A SORE TEMPTATION.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 65, 17 March 1900, Page 3 (Supplement)

A SORE TEMPTATION.

[published by Special Arrangement.]

By JOHN X LEYS,

Author of "In the Toils," "The Lindsays," "The Broken Fetter," "A Million of Money," "The Thumb-print,

[Copyright.]

CHAPTER XX

THE CURATE'S DECISION

,- Mrs' Cardale'B death plunged Mr Grenfell into a sea of perplexity. The first question that presented itself to bis mind was whether his promise to her that he would not reveal to anyone what she had told him unless she gave him permission to speak was binding ■on him now that she was dead. As far as he could see she aught to have told the whole truth at first whatever the consciences; and if this Avas too much to expect of flesh and blood, her death made it all the more necessary that justice should be done. It was surely unjust, grossly unjust, that- Campbell should remain an outlaw, his name that of an unconvieted murderer, his inheritance lost to him, his future one of the direst peril, if he were really innocent. On. the whole, he thought Mrs Cardale's death absolved him from his promise of silence. ; But when this question had been answered, he found that lie had only touched the fringe of the matter. Granting that he had the right to speak, was it his duty to .speak, and to whom should he address himself? Should he lay the whole matter before a'magistrate, or the chief constable of the district? That would mean denouncing 'Richard Cardale: and the curate shrank, very naturally, from hat step. Should he tell Cardale what he knew, and -advise him, if he were guilty, to nee the country? That might be making himself an accessory after the fact to the crime of murder. Or should he write to Campbell, place Mrs Carclale's statement in his hands, and leave him to take such course as he thought proper?

Another thing- that added greatly to his perplexity was his ignorance of the law. He did not know whether llrs Cardale's confession to him would be considered as a '"dying declaration,"' seeing- that she had. lived for three (lays after making it. It had not been made before a magistrate. What if he should interfere, in reliance on Mrs Cardale's testimony, only to find that it was not admissible in a court of justice.

It very often happens that when we are in doubt as to what course we should adopt, some event or circumstance that happens without any will of our own helps us to make up our mind, even though it should in

reality have no bearing- whatever upon the difficulty. It is like the effect of the introduction of a foreign substance into a liquid which holds somethingill solution. The element which was dispersed through every drop of the liquid appears in visible form at the bottom of the vessel which contains it. And so it was with ilr Grenfell when his vicar suddenly appeared at the vicarage on the Tuesday after Mrs Cardale's funeral. He said he was sick .o£;Pr.ance, ; .siek of living in hotels and "pensions." His own bedroom and his own study seemed the only desirable apartments in the world, and he had come back to them at least a month before he was expected. He told his curate the first time they met that if he liked to take a month's holiday before the winter set in now was his chance; and Mr Grenfell suddenly resolved that he would go to Devonshire, find this man Campbell, and lay the whole matter before him. 3fext day he started on his journey. 3lr Grenfell spent a night at Exeter, and alighted on the platform of the little station at Addiscsimbe. on a gloricms autumn morningl. He was gazing about him, taking in the beauty of the scene, when to his surprise someone called him by name. He wheeled round.

"Pullen!" he ejaculated

"I thought 1 couldn't be mistaken —same old mug. Should know it anywhere, in spite of the clerical get-up. They told me you were going to take orders—sounds like a. commercial traveller, doesn't it? —but I could scarcely believe it. How's old Brazennose?"

"Flourishing when I left. You ought to have stayed on and taken your -degree."

"Thanks. Once bit, twice shy. The governor cut up rough enough as it was. If I had been ploughed a second time he might have cut me off with a'shilling, by Jove. But what ai*e you doing down here?"

"Oh, I've come down to see if I can get some fishing," said the curate, who Ji.ad made up his mind beforehand that he would say nothing about Campbell unnecessarily.

'"You'll come and stay a night at the Hall, till you can look out suitable rooms? Don't say no. I'm dying for want of a friendly face, and I shall be proud to show the governor that I Made one respectable acquaintance at Oxford. Mother and the girls are at ■ Bwxton, but we expect them back in a day' or two. • Are these .your traps? Here,. Rogers," put Mr Grenfell's luggage into the dog-cart." And so, almost against his will, the curate was carried off to the Hall.

It was perfect weather —that Indian Bummer. which visits so seldom our English shores, and is so welcome When it comes. The woods through ■V'hich they were passing wore royal Tobes of gold, and purple, and green. There was a deep stillness overfall the land. .

•We had hardly any partridges this year," young Pullen was saying, when he stopped short. A few yards ahead a girl's dress was fluttering. She had cpme down a woodland path in the N&ht, and was standing there, waiting for'the dog cart to pass before she crossed the lane. Pullen, who was driving, gathered whip and reins into °ne hand, that he might raise his hat with the other. The girl stood with downcast eyes, barely glancing up, and faking a slight inclination of her head as the two young men drove by. It was only for the fraction of a second that'her eyes and those of the curate met. But that was enough. He had seen her—it was she herself!

The young clergyman's heart beat as though: it would stifle him; he became suddenly giddy, and for the moment did not quite know where he was., Once more he was sitting —as it seemed to him —in a London theatre, watching as if by stealth a young girl seated in the front of one of the boxes. She was simply dressed in white, with. a rose in her hair. It was plain that she -\vas' unused to the theatre, for she bent forward with eagerness, watching every movement, every word, of the actors with intense interest.

It was for Green fell one of those moments that come to men of nervous and excitable temperament, once or twice in n lifetime. He had seen his ideal of girlish loveliness, and the vision was to him like what we may imagine a vision of Paradise would be to a saint. He was like a man enchanted. Tlie stage and its players, the orchestra and its occasional bursts of sound, the crowd of spectators, the gaudy splendour of the house, had simply no existence for him. He bent his eyes on the girl's face as much as he dared, fearful only that he would excite the amused notice of.' those around him by too persistent gazing, for the girl herself was totally unconscious of him and his silent homage.

The play came to an end—Grenfell did not remember afterwards what it had been about—and the girl left the box with her party. She was gone; and the curate made his way back to his lonely rooms. He would have liked to follow her carriage—it would have been an easy thing to do—but he shrank from sucli a course as one unworthy of: him. It was days— weeks—before he could do his duty as a clergyman with any sense of: reality in his work. He had even thought of renouncing his sacred calling and devoting his life to finding" and, if possible, winning; the girl wlio.se appearence had so powerfully moved him. But that temptation he had put from him. And now he had seen her once more, in (his solitary Devonshire lane.

He would have liked greatly to know something about the girl, if it were no more than her name: and it was evident that his friend knew her. Pullen could scarcely refuse to tell him all he wanted to know. But he 3ie.sita.fed to ask. To say hi b.'ikl English: "Do you know ihat giri? What is her name? Who are her people? Where does she live?" seemed an impertinence. And besides, he shrank, with an almost morbid sensitiveness—(i sensitiveness that few besides lovers could understand - from betraying the depth of his own' anxiety to know. So lie held his tongue.

But already he had made up his mind ihat lie would mil quit that pan ol! the country (ill the last 1 minute of his leave had expired. It, would1 be easy for him to learn till

about the girl from his landlady, when he: had secured lodging's, or from some of the country people, and that without making' direct inquiries. He would manage to get an introduction, lie would acquire the right, of speaking" to her, of looking into her sweet eyes, of: seeing- the smile break over her face.

So wrapt up was lie in these, delicious expectations that he barely heard his companion when he spoke to him, and answered almost at random. He was not t-orry when they arrived at the Hall.

Sir Frederick bade his son's friend welcome with old-fashioned politeness, so that Mr Greni'ell felt at ease at once. He soon saw, however, that there was a certain constraint between the father and son, and guessed that it would have been more convenient in some respects if Jiis visit .had been paid at another time.

Dinner was early, and the meal was rather a dull one. It did not last long, and soon after the dessert made its appearance the baronet begged the curate to excuse! him, and withdrew to his- own room.

Then Herbert. Pullen fidgeted about, looking- at his watch every few minutes, till at last Orenfell said:

'"Don't make a stranger of me, old fellow. If you have anything special to attend to don't mind leaving me. I shall get on very well in the smokingroom with a novel."

I'ulien, muttered something by way of; thanks, and saying that he would not be long, rushed upstairs and exchanged his evening suit for one of summer tweeds. Then leaving the Hall by way of the'stables, he reached the high road, and walked on rapidly till he came to a cottage that stood at one side of an immense rose garden. Here he paused, unwilling to go up boldly and knock at the door, yet anxious to have speech 01 one who had her home there.

Seeing that there was nothing else for it, the young man opened the garden gate and went up the path: but before he readied the house lie was- met by a girl who stole out of a little shrubbery at the end of the cottage. She had a shawl thrown over her head and shoulders, and her arms, too, were wrapped in it.

Pullen leaped forward with a cry of "Kstelle!" but she drew back out of his reach, saying in a rapid half.--whisper: "You said in your note that yon must see me alone to-night, or I wouldn't have come out. I can't wait more than a minute, at any rate. What is it? Has anything happened?"

"Estelle," said the young man, gloomily, "I have had attalk with the governor." "Well?" "He won't hear of it. Threatens to send me away altogether if we go on meeting in tlie park. What are we to do?" The girl made no answer, but continued looking at the handsome young face before her, as though she expected to hear something more.

"I say, Estelle—this is quite between ourselves, mmd —it's my opinion that the governor's chief objection is that you have no money. He talked very big about name, and family, ami all "that rot; but 1 believe if you had something1, so that he needn't look forward to making us a big allowance, he might be got to consent. . .Now, don't you think you might make it up with your uncle—not -Mr Crawford; J. mean'the one. in Bryanstone Square? It can't have been much of a quarrel, and I daresay he would be glad enough to see you back again. Everybody" said he meant to do something handsome ■ for you. And when it's only putting out your hand " "Good night, Mr Pullen," said Estelle, suddenly, holding out her hand. "What have I said to offend you? Oh, well, if you look at it in that way, 1 suppose there's no more to be said— only, I didn't think you would have been so unforgiving to the old man, Estelle. After all, he was good to you, wasn't he?"

"We needn't say any more about that," said Estelle, coldly. "All right, but what are we to do? I can't give you up, that's certain." "Mr Pullen, you forget " "Have you forgotten my front name, Estelle? You knew it last week."

"If I was foolish last week —but never mind. I was going to say that you forget that we are not engaged."

"Oli, I say!" ~ "I'm afraid I have'been very silly, said the girl, in a humbler tone than she had yet used. "In fact, I fear I have treated you badly. I confessed that I—liked' yon. But I said we could not be eng-ag-ed -without your

father's consent. You must remember that."

"Ob, y.'s, I suppose I remember well enough. But I know you care For me, Estelle, and by .love 1 care for you awfully. There's no other girl I ever met fit to hold a candle to you. I'm certain that if you would consent to be married quietly, at a registrar's office, my father would forgive us, and it would be all right."

To this EsteJle answered nothing. She was angry and ashamed thus such a proposal should have been made to her. Indeed, the conversation was enlightening- her consider-

ably as to Mr Herbert Pullen's disposition.

"Well, 1 suppose we .must have patience, darling, and wait for better tlays," said the young man, with a sigh. Be took a step nearer to the girl, and put one arm to embrace her;' but she drew back, and his arm encircled the empty air.

"Why do you put me off like that, Estelle?" he said, angrily. "Because I am not engaged to marry you, nor ever likely to be."

"'That's nonsense, Estelle. We love each other, and we are bound to be married some day."

"Home day is no day; and, besides, I am ■not sure thai: I. like you welt

enough to marry yon

"When did you lind that out? Only since you .hoard that my governor' wasn't going to give his consent right out. lint I don't want to quarrel. You know, 1 never do quarrel with anyone, if it can be helped. And it is silly for us two to have words."

"I. am not quarrelling with you." "Why do you say that we are not engaged, then?"

"Neither we are. That's a very different thing."

Don't be so hard on a fellow, Ks-

telle. You know I love you, and never have loved anyone but you. If it's money you want, I'll go out to the Cape' i will, indeed."

"It's not, money 1 want, ami you have no right to nay Mich a thing!" cried Ksiellc, now thoroughly roused.

•■1 don't want to have anything more to do with you. I don't care it L should never .see you again. Yon have not behaved like a. -gentleman!*'

"I haven't any money —that's what yOU mean. I'pon my. word, Kstel'e, I never ihougiht you were so mercenary " The girl drew nearer Lv him, her eyes flashing with indignation. "1 mean. 1 thought y.uu would have allowed that love had something to do with it. Yuu don't serin lo can1 how wrcu-ihed yon make me. l-lstelk:!"

"I must say good-night now, Mr i'ullon."

When shall I t>eo yon again?'

'"1 sha'n't meet you in the park after this, if you mean thai. 1 am sorry 1 ever consented to do that. It was a wrong tiling to do, 'both on your account and on mine. And if I have made you care [or me, I'm sure I lni g your pardon."

"What rot you are talking, F-stelle! As if 1 didn't love you more than anything, and as if you weren't my own little wife that's lo be-! Now just one kiss, plea.se, before I go?"

Ho expected her to draw back, but she did not. She remained where she was, aikl said quiet ly:

"1 meant what I said just now. And as we are n.ot engaged I won't allow you lo kiss me. I wonder that you should dare to ask it!"

And suppose I should take one."

You wouldn't, do such a thing!

"Wouldn't, i '."' lie made a dash forward, but the girl was too quick for him. She put her hand on his breast and held him back.

"If. you don't go away at once T will call out." she said. "1 an> ashamed fra think thai —that 1 should over have given you the right to call yourself my lover."'

With th.es:' words she Avas gone and I'ulltMi was left on the path alone. With a short laugh he turned on his heel. "I like her spirit," lie muttered to himself,'f hen pulling out his watch and seeing that he had left his guest alone longer than he had intended, ho set off for the Hall at a run.

That uig'ht Estello cried herself 1o sleep. It waa not so much that she had lost her lover, for she felt, now that she could never marry Mcrbort I'llJlen, but that she hud to some degree forfeited her self-respect. Rlio

mid1 met this young man, not once or twice in the park, if not by appointment, yet by a tacit agreement that came to much the sumo thing". She had listened to the i:ant that "conventionality" is n thing to I)." f! on tod and trampled under foot. . iShe had broken in the rules of: maidenly reserve blindly, unthinkingly, and she had boon treated accordingly. That was all.

CHAPTER X\T.

THE TEMPT Kit "WHISPERS.

While Kstdlo was watering her couch with salutary tears the young man who still considered himself her lover was tranquilly inhaling the smokeoorlr a really good cigar. It was late, and there was no fear that they would be disturbed in the smokingroom that night. Opposite young Pollen sat the Rev. George Clrent'ell, a well loved briar between his teeth. "The fact is, Ovenfcll," said l'ullcn, abruptly, "I've got into a bit of a hole. I've had something of a. rowwith the governor, and as I don't know any "follow who has his head screwed' on better than you I wish yon would tell me what you would do if. yon were in my place." Scarcely pausing to hear the curate's murmured expression of willingness to be of service, lie went on:

"You remember our passing a girl on onr way from the station? I don't know if you noticed her, but I can tell you she- is a, confoundedly pretty girl." The Hex. George Grenfell nearly bit through the timber of his pine at hearing the girl he worshipped spoken •of in this way, but he said nothing1.

"I'm here doing1 time,, you know — port of penal discipline for past extravagances, and having nothing better to do, T made up to this girl—• Estello 'hen- name is—and used to meet her hi the park pretty often.- She's quite a lady, you understand —used to meet lior hi a house in town—not swell, but highly respectable, wealthy people—city people, you know." Pollen throw away the stump of his cigar, find sauntered across the room in quest of another. The curate sat with one elbow on the arm of his chair, shading- hw face with his hand.

"Well, Miss Campbell quarrelled with —I say. do you know her?"

"Never spoke to her in my life. Why do yon ask'?"

"Thought yoai looked rather queer for h, moment. You don't know her crowd, I should think —Marchant, the

name, was."

"No, I don't know any of them But T—never mind. Go on."

"Well, she quarrelled with her nncTc over some tomfool matter or other and left him. Came to live down hei'O

with another uncle named Crawford. He's yat. no money—that is, none to s;peak of, so it strikes me that she lias rather made a muddle of it. Anyhow, my governor, who might have listened to a match between me and the adopted daughter of rich Colonel Ma reliant, won't hear of an engagement as things are at present. You may take it that 1 am awf'ly gone on her. She's a real good sort, though not quite in the swim, you know, and 1 would marry her like a shot if the gwernor would let me."

"And the lady?"

"Oh, she's all right. We're old chums, she and 1. She's a bit put., out by the governor cutting up rusty, but that'll wear off. The question is what I had better do>? What would you do if you wore in my place?"

It was lucky that the curate's; pipe happened to be out od: his mouth at that moment. Involuntarily he set his teeth in thinking what he would have done if such a chance of winningthe girl had been his.

"You mean that you are engaged to her and can't marry her?"

"That's aboul it. She won't have it thai we arc engaged, but that's fill ivonsenso. Do you think 1. should go out to the Cape or somewhere and try to make my fortune? Or should we make our minds up to wait patiently as we arc? Yon sop, a lot of things might happen. Her uncle Ma'■chant may die at any time, and 1 should say that if he hasn't made a now will she ought to come in for something good. I'm a younger son, it is true, but .1 will have some money of mv mother's at my father's death."

"And you think (here is no chance of overcoming his opposition?" "Xot the slightest."

"Then, my dear fellow, it seems to me that it rests with the lady, rather than with you. I wouldn't advise you, or any man, to go out to the Cape, or to any colony, without either capital, or a trade, or knowledge of business. The chances arc that you would stifle there till your friends .sent out money lo bring'you home. !'>ut the real (|ucslioi) is": Would the lady be willing to wait lor an indefinite time for XOXl'l Thai is a question you can answer Far hotter than I. UiiL I It'll you frankly I .should not be contented to occupy so dependent a position if I were ill voiir place. As Unities stand. L don't sec how you can fairly and honestly <_'i.l, cn^aiied io l>e married without your father's consent."

"I'm in the same position hundreds of fellows of the best families- 1 may say all of the men of good family—

are in," said i'ulleii, with a touch of temper. "Thai is Irue. 1 didn't mean to reproach you. I was merely stating what seems to me to be the most important fact in the situation. Unless the ffirl is as much in love with you its you are with her, ami is willing to wail any time for yon, I really don't see how yon can promise to marry her."

To this young I'ulleu returned no answer. What his friend said was indisputably true; but he had hoped thai the curate would take the other side- -encourage him to constancy, and ■■••enera 11 v advise him to follow the policy 'of waiting- till something shouid turn up. The Rev. George (Irenfell went off to bed, but the greater part of the ni»ht he lav awake.

It was impossible for him to banish the image of Kstollo. from liis mind, lie did not even try. All his life. lirenFell had known but few women, and those wen.' not. of an attractive type from a lover's point of view, liis heart was virgin soil. And his was a sensitive, highly-strung, nervous temperament that receives the assault of a great passion with scarcely an effort at independence.' H seemed to him as though there were but one fact of importance in the world—(hat he had seen Hie woman who in herself embodied everything1 desirable; one question I hat was worth considering --how could he win her for himself?

Pondering tliis cpiestion through the lonely' hours of- the night, the curate made up his mind that ho need not allow any consideration for his friend to interfere with his plans. The girl did not love him—Fullen had himself admitted as much. Certainly she did not love him with that supreme affect ion which in the curate's eyes svas the only affection worth having. She was not willing to spend the nest years of her life in wailing for him. Who could blame her? For I'dllcii, a mere dependent on his father's caprices lo presume to offer her marriage was absurd. His wish that she .should wait with him for some star to fall out of the sky was the grossest selfishness. And, besides," Pullen was not Hie man, he had not character enough, to win a girl like Estelle. '

So far, it was plain sailing. But when the curate came to consider calmly his own chances he had to confess that they were but small. What had he to offer her. A private income of a hundred and fifty pounds a year, added to a curate's stipend, and a distant, shadowy hope of preferment. Mas that the. kind of match that would satisfy the aspirations of a givl who had been used to luxury and an the refinements of wealth?

Then suddenly it occurred to him that this man Campbell, who, he could not doubt, was Estelle's guardian and protector, was in reality a wealthy man. If Campbell, when he had the facts before him, resolved to come forward and stand his trial, relying on Airs Cardales evidence to acquit him. and if he were acquitted, he would clearly have the right to claim the Carda'le estate under the terms of: the old Squire's will. Estelle would then be an heiress. Would she not be altogether beyond his reach?

At present, by the simple process of. holding his tongue, he could keep Campbell and Estelle in seclusion and comparative poverty for au indefinite time. What need was there for him to tempt Campbell to take a step that might bring him to the scaffold, when he was living1 in safety and comfort?

Then there was his promise to Mrs Car-dale. What if. the result should be to bring her son into the dock on a charge of murdering his uncle? What if he should be convicted? Would he not then bitterly regret that he had not left things to take their own way without interfering?

This, if George Grenfell had only recognised it, was the first whisper oi! the tempter. It sounded so plausible! "Tx-no, a policy of silence serves your interests with Miss Campbell, but that need not blind you to the groat dangers and difficulties that will be the result ot! your departing1 from it. And, after all, you are master of the situation. The decision rests solely with you, and yon are responsible to no one. Many would say that you ought to be silent; some, perhaps, that you ought to speak. When the case is so difficult, what harm can there be in delay? It would bo only prudent to say nothing1 till you. can see your own way more, clearly."

And to this Grenfell finallj' brouglit his mind to consent. He would see Campbell and form his own judgment about him before saying one word about Airs Cardale's confession. And, above all, he would see Estelle.

(To be continued.)