RESCUED.

Bush Advocate, Volume V, Issue 354, 16 August 1890, Page 6

RESCUED.

Author of "My Terrible Plight," "Shadowed for Vengeance/ etc* * CHAPTER I—The Voyaoe fbom the Cape. She was a pretty, young girl— so pretty, so voting, that it seemed -strange she Bhould be "travelling alone. . We were re'.anring from Cape Co'ony to Old England, and our three .weAu ' Voyage was nearly half over before I Bucceued m making the acquaintance of my pnetty fellow-pas-senger, ' It ia of her I wish to speak ; it ia her tale I want to tell ; but I may be allowed to introduce •myself as John, usually knOWn ac Jack Barroner, aged 3s, of no profession, and possessed of a •moderate income. I lisupe said she was pretty ; perhaps beautiful is hardly tqo. strong a word. Sucli a da ; nty head, \jrowuett with masses of wavy, light-brown hair, such wondrous grey eyes, such perfect 6urves of ■cheek and chin and figure. Can you wonder that I longed to make her acquaintance and felt piqued at her obvious indifference ©n the aubjedt ? My 'heart, my battered bachelor hearty begtm to be affected. I was slidiug into lo.vo— 'with a girl whose very name X did, not know* . One^lorious afternoon we were both on deck. She jvas lying back in a capacious chair, devouring* "yellow back, 1 ' and I was leaning over -the Bide cudgelling my bruin lor an .excuse to break the ice. If ou!ly something would happen to create a diversion I might manage it. . But I could not ■walk up to her and volunteer an inane remark 'Without the ghoat of au excuse. The diversion came. X vessel, or a Shark,, or something equally obliging had. been sighted, and there was a general stampede 1 . My fair unknown followed the mob and left Jifcr book face downward ou ttie chair. Then I did a mran : action. I hid the novel behind a j^oil of rope v^jioh lay conveniently ne ir. She came back" soon, aiid imcker,e!l her arched blows when she discovered her lo^s. I came forward with as nonchalant an air as I •oould assume. " Pardon me. Have you lost anything ?If so, .perhaps I can be of iue in helping to flnd it. ' " You are very kind," she (laid, id' a sweat voice ; M \ have lost my book. I kuow I left it on the cJhair, and now-^ — I managed to affect a surprise I certainly did not fe|el when tho missing^ uoVet waa finally unearthed from what she said' was " such an unlikely placie,'* and theu wo glided into adiscussipu* about novels in general— -the merits of ■different authors, and so qu. That was the, beginning of our acquaintance, Mid it ripened fast. ' I believe I was the only one on . board who, Area Jed the end of the -voyage; I could hot bear tb think that the long •oomirig days, spent by Miss Thahet's side, -would soon be over. That wae bier name— Audrey Thanet. ** It .is far too romantic," said its owner. Mlt -does not sound real, you kriow 1 . I cannot think what made poor papa choose srieh a name P* ' Her eye* filled with tears as' she' Mentioned her father. He' lay with her mother in a colonial grave, and Audrey was : returning to ►England to find a home with her brother.. She told me about him of ten— she had told me every detail of her simple history, such firm friends had wo become --atid what I heard of him did not prepossess inc. He hadbeld.ap important position in a leading Capetown mercantile house, and had been dismissed ignotmnio'u&ly..' I rather suspected, from a' hiufc Audrey dropped, that his offence had really placed him within the reach of the •law. ' He ln?3 been shipped to England and a berth found for him iaa" City house. Heie, too, •ho had beaten' a hasty and enforced retreat. "But now,'* wound up the sister, " he is doing very wclT. He wrote a little ' while before father. died to say he was making a really good income. But he did not say how." "He did not say how. 1 ' To my worldly mivd T thi3 looked auspicious. Remembering the discreditable paat of tliia unknown brother, and reflecting on hw mysterious present, I did not relish the idea of handing Audrey over to his care. But aa he lived in London I should re able to continue my friendship with the gir\ I had learned to love, and could protect her in cose of need, ' r Qnly, M said Audrey, in a half-amused, halfaimoyed tone, "I cannot oven give you ray address. Ido not know it. There will be a letter awaiting me at Southampton from Frank, and he will tell me of course.'* At last the voyage was over. We landed at Southampton. There was a letter for Audrey and one for me. Mine was a sad one — ny mother was dangerously ill. I should have that night to travel to Disney, the little Cornish village where she lived. Frank Thanet wrote to tell hiseisterlie would meetxhe 6.12 train from Southampton. But" he gave not the slightest hint of hi 3 place of abode. '•It's very strange," said Audrey, thoughtfully, v and is Bli^htly inconvenient. But Frank," with a tiny sigh, " always had a trange way of doing things." "I only wi«h," I said, impulsively, '* that I could travel with you. But you see it is impossible.*' "Of cour.se it is,'' she said promptly, "and quite unnecessary. Perhaps we shall meet again some day, Mr. Barroner. I'm sure I hope «o.' But in any ca*e, I shall never forget hoW pleasant you "made the last half of my lonely voyage. 1 * I put her into the train, and at the imminent risk of, losing my own, stayed by her side until the last. I gave her my card, with my London a Jdrcss on it, " Do write/ I pleaded, " that I mny call. " Certainly I will/ she added, warmly. '• I j should like you to know Frank. Dear fellow ! : Ho is'so handsome, a*d has been so unfortunate. Goodbye, Mr. Bareoaer.'* Then the train steamed out of the station, mid I looked my lost at the palp, pure face which had enchanted me. She wavoi her h<ind and gave a bright smilnof farewell aa the lonjr line of carriages went one by ono info tho blackness of the night. Herd in turn waa swallowed up, and I stood alone ou the platform, gating blankly up tho line. A ho ruble .fort boding cauieover m© that we should not meet again, a fearful feeling of anxiety cams over mo at the thought of that beautiful girl travelling alone <o the' great city to meet her sole gaurdian — a young, aad not Vf ry reputable, brother. What kind of home wo«lu he make iV>r her? What would be her surroundings ? Should we over meet again, or would vast London hide her from mo for ever ? With these gloomy questions I was tortured as I went on my journey. CHAPrER 11.-TuntE Events. Six months passed slowly away, ami I hear 1 nothing of Audrey. I loved her, if anything even more than I had dono during those swept sunny days of our voyage from the Cupe. "Set I doubted if we sliouM ever meet agiuu. I had no!lrin=j tangible <o guide me in ray search! Audrey had said lier ■brother waa handsome; tint probably meant be waa like his Bister! So I took to haunting the busy city ju3t at th« hour when it waa disgorging its clerka by tho hundred. But not one of the dapper, tall-hatted youths bore the remotest resemblance to Audrey. So gradually I slipped back to my indolent club life. Yet Audrey, though lost, was never forgotten. At tho end of tho six months three tiring happened. I will take them in tho order in whiph they came. Event iiiimbar one took place in a railway carriage irt which I wha tru veiling to Portsmouth, and of which I was the Bole occupant, 1 wan smoking and reading, and wishing myself at my journey's end, w\v n » suspicious movement of tho valance of the cushioned seat opposite. me attracted my attention.' It was fluttering to and fro, not a-i it would da if agitated by w-ind, but ne »! a hand were moving behind it. Thin fluttering was followed by tho appearance of a he-id— a close-cropped head — belonging to a young man; so far as I could Bee, a hnmlsorno young man. " Hope I didn't ijtartle you," ho sail politely, with a sang-froid which under tho circumstances was surprising. Ho dragged hiiHHelf from under tho ac/it, alighted ou his feet, and stretched h : a arira laxunously nbovo hw hoad. " Confoundedly crampej position t I couldn't stand it any loagor. Daresay you wonder how I got there." " No ; the mem act o€ geth'u^ them woul.l bs easy. Isa'.m'.d H^e to know your reason for such an uausuni net.'* He hesitated for a moment, nnl his ey«a WAnderel to tho mckiibovo my head— th*. rack on which was my " QLidstono," marked with my name in full. Tho sight of thin coranionpl'noe article of lujgnge w omed to inspire him. "I'll explain wRk pleasure," ho said, smiling iinpudouily, aiwl l-olliug a cigarette- as hospoKC. "Aa a matter of iiict, lam flyingrom justice." " Indeed," retuwve4 I ironically, " then na I am a stickler for Uw maintenance of tho law, it will be my onj>lcaßant duty to hand you over to its tentter mercies at tho next station." " My dear fellow, yon will do nothing of the kind. You eouldn 't, " "Yoti will find I can," I retorted hotiy. Allow ma to remiod you t!iut in a scuffle I shOuld certainly have tho best of it," '

"No doubt y»or murles are maguificent,

Set you will notexerowe them on me. Hang it," he we it on with a low laugh, " I feel* Biife with you that I have a mind to tell you tho whole story. At least I will enlighten you aa to my identity. I asm Frauk Tfeanot. You may remember my pretty Bister. She has told me about you." He had' succeeded at last in startling me out of my apathy. Good heavens ! This impudent stowaway, this confessed criminal, waa Frank Thanet, the sole guardian of the girl 1 loved. What had beeu bur fate in such hands V

" I surprise you. But you will not give me up now, I fancy. Think of the disgrace to Audrey." " If I fail to do my duty, it Will bo solely for sake," I rejoined sterajy, " ond only ou condition that you tell me where she is.'* Ho ecribblotl an address on a sheet torn from his pocket-book, and handed it to me. i 2o Gosworthy Gardens, St. John's Wood. " There you are," he said lightly. "And now, ta-fea. We shall meet again under more aunpicious circumstances, 1 hope. Accept my thanks for your valuable assistance, and wheu you see her, give my love to Audrey." We were at B . He jumped from the train, walked jauntily across the platform and I saw him no moro. . I took the next train back to London and drove to Gosworthy Gardens. There were only sixteen houses in the whole row, and not a single tenant from 1 to 16 knew anything of a Miss Thanet. fc>o I was foiled. Had I mot my impudent fellow-paaseuger again, his chance of mercy at ray hand would have been slight iadeed. Another month went by, then event number two occurred. This was nothing less than a meeting with Audrey. , She wa» walking down Piccadilly, accom■jwMjied by a fair and rather dis9ipated-lookJ^« man. It wrung ray heart to sea how she had altered. Her pretty oval face was thin and colourless,' her eyes, those deep grey, eyes, whose shy glance I remembered bo well, had loatj their sparkle. I stepjMkl hastily forward, but before I reached her she saw me, and, first glancing in a frightened way at her oomfaa^lon, signed to mo not to notice her. Her distress wue obvious, her clesire so evident that, by a groat effort, I drew back. It whs hard, after waiting so. long, not to bo able to *peak to her, but I did the next best thing— l followed at a safe distance. ; Yet here again my peraishnt ill-luck, attended me. A crowded corner, a dangorous crosoiug, and 1 had lost sight of Audrey. I was no nearer a solution. of hep fate; than on tbe.'night when I stood on- the platform at Southampton and watched the train carry her away* Event three was a letter. A wretched scrawl, written in red pencil on the margin torn from a newspaper. Yet the untidy little apte was dearer to me than the daintiest of scented billettloux would have been— for it was Audrey'B. "lam in great distress," she wrote, " and you are the. only person I know who may help me Meet me this evening at seven o'clock puteide r Homertou Station-" Seven, nay half-past six, saw me anxiously pacing backwards aud i'ovwavde ou,tside the atatiou of the dingy East-end suburb. How raadlynnv h«art throbbed when I sow my love approaching I How tenderly I held her little hand and looked into her beautiful face— the face which hud. grown so sadly drawa and careworn I

CHAPTER nr.— Unbavelling the Skein*.

" And this la where you live?" I asked in a disgusted tone as I looked round the Bhubby back parlour of the house to which 'she had brought me. The hideous preen rep curtains of the dirty window the stained table cover and rickety 1 chairs, the coarse drugget which lay on the floor— what a getting for' beauty I Indignant thoughts rose in ray heart, teader words to my lips. The tatter, at least, I j checked. I remembered iti time that, dear as ska v^w to me, we. wore almost strangers ; . we 1 had not even got beyond the ""Miss Thauet" and v Mr. Barioner" 6tage. " And this is the homo your brother has prepared for you '" vl Yes," she said, with a wan litt'e smile and a touch of her old saucy charm. "Perhaps I should apologise forbritigmgyoatofluoh a shabby place ! But oh, Mr. Barroner, I could pufc up with it no longer. The poverty one might endure, but the mystery, the crime which hang around the house are unbearable." Har voice sank to alow toueof horroraseheconeluded. She looked round the room as if with a furtive dream that even the walls might have ears. „ "Do trust in mo," I pleided. (i I will do, I am anxious to do, the very best ia my power for you." " I know you are," she s-iid, gratefully ; "that 13 why I wrote. It was wrong, uninaidenly perhaps, but I had no one else." Poor child 1 Tho pathos in that sweet, vibrating voice touched me strangely. •' He will bo back in half an hour," she said, , glancing at the clock. '• We must arrange something, aud you must be out of tho house before then." " Do you mean your brother r" "No. His friend, Mr. Padman— tho man you saw mo with in Piccadilly t I do not kr.ow how they get their money, or rthy they force me to livo so stnuigely iv this miserable house," ahe continued in hurried feverish tones. " The whole upper part is kept locko.l, I and I a:u virtually a prisoner iv thtse two rooms. I never go out alone ; I may not even walk iv the garden ; neither must I open the street door." ' '• Do they leave the house at regular hours r' I asked. '•No. 1 Sometimes they are away fordajs at oilier times they will lock tlieiint'lves .ip x'or almost a week in tho rooms upstuirs." " All this ia very mysterious," I said. ' You must not stay here another night. Your brother has treated you akuiuefully. I fear ho is involved in some 3eriou3 scrape. I will find you a mort suitable home." "You!" she asked, timidly drawing hei hand from mine and Hushing scarlet. " I, my darling, oh Audrey, cm you not see how 1 love you, have loved you since " " Hush,'* she- whispered ia horrjr, aud henrJ a latch koy turned iv tho street door, " it is Fr.) uk or Mr. Pudmivi. They will murder you, E know. Oh, where cau you hide ?" " I »iru not going to hide. Quite the contrary, I mean to havo i% out with your brother or his friend. '» "Do.you, indeed ?'' I turned round, and saw the fair dissipated-looking man— Frank Tlianot's accomplice. "It seoms to me," lie said Hiieeringly, " that you will regrat sneaking here to MUs Tijanet when her brother j'b out of the wny. And she will regret it too." He shot a malevolent glance from his bloodshot grey eyes it» Audrey's direction. " Aud you don't leave this house until you swear never to enter it again, and not to go ijlabbin-j about any lies sho may have told you." " I'll never make the first promise," I said, l\f'tly. " bt cause I intend to tftkw Miss Thanet , out of the house this ni^ht — never to return. As to the second, so far from promising, I fissure you that I mean to iind -out what illegal business you and Frank Tlwnufc hare b-jeu carrying on." " I don't know what you aro,'* he said angrily ; " a detective, or something worse probiibly. You followed us down Piccadilly tho ;>thor day. But whether you had your eye on me or the gal I cannot nay." The contemptuous tone and gesture with which he alluded to Audrey fired ma. " When you spojk of that lady," I said, haughtily, "bo pleased to do so in a moie respectful way." " Come, that's good, 1 ' he relumed, with a coarfe laugh. " A girl who brings Jior lover into the house during her brother's abseuce ia dosf rviug of respect, not to say reverence, «Hho hands of any man. A girl whose character— -" I spraug forward an 1 dealt him a stinging blow across the face with my open palm. Uttering a cry of mingled rage and pn in ho threw himself upon me, and a fierce struggle •jusuod. In strength we were fairly matched, .-uidliLiubt who would eventually have been the victor h'.ul not accident doculcd in my assailant's favour. In the scrimuiii^o I unluckily caught my foot in the ragged iioordoth ami fell hoavily to tho ground. In an iiwtant he was kneeling over mo, hia hands gra.s]>ing my throat. I Hnnly beliove that in hifl blind rago lu> would huve throttled inn had not a now comer ;tt that luoinciit entered the room. No lead a person than Frank Thanet. Without a glance at Audrey, who ran forward with white fiioo and trombliug limbs at his approach, the young man humfd over to my assailant and liLh shoulder. "Do you want to murder tl.-o mnn ?" ho a^kod iiurasly. "I bhould liko to," rotiunod Pudmtin •lulluiily. "He aluui't leave this houso unless ho .wears " v Never mtn.l that," broke in young Thanet. " It's all up with us, and wo must bolt» Tho po'iiw .ire at tlte corner of the street." Even is ho Hpoke a. lout? angry knocking was hoard nt tlio door,. '• You are not to op^u it, Audrey," said Thantit, throut eningly. Then both men loft tho room and hurried upstair. "We heard the lieavy baize door, wh'ch shut off the upper part of thft house, clang to : wo heard' us woll tho violent and continued knocking at tho street door. I stopped into the micro w passage. Audrey threw horsulf before me, her eyes streaming with tears, her hands clasped. "Do not open it,' J she entreated, "They

will uike him if you do. My poor Frank. He never meant to do wrong." " My darling, if I do not, they will force it The worda were scarcely out of my mouth before the rioketty. badly-hung door yielded to the heavy blows which had been dealt on it,- and a detective, accompanied by two policemen, filled f tho narrow hill. . ..-,,, i •« I want to search this houae, 1 ' said the former, sharply, displaying his warrant. "Robinson, keep guard while we go over the P KWillthey take him?" whispered Audrey, with white Ups. "Had they any means of escape?' I whispored back. " I am not suro," she returned, '• and you must uot, you will not, tell the deteotives ; but 1 fancy, t'ro^n something Frank once said, that they rent the next house and keep it empty." I lJ In that caae," I returned, "they have doubtless made good their escape." They had. The detective and bis companion at that moment came into the room. " The birds have flown," he said in a crestfallen tone. " But we shall got them yet, arid, there's evidence enough in their rooms upstairs to convict my gentlemen for a good many years.. M'anwiulo, "sir, you are my prtsoner."- --" Accused of what?" "Illegalcoining." " X can satisfactorily explain for my presence, in the house. But I will come with you of. ftrktirsifl I turned to Audrey. Poor child ! Sweet delicately nurtured girl ! What a trial this ooarse 6cene was to her ! " Wo do not want the lady," resumed the official. " We've had our eye on this place for somo time, and we know she's innocent enough. So, for the matter of that, are you, ci* ; but you must come along. It's only a matter of form." I turned in perplexity to Audrey. v You canuot stay here alone to-night." " I must,'' 8h« said bravely, though her Upa, j trembled. "Unless the woman next door would take me in. . She flpoke to me once, and •saemftdakindcreatui-ev" ; " Before L left Homerton I saw Audrey safe in the motherlv.careof thin Samaritan. I saw the door closed on the wretched house in which, my darling for months had been a prisoner, lhank God that chapto o+'he life was closed^ it should be my dus nesi o s«« %r.a tiio uexb' and all succeeding ones were bright. And now she is my wife. With difficulty. I overcame. her scruples ; it took many kisses to; drive awaythedoubt from her sweet hpa-'-tne, doubt whether she, the sister of a coiner, wa« a fittingmate for me. Yea, doubta atMlsocuptes. were laid at rest at last, and Audrey bears the^ ' disgraced liume of Thanet no longer. . .. i And the one grief in he* gentle heart is the thought of her brother— the haiidsoine eoape-. ■ graoo, whoae fate we have never laatut.