A SUBMISSIVE VICTIM.

Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 12824, 7 June 1907, Page 9

A SUBMISSIVE VICTIM.

a By WALTER J. MOWBRAY. As the door opened Beryl Gray rose hastily from her chair by tho window and stood in the centre of the floor. Her lover came to meet her—a look: of deep gravity on his clear-cut face. Sho read his news in tbe lines about bis mouth and her heart sank. Tenderly he put bis arms about the slender figure, and looked into the dark brown "Onr Worst fears are confirmed," he said, hopelessly. "My father cannot live till the morning. I have just left him. He bade mc send you to him. I think ho has something on his mind. You will go to hint" ■.. , , .... ~ Beryl put up one little hand till it caressed nls oheok. He understood the action, and knew that all her sympathies were his. Then he kissed her and stood by the door while she passed through. , X few momenta and she was in Uw room whom Luoa* Wyatji lay. As Ms eye fell on her advancing figure he mado a gesture with bis band for the nurse to withdraw. Beryl sat down by tha bed and looked into the face of her guardian. Already tha hand of death bad set its seal upon the pallid oheek and glittering eye. She bent toward him and tried to take hia hand. But he drew it away hurriedly. "Wait," ho said huskily. "I h»T» much to* «ay. Are we,alpnoP" Sho comforted him with a word. "Ah, that is well," he said, relieved, •THy time is ihor., Ueryl, and I dare not die without confessing all that 1 huve done. Yon have seemed to love mc sometimes, and my conscience has tormented mc whenever I neve "eon »*■ For I have wronged yon past redemption. , and. now . that it is' too late, would nndo all that I have done.' She looked anxiously into his face. W»* his reason deserting him m these last holiri of his earthly hfe? i "Don!t .think about it," she said, Mothlhgiy. "Thore-ia nothing to reproach yonrself with. You have takep the place of ray dead father, and I have Welv fell; the loss," . . But he motioned her to be silent, *W she obeyed. _ . ~__,, "You do not know," he said. "Lieten, and I will tell you. Ypu have heard tho -story of your father's death, but do not know all. We were .crossing the Atlantic. I w*s his aollcitor end hfe dearest friend. He kept m secret* from mc, and while ho lived I waa true to him. But temptation came and I ainned against his memory »nd against you.'' He peused with a deep groin of despair end repentance. Beryl watched him anxiously as ho continued i "Your mother was dead and you were a child of eight. I had left a wife at home and a promising, boy of twelve; we talked pf them many times during the voyage, and then your father grew suddenly ill. The doctor did all he could to save him, but one day he openly admitted that he could do, »o more and that your poor father must die before we reached our destination, I oarried to him the news, end he bowed hie head resignedly. "Then he bade mc dbw up a will. I aat in hia cabin and wrote at his dictation. All his worldly possessions had }icon reduced to cash'somo months boor©, and no was the owner of twenty thousand pounds. To you he bequeathed the whole of this little fortune. Do not start; I have much more to tell you ero 1 die. "He charged mo with your training and education. For this I was to draw eaoh year a sum of three hundred pounds from the estate. When you were eighteen this aum was to be doubled for three succeeding years; then et twenty-one I was to resign all control of you, .nd the fortune your father left waa to bp yours unconditionally .*' Beryl's face waa very pale, but eho forbore to speak.* Lucas Watt passed one hand wearily eerose his brow end continued t

"The will waa signed and attested by two witnesses. Then a terrible thing happened. We wero run down in the night by a great homeward-bound liner. The water gushed in with «p- - ing swiftness and tha Teasel wae oomed. The liner had slipped away under cover of the night, and we knew not whether she, too, had sustained any damage. There waa a rush for the boats. I ran below to rescue your father, but I stood still on the threshold.

"Already he was pact all human help, yet I bore him to the deck, and lifted him. tenderly into one of the boats. Then we rowed away from the sinking ship, and tossed for two day* in the wild waste of waters that seethed around us.. At last we sighted an island and benched our boat. That night a second boot reached hb, and we welcomed it with ehoute, but they brought sad tiding* of the two remaining boats j both had foundered before their eyee. , "They had rescued as many aa their frail craft would hold, but many were drowned, and with them the two witnesses of your father's will. We had, buried him that afternoon em a knoll of the island, and night fell black and cheerless on our little camp. I Again the dying man paused. . Beryl could see that he was nearing hie con- j ftesion: he turned his eyes giultily'to the wall. , ''It waa then that the temptation began to assail mo," be resumed. "I j waa ambitious and wanted money j badly. With it I could speculate and win more.. Don't be too hard on melt was for I-eßlio I sinned. You little know how 1 loved him. I told myself you would not went the money—might never wont it. " ""•''*'_ "At least twelve years must elapse ere a jienny of it could be touched. It

was only tha interest—end but part of that—which would "fall into my hands, and twenty thousand pounds was to mc a great sum then. Day by day the temptation grew; a vessel hove in 6ight, and we were rescued. Yet all through the voyage that followed, I brooded upon what I might achieve with your father'a money, and in the end I yielded." Beryl waa listening now with bated breath. Truly thia man hajl sinned against her, yet she waa conscious 'of no bitterness or shadow of anger aa the truth was discksod.' Presently be went on again in the same remorseful tone: " It was so easy to sin. A second will took the place of the first. The signatures were traced and few could have told which wore genuine, and which were false. I took advantage ot the well-known friendship existing between your father and myself. This regard and esteem wero eet forth as the reason, for his bequest. "You were confided to my sole care until you were twenty-ones I was to maintain and educate you and take the place of him you had lost When you came of age you wero to have the sum of five thousand pounds; tho rest was left to mc. You know the rest already. The will was proved; the death of the witnesses was passed over. "My profession carries with it a certain guarantee cf respectability. Would to God I had lived up to that standard. For years I have bitterly repented tho step I took, yet there has been no chance of retreat. And now my end is near, and the shame wm fall, not upon my own head, but upon his whom I love better than all the world—my son.V He broke off abruptly, and Beryl heard him groan. For some time there was silence in the room, then be turned and faced her. . "I have robbed you, too, of the happiness you thought was yours," ue said humbly. "Little did I think that in sinning I should blight the hope of your inmost heart and of his. I did not then dreaan that you would learn to love him—that he would grow to worship you and desire you tor his wife. "And now the eeed is bringing forth fruit and tbe sine of the fathers are visited upon the childiren. He will make you reparation to tjje uttermost farthing, and then he will turn his face away from you forever I know his pride. He will inherit my shame, and never for one moment forget *. or its bitter penalty." B?J? 1 B l ood U J?» show *» thinking rapidly. Too well she knew the truth of her guardian's last words. The question of tbe money had troubled her little, but if it touched her love-—if it robbed her of him—the penalty of thia man's sin was indeed severe. Something was in the old man _ outstretched hand. "Take it," he said huskily. "Like many another guilty man I have kept the proof of my crime. Many times have I resolved to destroy it, but always I have held back. Take it, it is your father's true will." She took it from him and opened it. A glance showed her that he had spoken truly. Suddenly a new idea occurred to her. She Bat down and tried to think. Slowly the idea grew till it niereed into a resolve. Then she lifted her bead. "In - this known to, any save ourselves?" she asked qmokly. "No,'' he said humbly, "I have hidden it even from him." "Will you promise to reveal it to none save myselfP'' she asked. "You say you have sinned against mc; if you °_c with the secret still unspoken I shall deem it auffieient reparation. Will you promise jneP" Ho looked at her in bewilderment. "But that will not help you," he She smiled. "It will save mc from lifelong unhappfness," she said gently; "it will prevent tha separation you fear." He looked at her fixedly. But howP" hp asked. •Becaus. I, too, will Seep silence," she replied softly. ' Ho started and his dim eyes brightd " Bn * eS° W WoUl( * lt>M th ° mon# y»" '*• _ " An< L* ■ h » u .;3* in something for better," she replied. "T shall *eep the love I have won and ahall be happy." And yon wdl never tell—never re-, proach him with his father's ouiltf" he said tjemulously. She smiled down into his face. 'Look!" she aajd, and imoved toward the flit.. Ho watched her with intent eyes, She held the will in her hand, and he saw her place it upon the red coals of the fire. The paper flared and biased and a blackened mass of ash soared into the' wide ohimney. Then she came book to the bed and again sat down. * ''Let the dead past bury fta dead," flho said gently. "The secret shall never pass my lips; Leslie ahall never know.'' The old man reached for her hand and blessed her. "And you can forgive meP" he pleaded humbly. She bent down and kissed him. "Yon have been my father for twelve years," she said. ' _ have only kind thoughts in my heart for you. and I cannot forget that through you has come my best gift. Rest contents I will make him a good and loving wife, and will honour him all tho days of my life," Ho smiled feebly in his great relief and gratitude, but his strength was well-nigh spent. Sho went to the door and summoned Leslie to the room. The old man smiled again as he saw his son; then he made a sign, and they joined hands. Ones more they aaw him smile, then a grey shade crept into his face, and they two were alone with the dead. Leslie summoned the nurse and drew Beryl from the room. She went with tears in her dark hrown eyes. Yet she was happy in what she had done, for love 'had triumphed over wrong and all was blotted out. The secret was hers, and hers alone, and nono would fver know it.