More than Brothers.

Clutha Leader, Volume XXXV, Issue 2140, 31 July 1908, Page 7

More than Brothers.

ORIGINAL SiORY

(By Christian A. Winter.) Now First Published. PART 1. CHAPTER XL "What are you thinking about, Ernest ? Puzzling yourself about something; I can easily see that., I suppose you think it's time I told you more about myself, is that it ? You think it's only fair that you should know my history, as 1 know your's." Seaworthy spoke very quietly, but his eyes watched his patient searchingly, though secretly.

For the first moment Ernest felt as if the beginning of the end had come, but Seaworthy s eyes, raised to meet his as he finished his sentence, brought calmness to him. After all, his identity had been no seeiet to Seaworthy, since he had himself betrayed it in his first conscious moments. He felt disturbed only because the subject had not been mentioned before. But even with these calming reflections came a determination to seize this opportunity, and find out all he could of Seaworthy's intentions, and thus end this intolerable suspense. He shuddered as he thought of the probable result.

"You're wondering Low much of your history 1 know," continued Seaworthy, who had only paused fur one little instant to see how his patient was taking this alfusion to the past. "Well, I know a good deal about certain points of it, perhaps more than most people do. Indeed, in some things i think i may say I know as much as you do yourself." If there was any truth in Seaworthy's eyes, if Ern3st couid only believe what he read there, then all his fears would take to their wings, and he might know the meaning again. He knew at once what Seaworthy alluded to, yet he could not tbink it possible that he knew more than other people did. It could not be, and yet his eyes seemed too frank and truthful to doubt. Seaworthy saw the excitement, the mental tumult his words hail caused, and answered at once, without further hesitation, '"I took the liberty of searching your pockets for some clue to your identity, and 1 found proof oi your innocence, that's all. I was very glad to iind it, too. it explained a great deal of what you were say-

ing.' "What I was saying? Have 1 been letting on about—" "Be quiet, please." There was no need oi the admonition, for l.'rnest had already come to a sudden, guiky pause, almost in the act of disclosing a secret that he was not certain Seaworthy shared with hiiin. ">ou have been delirious. you nave been tai >n_ continually about Dick Graham, and i have heard enough to convince me that you ran away from home, being falsely accused oi mnnsla'.iL'hter. * Ernest drew a siiiii of relief, but it broke off sharply at the recollection of what Seaworthy had said before this. It was pleasant to meet someone who so evidently believed in his innocence, but the pleasure was forgotten as he thought of all that that belief must necessarily include. "What makes you think I was falsely accused?" he demanded roughly, "How can vou prove that 1 diiln t kill him ?"

''Easily enough." replied Seaworthy, "I have a letter from the one v. ho really did it—a written confession." •'A* written fiddlestick ! lie doesn't know where I am, so how could ho write to me ? And supposing a letter could have got here, what business had you to open it ? J see what your little dodge is, .Mr Seaworthy, you're pretending you know ail aboui it, so as to bet me to talk about it, and then you think you'll find out everything. You think you'll find out who killed Dick Graham, do you ? I killed him, so there now." Seaworthy smil.-d. Ernest's an-ry speech, first admitting and then denying his innocence, would have led Id in to believe that he had been falselyaccused, without the proof he had mentioned.

"Now, Ernest, be quiet, and I will explain. The letter 1 spoke of was on you when 1 found you on the beach". Perhaps I had really no rioht to read it, but. under the circumstances, I thought it was quite justifiable." "That's a fib," interrupted Ernest, too angry to be polite. 'Tin. sure 1 never got a letter from him." "You may have overlooked it. It was inside a book, "The Lady of the Lake,' in your pocket. Do you mean to say that you knew nothing about it? I'll show it to you. What ! Haven't you ever seen it before ?" ';No, I haven't, and I would have if it had been in my pocket." "Not necessarily, Ernest. No, I can't let you have the letter now, but when vou're stronger you shall have it. I'll read it to'you if you like." "Give it to me," cried Ernest.

Seaworthy shook his head, and replaced the letter on the mantlepiece. "Not now, Ernest; you must _be quiet for a while now, I'm not going to let you talk any longer. You are quite safe here with roe, Ernest, and your secret is quite safe too. I'm the only inhabitant of Rimurimu Island ;so y<m see I rouldn't betray your secret, however much I wanted to. I've found it out myself, you can't alter that, no matter how you worry about it. The only thingyou can do is to trust me, to let me share it with you, and to believe me when I say I will never let anyone else know where you are or who you are, or anything about you." Ernest was obliged to be contented with this. Seaworthy was a stranger to him, but he saw no reason for doubting his word. It was only reasonable, as Seaworthy was the only person on the island, and could not betray him, to trust himself in his hands, and not only himself but all that he had. And if during his illness, he had disclosed the whole tragedy of Dick Graham's death, what good would worrying over it do. He had Seaworthy's promise to be silent, and this was infinitely better than living in anticipation of being handed over to justice. During the next few days, being relieved from the heavy weight of anxiety, he began to recover steadtifc .

He could never clear the mystery that hung over his arrival at llimurimu Island. Seaworthy had found him on the bunch, and concluded that ho had fallen overboard from a passing vcssi.. lie had no clear recollection of going on board a small vessel yet he slid remembered a phantom siii ; ) he had hidden himself on, 10 escape from nis unknown pursuer. This more he thought of it the kroner grovv his convictions that the phantoms of the past were realities, and what seemed like realities were only delusions. He clearly remembered having Elsie with htm, what was unit but a delusion, a lanuy of u fevermaddened brain. By this rule the phantom ship would have been a real one, and he must have gone on her in a half-conscious stale, and, uuaoie to taivo care of himseii, lallen overboard. Seaworthy, on hearing his story, concluded that he must have caught some disease from Elsie, but Ernest did not like this theory, rtlule he outwardly accepted Seaworthy s view he mwardiy rebelled, it, ami though he eouid not tlnnit ol ihe child s action without, a feeling of boyish bashiulness and shame, he would not acknowledge that her kiss mid caried disease with it. But tune ami calming thought (,tor he could noth.rget the unusual occurence as he wo.'Li nave been only too glad to doj brought, him a wider view ; he sau thai Elsie's kiss, though it had carried infection had been the means oi bringing niin to his present refuge. There was nothing sentimental about Ernest ; he wished he could forget about the iiltie girl ; lie looked upon' tin; all air as if it was something to bo ashauied of, something to hide in ins heart, ami never bring to light, lest someone else should know about it. At the same time, he remembered Elsie's kiss as the last he had received, he knew the motives that prompted it motives ot gratitude, ami there were no thoughts in Ins heart concerning Iter, save those that sprung up in answer to that gratitude. He told Seaworthy all about it, not because he wished to confide in him, but because Ins iiiliueuce was not to be resisted. \\ hell Seaworthy wan'.-: to know anything he always managel to find out, Trnest found it impossible to hide anything from liim. _ let though ho, was od.Eeil, unwillingly, yet half unconsciously, to iiiukc own nis secret thoughts Miown to _;-u'aworthy, he could never get any information from hull auout ins oun me. no was sure that there was a history hidden behind that silence, a sad past that Would account for the loudness oi his present liie. He couid not very easily Jeime his opimou of his new acquaintance. Seaworlh.v's alipearauee was altraelne Ins voice was pleasant, and his words courteous ami veil chosen, but, on die oilier hand, his maimer was short and authoritative, and there _ was someiiiiutr about him which Ernest could not understand, iar less explain, but winch, nevertheless, iopeiied him, and put friendship out oi tne .juesiiom Ernest, to be sure, mui made a resolution to avoid making friends in future, and though h-s reasons for doing .-o might not app,v in the same way to Seaworthy, who Knew the wnoie truth, it niigln be just as well that this new acquaintance was not a man to be iricnuiy with, that his attraction-; weie counterbalanced i>y that which, though the boy could not define it, kept°him at a" distance. Tor though immediate danger was removed, the future still lay in darkness. Viith such reasonings as these, Ernest tried to make himseii contented, j but aii the lime he longed, with a I longing too strong for words, to ! know ihe meaning of friendship again.

CLIAJ J TEH XII. ••Shift the candle along a bit, picasc," said En.e.U, one evening just as darkness had fallen. Seaworthy uas examining the contents of Ins numerous bookshelves, an occupation -o engrossing that lie did not turn round, but on hearing Ernest s re4i.es t merely pushed the candle along by extending ids arm in that directum. The lamp stood on the table, out it was empty, and, moreover, Seaworthy had lighted a candle because he thought it might oe more convenient lor his purpose. .Meanwhile f-rucvt, :Ah\ iving in bed, thought it would be more convenient i.,r ius. ile had a p:ece ei paper m his hand, which Seaworthy had given to him that afternoon, judging thai ho was well enough to have it at ia-a, and lime alder time had he periled its conteii.s, writ ten in careless, vet still familial- writing.

'■Dear Ern.-f cannot Iwep this secret a minute longer or 1 shall go mad, and so i am writing to tell you because you wore my iriend once, but you never will be again. This is what 1 want to tell you. .1 have killed Dick Graham; at least, lam auaid he is dead, and 1 am afraid to go and see. Jie was riding down the road through the pines on his bike this morning, and 1 was a bit up the hill. 1 was feeling savage with him (you know what about), and when he saw nie ho began about it again. 1 got fairly mad, and theie were two or three stones near me, and I just picked one up and let ily. It hit him fair on the head, and he dropped at once. Then I got scared, and went down to him, but he didn't get up or even move. He moaned a bit, and I managed to get him a bit off the road so as not to be disturbed, and 1 male your handkerchief wet in the creek "and tied it round his head. It was the only handkerchief I had on me, Km, so' 1 was bound to use it, but J tore your name out, so it's all right. Well, Dick went on moaning ail the time, and then lie suddenly stopped, and .1 thought ho must be dead. I tried to iind his pulse, but it wasn't going, and then I got very frightened and ran away. 1 meant to keep this quiet, but I can't. Goodbye for ever, dear old Ern. ALISON Do BENZY."

There had been only one thought in Ernest's heart since Seaworthy had li'hen him this letter; his mind was made up, and he only waited for an opportunity to carry out his plan and destroy Alison's confession., That opportunity had arrived. lie stretched out the letter towards the flame of the candle, but could not quite reach it. He tried to move himself nearer, but the sharp pain in his side at even this slight movement, made him suddenly collapse •with lan involuntary, gasp of. pain* Sight

though the sound was, it caught the ears of Seaworthy, for ho turned at once to the bed. "What's the matter, Ernest ? You musn't try to move just yet. What do you want ?" "Nothing," replied Ernest, carelessly, as he concealed the letter under the blankets. •'Well, don't move again. You're I getting along line, but if you're in too much of a hurry you'll undo it all again." Ernest did not speak, but he meditated having another try the very next time Seaworthy's back, was turned. Presently Seaworthy, little suspecting this plot, took the lamp out into his Utile lean-to to fill it, leaving tho candle with Ernest. The door was left open, so that the candle light would shine out into the lean-to, but for all this Ernest was practically alone. He raised himself in bed ; very carefully, for slow and cautious movement did not bring the same stabbing pain. Again he stretched the letter at arm's length, and this time it just touched tho candle flame. One corner caught fire ; another second and Alison's confession would lie in a blaze. (To be Continued)