LOVE'S BOND MAID.

Auckland Star, Volume 198, Issue LVII, 21 August 1926, Page 32

LOVE'S BOND MAID.

By MAT WYXZIE,

Author of "For faith and Navarre," "Mistress Cynthia," "The Spendthrift Duke," etc, etc. CHAPTER £XII. "'-V A grim pile red*rick buildings, towering above the squalor and filth of the narrow slum street, themselves thronged with a seething mass of the submerged tenth whc pass their dreary lives Itr that dreary place, But Muriel had neither eyes, nor ears for anytme or anything but her mission. Bleyton Buildings had indeed somewhat overwhelmed her. She had not thought of the terrible difficulty vith which she now found herself confronted, namely, how she was to discover the lodgement of Uncle Roger in all that great pile of buildings. A couple of frowsy women were staring aft her as she climbed out of the taxi and paid the man, though their eyes were directed more towards her purse than her person. Muriel, unused to the slum, stood looking helpl-ssly round, searching in vain for a policeman or a respectable looking person whom she might address. "Wot dyer want, lydyt" demanded a voice over he- shoulder. Muriel turned, with a little gasp, to find that the two tousle-headed Creatures who had been watching her had drawn "Did-did j>ou notice a gentleman drive up just now!" she faltered. "And—-did you see where he went in I" -She indicated the buildings with her finger. The younger, of the wome_ laughed loudly, laying a grimy hand _n Muriel's shoulder. . "Come a' lookin' after yer bloke?" she demanded, not unkindly, "thort 'ed come a aweet-arting p'raps down this 'ere way! Well, nuffin for nufTin's the ticket down Nile Street, so jes you 'and over the dibs an' I'll -bow yew where the bloke's gorn nosinV* Muriel stared at her aghast, not in the least understanding the strange vernacular. "What do you mean ?" she asked. The other woman explained more forcibly by making a grab at the purse which she still held in her hand, and making off with it down the road, shrieking and laughing, with her companion in her wake. Muriel stood aghast. Pursuit was out of the question with such a crowd thronging the streets, and yet here she was, stranded and helpless with no money even to pay her return tare, nothing indeed but the uncashed cheque of Mrs. Gresham-Browne's, which some instinct had bidden her slip into an inner pocket. Once again, in mute despair this .time, she faced the uncompromising nil* of buildings, half afraid to enter, still more afraid to remain where she was, for her appearance was attracting many an unpleasant stare and whispered remark from the rough men lounging around. A small boy with • white, pinched face and tattered clothing stood near, whistling stray bars of a popular musichall melody in a shrill unmusical key. Although there was the unmistakable "touch-me-not of 111 fight yer" defiance of a London arab about him, Muriel felt that bore lay _er hl«t chance.-•*»•> - "Please," she said gently, laying her hand lightly on his shoulder, "can you tell mc if you saw a gentleman go into these buildings a few minutes ago! He came in a taxL." '-■-•*•

The boy turned on. her swiftly and aggressively, but something in the pretty, troubled face above him seemed to touch a better chord in,..his .stunted nature. .' ' '.'■ K,: f'"'. ■'_ -.'■ "Swell cracksman aort a chap?" be condescended to ask, ''or a copper in 'is Sunday toga? I seed 'im right 'nuff. Are you 'is gal*" He looked at her with shrewd impudence mingled with something softer. "I want to know where he went," she replied. "If you will chow mc I wil! give you—"she fumbled in her pockets suddenly remembering the toes of her purse.

With a sigh she produced two stray pennies. "It's all I hare," «he murmured deprecatingly. "My puree was stolen." ' The boy stuck his tongue in hie cheek with a knowing wink. "Orl right," he Mid. "That's fymoua, you 'and 'em over, an' 111 chow you the wye, Vβ gorn ter see a, pal. o' mine, that's where Vβ gorn." He grabbed at the pence but, with more honour than the generality of hit tribe, he did not scuttle off with his payment leaving the task undone. "Yoa kip close," he said. 'Til show yer; the gent 'c goee ter ccc my pal wots kickin , the bucket. .'E it a pal, that one, an' c gent, tool It*a not Mm yer wants ter ace.■!" , His bright eyes questioned her. ,- "Yef, ,, said Murier slowly, to the one I want to see," •■• •• • \ "Will 'c want ter see yew?" • "Yee, very much." • ■■•■•• "Lawks! well, if that's gospel, yet can stick ter the browns." Hβ tbrriet out a grimy hajjd again with the coppers lying in the pftlm. But Muriel stook her head., "No, no." she said, ''you keep them. I wish I had more." ' "Strightf yer'don't want.'em T" "No, certainly not." He heaved a sigh df relief. "That's fine, but if yer 'ad, yer should 'ay 'ad 'em. That ! pal o' mine 's -a good chap, gived mc a bloomin' bob yesterday far to poet 'ie letter, an' treats a feller like a feller instead 'er a dust 'cap or a cabbidge." ' ■. ,••• , ' If Muriel did not wholly' understand i the explanation she was content to follow her unkempt little guide up flight after flight of stone steps till they paused outside a door marked 209. "That's it," said the oe>. "Yell find 'im at 'bme orl right" and away' he •rattled to expend the treasured twopence on a savoury meat-pie from the corner shop. Muriel hesitated with her hand on the door. Within she could hear the murmur of voices. Softly she turned the latch and pushed the door half open. Evidently the action was unheard. ' "You ecoundrel," came a. faint voice, weak with sickness and the impotence of wrath. "You infernal scoundrel, and you dare to come and taunt mc wit!) the etory of your becaoee you! .'know— , * '--■•".-fef ■'■ . : £%'~y' ■■ '■" 7 "That you are hardly IB&jru feomr' to the marriage feaett," computed a second voice, mocking and amused. "Never mind, old chap.don'tget Suited. Aβ long aa ebe behaves herselJ, ehell find mc the most devoted of husbandt You mayn't believe it but I'm positively in love with" the littlei £ar%r. SHes pretty, she's dainty, an 4 ahe c«u talk qnit* charmingly—when she likes. She will find it to h»t advantage to like, ***n ake.to,je»j ; j|||aij!!i,. ; j f ~; . ~^> . ;; , . ] . ■■■I- \ " ■" ' .' <"■ *'" •;''''?'.: i- «.. ■,'|'

"WhicH she never will be," replied Muriel quietly, aa she came forward into the circle of light ahed fay a email lamp placed on a rickety table clow to the mattress on which a man lay.

"Which she never will be, you—you liar," she repeated, and stood facing John Hemes, who had wheeled round at the sound of her voice with;an exclamation of surprise. ..,.,'' . For a moment they stood thus, facing each other. The girl was pale but steady, with & new courage bora by her fierce anger and revolt against thie man who had ao nearly duped her, whilst Hemes himself, white to the lips at the unexpected denouement, glared back at her with a dangerous light in hie dark eyes. "Muriel!"

The gasping cry from the other man who lay outstretched on his miserable bed, took the girL'a scornful gaze from the one whose treachery stood bo clearly revealed and with an answering cry she flung herself down beside the low mattress.

"Uncle Roger! Q\ poor Uncle Roger.' A pair of strong young anna were round the thin, wasted form which had struggled into a sitting posture at sight of her. .

"Poor, poor Uncle Roger!" TejMp and kiasee fell last over the eniaciited face, which was difficult to recognise as that of the man who had aat beside Grannie in the peaceful garden of Barlow Court, recounting hia yarns of adventurous days. All the light had gone out of tbe blue eyes; they were dimmed with pain and sorrow. Yet he clung to her as a penitent child who seeks forgiveness. But she silenced him, smoothing the wretched pillow and laying him back tenderly upon it.

Then she rose to her feet and once more faced Herries.

"Go," she said in a low voice, full of such loathing that even'he shrank from it.

He was not to be baulked thus, however, in the very hour of success. "Got" he retored with a snarling laugh. "Yes, I'll go with you." He leant forward, trying to grasp her wrist, but she stepped back out of reach. ♦'Look here," he said roughly. "Youll be sorry for it if you try that high horse business again. You come along with mc. Your uncle's as good as dead, you can. see for yourself, and the beet thing you can do. is accept things as they are. I'm willing to marry you, and you ought to be properly grateful that I am, considering your position. But I ain't the man to stand nonsense from any Misa in her teens, and it'll be a good thing for you the sooner you understand that."

"You are a liar," she said quietly, but her grey eyea flashed angrily as she looked across the mattress which lay between them. "A liar and a coward, that is why you insult mc, because— because you think that I am alone in the world and defenceless, but you are mistaken in your theories. I would rather die in a workhouse, I would rather marry a hooligan from the streets, than be your wife. Now go, and leave mc with my uncle." But he only laughed and came nearer. "A sweet little tragedy queen," he said in his old mocking way, "but I must really take toll for such sentiments. Now one kiss and then we must be going." He had succeeded in catching her hand in his strong grip, and a audden fear came over tbe girl as ehe realised her position and helplessness. "I shall have to cage my pretty bird if it flutters bo far," he mocked. "That is to say till Tuesday, when the wings are cut." She struggled against his grasp strenuously, but the fear wat growing in her eyes when a suddc. strange noise from the prostrate man at their feet made both turn.

It was a call, half-whistle, half-cry, lpud and shrill, repeated again and again, till the. thio hands fluttered down exhausted upon the coverlet and the aick man gasped for breath. . Hemes had sprung towards the door, but he was too late. A couple of men, rough, burly fellows of the hooligan stamp came rushing in. "Well, Covey, what's the row?" For answer Roger Armitage raised himself on his elbow. "See that cjup out of the buildings," he muttered faintly, "and don't let him come back after the girl." They stared curiously towards Muriel, then back at the man vho was trying vainly to elude them. "Come on, Milter," cried the burlier and,rougher of the two. "Well 'aye a little, game along of yew outside, that's the h'order of the dy." He had caught Herries by the back of his collar as he apoke, and between them he and his friend speedily hustled him out .of the room cursing and swearing violently. "Lock the door," whispered the sick man in a low voice. "Lock the door, Sunshine." ; (To be continued daily.)