drew up a chair, and, sat down. . "What's the matter with her?" he said, coolly. "She looks haggard." Rachel had let the roll of manuscript fell into her lap, and was leaning back in her chair, staring into the fire. "She's worried," she said. "She's beginning to find the inconvenience of being a walkiug and talking doll. Hamer's finished his new play." "Oh!" said Cochrane, with a glance at the manuscript in her lap. "Cot it there?" She nodded, and he went on: "Any good?" "It seems to be—all right," she said, slowly. "Ah!" said Cochrane, examining his delicately trimmed nails with great interest. "Well, I don't feel sure that she'll play it. But we'll talk about that afterwards. It rather belongs to what I've got to say. Look here, Rachel, has it ever occurred to you that the present arrangement is altogether too insecure?" She turned her head on its cushion and looked at him. "I never supposed it was calculated to last for ever," she said. "What do you mean? Are you tired of it? Do you think the time has come when she might be returned with thanks?" There was a certain uncontrolled eagerness in her look and toue, and her brother stared at her. "Not much,' he said. "I don't get tired of a fortune. I didn't realise at first what a fortune there was in her. But I'm very well awere of it now, and I mean to kep her. "You mean to keep her altogether? You don't intend to take her back to her father—ever?" "My dear girl, why should I? There was money to be, made in that way certainly—a little. But there are pots of money to be made in this way, and 1 prefer pots." "There are pots of money if I go on teaching her," corrected Rachel. "Nototherwise. We'd better not forget that." Cecil Cochrane was nursing one leg tenderly as it rested on the! other. "I don't forget it," he protested. "That's why I want to talk over my little plans with you. The whole thing depends on you, I know; but it's to your interest as well as mine to keep it going. You share the money—you like that?" He spoke blandly, but he was watching her intently from under his eyelashes. Very little of the money made through Violet Drummond had gone to Rachel, and her brother knew it; but it was characteristic of the wide gulf that lay between the natures of the brother and sister, that Rachel swept the question of monej' aside with an imperious gesture. "I like the power,"'she said. "If I can't carry out my own ideas, I like to feel that I can make someone else do it, I like to make myself tell, at last." Her (hand tightened unconsciously round the manuscript she held, and her whole face glowed. It was the enthusiasm of the artist, and as such, quite incomprehensible to Cecil Cochrane. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "You don't particularly wish her to drift out of our hands, then?" he said. Rachel lifted her arm and let it fall heavily on the arm of her chair. "She shan't!" she said. And the words came almost vindictively. "She's my mouthpiece—the means by which I can make a fool -of that great gull that thinks itself so clever—the public. She's my doll, and she and I, at least, know it." "That being the case," said Cochrane, smoothly. "I'm sure you'll agree with me in .thinking that things should be put on a sounder footing. Observe that as things are at present, we have no hold whatever over this young woman." "Only this much," she answered, "that's she's nothing without us." "I don't mean that," returned her brother. "I -mean supposing the facts should come out —supposing anyone should find out who she is—and you must remember that Miss Maynard is distinguished enough to be speculated about —where do we come in then?" Rachel did not speak. Her brows were knit. She was following his words intently, but she had evidently not caught the drift of his argument. "If once our worthy uncle should be brought upon the scene," pursued Cochrane, "we should be distinctly out of it as things are at present. He would hasten to remove bis daughter from our contaminating influence and the pernicious atmosphere of the theatre, and we should lose our income and-—your mouthpiece." "Is there any chance of Mr Drummond's appearing upon the scene?" demanded Rachel, hastily. | "None whatever,' answered her brother, carefully touching and retouching his hair. "Still, it is well to be on the safe side, and as things are at present, we should be distinctly in the wrong- box." "What do you propose to do?" Rachel bad turned away from her brother, and was looking straight before her. "I propose to marry her," said he. There was a moment's dead silence. Rachel's figure was so motionless as to look almost rigid. Then her hand began to move slowly to and fro on the arm of her chair. "You propose to marry her?" she said. "You —to marry that girl?" Her tone was very 'strange, partly because she was evidently making so great an effort to keep it absolutely impassive. "The rights of a husband," went on Co__T_ne, ig-noring- iter words, "are superior to the rights of a father. If our uncle should turn up _fter she is my wife— ; —" Rachel moved —the sharp, slight movement of uneon'trollable repugnance. ■"She hates you!" she said briefly. ,Cecil Cochrane grinned. "She doesn't like me much," he said. "She'll have to get over that. And I suppose she fancies she does like Hamer? He must be choked off, yon see, apd that's wbere the question of hii'play comes in." R_chel was leaning forward in her chair so that her brother could _ot see her face. The movement of her hand had ceased. "Yes," she said. "He would ha?e to be choked off."

"The question is how that is id he done," said Cochrane. "We can't have him hanging about here any longer." He paused, and began to trace patterns on the carpet with his foot. "Of course, there's one easy way," he said. "There' might be circumstances under which he would apt be likely to wish " He paused again. Rachel turned suddenly in her chair. He lifted his eyes, full of evil meaning, and met hers. The next- instant he dropped them again, as her response came, low and vibrating with emphasis: "No," she said. "Once for all, no." She said no more, and there was a moment's dead silence. It was broken by Rachel. "Rastrick must refuse his play," she said, brusquely. "It won't take much to put him off." "Or she might refuse to play in it," suggested Cochrane. Itaehel shook her head. "Dangerous!" she said. "Bll+ it's to be managed somehow." "There's no difficulty about it when you set your brains to work," said Cochrane." "Then you think the idea's a good one?" "The idea that you should marry her?" said Rachel, recklessly. She rose as she spoke, and tossed.Andrew Earner's manuscript on to a table. "I think it's capital!" (To be continued.)