A HIDDEN ENEMY.

Evening Star, Issue 14625, 22 July 1911, Page 3

A HIDDEN ENEMY.

fAB Bight* ReseTved-j

» A STORY OF LONDON LIFE. [By Fred, CHAPTER XXVI. WHAT Mil GHETTOS HAD TO HELL. "I've brought you this, Mr Gretton, with Mrs Spencers compliments, cried a chtory voice, as the sick man, in response to a knock, sung out feeble, high key, the usual " Come in. It was Philip fctanville who entered, and he came into the room with an air ot bonhomie and «ood tpirite that indacribably pleasing and cheering to thuee upon whom he called, and sometimes irresistibly catching;, too. Whatever rue own feelings, he scldon allowed them to appear when "out on duty," as he termed it. His own sorrows and troubles, and tnat one gnawing cankei at his heart, we-io locked np and hidden away all day Ion" now. If they were ever set free and allowed to come out and show themselves for a while, it was usually only at night, in the privacy of his own dingy little liedroom. Elsewhere he and they were not on speaking terms—they ve-re strangers to one another in public—so ho himself quaintly phrased it. In appearance he was thinner, but otherwise the new Life seemed to airree with him fairly well. Almost everywhere he went—the exceptions were few indwd —he made friends, and there were not many places as to which it could truly be said"that he was not welcome. "Well, now, what is the matter today?" he asked, seating himself by the sick man's bedside. " I "got your message, and you see 1 have c<.:me pretty quickly. I should have been sooner if I hadn't been intercepted by a poor fellow who wants me to go and see his brother at some place by the riverside—a sailor, he tells me, who was on the Dolphin, 'he vessel 1 came home in a few months ago. How he came to know I was in these parts visiting, or how this brother, who i 6 a stranger to me, managed to spot me as I came alow;. I'm sure I don't know. However, I declared that no one should claim me until after I had seen you, and here I am, you see. Now, do you know, Mr Gretton, I should not have thought you were worse. You look, if anything, better; but perhaps " "' I'm not anv worse, sir, thank you. That was not the reason I sent you the message. It is very kind of you to be so prompt and thoughtful for me—and to bring me tint jar of jelly " " Sirs Spencer's thoughtfulness—not mine—as I told you just cow," Philip corrected, promptly. " Ay, ay: but—well, never mind that now, "Mr Stanville. I wanted to see you alone, sir. I have something on my mind that's worrying me, and I have felt for eome time that 1 must out with it sooner or later —so why not sooner''" " Don't yon think, Mr Gretton," returned Philip, kindly, " that Mr Spencer, or Mr Metcalf, would be the one to make any—a —statement —to, rather than myself? You see. I am but a young fellow, and " The old man laid a hand impressively upon Philip's arm. " It is you I wish to speak to, sir, and no ona else, for it is about your own affairs."

" Oh! Well, in that case, of course, I am quite ready to listen. At the same time, my good friend, if you are worrying yourself about any supposed troubles of mine let me say at once I do not wish you to do so. You have quite enough of your own to think about, I know." "Mr Stanvill6," said the sick man, taking no notice of Philip's observation, " listen to what I have to say. I have learned from Mr Spencer what happened to you recently, and the part my scapegrace son is supposed to have played in it. Ah!' sir, you do not know what a heavy trial it is to have a ne'er-do-well for a son! Now, you have been so kind to me, in spite of the soreness that you must naturally have against the lad, that I feel I must try to make some amends." "Mr Gretton," Philip answered, earnestly, "I declare to you there is no feeling whatever on my s:de against your son. I always liked him, what little I saw of "Ay/ay, it's like your nature to speak so, but for all that I know you have been very, badly treated by him. Now, 1 can do you a good turn in another way, sir—a way you little dream of. Your solicitor, Mr Wilberforce, is hunting high and low, spending money in employing inquiry agents and the like, to try to find out certain things about the firm of money-lenders known as Fenton and Co."

" Fenton and Co.!" Philip repeated. "Well, but I don't see what good Mr Wilberforce hopes to effect. My transactions with those people are over and done with long ago. I know they are not nice people —far from it; but I did not know as much in those days as Ido now. If I had, you may be sure I should have fought shy of them."

"But Mr Wilberforce is right, sir. He is on the right scent. If your transactions with those people were overhauled by the light of certain information which I could supply, you would find they had swindled yon out of thousands, which jou could claim back from them to-day, and which they would be only too glad to pay back to hush it up." The old man glanced keenly at his visitor as he said this; but, to his .*vident disappointment and surprise, J'hilip still evinced no signs of being interested. He shook his head and smiled.' " No, Mr (iretton, no! I don't care to start upon the weary road of endless litigation in the hope of recovering anything out of the wreck. Mr Wilberforce ki-ows my determination upon that point. If these people have, as you say, swindled me—and it is quite likely that they have, for I was younger, anil very iooi.sh in those days—why, they may keep illgotten gains, for me. It is voiy kind of you " " i'ray listen to me a moment, sir,' : persisted the other. " You oo not yet knew what it is I have to toll you. I was in Fenton and Co.'s employ for some years, and know many of their secrets. When tbey turned me off, old, useless, and poor—--1 never had a chance to save money there, 1 can assure you—when they turned me off. I say. they—in order, I suppose, to keep my month clcsed—promised to provide for my son. But I don't see that they are keeping their promises, sir. I do not call it "providing' for him to make him one of their confederates in a scheme to ruin an innocent gentleman—for that, I am now convinced, is what they have been doing. Tne money he brought me i 3 tainted, sir. and I have not touched it; I will not touch a penny of it—l will starve first. I must find my boy and rescue him from the evil influences of such people Will you help me to do that, Mr Stanville?" The speaker added this last anxiously, and gazed wistfully at his visitor. " I will, willingly. It shall be a sacred obligation. J will make it one of the objects of my life, Mr Gictton," returned Philip, feelingly. " I take that as a solemn, binding com-' pact. sir. I, on my :ide, will help you to recover some of the money you have lest, and you, on your side, will use some, of it to rescue my poor, misguided boy! Weil, now, to go back to Fenton and Ckj.—cr : rather, Fenton, for there is only one man in that firm. I was emploved there, as 1 have 6aid, and I have copied out lots of leases and ether documents. Also—l don't mind sayiDg it to you—l possessod myself, through another clerk, a friend of "mine thore, of copies of numbers <u documents and decdn about win hj a;; thought 1 kre.v not .ing I did this in <?]< .Jeieiice, f':, : 'i -• t ;ir:v t n:i t'l Mil to -."•-.,,' .\ V J same over a:id u.c-r .gai .;. Yoi were roobed, the.ted, nvviudlci, deceived. and duped oa every side."' "But how could "that be, Mr Gretton?" exclaimed Philip, astounded. " My agent, Mr Hedley, supervised everything, i made no payments except upon his assurance that

"Mr Hedley t Ralph Hedley, as he calls himself," laughed old Gretton, scornfully "Why, Ralph Hedley, as he calls himself at one place, is Fenton and. Co. at the other I" At this astonishing declaration Philip seemed scarcely to know what to reply. He remained silent, his mind trying to grasp its full meaning. In the quiet that marked the pause a knocking was heard at the door Then it was pushed a little way open,' and the head and shoulders of a rough, bearded sailor man appeared. "Beggin' your pardon, sir." he said to Philip, "may I make so bold as to ask 'eo to make haste? I be feared my poor brother won't last till we get there " At the sound of his voice the sick mai started, and his deep-sunk eyes glanceo cut sharply from under their shaggy ey&biows at the stranger.. "Coming, my friend, coming,'' said Philip, heartily. "Well, Mr Gretton, I will fee yon again very soon. Think y m meantime; but I cannot stop to u'3 nto it further now. T must not let my private affairs take precedence of my duties; inci here it is a question of seeing a poor man before he dies. So gcod-bye for the prosent." He shook the wasted hand tnat iay on the shabby coverlet, and went >ut after sailor. Hardly had he gone, however, wheu Gretton sprang out of bed and s/iufHeJ feebly towards the dnor "That voice!" he exclaimed. "I thought I knew it," and—oh, fool that I wis! '1 hut man's no sailor! Mr Stanville! Mr !<u.n ville' Do not trust that man! Do not go with him ' Come hack, sir—co-no ba<~k '' He opened the door and shouted down the staircase, bnt no answer was returned, 'men he hobbled across 'o f iie ww.aow, threw it open, and leaned out. There, sume distance away, be coni.l see Philip and the false sailor .~1-iuiug hastily along ; but they paid no h.vd to Lis cries, ind turning a corner, quickly passed fjoui his sight. CHAPTER XXVTi. ERNEST ASKS EVELYN A QUESTION. " There! that is finished ! And lam sure you are not sorry, Evelyn. You look tired, dear." " I do not know that I am tired, Violet, so much as—as " " As heart-weary, my poor darling," said Violet, as she came up to where Evelyn was sitting, ar.d put an arm tenderly round her. " You must try to cheer up and hope

Tears gathered in Evelyn's eyes. " I would not mind so much for myself; it is Philip I feol for. He tries to Jx? bravo and cheerful, but I can see, 'lav by day, that the effort is becoming ever harder. How could it be otherwise. Violet? V"U know him to-day—yon knew t;im a few years ago. Think of the difference. Ah! what a cruel difference! Ta;n he seemed to be the very darling of Fortune—courted, flattered, sought after id the very Ligbcti circles of the land ! High-spirited, gensrous, trustful! Ever kind-hearted aid thoughtful to those beneath him as well ps to all others. And hororable ar.d sensitive! Ah, me! He would have bro.ee i his heart in those days at the very though:, of sitting down under the shameful nam that has been so wickedly cast upon him. Oh, Violet, Violet! will God never hear my prayers and lighten this awful shadow? Are we to dwell for the rest of ur lives ( .lung<-d deep down in this terrible Valley of Humiliation? It seems to me as tnough Gcd ha 6 forgotten us'." ' Hush! hush! Do not talk thus, my poor Evelyn. It is hard—very, very Lard. Uoiieve me, I feel it just as mue'i us you do. I see it all just as you eee it. I so often think of Philip as I used to see him in the scarlet coat at the meet, looking on that beautiful chestnut he used to ride— }ou remember the one I mean. Roland he was tailed—looking. I used to think, the handsomest figure there, though all the elite of the county were gathered around." Here Violet suddenly paused and blushed deeply at the felf-betrayal into which she thl wandered. Then ehe continued, more gravely : '' Dut. dear Violet, we must bow to the*will of God. And who can say what great good may not come out of all this suffering ? Keep your faith; hope and work. They are my watchwords. They are yours, they not?" Evelyn looked at Violet with a pained, wistful expression in her eyes, and quietly shook her head.

" Alas, Violet, no; I cannot I have your unswerving, unwavering hitli and hope. But I try to —I try very hard to b; patient, and to be cheerlul Uo " " I know you do, dear. 1 can see often how hard you try, and what a struggle it his been. Well, now I am going out £or a while, and I want you to stay here and have a gocd rest We have worked very hard, and have done enough for the preseat. I will send Susie to you 10 keep you company while I am away. I think the general Ty manages to put you into better spirits." Evelvn had stayed thus far with her friend "Violet Mttcali, though not without much protest. But as she met with one disappointment after another in her efforts to obtain a situation, 6he had finally yielded to her frie.id's wishes, and had agreed to remain for a while and give her help in the parish work. Thus the two worked together side by ;=ide, in sisterly fashion; and true sisters of mercy and of sympathy their poorer neighburs fouud in them. Violet went out, and a few minutes afterwards the door opened with a rush, and the child Susie came bounding into the room. The first thing she did was to run up to Evelyn for a kiss and " a hug," aa she called it." Very particular was Susie upon this point, and sometimes very hard to please. She had her own notions of the preei6o manner in which an embrace should be given, and if the first one did not come up to her ideal, it had to bo repeated until something near perfection was attained.

Suck, at this time, was about seven years of age, and had grown into a remarkably pretty and engaging child. Her dark hair and eyes, and deep rich color, 6u«:'osted a gipsy strain in her bleed; but though iihe had been reared under very unfavorable conditions, some natural refinement in her nature had prevented her from growing up in accordance with them. Amount all thceo with whom the now lived she had established herself as a great favorite ; and, indeed, the seemed to be in some danger of being a little spoiled. Her one great dread was that she might be sent away again from Violet's care, and the rnerc6t reference to such a possibility was sufficient, even when in the gayect of mocd6, to plunge her into the depths of tears and misery. " What were you looking at so sorrowfully when I came in?" Susie presently asked, when the had settled herself comfortably at Evelyn's feet. " I wt-s looking at those beautiful masts soaring up into the sky," Evelyn answered. " I was thinking of the strange lands far away that they sail to, and wishing, I think, Susie dear, that I could fail away with them. Slide's face clouded. " Could I go, too, and Vise Violet—could wo all go? Because 1 shouldn't like you to go by yourself. And would it be nice to go? "is it so very nice far away—so very much nicer than it ie, here ? Toll me some tales about those wonderful places, please, Miss Evelyn." iuus entreated, Evelyn began to talk to her younc; friend of foreign climes, and of the "wonders that were to be ceen in the countries across the sea. They wero both deep in this occupation when Ernest Metcali came in, and after an affectionate greeting to Susie sat down and joined in the talk. "Come and listen, Mr Erneet!" said Susie. "Miss Evelyn is 'elling me, oh! such lovely stories abo'.t tne most beautiful plai.ee whore it is always summer, ;'"■;] th'v nevir Vve natty cold winters. A:-.J '"?':■ ; v v'«> n u hj b!u r r 'i ; '.< nii,T ■ i/...■. re .._, t t... v. . t- v u : Krne?t a.kcd. g.iuoiig at lur w.tli a look which she quic ly sasv had a deeper meaning. " Bc.ause, if you do—well, it is curious, but I have been to-day discussing the question whether I should leave England and go out to—to just such scenes and places as you appear to have htma, talking .about."

Evelyn turned visibly paler, and Susie felt the hand she was holding giva her own a sudden squeeze. " You have been talking of leaving England?" Evelyn repeated. "Why, what for, Ernest? Why should you think of that?" " I was asked," he answered, " whether I should care to go out to the South Seas as missionary. It seems there is likely to be a vacancy shortly; one who has been out there for many years is thinking of resigning and coming back to England to spend the rest of his days. It is not quite settled h.iw soon he will retire, but he may do so at any moment, as it is feared his health may give way if he goes on for much longer. I can have the refusal of the post if I wish; but there is one condition attached to it which at present I am unable to fulfil." "vVnd what is that. Ernest?" Evelyn asked. " Why, Evelyn, it is this: the one who takes the position must be a married man." The blood mounted into Evelyn's fc»ce, and then quickly receded, leaving it deadly pale. She stared thoughtfully down at the floor, and made no reply, and a silence fell upon the little group. " There's that pigeon again Hying into our garden. I hope our cat won't citch the silly bird!" Susie exclaimed, and, starting up, she ran to the window to watch the trespasser. "Evehn," said Ernest, softly, "I have loved you all my life—you know it—l need not tell it you. While you •'ere Miss Stanville, of Stanville Hall, I 3hould nc\er have dared to Lift my ejus io , .a; out seeing how things are—how they ne likely to be—do you think lam too prr sumptuous if I venture to say would you come out with me to those sunny shores jou were now describing, and let us leave 1 ehind us a world that has proved so cruelly hard to you and yours?" Whatever answer Evelyn was about to give 'o this appeal remained unspoken, tor at that moment the door opened, and Mr Metcalf came bustling in. " Ernest." he sail, " here is Mr Spencer corre to ste us. He wants, he says, to have a talk with us upon a very important matter. So Evelyn, my dear, do you mind taking Susie away for a Little while? I dare say wo shall not be long." As Mr Spencer enteied, Susie ran up to hirn. "Bobby! Bobby! How is Bobby?" she cried. "And, Mr Spencer, please, when will you take me to see him again? I was promised I should go last week, and then it was put off." Bobby was the little boy Susie had run away with when she had escaped from the woman to whose custody she had been entrusted. Mr Spencer hnd placed him in a brys' home, where he was living happliy and contentedly, and now and then Su ie, as a ireat, w;is taken to pay him a visit. Mr Spencer 6t< oped and kisr-ed the child, and gavo her a promise that he would call for her to see her little friend in a few c'ays Then Evelyn led her away, and left the three together. (To be continued.)

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