Amends for All.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 149, 24 June 1911, Page 18

Amends for All.

By E. B. PTJNSHON. [{Author of "The Choice," "The Spin of the Coin," eto., etc.),

CHAPTER xir. HIS DECLARATION. In the horror of great darkness that seemed to Joan to envelop her and her mother for ever, she was not' conscious that anyone was watching' her nor did she dream how Th'orold's gaze was upon her with a deep pity that stirred all the depths of his nature. For he had imagined her a cruel, relentless adventuress, he had thought her formidable, he had supposed that she was bold and desperate', he had taken it for granted that her nerve was as steady as the brain must have been cunning and the hand cool and steady, that had destroyed his brother, his young brother Frank. But now it stirred him strangely to see how she shrank and trembled there, and yet still in the extremity of her terror kept one arm raised before her mother as if to protect her. ' He moved across to them rapidly and bending over them he said in his softest tone: "Do not be. afraid —there is nothing to be afraid of." Through her terrors Joan heard that mild protecting voice. It comforted her with a suggestion of a friend found, but she did not at first recognise it, for she had no idea that Thorold's harsh and resolute tones could ever be so tender. When she understood she was astonished. She looked up at him and put out her hand with an impulse of confidence andgratitude, and when he took it he bent down and kissed it.

"Oh," she murmured faintly.""Orh r .what are you'doing?"

His heart was beating wildly and -the blood was thrumming- in his ears.' But he knew what he had done and he did not care, and stooping again once more he put his lips to her hand—and for everything else in the world he cared nothing at aIL

A sob burst from her, a dry sob that had no tears. She could not free the hand he held, for his grasp upon it was with all his strength; but she laid her other hand upon his breast, small and ■weak as it was she placed it against liis breast, and tried with all her force to push him away. But she could not stir him, she could not move him in the least, for ho was far too strong for her, and his whole face blazed a triumph at her.

"Leave mc alone," she said in despair and terror. "Leave hold of my hand— how dare you?" "I dare," he answered. "Ah," she cried wildly, "do you not hear them saying that the black pearls have been stolen?" He thought in her excitement she hardly knew what she was saying. This idea brought hack to him the necessity of controlling himself. "Yes, yes, I know," he said soothingly, "but that's all right." Joan had at last managed to free her hand which Thorold had held so tightly. She turned to her mother with the unconsciously guiding and protecting air she generally assumed towards her. "Mother," she said. "Do you hear? We must go at'once." Mrs. Durand looked pale and ill nnd had one hand pressed hard against her side. But she stood up obediently at Joan's summons and seemed willing to hurry away as quickly as her daughter required. All the other guests were clustered together near the door, eagerly discussing this sensational theft of their hostess's pearls and watching a bip policeman standing stolidly in the hall as though they thought him a conjurer who might be expected at any moment to produce from one pocket the missing pearls and from another the thief who had stolen them. Among these people Wilton Mayne and Dora were standing together. The attention of nil being centred here, no one heeded the little group where Thorold stood with Joan and her mother.

"Mr. Thorold," Joan said, speaking to him very softly and pleadingly, "will you not go please?"

"But you let me—what can I do for you?" he protested. "Shall I order your carriage? Are you sure you feel strong enough to go?"

He ispoke 'quietly enough, but his ardent eyes revealed his secret —his secret that he himself hardly realised as yet—his secret that Joan so dreaded she simply would not believe it true. •Weak and rather foolish woman as she was, Mrs. Durand yet loved her daughter with a true and pure love, and where she was concerned was keen-eyed enough. Their wandering and uncertain life and Joan's own reserve, that of late the dark suspicions of her father that she cherished had increased to an almost morbid pitchj-had-prevented them from ever making, aiy. friends. Now in one quick flash of rosy' prophecy she saw Joan married and in a comfortable home, safe from nil dangers that threatened her, the mistress of her own establishment, and she began to wonder what would be the best material.' for the wedding dress. She formulated a hope that Joan would wear a veil which she thought would be very., becoming to her. Joan had shaken her head vigorously as Thorold spoke and had made to him a piteous gesture to leave them which he had not thought it. possible to digobey. But even as he drew back Mrs. Durand spoke to him. "Oh. thank you, thank you so much for your kindness," she-said-and added with marked hesitation, Mr.—Mr. " ' ' "Thorokl,"' he said. "My name is Thorold."

Mr. Thorold. Perhaps if you would call at 19, Jerrayn Gardens to-morrow," continued Mrs. Durand, with a frightened yet determined look at Joan, like that of a child engaged in a piece of mischief, it is determined to complete, "then perhaps my daughter and I would be able to thank you better." "Oh, mother, mother," cried Joan lamentably, "how can you say that when you know- that Lady Martin's black pearls have been stolen?" The words were peculiar, and something in the accent with which Joan pronounced them brought back to Thorold with staggering force all those doubts and fears and suspicions that in her presence his new-born passion had been strong enough to thrust away. His face changed. And Mrs. Durand,'looking quickly round, drove her iand against her side with a strange force. "Joan, Joan," she whispered, "when you know I am dying how can you say Bucli things?" ' "Mother," said Joan, puzzled, "who Is dying? But you knpw.it is:true What I Baid about the pearls!" ' ' ■ '■'■■ "Is it 'true?" ; said- Thorold. '"You' know about these and his eyes challenged here! ■What right' have you to ask?" she flawed atJiim."Toa,.it is trub," she ! v stared, at XhpioldJiarcDyj

and defiantly, for she thought that these words would perhaps quench that light she had seen in his eyes, and she said to herself that more than everything else it was necessary that this light should be quenched and that the memory of that kiss he had placed upon her hand uhould be for ever obliterated. "It is true—true," she again said.

"It is not true," said Mrs. Durand in a curious, muffled tone. Her face become hard like a mask, she looked straight in front of her without seeming to perceive anything, and 'one might ]have thought 'that' she had entirely ceased to breathe. Joan flung up her. hand as though in the presence of some new one of ever fresli' hurrying misfortunes. "Oh, darling," she cried pleadingly. "Not that, darling." "What is it?" asked Thorold in a tone of some alarm, for he thought Mrs. Durand was on the point of being taken ill. "I don't know," said Joan despairingly, "but sometimes when my mother looks like that she sees things—she sees things that are far away. It frightens mc. It is a kind of trance, and it frightens mc." "But what things ?"' asked Thoroia uncomfortably. The fixed manner. in which Mrs. Durand stared in front of her, and the odd expression in her eyes, which were as though gazing intently on something only visible to herself; had. an effect to him exceedingly disconcerting. His hand shook a little, and as he raised it gropingly, it met Joan's, which it at once clasped firmly.

Awed and silent in the presence of the Unknown, they stood hand in hand, and were unaware how their clasped fingers linked them to each other.

For Thorold was experiencing a sensation very much like simple fear, and Joan hated intensely these strange .attacks or possessions to which 'her mother was subject at rare intervals. And,invariably ■ these attacks were the harbingers of fresh misery and new troubles.

"Shall I speak to her?"~Thorold asked in a low voice. ; . •..'._. '

"No," whispered Joan in answer. "Perhaps it will pass off. It does sometimes."

Mrs. Durand opened her mouth. The rest of her features remained perfectly rigid, and both Thorold and Joan were aware of an uncomfortable disturbing impression that her tongue and lips were being moved by some power alien to herself. When she spoke it was in a low, but musical and singularly distinct tone, very different from her normal voice.

"The pearls are not stolen," she said; "the black pearls are not stolen. That is ?.!!."

The control or possession or whatever it was semed to pass instantly, and Mrs. Durand's face resumed its normal expression. She began to shake and tremble violently, and Joan; evidently in great fear and distress, did her best to soothe and tranquillize her.

The enjoyment of the evening had been entirely spoilt by the sudden discovery of Lady Martin's loss. The hostess herself was quite overcome, and had retired to her own room, where she was dn floods of tears oyea , . the loss, of her beloved necklace, lamenting ami refusing to be .comforted while her guests gossiped together below, or prepared to take their departure.

With some difficulty, Thorold. found the modest hired brougham which' had brought Sirs. Durand and ,Toa.n to the ball, and he escorted the two ladiei to it through the crush. Mrs. Durand seemed to have sunk into a kind of stupor in which she moved or stood still as she was directed. Joan was in a state of great 'nervousness and distress, and could hardly have managed at all without the help of Thorold; which she was only anxious to refuse and yet found lmrself forced to depend on. But he showed so much tact and •consideration and helped- her so efficiently that she could not refuse him the gratitude that she felt wa-s his bare due. When at last he had placed them safely in their carriage, she held out her hand to him and said softly: "Thank you." "May I call to-morrow?" he asked as he took it. "No," she said. He showed himself astonished at the abruptness and hardness of the word, and she •continued: "Do you remember that it was only for to-night you offered mc friendship?" "Ah, yes," he said gloomily. "But tomorrow I shall call all the same."

She could not repress the gladness, the joy, that shone in her face, and he saw it, and once again he was filled with a deep awe and wonder. -For one delicious moment these two human souls that fate had flung together under such' strange and ominous circumstances forgot all, except that they yearned one to the other 'as the two parts of one incomplete whole. Then each remembered and each drew back, and Joan said harshly:

"If you came, I should have to ask. you what you meant by saying you had seen my photograph in the house on the downs." ..*.. ■

"No," he returned with a;deep emotion. "It is for mc to ask-, you what 3'our photograph was doing there—l shall come."

He signalled to the driver and. the carriage moved away. Ringing in Joan's ears were these last words of his that lie had spoken so harshly, and that yet had sounded to her so infinitely sweet.

"But if he comes, I shall not see 'hum," she: told her ..rebellious heart, and .then she. had to deyote.herself to her mother who seemed in. a state bordering on collapse. It was a consolation' to Joan that ttieir approaching flight, in which she hoped to be aided by Green, would separate them as effectively from Xhorold as from her father.

When they reached Jermyn Gardens, Mrs. Ihirand seemed so unwell that Joan had to call Green to help her to get her mother into the house. Later on, when Mrs. Durand was comfortably in bed, Joan on her way downstairs met Green in the hall.

"It's all right, miss," he said dn a cautious whisper, "I done just what you told me—you ought to be able to give 'em the slip proper, and I'll lay my life they'll never find track of you." Joan looked at him very gratefully. "Mr. Green," she said, "I think you are the only friend I have."

"And I'll be a true Mm, miss," he said earnestly, swelling with pride at her words.

She smiled at him again and put out her hand 'to him. He took it and shook it with an air of some caution, as though afraid of hurting it. And after Joan and he had discussed one or two other points concerning - ihe .contemplated' flight, Joan.: remarked": V. ;... * : '"' '..

"There -will be a gentleman calling to see mc to-monw, I think—a Mr. Thorold. _ If he comes, you nrusfc tell him 1 am indisposed and unable to see any one."

Green appeared rather pleased to hare, this message to deliver, and -when Thorold came-the next day he gave it him with much-gusto." Thorolddid not at: •the moment recognise Green, who was the'lastf'.person in the ■world jhe expected to ccc again, -anil who was now- a very different- person- -from- {the fruited.' ttad-

terrified fugitive of Tnorold's recollections. Briefly saying tha-t : he would call again, Thorold walked away, aiid from an upper windo-w Joan watched him go and cried a little softly to herself. The next day, Thorold came again, Taut Green had the same message for him. "Still indisposed?" said Thorold, and he stared at Green so ihard that that worthy felt extremely uncomfortable. . Had he .maintained a stolid and unconcerned appearance, Thorold' would probably have suspected nothing, but his' discomposure was so evident that the other's attention was attracted. "Well, tell your mistress I will call to-morrow—and the next day," said Thorold and turned away. Joan's reluctance only served to inflame his determination to see her, for he remembered how his lips had been pressed to her hand, and it stung his soul as with a brood of little snake 3 that this hand he had kissed and kiissed again might be -the hand that was stained with his brother's blood.

Then he began to think of the rather unusual-looking footman who had-ans-wered his knock at Jermyn Gardens, and gradually it dawned upon his mind when and where he had seen him before.

Greatly disturbed by this discovery he went back to Ms rooms, where he found waiting for him Wilton Mayne, whom he had not seen for a.day or two.

• It was at Lady Martin's that Mayne had . first met Dora, and he was on .very friendly . terms both with both, jyith Lady Martin and -with Sir John himself. . From Sir John he ,1 had just had; a. hint .that the .police suspected in the matter of the missing black pearls that same gang with which young Frank Thorold had become so disastrously mixed up, and this news seemed to have disturbed Mayne very greatly. "You see," he said, "Dora has taken such a fancy to this Miss Durand—she swears she owes her her life, and she made mc promise faithfully to be Miss Durand's friend. It is most awkward. What ought I." to dp V "Do the- police know anything of the house xa. Jermyn Gardens?" asked Thorold. ' ■".'".''.

"Apparently not," Mayne answered. "Ought I to tell them, do you think? But if this girl really saved Dora—you see it gives her a claim upon us, does it not? And af.ter all, she may be perfectly innocent—it is quite conceivable she knows nothing of what has been going on. Or again, we may be on the wrong track altogether; and it would be rather dreadful if we repaid her help to Dora by bringing false accusations against her if she is innocent. "It would indeed," said Thorold with a deep sigh. "Do you remember that escaiping iconvi-cti, Grfeen, T told you about?" "Well?" said Mayne. "It seems he is the footman there," said Thorold. At Jermyn Garden's?" cried Mayne, much' excited, "then she must know. Why, then, if that is so, Miss Durand must be as guilty as the rest of them."

"She is not guilty," said Thorold, with a dark and angry look. "I say, she is not guilty."

"Why, What do you mean?" cried Mayne in great astonishment. "Not guilty when there is all we have suspec* , ed and found out and tra-ccd to her, an>l now an escaped convict is masqiip-rad.in.<r in her house as her footman! How do you know .she is, not guilty?" "I know, because I love hef," ;J Thorold answered, and he felt a great and wonderful relief as there at last passed his lips the words announcing that strange thing- that had been growing- in his heart, growing in his life, growing and Showing till now it fieemed to him that nothing else in all the world ivas real save it.

"But —Frank," stammered Mayne bewilderedly. "Xour brother—murdered."

"Let the dead bury the dead." cried Thorold, fiercely. "I arid Joan are living."

"But she is guilty—guilty of abominable things," Mayne cried. "There can be no reasonable doubt of it now that you have found this convict sheltering there —she is guilty," he said again.

"What has that to do with mc?" Thorold answered with a superb fresture. "Have I not said that I love her?" (Continued daily.)