THEMARRIAGE LINES

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 257, 30 October 1929, Page 26

THEMARRIAGE LINES

By J. S. FLETCHER

CHAPTER XXV. Whatever might be afoot, it was necessary to eat and drink, and in due course Michael and Judith sat down that evening to their supper. Michael ate and drank as if nothing had happened, but he said little; ,it seemed to Judith, who ■watched him closely, that he was meditating on. some plan of action. And in the middle of the meal the door opened and Sherratt entered, followed by Markill. . , Michael, sitting -with his back to the 'door, looked up quickly ; at the sound of the lifted latch, and, glaring over' his shoulder, caught sight of Markill hovering behind Sherratt. His 'face flushed and he half rose from his seat. "Michael!" said . Judith, quickly arid; fioftly. "Michael!" ,i ■ But Michael shook hie head and glared angrily at the solicitor. . "I told you to get out of my house! lie exclaimed. "And I didn't mean you to come back. Get out! d'ye hear ?' Markill smiled softly and glanced at Sherratt. Michael glanced at her, too; so did Judith. For Sherratt, considering that the occasion demanded it; had attired herself in a new gown of black silk, and had added to a new bonnet and ehawl the further magnificence of gold chains arid bracelets. And she smiled in a fashion which denoted a conviction of superiority. "Remain where you are, if you.please, Mr. Markill," she said with dignity. "This is my house, and if I«choose to. bring you as my solicitor into it, I ehould like to know who's to say me nay" . This time Michael rose from his seat. "If you aren't out of that door in less nor a minute," he growled, facing Markill, "you'll go out quicker nor you Came in, and with a broken head." Markill retreated ' behind his companion. "You'll assault , me at you, peril," he said. "I'm here in accordance . with instructions of the rightful owner of this house. I dare you to touch me, Mr. jWalgate." Michael started at the sound of the ■unfamiliar name. For a moment he felt dazed and bewildered; then he felt something soft touching his hand and holding it tightly, and he became aware that (Judith was at his side, his hand in here. "Don't, Michael," she whispered. What's the good? Let them say what they have to say—it's far better." "I'm sure it's far better to have no unpleasantness," said Sherratt. "I don't want any unpleasantness—l didn't come her to make any, but if I choose to be accompanied by -ny lawyer I can't stand to see him turned off my own property. And there's no need to have any unpleasantness—and to show that I'm agreeable to talk things over, quietly I'll show willingness to take a cup of tea from you, Judith."

Judith pushed Michael away towards his usual seat near the hearth, and moved td the tea tray. He sat down, still shaking his head, but he no longer looked at the visitors; and Markill slipped into a chair by the door, and Sherratt untied her rich bonnet strings and took the cup which Judith gave her, and also ' seated herself —in the easy chair which had been Martin's. "I'm sure," she began, as she stirred sugar into her tea, "I'm sure I don't wish for unpleasantness; especially between people that are in some way sort of related, though how I don't quite understand, and, as things are, of course, it's neither here nor there. What I wanted to say to you, Michael, was that I was sorry for you." Michael made no answer. He did not even- look, at Sherratt, and Sherratt sipped her tea before she went on. "Of course, Mr. Markill having explained everything to me, there's no need to go into details," she continued "It's very plain, the law being the law, that everything is mine. I suppose you quite understand that, Michael." Michael laughed. '"You can take it that 1 understand," he answered. "Yes, according to the law, all's yours." "Well, I'm thankful you should agree so readily,".said Sherratt. "It may save trouble, and. I've had plenty already. And it disposes me to be all the more ready to-do something, for you. I don't want to forget anything in your favour. As soon as ever Mr. Markill there had fully explained to me how matters stood and that all that had been left by my late husband's father was now my property, I said at once that something must be done for you. 'Michael,' I said to Mr. Markill, 'must not be forgotten.' Those were my very words. 'His father, 1 I said, 'no doubt meant a proper provision to be made for him —usual under such circumstances.'" "See you here!" said Michael sharply, "you can leave all talk of my father and circumstances of any sort out of aught you want to say to me. If you •have aught to say to me, I'd rather you'd be pleased to say it without saying aught beyond it. I've as good idea of what my father intended as he had himself." "Well, I don't know that there's any need to spar or snap," said Sherratt. "However, it seems as if one could mean well and still be misunderstood, and I'll say no more except what I came to say. And. it's , this —I, of course, can't be expected to manage a mill. And so I thought that it would be a nice provision for you, Michael, if I engaged you to carry on the business for me—as foreman, you know," She paused, as if expecting a reply, but Michael made none, and she presently continued.

"Of course the business being mine, you'cl render all accounts to me, but otherwise I'd leave you to superintend everything. Now, as to this house —I •may as well tell you both that I intend to come and live in it myself, it's much more to my liking than the place wo took. But you'll find a cottage in the village; I believe that very one me and Stephen used to live in .is empty. And I've considered the matter of wages, and " Michael suddenly jumped to his feet, ancl the little table at which he had been sitting overset with a crash to the hearth. He picked it up and set it straight and then turned, standing at his full height, to Sherratt. "That's plenty!" he said quietly. "There's no call to say any more. If I'd liked, and if I'd taken the advice of that man sitting there, I could have sold all there is and taken myself, and gone where I'd liked with it and left you and Stephen's bairn wi'out any of it. Instead, I was sharing half-an-half. Now you come to me and turn me out of my father's house and offer me a servant's place. That'll do—l want to hear no more. There's no more to be said. Yon fellow there —Markill —he'll tell you all that there is to do. . You can come here whenever you like—you'll find us gone. We shan't take so much as a chair-leg out o' t' old place—but we'll take ourselves. That's all—l've not another word to say." Then he turned and looked at his wife, and having looked, laid his hand on her shoulder. "Come upstairs, lass," he said. "Come to where t' bairn is—l've something to say to you." Then he walked to the staircase, and Judith followed him in silence.

CHAPTER XXVI. In the lialf light of the little room where the child lay asleep, Michael laid his arm round his wife's shoulders. "My lass," he said, "are you well again? Are you strong enough to do a bit of travelling? Not far, but a bit. It's warm now o' night's and, as I've said, not far." Judith clung to him tightly. "Yes, Michael," she answered, "I'm quite well and strong. But —where? And when?'' "Now!" he muttered. "Now! I won't sleep another night under this roof. I made up my mind what to do while that woman was talking. Thank the Lord, I've some money of my own that my father gave me while he was alive, and it's safe in the bank at Clothford yonder. Judith, jtve'll go there first. We can manage tßere to-night, and to-morrow we'll talk. I will not stop longer in this house! God I can scarce breathe to think what's in it, downstairs ?" Judith heard a sound outside the house, and going over to the window looked out into the twilight. "They've gone, Michael, she announced. "They-ve gone down the lane." "And we shall soon go after 'em," he said. "My mind's made up. Now, Judith, listen. We take naught but our clothes. Pack yours, and fhe child's — take your time. I'll see to my things. Now, go to work, my lass! He suddenly drew her to him and kissed her.

"You're not afraid?" he said. "You'll look forward?" * Judith kissed liim back as passionately as he had kissed her. "I'm looking forward now, Michael," she answered. "And I'm not afraid of anything. Now go and do what you've got to do."

Michael went off to gather his personal belongings together. And in taking sundry papers from the bureau in the little parlour he came across the old Bible in which he had asked his father to write. i "I'll take that, choose what!" he muttered. "Legal rights or no rights, it goes wi' me—it'll be more thought on i'.

my hands nor it would i' theirs that s coining into this house. A knock at the side floor aroused Michael from the contemplation of hi 3 small effects. He went to open it himself and found Sir Thomas on the step, a large roll of paper under his arm. Michael stood aside.

"Oh, good evening Muscroft," said Sir Thomas. "I just walked across the fields to show you something—l've managed to get hold of a plan of what these colliery people are after. It shows just what they intend to propose about mapping out the land, and I thought you'd like to see it." Michael, lamp in hand, led the way into the parlour. "I'm much obliged to you, Sir Thomas," he said, " and I take it very kind of you. But —no plans nor aught of that sort have aught to do with me now, sir. The fact is—me an' • my wife's leaving here to-night." "Leaving—to-night," exclaimed Sir Thomas. "What does that mean? Going away for a while, eh?" "Going away for good," answered Michael. "We shall be off in less than an hour, and we shall never see this place again." Sir Thomas dropped into a chair, resting his roll of paper upon his knees, and stared at Michael as if he wondered whether his mind had suddenly become unhinged. "What does it mean?" he asked. Michael laughed. "It means, sir, that according to the law I've no rights here —nor anywhere!" He said. "You see my father and mother, for all 'at they happened to love each other, were never wed by a parson, and as I was born without rights—that's the law —and as my father died without will, why, I come into—naught! Not even his name." Sir Thomas stared harder than ever. "God bless me!" he said at last. "You don't say so! Dear me, and —tell me all about it," he exclaimed suddenly. "Perhaps I can—but tell me all—all!" Michael told him all—there was little to tell. And while he was telling it Judith came into the room with a bundle of clothes and remained, at a signal from the visitor. "And so there it is," concluded Michael.' "And —we're going." Sir Thomas smote one fist upon another. "What a woman!" he exclaimed. "She might have had common decency. But —I'm afraid she'll' stand to her rights. What are you going to do Muscroft ?" "I've thought it all out," answered Michael. "I'm for Canada. I've read and studied a deal about that of late, and I shall do well there. I've no fears, sir." "But—money?" "I've near at hand close on a thousand pounds of my very own," answered Michael. "My father gave it to me during liis lifetime. It's in the bank at Clothford. We shall go there to-night, and put up somewhere, and to-morrow we'll go on to Liverpool. Then we'll be off." "Look here," said Sir Thomas, "if you'll let me, I'll lend you another thousand —I'll write a cheque for it just now. Keep it as long as. you like, pay me what

interest you like. The more capital you have the better you'll do. Let me write the cheque." But Michael shook his head. "No, sir, thanking you kindly," he replied. "I'll not trouble you—l want to start clear. I've a very good notion of what's wanted over yonder, and I'm not afraid. But I'll tell you what I will do, Sir Thomas. If I find 'at I want more capital and can use it to good purpose. I'll lose no time in writing to you, eir, and neither me nor my wife'll ever forget your kindness." Sir Thomas stood up and fingered his roll of papers with restless fingers. "Well," he said, "I suppose it's useless to say more, Muscroft. The law's the law. Anyhow—you'll let me know regularly, mind, how you both get on?" Half an hour later Michael and Judith and the carefully shawled and wrapped child drove away down the lane and into the high road that ran across the valley. At the turn of the hill Michael spoke. "Judith, lass," he said, "if you want to take a backward look at th' owd place, now's the time." But Judith moved closer to his side. In her heart she knew two things beyond doubt. She had no desire to look back. Also she had buried her secret for ever. "Michael," she whispered. "I don't want to look back. Let's go on." So Michael chirruped cheerfully to the horse, and they went forward. (The End.)