THE MARRIAGE LINES.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 246, 17 October 1929, Page 30

THE MARRIAGE LINES.

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

MARTIN MUSCROFT, a prosperous and industrious mill-owner, discovering that he may drop dead at any moment, confesses, under an oath of secrecy, to JUDITH, his niece, that her fiance and his son, MICHAEL, was born out of wedlock. In order to prevent Michael's dissolute stepbrother, ■ •■,.; STEPHEN, from inheriting his property, Martin has had a new -will drawn-up.-He dies, however, before signing it. - '•' JAEL QUINCE, the sinister old housekeeper, not knowing the will is unsigned, tries to steal it, but Judith struggles with her. In the struggle Jael suddenly collapses and dies. Judith disposes of the body in a desolate place called Hobman's Hole, and gives it out that Jael has gone on one of her periodic visits .to a rulative. . ;'.'•;■..* i .... ,-: !;*'. ],■:■ CHAPTER TTTT. For the first time m. ner -life Judith went away with a feeling of deep relief that she was leaving it behind her. She wanted to be alone, to be free, to'be quit of familiar surroundings. She found herself wondering how it was that she was relieved and even thankful when she heard Michael telling, her with regret, that he would not be able to" accompany her to Clothford.. And when Devery Ball drove her away she ; never looked back, though she''knew that Ann Piper was standing on the steps of the mill to watch them out of sight. The mill, the house, the hillside, Hobman's Hole, Judith did not wish to see again until she had had time to think. She knew that under Tilly Cordaker's roof, relieved of the presence of familiar objects that were always goading and spurring her-memory, she would possess aer own soul and be more at liberty than she vrould at home.- For Tilly, as" LSI ? fe ,° f H a few months', with the +v dOUMIeSS much oc ™P ie d busy and puSngVtU r e fc eet ° f ? Judith felt that sheTolld h av Bm + a . n ' a * d think, reflect, weigh Z™»l + tlme to of all suggestion «f at the mill her eyes were for ever^w where she had beaten the life out of Jael Quince, or to the tops of the trees ceaselessly swaying and waving in the wind, beneath which Jael Qunice's body lay v huddled. It was something to be anywhere, from these things. Put, : :: ;"

By J. S. FLETCHER

■ Tilly Cordaker, buxom and springing ;With' life,_• was taken.aback at sight of Judith's white face and deeply-shadowed eyes. ;-;■:. "Mercy upon us, Judith Muscroft!" 'she exclaimed. "Why, you're the very .of what I.' left you—and going thin,- too!—not but what you can afford to lose a bit' of-flesh better nor most folks.. But you" don't mean to say that '.Martin. Muscroft's death's affected you like that -there?.. Why, I should ha' thought you'd nerves to stand aught!" "K.gave"mesuch.a shock," said Judith. "It was so sudden." ■'«■«... "Well, we can't have.you looking like that," observed Mrs. Cordaker, with decision.- "It's a good job you came; you wantjliyeiniiig.v'upj .and there's naught' like town for that. I' must take you "out alii can, and Johnil take is to the theatre now and then, and when I'm busyyou-must go and .see the lights and the shops. They've just opened a beautiful museum and a picture gallery, not ten, minutes walk from us. It'ou can put in an hour or two at any time; 'there's a deal o' : fine things to see there." It was in an alcove in trie picture gal-lery-that Judith eventually did most of her thinking. There was a monster cast of a heroic figure, a man engaged in a lifeandrdeath'Struggle, with . a 1i0n.,•" This fascinated her.- She got into a habit of taking her needlework to the place, finding a quiet corner, and studying the cast and its suggestions. Somehow, she identified herself with the figure; the lion represented the trouble that tore her heart. In the man's face she saw resolve and yet doubt as to the-uitimate result'/of , the terribie;. struggle,; in the animal ■ she ; saw relentless cruelty of unreasoning •- purpose > V to' rend< 4 and; destroy. She came .to 'fancyi< that ftie> figures were aliye> that she was a combatwhich must surely end, and.in death. Was the man to kill the lion, or was the lion to destroy the man ? And was she herself to be destroyed by the agony which was tearing at her heart every day, or was she to resolutely kill it and- cast it away from her for ever? • As the days passed on, Judith began to, realise.things more clearly. She-had "ttle, if any, fear of discovery in the matter of Jael Quince. The woman had riS n t ody knew where > and there was SV° care,as to wherever it was herself as A Upposed to have betaken w * B *?* her trouble. £i^ b te*her E ai ni , ?m thai^he. ffi^t,

keep her secret from Michael, from whom she had never concealed anything, with whom she had shared every thought since childhood. Something in her was crying out insistently for speech, for confession, for the clearing of her soul, and there was nobody but Michael to whom she could lay bare her heart. And if she did she saw nothing but blackness and desolation and great sorrow. For Judith, ordinary and simple young woman though she was, unlearned in the ways of the world and knowing little of human nature knew Michael. He was proud, he was stiff-necked and stubborn in his pride. It would be just, like him, she said, to herself, if he discovered the truth, to give up everything that his father had meant him to have, to turn his back on the old place and go out into the- world, a poor man, to make his own way. That was one thing that had to be considered. But there was another. Michael had a great opinion of his father. Might it not be that if he learnt the truth that opinion would change? He might —it was conceivable, she thought —consider that his father had, done his mother a wrong; he might think — but she did not know what he might think. :' All >that;she was certain of was that if 'Michael knew the eecret of his birth all the world would bo changed to him for ever. It was nbt.'within Judith's view of things that'this knowledge could ever come to Michael in any other way than through her. Martin had impressed upon her so sternly that she would be the sole''repository of the secret that she could not conceive of its being revealed eave through her agency. So she felt as one -might feel who knows that by a mere word spoken, a mere touch of a finger, he can bring about a revolution in'ordered society, or set in motion a force of unknown and frightful The battle within her continued; was ehe to kill her secret or ■was.:it tp>-kill:-lier? Meanwhile the man aiid the lion battled for life, silently, yet not the less really, before her. She used to,wish, every time she went to the museum,, that she might find the plaster < ; figures>waked to life; the lion dead vanquished, and the man triumphant, though toiii with many wounds. Stephen Muscroft and his wife went away from the funeral feast and its after-proceedings highly dissatisfied. They had grounds of complaint which were mutually shared. They had reasons, for dissatisfaction which were individual and personal. Naturally they felt aggrieved that Martin had omitted to make a will which would have insured the equal division of his wealth and property between the two brothers. And as Stephen had long been dulled to all sense of fitness, and as Sherratt cherished a smouldering animosity against every member of a family which had cheapened her, as she phrased it, neither-, scrupled ;to,;exprees* opinion of ;^e.;.d€ad?mSn,?s ? -o£yx - . L

"I'm none a fool," remarked Stephen, sullenly, when they had left the millhouse behind them. "I can see as far as most folks. Our Michael was always our old man's fav'rite. He meant him to have it all, and it's a wonder he didn't take care that I didn't get a . "He'd plenty of fine talk about us not wanting aught when he called that night before his: death," said Sherratt bitterly. "I wonder where we should be if it weren't, for Michael's charity. For that's what it comes to —he'll give you what's your own. If he's so very strict about d6ing what's right, why doesn't he divide. now, and have done with it? Anyhow, you'll best pull yourself together, and keep straight for that three years, or else you and me'll end in the workhouse." She herself had small faith in Stephen's being able to keep straight. An. immediate , career of steadiness seemed impossible . for him. His eyes grew wrathful and his face savage at the mere thought of restraint. "I'm not going to be threaped down by our Michael nor by anybody else," he said sulkily and threateningly. 'Til take advice about, it —I don't believe, he can stand to claim all." ,c You heard what Mr. Marcher said," observed 'Sherratt. "He's a lawyer, and so he'd know." "I've heard one lawyer say the very opposite of another. I shall go to one that's had naught to do with us before, ard get independent advice. I'm none going to eit quiet and see our Michael take hold of all that' property and me be put off with . a. few hundreds of pounds—so there!" "But there'll-'be half of all there is for us, if only—" "Aye, if only I lick Michael's feet for three years!" exclaimed Stephen sneeringly. , "I'm not going to lick anybody's feet. I'm my own' master and I shall do what I please." And in proof of that he turned to the Hooded Hawk when they reached the village. Sherratt expostulated; it was impossible to .visit the inn without half the people in the -place knowing of it, and the news would soon get to Michael's ears. , . "I don't -care whose ears it gets to," retorted - Stephen, who was mainly conscious" that he : had at least eight hundred pounds coming to him in the near future, and that no one, not even the law, could delay its coming. "I neither care for you nor Michael nor for nobody—l shall do what I like d'ye see? Leave me alone and go home and make the tea." And Sherratt,-who knew when to hold her tongue/ went. Once , , inside her cottage, she cursed Martin and Michael and Judith fervently afid freely. She hated the dead man because he had not poured money into her lap; she _hated Michael because.he was steady and wellbalanced, And.-strong, pi purpose and

character; she hated Judith because she enjoyed and was to enjoy all that she desired herself. Sherratt's eyes were sharp; she had not been slow to notice the material comforts of the old house, and she grew restive at the thought that Michael and Judith would enjoy them while she dwelt in a labourer's cottage on a merely sufficient livelihood. "And it'll never be no better," ehe murmured, as she went about the cottage angry and resentful. "Stephen'll never keep straight for three years. Michael will know what he's doing—he might just as well ha' said that he'd got all and meant to stick to all. Stephen steady, indeed! He'll come home drunk to-night certain sure, for all his father's scarce cold in his grave!" (To be continued daily.)