BARABBAS'S DAUGHTER

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 72, 26 March 1931, Page 22

BARABBAS'S DAUGHTER

By A. M. BURRAGE.

CHAPTER XV,

Caught in a Web. Ingratitude lias been described as the unforgivable sin; but there are occasions -when°excessive gratitude can do more damage than the most churlish forgetfulness of favours received. Poor Haunton, who had his foot on the bottom step of the ladder again, owing to a chance word with Billie, and. the impulsive gift of a "fiver," imagined himself repaying the first item on the score by disclosing the identity of the heroine of the rescue on Brighton beach. Lady Violet Elchard, of course, would not want a fuss made about an adventure of that kind. She had made that clear by dashing away in the car as soon as she got ashore. Haunton thought he was saving her embarrassment by his intervention and disclosure of her identity. But when he read that popular newspaper, the "Echo," on, the following day, Haunton was not so «ure of his own discretion and good 6ense. "From Brighton (wrote "Übique" in his gossipy column, "This Weary World") I have rescued quite a romantic little story of adventure. A big, burly, before-breakfast bather was seized with cramp, and would certainly have been drowned but for the pluck and skill of a pretty girl, who kept nim afloat for quite a considerable time, until the boatmen were able to pick the pair of them up. Whereupon the heroine dashed, off in a very smart sports car, leaving a gaping crowd wondering and admiring, without a clue to her identity. "That clue I am now-able to supply. The modest but charming heroine was no other than Lady Violet Elchard, who is, of course, Lord Eastshire's oniy daughter. Lady Violet, who is staying with friends in Sussex, was indulging in an early morning dip, as she frequently does, a fortunate habit for the swimmer whom she succoured in so timely a fashion. As a breeder of Pekes, and a popular debutante of last season, Lady Violet is well known, and her intimates are also aware that she had a charming and well-trained voice. But her new role as a life-saver will come as a surprise to some of those who imagined that, they knew her most intimately." It was Mrs. Paravel who drew Billie's attention to this fulsome bit of gossip, and in her dismay Billie came very near to betraying herself completely. "Fancy your friend Lady Violet staying near Brighton and never coming near you!" commented Mrs. Paravel, fortunately without glancing up from the paper at Billie's ashen face. ' "I thought you said she was somewhere in the North?" "She—wrote— . . Billie faltered. Her shaking voice could not pass unobserved. Mrs. Paravel looked at her, first in surprise, and then in loving sympathy, as she thought she detected the cause of Billie's strange looks. "If she didn't want you to know she was in the neighbourhood," she declared indignantly, "she has been nicely found out. And if she's too proud to want to meet an old school friend, you are better without her. She's not worth it, dear; don't let it upset you like that." "No, no!" Billie cried. "Violet is not like that. It is I . . . Oh, how can I make you understand?" She ran out of the room, hating herself more than ever; and Mrs. Paravel trotted off to her husband's study, more deeply concerned than ever. "Father," she said, "we must do something for that poor child. It was a mistake on your part to tell her about her father and mother, though we meant it for the best. Now she fancies everybody is looking down on her." She related the incident about Lady Violet Elchard, putting upon it her own loving and sympathetic construction. "She wouldn't have given a second thought to such a trifle before her birthday," the old lady mourned. "We cannot let her go on like this, with those terrible people just around the corner, and everlastingly weighing on her mind." "Give young Franchard his chance," Paravel counselled. "He's due for departure to India in a week or two, and he'd like to marry the child and take her with him." "India!" Mrs. Paravel repeated, in stricken tones. "Out of it all," Paravel said. "New surroundings, and nothing to remind her of the Beaumonts. For her sake, we must agree and help,' if we can. - It isn't as though we were losing her altogether. A year or two ..." They looked at one another, with stricken faces, trying to smile bravely, for Billie's sake. At their age a year or two was a p!) isc carrying dismal possibilities, but . ... "He's a fine boy," Mrs. Paravel said. "Only ... he would haVe to be told." "I've attended to that," Paravel said stoutly. "He knows, and he's more set on a wedding than ever. Billie must not know that I've told him, of course, until it has all been arranged. Then, I expect, she'll like to tell him herself. It will want delicate handling, but it seems to me the best thing that can happen." "For my darling's sake," Mrs. Paravel agreed, stretching out her hand. C Her husband held it for a time it silence, as they prepared to resign them selves to deprivation. And as they con-; soled each other, Billie, in her own room, was staring blankly into the hideous face of catastrophe. Exposure seemed inevit-able,-and she could see no way of escape. Violet. Elchard must see that paragraph, and she would naturally be furious. Billie knew that her friend had., from her childhood, been forbidden by her medical adviser to bathe in cold water, and was unable to swim a stroke. It was one of the troubles which Violet Elchard endured pluckily, her physical disability which prevented her from taking part in the sports and exercises natural- to her age and her social rank. Anybody who knew Violet at all well would know why she had to content herself with breeding dogs and motoring and flying, and how her limitations rankled. She would v rithe under this silly misleading gosSi|>, and all the explanations and comment which would arise out of it. What would Violet do?

Whatever she might do, Billie thought, would hardly matter, provided the real truth did not come to her knowledge. Those 1.0.U.'s (lanced before the girl's ■eyes in letters of flame. Something must be done, and at once.

Derek! Bitlie hurried to her ear again, and set out for Brighton, and the Franchard's house, without the loss of another minute. Derek was out, but ehe had to

spend some time in talking to his father, now convalescent, and to her friend, Eli' nor Franchard She hardly knew what she said, for all she could think of was that Derek had gone to London for the day, and would not return until late in the evening. "Ask him to ring me up when he comes," was Billie's farewell message. As she had her hand on the handle of the car door, a voice said heartily: "Good morning, Lady Violet. I gathered from the 'Echo' that you were back in Sussex again." Beaumont! Billie faced her father, instinctively aware that he had recognised her car waiting outside the Franchard's house, and had lain in wait for her.' , ."Oh,, good morning!" Billie said, taking the hand which was thrust upon her. "Shall we have the pleasure of seeing you to-night?" Beaumont continued. "It is quite a long time since you honoured us, you know." Billie felt like a wretched fly, entangled in the spider's web and unable to struggle. "I expect so," she answered with a pitiful attempt at a smile. "I remember now that I am in your debt; it was careless of me. But. . . " "Don't mention it, Lady Violet; not another word," insisted Beaumont. "But I'd like you to come to-night if you can manage it. One hardly likes to have one's word disputed, and a visit from you will stop the mouth of a very ignorant fellow." "Indeed!" Billie said, fascinated by the meaning glances that he flashed at her from the corners of his hideous eyes. "Yes, a fellow called Major Hardy, Beaumont went on. "He had the impudence to say, just now in the Royal York, that the heroine of that splendid rescue could not be'yourself, since you were staying with friends in Yorkshire." "I have been visiting friends in Yorkshire," Billie lied. "Ah, but this Johnny Knowall fays that you are not Lady Violet Elchard at all. He says that you are a Miss Paravel, and that those who think that you are her ladyship are deceived by a resemblance. Of course, I knew better; and I was ready to bet on it." "You . . . you bet . . . " Billie stammered. "I bet him £100 that I could prove my assertion, which was that Lady Violet Elchard had several times honoured myself and my wife by accept, ing our hospitality, and enjoying a little sport uirder our humble roof. I was betting on a certainty, of course, and told him so. But Hardy insisted." Billie knew this story was a brazen lie. She knew there was no Major Hardy and no bet. Her secret was no secret to this father, who did not know that it was his own daughter who wa3 now cowering before him, waiting in dread for his next words, and the Implied threat which she knew they would hold. "I meant to give him just one peep at your 1.0.U.'5," Beaumont continued, with his sinister smile. "Just a look for his £100, you sec. A man like Hardy is not going to face me down before all my friends, in a public bar. Naturaily, eh, your ladyship?" The mocking emphasis laid on the last two words left Billie no further room for doubt. "You . . you have no right, Mr. Beaumont," she declared. "I will not have such a thing." "You have no right either," he said, in a bullying fashion. "No right to stay away from a place where you owe money for gambling debts." "I will come," Billie said. "I will be there to-night, without fail." "No time like the present," Beaumont said. "You might vanish to Yorkshire if I lose sight of you now. Better drive me around to Majesty Avenue now, and square yourself with Mrs. Beaumont." He opened the car door and entered after Billie. "We can settle this over lunch," he said, with his abominable smile. 1 (To be continued daily.)