THE SPLENDID SILENCE.

Clutha Leader, Volume XXXIX, Issue 51, 7 February 1913, Page 7

THE SPLENDID SILENCE.

(BY ALICE MAUD MEADOWS.

I A uthor of "A MillioK of Money," "The Dukedom of Portsea," '.'The House at the Corner." "1 Charge You Both," "One Life Between," Etc.

CHAPTER IV. Not a muscle of Douglas' face moved, though his correspondent had told him Wilfred was not unaccompanied, and had given him a very vivid description of his travelling companion, nhich he had at once recognised. He knew Fausteen, though only k slightly, and did not particularly care for her. "I really could not say," he returned, which was verbally true —in loyalty to Wilfred he could not. 'Ah! well, it's no business of mine," Lord Noi'thborough continued, "only in many ways Wilfred' does not please me. For one thing, he never pays me the compliment of a visit; for another, when I hear his name coupled with a woman's it is always that of Miss Fausteen O'Neil.''

"Which proves his constancy," Vera said, smilingly. "But who is Miss Fausteen O'Neil? Whence comes she,' and who are her people? She earns a salary, and I have no doubt a handsome one, from Lady Golister. -Such women are generally what is called generous to their subordinates. They find probably"— Lord Northborough" was speaking cyni oally—"that it pays; but even that generous salary would not run' into much above a couple of hundred, ■ suppose, yet again and again, when reading the so-called 'Fashionable Intelligence'—ah! my dear Vera, I am not above taking an interest in the —I always find that at almost every assembly at which the lady in question is present her dress is always more beautiful and bewildering—a borrowed word that, 'bewildering,' so far as I am concerned —than that of any other woman, her hats are generally a dream, and her jewels wonderful. She backs horses, does what I believe is called a flutter on the Stock Exchange, plays bridge with the pick of gamblers in society, and plunges at Monte Carlo. Again, I sav, how does she do it?" "She must have private means, of course. Perhaps she is the daughter of a millionaire soap boiler, pork butcher, or oil king. The daughters of such men always have more money than they can spend sensibly." 'The daughters of such men do not go out as paid companions." Vera looked very wise. "I think a really cute girl with much money and little family might," she answered. Lady Golister moves in a very smart set; she could take this Miss O'Neil almost everywhere—introduce her to almost everyone who is anyone. I can Quite imagine a smart American, for instance, jumping at such a chance." Both Lord Northborough and Douglas laughed. "Not she," Lord Northborough answered. "A wealthy American would pay some highly-placed and impecunious dowager to chaperon her, present her, and so on; and I do not think this Miss Fausteen O'Neil is an American. Perhaps you know?" •'I do not think she is," Douglas answered; "in fact, I think—l might almost say, I am sure —she is not; but though I have met her I know very little about her." A footman ■ entered as Douglas spoke, and laid some evening papers on the table. "Just run your eye over one of them, Douglas," Lord Northborough said, "and tell us if there is any particular news.''

Doxiglas took up a local evening paper, unfolded it, and almost immediately uttered a stiflled exclamation. The first words that met his eyes were these: "Strange death at Monte Carlo. Lady Golister found dead in her room. Poison suspected. Lady companion missing." "What is it?" Lord Northborough asked.

Douglas put down the paper for a moment. "We have been talking tonight a good deal," he returned, "of Lady Golister. She has died suddenly and strangely at Monte Carlo, and Miss Fausteen O'Neil—no, I ought not to say that; it may not mean her. What the paper says is that the lady companion is missing." Vera turned quite pale. "Dead! Oh! poor lady," she said. "And we have been talking rather unkindly alwut her." "Read it," Lord Northborough said.

Douglas read out the short account of 'Lady Golister's sudden death, which was confined' to a few lines. She had been found seated beside a small table in her salon, an almost empty coffee cup beside her. She was leaning back among the as though she had died in her sleep. The contents of the empty coffee cup had a strange aroma, and had been given to the doctor for analysis. The doctor was very reticent so far as to the cause of death. The lady was supposed to have made two new wills during the night; any way, four of the hotel servants had"been called during the night to witness some document. Lady Golister had seemed in her usual health the first time, but on the second occasion rather sleepy, which was natural, as the hour was after midnight. On the second occasion the waiter who luid come with the night porter bad noticed that the coffee cup was more than balf-emwtw and the contents were quite cold. He had attempted to remove it, but Lady Golister had stoplied him with the remark that she might as well finish it, and that what was worth doing f was worth doing well. He had thought it rather strange, as she was, as a rule, rather a wasteful lady. He had concluded that there was some of the very finest cognac, which she always kept in her room, in the coffee. She had not complained of feeling ill, had said goodnight in her usual kind, cheerful manner, apologised for giving trouble, and given them each a five-franc piece. The lady's-maid knew nothing of the of the night after she had left her mistress alx-nt 10 o'clock until she found her dc/id in the morning. , The lady company*) friend was missing. She Jiad left the hotel an hour after the discs.'e--y of the tragedy. I\ was known iiie and Lady Golister Md had a violent qurrrel over-night. ; The lady-companion had 'booked foi; "London at Messrs Cook's office, and had left for Londbn by the Bapide, her destination not being known. , ~. , , Lord Northborough looked very graro. "When did this happen?" he 6»id. Dougka looked *gwa *t m pftpv,

"Why, it seems it happened on Monday, he answered —"a good two days ago. It's been a long time getting into the papers, or we have missed it. "And Wilfred was off to Monte Carlo?" "Yes," Douglas said, reluctantly. '"Then,'' Lord Noi'thborough continued, "the young lady, so far as Wilfred knows, has not come to London, but, like any knight errant, he has probably gone to her succor. It may sound ungallant to say so, but the more fool he!"

CHAPTER V. There is probably nothing which makes the beginning of a new day so sweet as a happy love affair, especially when every morning brings man and maid'.nearer the consummation of their bliss. Vera was the guest of Lord Northborough. Incidentally a Mrs Huntington, the more than middleaged, veiic of a military officer—these officers' widows are so useful at times —was a visitor also, acting as chaperon in what might almost have been called a bachelor household.

J'ut Mrs Huntington, who was most kind- and considerate, had developed a cold which kept her a prisoner to her room, so that the lovers had almost all their time to themselves.

Under these very pleasant circumstances one would almost have thought unless one also happened to be a level', in which case it would, of course, have been different —the day would have been sufficiently long had the lovers met at breakfast-time. Not at all. Overnight Douglas had whispered "the magic words "Six o'clock" to Vera as he bade her good-night and Vera had nodded her pretty head as she smiled, in a way which showed she was decidedly delighted. This accounted for Douglas being up soon after five, making a raid upon the kitchen, switching on the light to the electric cookingstove, which was one of the latest domestic improvements, and getting a kettle half full of water to boil, and in 10 minutes brewing perhaps the strongest pot of tea that had ever been brewed on Lord Northborough's premises. He poured out a cup, and looked at it somewhat doubtfully. "Looks a bit strong," he said, half to himself. "And yet I made it quite right according to the best-known formula—three spoonfuls each and one for the pot; ir is it three all round? I forget. At any rate, it won't be too strong •it this time in the morning, and I can bang in the cream and milk. By the bye, I wonder if there is any of either commodity in the place, or whether I must so to the dairy?" He undo excursions into several de'ightfully cool pantries and, at length, ■n one which seemed cooler than any >f the others, with white tiled floor and walls, he came upon many shining oans filled with milk, to the surface if which a rich cream had risen. "What ho!" he said, cheerfully. "I wish Vera were here. She loves ?rcam as dearly as a cat does. Well, she shall eat and drink cream to her heart's content this morning. Now for a jug and a basin." Both were soon found and filled, Douglas going from nan to pan as a bee from flower to flower, and taking the best off each—a proceeding which a little later on was sure to horrify Mrs (I'oodenough, Lord NorthlKirough's :-ook, to no small extent.

It was not half-past five. Douglas opened the French window and. sfep»ed out. .moved wloug the terrace, paused under a window, picked up a handful of grave], and flung it up. It pattered against the plate-glass of the window, and in an incredibly short time the window was thrown up and Vera's charming face appeared.

"I won't be 10 minutes; I'll meet ■.•on in tin l spinney,'' she. said, and shut lown the window before he could menion his preparations. "That means half an hour.'' he thought, and wandered away towards he little wood that lay between the lower garden and the park lands. It ■vas a beautiful morning in spring, >nd nature, with the diamond d'ew-b-ops glistening upon her lovely fare, vas looking its fairest. The sun was veil up, and those flowers which had dosed their petals over nisd.it were ipening sleepily, pink and white and "■rimson coral burls were showing ~on the May trees, laburnum hung in golden tassels, sweet lilac reared its stately •lowers sturdily. Tito leaves of the ehetnut tree hung a little limply, but would soon lift themselves and spread out their fan-like beauties; limes and larch, beech and oak, were dressed in their sweetest bravery; high towards the heavens many larks winged their quivering way, carolling as though their little throats must split: from trees came varied music, small and large feathered songsters whistling and trilling for all thev were worth "Do it. do it, do it; did 'e do it?" chattered one, so plainly, so clearly that Douglas burst into a hearty laugh. "Give me a chance, old chap." he said, looking upward. "Wait until .he comes, I'm hist pining for a kiss.''

He had reached the spinney now, ■ind sat down upon a moss-grown treestump to await the coming of his lady. At his feet the bracken was still busy uncoiling its caterpillar-like leaves, and tiny flowers, yellow and flame color, smiled shyly up at him. "It's good to be alive, to feel the warm blood coursing through my veins, -,o be well and whole in mind, bodv. and estate,."' he thought. "To be looking for the coming of my sweet, the heart of my heart, mv dearest and best. 01" all men in the world I uui the most fortunate, because she is my true love and I am hers."

He watched the way she would come, growing inmatent, as lovers wll, though even the 10 minutes had not passed. "She is aliout putting up her beatitiful hair now," he thought. "She has already plunged' her sweet face into cold water, and has only to put on her frock, and then ——" "Do it, do it, do it!" said the bird. "You wait," Douglas answered. "You little beggar, there's not the slightest need to advise me on that point. I—~" He paused suddenly and turned. Someone was coming through the spinney from the direction of tho park —a man and a stranger, who trod heavily on'the tender green beneath his feet. and 1 slashed ruthlessly at the trees and bushes as he passed them. He was not looking ahead, was apparently deep in thought, and so, so far as he was concerned, he canie upon Douglas suddenly, and drew up quickly. He was an extremely good-looking man of apparently 35 years of age, though he might.-'have been younger, the line? upon his face pointing more io trouble and hardship than to age.: He was shabbily dressed; but looked a man. When he saw Douglas_ he raised I his hat with a gesture that was a little [foreign.

"Mr Davener, I believe?" he said, j "Yes," Douglas returned, "that is i my name; but I think you have the ad- ' vantage of me.'' | The 'stranger laughed. "Then you must be in the deuce of a bad way," j he said. "No, no, I understand what | you mean. You do not recognise me. j I am Frank Lascelles, who got into ' hot water at Oxford, and something more than hot water, and has bad to pay for it, by Heaven!" CHAPTER VI. Douglas looked at the stranger and shook nis head. "I am still in the dark." he said, "I know no one of the name of Lascelles." The stranger seemed surprised. Then rather a bitter look crossed his face. "On, I suppose you mean 1 am beyond the nale," he said, "that such folk as Frank Lascelles must have their names rubbed oft' the slate of your memory. Well, I should not have expected anything quite so caddy from you, old chap. Good monnng!" He turned as though he would go, but Douglas called him back. "Wait one minute," he said, "I mean I never have kuown anyone of your name." "And yet you said your name was Wilfred Davener."

"Pardon roe f did 1 not. My name is Douglas Davener. Wilfred is my cousin.'' •■ riio stranger's face cleared. "All," he said, "that accounts for it. You are very like your cousin. He and I were at Oxford together. 1 think you were not at Oxford." "No." "Then I daresay you have been decently educated." Douglas looked puzy.led. "I am afraid I do not quite, understand," he returned, "for though I was never at Oxford as an tindergrad, I finished .my education, such as it has been, at Cambridge." I'iio stranger shook his head. Not much better," he said, "some folk swear by the dear old 'Varsities, but in my opinion a man who shines in either, makes a distinguished position for himself at either, would shine anywhere; in the workhouse school, in the council school. He's a bom reading sweater. Oxford and Cambridge are designed by nature to seduce from application to.one's books, not to induce one to slue oneself to them. But this is wandering from the object of my Trespass. It was really in the .hope of seeing your cousin."

"Ho is not here. He very seldom is hero." "I am very sorry. 1 understood from hi in—years ago. of course —thaT he. lived with his uncle, Lord Northborough."

Douglas gave one more anxious look towards the house, but there was no sign of Vera. "So he used, so he could now, if he chose," he answered; "but he prefers the towns and cities to the country, and seldom comes into these parts. Do you wish to see him particularly?"

• For mil instant there -was a deckled twinkle in the stranger's rather sadlooking eyes. To tell you the truth," lie said, "it is not really he whom I wish to .see. 1 want to ascertain if ho thould happen to know «f the whereabouts of a lady who was very well known to both of us at Oxford. We were both what we used to call 'very much gone on her' in those days, ' and though I decidedly cut him out and was first favorite for a considerable time previously to an enforced retirement from the society of my friends and fellows, he may still have kept in touch with her to a certain extent. Fausteen O'Neil was a girl not easily forgotten. She was an exquisite thrill, * wonderful passion, she seemed to take possession, of one's entire being, to fill it, dominate it, throw -little tendrils all 'over it. She was like a cancer in the flesh—a pretty way that to speak of a lady, is it not? but it is true. Did you ever meet her, do you know her?"

"Very slightly," Douglas answered, coldly.' "You do not like her," the stranger said. "I hardly know her. I have met her once or twice in society."

The stranger's handsome eyebrows were lifted slightly. "In society?" lierepeated. "Fausteen in society? That's funny; ;and yet I don't know, there are precious queer folk in so-called society. What sort of .society? Good?" "Yes, what would perhaps be called smart society." "All! Fausteen was always smart. So she has worked herself up, bus she? But what does she live on?" "[ believe Miss O'Neil is lady-com-panion to someone," he answered, "but I really know very little about her." "Do you know where she is now?" "No!" He spoke sharply. He could see Vera just leaving the house, and he wished "this fellow would be off. "Well, 1 must find her," the stranger said, "whatever has happened, whether it has been her fault or no —and 1 sometimes I think it has. and then again I think it cannot be, it would be too horrible—it is only right I should find her. I speak in riddles to you, perhaps? You have really never heard of Frank Lascelles before?" "Never." "You surprise me. Five and a-half years -ago Frank Lascelles—that is 1 —■ was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. Good conduct has lightened my sentence.". Douglas leant forward interestedly. This man was a gentleman, -mi Oxford man, and a released convict. "Your sentence?" Douglas y.sked. "Was it a just one?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone said it must be," he answered, since I put up no defence —they 'did not understand that I could not. Will you give me the address of your cousin?" Douglas felt he could hardly refuse. "He has diggings at 20, Gray's Inn, Holborn." "Thank you—l will look him up. Good-morning." "Good-morning," Douglas returned; then sprang to his feet, and went to meet Vera, who was coming through the trees. "Do it—do it—do't—d-o it!'' chattered the bird; and, taking Vera in his arms, Douglas kissed her sweet lips again and again. (To be continued.) *