RIGHT AGAINST MIGHT.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 107, 6 May 1913, Page 10

RIGHT AGAINST MIGHT.

THE DRAMATIC LOVE STOBY OP JOHN STRAND, M.P. By PATTX, TRENT, luthor of "The Vow," "The Home Secretary," Wife by Purchase" etc., eio, ' CHAPTER XLIX. Joyce followed Strand to the taxi-cab and sat heside him, but he seemed unconof her presence. Gobden'e death had been so sudden, and it wae a culminating blow after weeks of worry and ;rouble. His mind was dazed, and he did not hear lrer softly speaking her panic. "John, don't look co unhappy,"' sbe said with a cob. And then he roused himeelf. "I think he was quite happy—at the end,"' she continued, tremulously. But he did not answer, and her concern for him deepened. However, she made no further attempt to rouse him, and "they walked in sitence from ihe Temple gates to King's Bench Walk. Strand paused on -the landing of his chambers.

■'I have a good deal to do. I cant allow him to stay in that man's house. He shall be brought here to-night. And, Joyce-—" "Yes, dear," ehe said, gently. "Will you bring all your things down here? You must be very tired, and you had better go to bed early."' •'ShaVt I see you again?"' she asked, timidly. "Not to-night." ""You ought to have something, to eat." "I couldn't eat. Good-night, dear/ he eaid, and hurried away. Joyce was hurt that he should not tv:sli heT to be with him and ?!iare in his nrief. But she could njt blame him. for Ihe. underefcood horv deep had been h : s affe-rrion for her uncle. '"But I loved him. too," she told herself, miserably. With a sigh she went upstairs, and immediately began to transfer her things to the chambers beiow. At last th<- task was accomplished, and she sat down in the sitting-room with a weary sigh. Slie was indeed tired, but sleep was very far away. It seemed incredible that sho cnuld be the wife of the man she loved r.fj passionately, and this was their wed-ding-day. ••Was I wrong to eoneent?" she asked htTtelf; bnt ehe knew that she could have refused nothing to York Cobden. and doubtless John had consented for the same reaeon.

For a long time she sat there, and went over in her mind the events of the last few weeks. Providence had been very good to them, for John's innocence had been proved so unexpectedly, and now he was once again a member of V3riiament, with every prospect of a hrilliant eaTeer. There only remained thr sti<rma upon hi 3 Wrth. rmd ho had been determrncd that he would not marry her since he had made the discovery. And now they were man and v.-jfe.

Suddejily she heard the sound of shuffling footsteps on the stairs, and she wont -to the door to listen. The noise continued on the floor above, and then she understood that York C'pbden had returned -home. Joyce opened the door a little and -waited till the men had gone down the stairs. Snrely John, would come to her! But an hour passed, and then she knew that he wae keeping a. vigil. Her heart went- out to iim.in hk sorrow, and she crept upstairs, very gently opening the door with her latch-key. She was right in her conjecture, for John was kneeling beside an open coffin and his lips were moving in prayer. Without a word ehe joined him, and he looked at her. with expressionless eyes. "'Come away, dear. You miisi be very tired," she whispered. '"I would rather be alone," he answered, dully. "Let ue go to the sitting-room. Uncle -would not wieh you to " She broke off with ;i sob. and, taking nim by the hand, led him from the room. He did not resist, and she became alarmed at what ehe read in hie eyes. Grief for Cobden aione would not -account for that intense misery. "•John, dear, are you 6orry you married , mc?" ehe asked, piteously. '"I iiad no right to make you my ■wife.f "Yet uncle wished it. and he knew everything/ she cried, eagerly. Strand was silent, and she watched lira -with growing apprehension. "What is the paper you have, in your hand , ?" she aeked. "A long letter w-bieh I found, and ■which I have just read. It -wae a legacy from the man to whom I owe everything —a legacy which I must accept and ful£L" "You frighten mc, John. You are so et-range." "I am frightened of myself," he anBwered, "with a mirthless laugh. "John, I would gladly sacrifice myself to lighten yonr misery. You married mc to-day because uncle asked you, and beeansD he was dying. You would not refuse. I maTried you for the same reason, but also 'because I love you. But if it •will help you at all, let us forget—what happened to«day. Let us be as we were before. Would you like that?" "Yes, y«s. I must- come to you with cloan hands," he cried, fiercely.

""'T don't uTKlerstand you. What has happened?" "We are man anil wife—but we']] be friends. Heavan knows T love you: but. Joyce, dear, there are thirtgß tha.t -are stronger than love. Perhaps in time " "Won't yon tell mc everything?" slie pleaded. ■'I can't. You look so tired, dear. Go io bed -now. {Later on we'll have a. long talk. Don't look so miseraJWe. dear. You Know I love you. Good-night." fc!he -raised her lips <to Ms, bnt be-kks-«d i,er forehead, a.nd then led her to the door. "You wairt stay up a-H night?" sic eaid. "11l go to bed when I've finished. Good-night? Strand returned to the eifcting-TOcrm •md- once more Tend through York Cobden's letter.

"My dear boy," it began, "I know that 1 have not much longer to live, and I ■write so that if deat-ii comes unexpectedly you may know -what I wish. T Jiave just read of the glorious meeting, vliere your innocejice was proved, but I n-oticp. ijist no mentinn v.ms made of the part played by Southwold.

"'Doubtless you will go back to Parliament; and -with renowe,-] power. The "World will be only *m.> anxious to make wnends foT the wrong it lias done you: en-d ihis feeling will make your opportunity. When you ar.' once more a member of the Hoviee of Commons you «BURt denotrnce thn man wlio has tried to ru-n yon. There can be no doubt that you will be believed and Sonthwold -will kave ?K£iSs& hie firet Iblow. Then, you

must proceed to execute my vengeance. You must not rest until he is driven from- public life. Should you ever be tempted to spare him, remember the terrible injury that he has done you. And then there is your auothere ruined life. Can any punishment be too much for such a man?

"t know you so well, my boy, and T •»m afraid you may hesitate to ctubli him. Then I ask you to think of my wrongs and to remember that you owe mc something. I know I am mean to remind you of this, but I am ill, and the thought that 1 may die, and Southwold ..-scape my vengeance unnerves mc. I implore you to do what v l wish. Your mother's -wrongs cry for vengeance. Your own wrongs join in the cry. Besides, it is your dirty to rid public life of such a

.Stra-nd stopped reading and put down the letter. He could understand Cobden's dktTess of mind at the thought that Jiis enemy might escape after all.

"I must nut fail him," he said, with a sigh.

All the time he had known that he could not refuse to do what Cobden wished. He tried, without euccess, to make himself believe that his fosterfather had changed somewhat before he died.

"Soutliwold deserves to !>•• punished," , he muttered, but there was no conviction behind the words.

And then his thoughts turned to Joyce. Should he allow her to read Cohden's letter? She would try to disuade hhu carrying out his last wishes: and he dared not tell her.

He must tight this out alone, and until Southwold was disposed of they must renuin apart. But he was not in a fit state of mind to make plans, and he lay down on the sofa, at last falling into a troubled sleep. When he awakened it wan lo find that the table had been prepared for breakfast, and a few minutes later Joyce appeared. "You miipt have a cup of coffee before your biitli." she said, cheerfully, and he came to the table. To hie surprise he found tint he was quite hungry, and ate all she placed before him. "I shall arrange the funeral for tomorrow. Joyce. You had better geteome clothes," "You forjrot that 1 am still mourning for my mother. John, just now I went in and looked at him. 'His face is so pi:'.roiul. and I'm sure he"s happy. He wouldn't AvWh us to sorrow—:too much," nhe said, gently. 'There 3re several letters for you. I've had one from Sylvia. They are going to sail for New York in ;i few d«ys. 'Mr Cranston will accompany them. F think there is a letter from him for yon."'

He tore open all the envelopes and hurriedly glanced at the contents. "Cranston is coming here this morning," lie announced. "You might keep him hero until 1 gM. back. T must go out and make arrangements for -the funeral." •After tidying up the room Joyce went downstairs, but Strand had already left, and a few minutes later Cranston came, ami with him was Svlvi.i.

"The porter told mc as T came alonj." Cranston saiil gravely.

"I am so eorry," Sylvia broke in. impulsively, anil embraced Joyce. And then she noticed the plain gold hand whic'i *he was wearing. "What does it mean?"

"John and I were married —before he died. Vnt'l" wished it," Joyce sakl, s'rmply.

"I hope you will both be very happy," sawl Sylvia, and she kissed Joyce very tenderly.

The>two girls talked together, and then left the room while Cranefcon eat down at the table to write a letter, but he had only begun when the door opened and -Strand came in.

'"I tvas just writing-to you: Sylvia is in the other room with Joyce. Mr strand. I am sorry to hear of Mr Cobden's death. I had grown to be very fond of him. and he was always very kind to mc."

"The funeral will be to-morrow, if you care to come."

"Of course, I shall go. By-the-by, we shaVt be leaving London for a few days, and I should like to help you all I <?an. I've a couple of hours u> spare now. if you have any letters I can tike down."

"Nonsense! I can't use a millionaire's prospective .son-in-law as my shorthand writer," John said, ch-rlv.

"Mr .Strand, you don't look at all well. Why not go away at onee —immediately after the funeral? M:ee Arnold, is very pale and wan. By-the-by, T should have said Mrs Strand."

Before John could answer Sylvia came in, and approached him, with outstretched hands.

"I shall never forgive you. I did so long lo be Joyce's bridesmaid. But forgive mc: 1 know it couldn't be helped. Come along. Phil." But before she left, Sylvia drew near to Strand and whispered to him: —

"Take care of lier. She's had a bad time lateh-. and so have you. A good long hon-eymoon—with no politics—justyours elves together, John. You'Te a lucky -man to have won such ,i wife. Grood-nve."

Joyce accompanied them to the door, but in a few minutes she came back, and approached Strand nervously. JTo he continued daily.)