CHAPTER XXX.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 208, 3 September 1927, Page 34

CHAPTER XXX.

Forced Friendship. M sieur is waiting in the car, Madame." The dour-faced maid brought Aileen's evening wrap, and placed it around the slim, white shoulders. It was the night she and Maurice were to dine with the Gilberts. Aileen went downstairs, surprised to find the car at the terrace steps. Her young husband was standing beside it smoking a cigarette. He tossed it aside at sight of her. "Is it so far to Dr. Gilbert's?" Aileen aßked. "I had an idea we would walk across the fields this pleasant evening." "Hardly—in those slippers." He glanced, with a smile at her high-heeled sandals of black satin with their frivol* ous buckles. "There is a path through the wood, but you'd best not try it unless you're shod for rough going." Aileen glanced towards the thick wood across the lake. It looked dark and menacing with its sombre pines already purplish with twilight. She shuddered prettily. "I think I'll never try it alone, thank you." He helped her into the car anil took his place at the wheel. As tliev rolled down the gravelled drive, he said: "The superstitious peasants around here claim that the wood is haunted. You couldn't persuade one of them to go through there at night. Of course it's ridiculous, but, as a matter of fact it is pretty deep and rather impenetrable in parts. I doubt if any of us has ever explored it completely." "But Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert went home through it that day they called," Aileen said. "Oh, yes. As Fve said before, there is a clear path to their house. Thq doctor always uses it to come to our place, and even Mrs. Gilbert is not afraid to be on it after dark. She is a rather courageous woman," he added thoughtfully. The Gilbert's house proved to be of modern architecture, a charming and spacious adaptation of the villa style, with many little, iron-railed galleries breaking l the smooth facade. There was a Spanish roof of red tile and little diamond-shaped' windows looking out into -a trim garden laid out along formal lines, with a spraying fountain in its centre. "My uncle built this house, but Dr. Gilbert sketched the plans," Dubois explained, "and he leased it as soon as it was finished. It now, of course, belongs to him." The drawingroom, where Aileen found the host and hostess awaiting them, was modern and frivolous in contrast to the stately salon at Beau Reve. It was likewise pleasantly homelike, showing the-hand of an ingenious woman. It was obvious that, though the Gilberts were undoubtedly comfortably off, they were not of the same financial rating as their neighbours, the Dubois. The evening went off well, assisted by some excellent old wine that Dr. Gilbert frankly confessed came from the Dubois cellars. pfour uncle gave me fifty bottles of this magnificent vintage a month before he died," he explained to Maurice, who had remarked upon its excellence. "Perhaps he didn't mention it to you The young man shook his head.

"Unfortunately, as you may recall, I had only returned home a few hours before he met his death. Previous to that, we had not seen each other since my last leave a year before."

"Ah yes, ah yes!" said the doctor quickly and changed the subject.

The two men remained behind when Mrs. Gilbert took Aileen to the drawingroom for the coffee. She was gracious and charming, quite at her ease that evening, but Aileen could still sense a certain reserve, as if her hostess guarded herself well in order to be sure that she was not lacking in cordial hospitality. She smiled rarely, and Aileen thought she had never seen a woman's face so lovely and yet so poignantly sad with its large, dark eyes, purple-shadowed. But she noted that their expression changed at the doctor's slightest word. Those eyes followed him, listened to him, fairly besought him, with some curious quality in their depths that Aileen could not name.

Did she love her husband, or did she fear him,Aileen wondered?

When she and Maurice were making their adieu x, Aileen, happening to glance up suddenly, caught the doctor making an unmistakable sign to his wife. A moment later, Mrs. ( Gilbert, with slightly heightened colour, said to Aileen, as she took her hand in farewell:

"You must ride with me some morning next week and come back for lunch. Would Wednesday be agreeable for you T"

Aileen accepted, because she didn't know what else to do. But all the way home, she was burning with a secret resentment.

Why, she asked herself, was Madeline Gilbert being friendly against her will T Why did her husband prod her to proffer her invitation?

CHAPTER XYH- , The Mark of Family. Madeline Gilbert stood in front of the portrait of the woman with the powdered hair and seventeenth century costume which hung above the mantel in Aileen's sitting-room. "I always think she smiles at me," said Mrs. Gilbert. "She was bo gracious in life." I "You knew her?" exclaimed Aileen in surprise. She and the doctor's wife had come in from a ride together, which was now almost a daily habit. Aileen had just rung for tea. Madeline Gilbert lifted her arched brows a trifle. "Yes, surely. Was she not a contemporary as well as a compatriot?" "You can't mean that she was American ? But the powdered hair—and the costume—" "A fancy dress in which the artist was clever enough to paint her." Mrs. Gilbert dropped into a chair and laid her riding crop across her knees. Her level gaze searched Aileen. "Didnt Maurice tell you that she was his mother, born a Cavendish of Boston?" "His mother!" Aileen's genuine amazement overcame her embarrassment over a revelation that she knew must be obvious to Madeline Gilbert—the fact that her young husband had confided little in his new bride regarding the history of his family and himself. The visitor nodded. "She was very lovely—so young and full of life. I had just come to the neighbourhood, a bride, and she was so gracious to me. That was nearly twenty years ago. Maurice was only" ten or twelve then, and I was barely eighteen." She paused, and a whimsical little smile touched her sad face. "What a long time ago. I am nearly an old lady now!" Her gaze returned to the portrait, and she wafted a kiss upward to it with a graceful gesture of her slim fingers. "Yes, I loved Maurice's mother. She died so young. I have always believed that it was the result of the shock when her husband was killed in a hunting accident. She loved him very dearly." "How curious that both brothers, Maurice's father and Major Dubois, should be killed while riding," said Aileen slowly. To her surprise licr guest seemed stricken with a sudden faintness. The riding crop slipped from her lingers and crashed to the floor. "How awkward of me!" Mrs. Gilbert forestalled Aileen's attempt to pick it up. Her lips smiled, but they were very white. '"There's a portrait of Maurice's father in the picture gallery," she continued, a little hurriedly, as if she wished to get away from the topic of death. "Perhaps you'd care to see it, in case Maurice hasn't time to go through the rank and file of his ancestry with you." They went to the picture gallery, where the dead and gone Dubois looked down from their heavy gilt frames upon the newest bearer of their name. Madeline Gilbert seemed amazingly well versed in the history of each one. '"Here is a gallant little lady." She paused before a portrait of a very young girl, hardly more than a child," with a small white face ami big, honest, fearless eyes. "That is her husband over there." She motionedetoward a - large, floridly handsome gentleman with the bold air of a boulevardier. "A curious contrast, aren't they? Quite like our modern matrimonial misfits. And yet, they were both Dubois, cousins. It's an interesting story illustrating the courage of the Dubois women." "Do tell me," Aileen urged, her eyes on the girl's pale, childlike face. "It seems," 6aid Madeline Gilbert, slowly, "that the handsome gentleman yonder, when he was a gay young fellow, had become the recret admirer of his cousin's wife, a Spanish lady more beautiful than she was discreet. On the eve of- his departure for the FrancoPrussian war he risked the honour of his family to visit the lady secretly in thiß very picture gallery, after the household retired. In the darkness he upset something, which made a terrific crash, and it was heard first by the little maid whose portrait is yonder. She bravely came to investigate, and found her brother's wife with her dashing cousin. Child though she was, she took immediate command of the situation, hastened the Spanish lady to her and when the husband and servants came to investigate the noise she let them believe what they liked. Of cours'fe an immediate marriage was arranged between her and the handsome philanderer. She made him an excellent and faithful wife till the day of her death, though, according to the story, they hated each other with an undying and vindictive hatred."

"Poor little soul!" Aileen stepped closer to the portrait, her eyes compassionate.

Suddenly she gave a little cry. "What is it I" Mrs. Gilbert asked quickly.

"N-nothing!" Aileen stammered confusedly. "I—my eyea played a trick. The—the painting is so marvellous that I almost thought she moved."

Mrs. Gilbert laughed, but her eyes were searching. Aileen wondered if she did not suspect the real reason for that amazed cry. Aileen had seen faintly on the cheek of the girl in the picture the identical tracing of a horseshoe which j Baby Maurice bore. CHAPTER XXXII. The Substitute Bit. Aileen soon came to Count Pierre as a friend. She found the old man an interesting character. He was infinitely pleased by her interest in his beloved horses. It has been a long time since Beau Geve had had a mistress, he told her, and longer yet since there had been a lady who rode. Aileen was greatly Interested in black Tern pete, the horse which was responsible for the death of Major Dubois. She scented more to the story than the mere fact tha*. the horse N had thrown him. Else why, she asked herself, did a reference to the tragedy cause young Maurice to bccome so grim, Madeline Gilbert so pale, and even the suave doctor, who invariably introduced the subject, to change it abruptly? "Pierre," she said one day when she came in from her ride, and stood gazing at the black brute in his stall, "I'd love to see someone ride him. Is there no one but M'sieur Maurice who will do it?" "Not since the accident." The old man shook his head. "And not many before, though he could be sweet-tempered when it pleased him." "TTou said he was always manageable for the major, didn't you?" she asked. "Always until—" the old man's mouth folded in its customary grim lines. "Until what, Pierre?" Aileen asked impulsively. He regarded her from under his shaggy, grey brows for a long moment, then, shaking his head, he said 6lowly: "I don't know as I should be saying this, madame, I've been told I was an old fool to keep on talking. But it was strange, mighty strange, and HI never believe the master did it himself, or knew it was there. He was too wise about horses." Pierre lowered his

voice a little. "When they brought Tempete back to the stable the day he'd thrown the master I took off his bridle, 1 found bis mouth all bloody and torn. There was a new bit on that bridle that drove the poor beast crazy. Somebody put it there in place of the old one, and that same somebody calculated what it would do to a horse like Tempete. Aileen digested the information slowly. "Then, you think—" she began and stopped. "Thank you, Pierre," she said after a moment! "I am glad you told me." She went slowly up to the house, her mind busy with this new bit of information regarding the mysterious Dubois! Pierre's story indicated that there had been foul play at work in the death of Major Dubois. Of course, the whole thing might be only the imagination of a garrulous, old man. Major Dubois had probably changed the bit himself, without mentioning the fact to his groom. Probably, but not likely, Aileen was forced to decide. There was no reason why a skilled horseman should use a barbarous bit on an animal when he knew it would be sent into transports of frenzy.

Who, then, could have done such a wicked and disastrous thing? What fiend could have desired to bring about so tragic an end for the major? Who would profit by his untimely end?

Aileen lifted her puzzled eyes to the splendid old mansion crowning the lovely terraces. Her gaze swept the rolling meadows that stretched away to right and left as far as the eye could see—the rich Dubois estate. She gravely surveyed the lofty forests to north and south.

A fortune for whom? she asked herself slowly.

And against her will, the answer came quickly and obviously: Young Maurice Dubois, the nephew.

Aileen stood still, her breath coming so unevenly at this unwelcome conclusion, that she pressed her gloved hand to her breast.

It was unbelievable that her husband with his clear, steady gaze, his eyes that still bore the tragedy of his uncle's lass, could have entangled himself in such diabolical machinations. And yet, was he not the only one, except his uncle, who rode Tempete? Would be not know how the brute would act under certain circumstances? Had he not had opportunities to change the bit of the horse's bridle without detection from Pierre or a stable boy.

Damning evidence seemed to pile up in Aileen's mind against young Dubois. She tried to thrust it from her and found herself fairly running across the garden, as if by sheer physical speed she could outdistance her disloval thoughts.

Rounding a clump of rhododendron, she came suddenly upon a little scene that made her pause and hold her breath.

CHAPTER XXXm. A Disturbing Discovery. Dubois was seated on one of the stone benches over-looking the tiny lake, with baby Maurice balanced carefully on his knee. The flutter of a white apron around a corner announced the departure of the attendant nursemaid on some errand. Dubois faced Aileen, but he did not see her as she stood motionless in the shrubbery. His dark, handsome head was bowed. His grave eyes were fixed on the dimpled face of the baby. Something ms tangible as a" hand seemed to catch at Aileen. She wondered suddenly at her own blindness. Why had she not guessed before ? Seeing the two there together, it seemed impossible to her that she had not noticed earlier the resemblance between them—her husband and the baby on his knee! Baby Maurice, young Maurice Dubois in miniature. As nearly as a young child can be said to resemble an elder, baby Maurice resembled the younc man who held him. Aileen turned abruptly and walked ***y through the shrubbery without making her presence known to her husband. | So, she thought, with a little pang she didn't stop to analyse, that explained Maurice Dubois' Strang marriage to her. That was the story that lay at the back ,of his headlong proposal of marriage. Somehow, through some unexplained means, he had recognised the baby as his own, and had married Aileen to his flesh and blood. Recalling Madeline Gilbert's story of the Dubois child-bnde, who sacrificed herself to preserve the family honour. Aileen believed she understood the belatedly quixotic action of her husband In marrying herself to gain-pos-session of his child. But where, she asked herself, was its mother? Why had he not sought her, if she were alive? And who, then, was Violet Strange, who called herself " Madame Benoit •? How had the child come into her possession? It waa time to dress for dinner, but Aileen was curiously reluctant. She bad a strange sensation as of something gone; some little, inner pulse had beat happily, was stilled. . " How ridiculous I am." She shrugged angrily and sprang to her feet. "A* if I care!"

She went to her bedroom and to strip off her riding habit. " Besides," she continued, " what is he to me—simply a convenient tool for gaining a fortune that I couldn't have secured otherwise. I ought to be thankful, instead of wasting time suspecting him of all sorts of treacheries."

Nevertheless, as she dressed for dinner, the discovery that the believed she had made regarding the relationship of tha baby and her husband, pricked her thoughts with maddening insistence. "You little idiot!" She met her own gase sternly in the mirror when she had finished and was ready to descend to the salon, "what earthly difference does it make? Soon yon can announce to old Foster the birth of baby Maurice, claim your inheritance, and exit from the scene. Maurice Dubois is nothing to you."

Dubois was waiting for her in the salon. His smile, more freqqent now than when the had first met him, disarmed her. It was so frank, his eyes met hers so straightforwardly. Impossible to believe that this «*»»»» would do an evil thing. " Louis—Dr. Gilbert—and his wife are coming over after dinner for a game of bridge," he said. "You won't mind?"

"Splendid," she agreed, hoping that her manner was quite natural, and would not betray her discovery. He hesitated, then he said gently: "It must be frightfully dull for you' here. I hope we don't bore you to death." •

"On the contrary," she objected quickly. "I find so much to interest me. The house in itself is fascinating. I'm yearning to rummage through some of the wonderful, old cabinet and book shelves—l noticed in the big library. May IT"

"Certainly," he agreed. "I will send you the keys to-morrow. We keep them locked because my uncle had come rare editions of old books, as well as some valuable porcelains and Ming ware, that might tempt a thief." The Gilberts arrived shortly after dinner and took coffee with them. Afterward a card table was drawn up to the fire in the email salon and the foursome played for an hour. Aileen noted that Madeline Gilbert was unusually pale and several times she saw her place a hand to her breast, her lips compressed as if with pain. "I don't feel very well this evening," she whispered to Aileen finally, perceiving that her action was noticed. "It's an old trouble that rears its head occasionally. "Can't the doctor relieve you?" To Aileen's surprise, Madeline put a quick finger to her lips and shook her head. " I don't want liim to know.' He detests ailing women!" (To be continued Saturday next.)