HER OWN FOLK

Evening Star, Issue 20686, 8 January 1931, Page 2

HER OWN FOLK

By MADGE AMBROSE [Author'd’ ‘ Too Proud To Love,’ ‘ Trespassers will be Prosecuted,’ etc.]

[Ate Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER VIII. Hanoi came clattering down the stairs, two at a- time, as the sound of that strangled cry -came from the passage leading to the front door. “ Auntie,” she called, “ Auntie, what is the matter?” Before she could reach the bottom of the stairs Miss Jarrofv appeared there, her arms stretched out as if to bar the other’s passage. Her usually rosy face was livid, and her big round blue eyes expressed a wild terror and anxiety. “My dear, go back; I should like the house to myself for a little. _ _ If you would, oblige me by staying in your room.”

“ But, auntie, what is the matter? You can’t be well, i’ve newer seen you look like that before. "Won’t you let me stay with you?” She appeared as she spoke across the little hall and down the dark, unlimited passage beyond. It seemed to her that she could see somebody standing there by the front door, but the impression was so vague that she could rot be certain. Miss Jnrrow gripped the end of the bannisters and put one foot on the bottom step. * “My' dear, I beg yon. Go back to your room. I’ll come to you afterwards. You needn’t alarm yourself on my account, but oblige me in this.” There was only' one answer to such an appeal. Consumed with curiosity as she was, she turned back, and going to 'her bedroom closed the door. But once there she could not for the life of her help listening. From downstairs she could hear her aunt’s slippers crossing the hall, followed by’ the footsteps of somebody' wearing heavy' bools who was trying to walk softly. The parlour •■door opened and closed. The room was immediately beneath her own, and ibere reached her the faint murmur of voices,'her hunt's agitated tones and a man’s gruff voice. Then there was the sound of- a chair being pushed back and the clink of a bottle-upon a glass, and the faint clatter of a knife and fork. Hey aunt’s visitor, whoever he was. was dearly' partaking of the debris of the afternoon’s feast.

But what did it all mean, she wondered? Who was this strange visitor who called upon her aunt at night and caused her such obvious agitation? Difficult as it was to associate mystery with such a bustling, cheerful personality as her aunt’s, there certainly was some mystery here, and as she sat there in .her lonely room in the darkness an eerie feeling stole over her. She recalled the fact Hint it was the little maid’s night out, and that they were alone in the house, her aunt and herself and this mysterious man. Ail sorts of appalling possibilities flashed through her perturbed brain. Supposing tins man were to murder or rob her aunt? She bad almost worked herself up to a pitch of anxiety in which she had serious thoughts of opening her bedroom window and roiising the neigh bourhood with' cries for help, when she heard her aunt and the mysterious visitor leave the parlour and cross the hall. The front door banged, and then there was silence for a little.

She sat very still on the edge of her bed. Presently she could bear her aunt coming upstairs, and the door of her bedroom was opened. “ My dear!” Out of the darkness her aunt’s voice came to her broken and agitated. She was across the lloor in a moment, and her strong young arms were around Miss Jarrow’s plump figure. “ Let me sit down, my dear; let me sit down.”

Hazel led lier to the bed. “ i’ll find the candle and strike a tight, Auntie, if you like.” “ No. no, i prefer the darkness my dear. Let mo rest.” With her arms about her, Hazel could feel that her aunt was weeping, hut, with sympathetic tact, she kept hack the (jnestions that sprung to her lips. Presently her aunt drew in a deep breath, 'vigorously wiped her eyes, and finally blew her nose. “ The:-.', my, dear, your silly old aunt, who ought to' know better, is herself again. Give mo a kiss, my dear. It’s sweet to have you near me.” Hazel pressed her soft cheek to the other's face.

“ I don't want you to tell me anything that you’d rather not. Auntie . . . hut is there nothing J. can do to

help?” “ Nothing, nothing, my dear, unless you could come downstairs and help me to clear away the tea; for it's the girl’s night out, and we sat so late that I don't know when we shall get washed up.” .Meanwhile Arthur Morton had made his way to the Old Bell Hotel. He had come over from Thvaxton hy train, intending to secure a car to take him back, but unfortunately, owing to a bah in the neighbouring town, the landlord of the Old Fell had no conveyance to place at his disposal. He was faced with the alternative of waiting until the midnight up train or walking. Aftci two or three drinks at the bar. taken partly to give him sufficient energy for the walk—for ho decided against waiting for the train—and partly to drown his, sense of exasperation and annoyance at Hazel's refusal., he, was about to leave the hotel when ho saw the glass doors swing open and the tall figure of Raymond Travers come into the, hall. Morton was by this time in that curious mixed mood that alcohol f-oiiiotimo.s produces of gloominess and conviviality.

“ Hello, Travers, old chap, what arc you doing here; 1 ('Mine and have a drink. I'm most horribly down in the dumps.”

Ii the cvTcssuiii of their laces alforded any clue lo Urn state of their

respective spirits, Raymond Travers appeared the more depressed of the two. There was a gauntness about his checks and a hollowness about his eyes as of a man who had been suffering.

“ We’ve got a workmen’s dinner here to-morrow night, and I just came in to see if everything was in order. 1 won’t have a drink, thanks.” As he turned in search of the landlord, Morton called after him. “I’ve got to walk back to Thraxton. As T o go a bit of the way together, I’ll wait for yon.” He filled up the interval by replenishing and draining his glass. “ Now I come to have a look at you, old chap,” lie remarked, when Travers at last returned, “ you don’t look exactly in the pink. What’s the matter with you?” Travers laughed dully. “Oh, nothing. What are you down in the dumps for—you—on engaged man ?”

Morton slipped his hand into the other’s arm, growing of a sudden very solemn.

“ I’ll, tell you about that as we go along,” ho said. “I’ve been having a rotten time.”

As they passed out into the street, Raymond Travers preserved uilence, wanting for the other to speak. Morton was now in tho mood of a man who was prepared to be romantically sentimental about himself. With the perspective of his relations with Hazel confused by the number of glasses through the bottom of which he had looked, he figured to himself as a man badly handled by Fate. Forgetful of the material motives that had prompted him to court, tho girl, lie had worked himself up almost into the belief that he was the victim of an unrequited passion. “ I think I shall go abroad, Raymond.” he said gloomily, addressing his iriend by his Christian name. “ I don’t feed 1 can go on with this life here.” “ YVhy, whatever’s the matter, Morton ?” Morton looked up into the dalle cloudy sky, in which a taint watery moon shone, as if lie were apostrophising Fate. • “ 1 loved that girl, Raymond. I would have given my life for her . . . and she’s turned me down.” Had he been in his normal senses he could not have failed to have noticed the sudden start that Raymond Travers gave; as it was, he continued talking in a sort of monologue, as if half-unconscious of his companion's presence. “ Yes, I would have given my life for her. She told me to-night that she was penniless—that her father had died leaving .not a farthing behind him; but though I don’t exactly swallow that, it wouldn’t have made any difference to me anyway. 1 loved her, Raymond.” “ Am 1 to understand that she has broken oil' the engagement, then?” 'Travers’s voice was a little unsteady. They had readied now the old' clock tower at the foot of the High street. As they did so a woman’s figure came furtively out of a neighbouring alley, and after watching them for a moment began to follow them, keeping cautiously j.n the shadow of tho houses. “There never was an actual engagement in tho ordinary sense I mean there was no ring or anything of that kind, (t was just an understanding. I had always believed, and it was the dearest hope of my heart, that 1, should one day have the happiness of calling her my wife, and now—”

Ho shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of despair. “ She told you she was penniless, did she? Was it on those grounds that she broke off this understanding?” “She didn’t give any reason. She just said she wouldn’t marry me. And I was prepared to give up everything for her, because, if she was penniless, .as she said, which, privately, Raymond, 1 don’t believe, yon know what it would have meant to me.” ' Raymond Travers drew his arm from the other’s hold.

“Well, 1 must leave you now. Morton. I’m sorry you should have had this disappointment.” His voice, judging by his tone, suggested anything but regret. “ Good-night, Morton,” As he turned to the left whero the roads forked. Morton, after a somewhat incoherent reply to his farewell, eon tinned on Ids way alone, lie had not gone far when light footsteps eame running after him and a hand was placed' on his arm. Looking up, he saw Dolly Frith. “J watched for you coming down the street.” the girl exclaimed breathlessly. “ because 1 wanted to speak to you." I wanted to know what you meant. by your hehavioui; this afternoon by your treatment of me.” Morton stared at her for a moment unsteadily, as if he failed to realise her identity. “Why, it's Dolly—little Dolly Frith,'' ho exclaimed. “I never w ished for anybody's company so much in my life.” ' She edged away trom him, her face crimson “ Yes, yon can talk to mo like that now; but at Miss .1 arrow’s you had that (ino, stuck-up girl to talk to, and you hadn't so much as a word or a look for me.” Morton held out his hands to her. “Dolly.” ho said, truthfully enough, “ Td a thousand times sooner talk to yon than any other girl in the world.” “ Then why didn’t you talk to me instead of silting there glued to Miss Keane’s side without a word for me?”

ill! stepped I'onvard quickly ;iiul caught her by the arm.

“ I don’t care a straw for 1,1 a nel Keane; .1 don’t care if I never see her again. That’s the truth. You’re far and away the jollicst. nicest little, girl I’ve over met. and if yon typlk a hit of the way with me to Thraxton you’ll make me'the happiest man alive.” The weight that had been lying on Dolly Frith’s heart seemed to he lifted. Instinctively she know that he was speaking tlio truth. In spite of all appearances to the contrary, in spite of his devotion to Hazel Keane and his deliberate exclusion of herself that evening, it was she he loved. “I’d love to walk with you,” she said; “you know that.” As she fell into his step by Ins side she slipped her hand trustfully through his arm. “And you’re sure you do really care for me a little bit,” she said pleadingly. “You’re not just a fine gentleman, as Mr Clode says, who's amusing himself with a poor, vain village girl?’ was to take her baud and kiss it, “ Oh, to blazes with John Clode. I tell vou I love you, Dolly. If I’d got any "money I’d marry you to-morrow and lob the country say what they liked. “ But won t you marry me f she stammered. Ho squeezed her arm as if to give her confidence. “ My dear, I can’t marry except for money—not until the governor dies, anyway, and he’s the sort of man that makes the fortunes of insurance companies by going on paying premiums until bo’s a hundred. You wouldn t like to wait for me till then, Dolly ?” “ I’d wait for you for ever if 1 was sure you really loved me,” she replied wistfully. . . As if to assure her of his devotion, he halted, and, taking her in his arms, kissed her., “ And now do you doubt that I love you, sweetheart?” he cried. ’* You’ve no need to bo jealous of me. I tell vou there’s nobody else but you.” if it had been Dolly’s intention to accompany him only part of the way to Thraxton. she forgot all about it m the delight and happiness of this conversation. When they reached the stile that gave admittance to the woods hv which Tie could take a short cut to tile Hall, she readily consented to accompany him a little further. Yvitli his arm about her waist they sauntered beneath the trees. Save for the occasional uneasy movements of the birds in the trees and the cries of the owls, a profound stillness reigned all about thorn. They spoke to one another in whispers. Arthur Morton had Jong ago thrown all caution to the winds. Ho knew that he loved this village beauty as he had never loved any other crirl "The very disappointment with regard to Haze! only served to increase his recklessness. For once in Ins life lie forgot, those selfish, cautious principlos which ho had Always taken ioi his guide, in his delight in Dollj s company. . If he could manage to hang op, one dav they could be married, he told herIt' was‘all a question of money. He wasn’t like one of those ordinary men who could earn a living, and so, unless a windfall came his way, he must look to a wealthy marriage to support him. Franklv material though Ins doctrine was, seeing that it was accompanied bv repealed assurances that he loved her and that she was the only girl that he had ever loved, Dolly received it almost with satisfaction. He did love her and some chance might happen by which this question of money could be overcome. At any rate, for the moment she was happy. Suddenly through the stillness of the night a cry rang out. I hey baited instantly, the girl clinging to the man s H « il IiJJI “What in God’s name was that. Morton exclaimed. . Again the cry was repeated, m a lower key now, and then died away. To their right they could hoar the i rustle of somebody breaking through the undergrowth, ami then—silence. “ It came from the chalk pits, MorI ton whispered. “ There’s been an acI cident to one of the keepers. \ must i go and look. You stay here, D 011.%. He was completely sobered now, but as bo would have disengaged himself from Dolly’s bold she protested vigorously, • ... Ob. 1 couldn’t stay here by myscll, Mr Morton. I should bo frightened out of mv life. I’ll come with you.’ Turning off the path they had been following, they felt their way through the trees until they came to a clearing whero a groat excavation, at some long distant date, had been scooped out of tho chalky soil. The door of tins cutting was now covered with trees and shrubs, but a. little track ran through it to the further end. 'they bad hardly gone more ban a few yards up the. traok when Arthur Morton stopped with an exclamation of alarm. A figure was lying there across the track—tho figure of a, man with grey Pair. Flinging himself on his knees, Morton managed to turn that motionless figure over. Through tho gap in tho trees tho watery moon looked down on tho bruised and battered features o( —his father! CHART lilt IX. X.ife for Arthur Moiion had-hitheriu been rather like h saunter through a walled-in, carefully-preserved garden, from which the sight of everything unpleasant that might lie beyond had been carefully excluded. He belonged to that smart set section of society who simply refused to seo anything which is unpleasant ami distressing. In their world even vice is so gilded and decorated as to bear the outer semblance of virtue. Death be knew only, as it were, at second-hand, and rendered decent and decorous bv tho gloomy pomp of the undertaker’s art. Ho bad always refused to consider the debt that all mortality must pay ns a reality, for such an admission must have cast a shadow over bis frivolous existence. But now bo was brought suddenly face to face in tjie Thraxton woods with stark tragedy. It was bis father who lay there amidst the tangle of undergrowth in the old chalk pits, staring up with lifeless eyes at tho watery moon. As ho looked down at him something stirred within him besides horror. It was as jt the soul that he had hampered and tea god with selfish desires were at last; free.

Once before that evening be had allowed his actions to be guided by principles other than those of self-interest. He had given range to bis real feelings, and told Dolly Frith that ho loved her. He had found himself even considering that old, old problem as to whether the world—in bis case the comforts and luxuries to which be was accustomed—would not be well lost for love. Now,' by the side of tho lifeless figure of his father, he forgot altogether to think of himself. “It’s murder!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “We were just too late, Dolly—just too late to save tho poor old chap. But the brute who did it can’t be far off I”

With one shuddering glance at the dead man lie stooped down and began to examine the ground. A tell-tale track though the undergrowth showed him the course Sir Stephen’s assailant had taken. “Dollv.” he said, turning lo tint girl, “ will you go up to the house and muse the servants? Tell them to telephone for the police. I’m going to find this brute.”

There was a new and unfamiliar quality of determination in his voice. It seemed to make of him a very different man to the gilded youth who but a few moments before bad been talking of the necessity of supporting himself by making a wealthy marriage. The girl turned, instantly obedient to his will, and secretly _ glad that she could perform even this slight service for the man she loved; and as she fled out of the chalk pit and gained again the track through the woods which led to The Hall, Arthur Morion plunged through .the undergrowth. In a- few seconds he had gained the inner wall of the pit, and here pieces of broken chalk showed him where the murderer had scrambled up to the level of the woods. But once ho was among the trees beyond the traces of the fugitive became confused. Through the thick foliage of the wood the light of the moon only faintly penetrated, but stubbornly he pursued his way, possessed by that unfamiliar feeling of definite purpose—now and again dropping on his knees to investigate what he thought might be a footmark, now running with his head down in an endeavour to trace the course of the fugitive. Twenty minutes brought him at last to the confines of the wood, and there he paused. Before him stretched the Vale of Coleton, a landscape of shadows in which the distant houses of the village were faintly visible. Ho climbed tbo fence and looked about him. Save for the occasional twitter of bird life in tiie woods behind him and the scurrying of a rabbit into its neighbouring hole, not a sound disturbed tlie profound stillness. He took bis handkerchief from his pocket and wiped bis perspiring face. He noticed vaguely there was blood upon bis handkerchief where a bramble bad caught his check, but ho paid no attention to it. All his thoughts were centred upon his father. It was curjous how differently he regarded him now. Half an hour ago Sir Stephen had figured to him as an Irascible, unreasonable old man, <rbo was perpetually making trouble about the payment of bis son’s innumerable debts. And that was all. But now into his mind there came hundreds of memories, gentler and more human —memories of the clays of his boyhood, when he had thought his father the most wonderful of men, when he had been proud to ride by bis side on the pony lie bad given hipi, when bis father had seemed to him open-hearted, a hero, jolly, iorgiving, and merciful. Like a scroll of lighted, pictures there passed before bis eyes tlie many causes that bad led lo their estrangement—bis own idleness, extravagance, and recklessly dissolute way of life. And his father line! been so good, and so patient, and so long-suffering. He had been a brute to him. And now lie was dead—and he would never know the genuine contrition that filled his son’s heart. What an utterly useless, purposeless creature ho had been. He had always failed his father —even to-night. Had ho come on the spot a few minutes earlier he might have saved him. As it was, he could not even run his murderer to earth. It had dawned upon him now that bis attempt to find the man guilty of this deed was fruitless. He must have followed the wrong track through the wood. The only thing was to return to The Hall and trust to the police. ■ When ho reached his home, half an hour later, it was to find the house in confusion. The body had already been brought back, and laid in state in the old baronet’s bedroom. The servants were huddled together in tbo ball, with the police sergeant from Coleton standing among them laboriously taking down statements in his notebook. At the sight of Morton he saluted. “ This is a very dreadful business, Sir Arthur.” be said in a gruff voice. Morton started, and bis lips began to quiver. Somehow to be addressed as 11 Sir Arthur ” seemed to emphasise the swiftness and .suddenness of his father’s death. " We’ve every likelihood of catching him, sir,” the sergeant said. “ I’ve got patrols out on bicycles on all the roads, and I’ve called in the constables from the outlying districts, and every cross-road will be watched. It's a pity there isn’t more light, but we've wasted no time ” “ If you find the murderer, will your men report hero? ” Morton inquired. “ I told them to come here first, sir, if they catch him anywhere this side of Coleton. Otherwise tboy’ll fake him direct to Coleton, and ring through on the telephone.” Taking tlie sergeant into the library, where the paner Sir Stephen bad been reading still lay crumpled by the side of his chair, Morton made a statement of all that be knew about the tragedy. It was only at the conclusion of "this statement that the sergeant put a question. “ There was, 1 believe, a young lady with you at the time, wasn’t there, sir? be said, coughing behind bis hand. “ Yes, Miss Frith.” Only little more than an hour ago lie would have died sooner than have confessed tins fact to a stranger. But now, now it didn’t seem to matter. “Yes, I sent her back to tlie bouse to tell the servants while I tried to find the murderer.”

“ And very helpful she lias been, too, sir, ,J the sergeant said waring. “ 1 don’t know what we’d have done without her. She kept her head when all the others were going into hysterics. It was she who got us on the telephone and gave us the tip which way the man liad gone so that we could put out our bicycle patrols, and she helped to lay out the poor gentleman, too. Morton moved restlessly to the door. “ I think I’ll just see if any of your men are coming up the drive. He walked to the front door and stood in the porch looking down the drive, and as he stood there a little i hand was placed on his arm. He . turned with a start to see Dolly by his side. , . t i o » “ Is there anything more I can dor She offered no conventional expressions . of solace, she uttered no word of forma! regret; but that mere offer of service stirred him deeply. '* itn a little catch in his breath he took the hand that lay upon, his arm and pressed it to his lips. . .. r , „ “My dear,’’ he whispered, “T shall never forget what you’ve done for me to-night—how you’ve tried to stand by me and help. There’s nothing more you can do, sweetheart. You must go back home in one of the cars.” Coleton awoke the following morning in blissful ignorance of the tragedy that had occurred at its very door, though by that time the news had been telegraphed to every quarter of the kingdom. As Hazel, shortly after 6, made her way down, the High street for her morning walk there was nothing in the placid drowsiness of the place to suggest that an appalling crime had been committed only two miles away. Viisps of smoke floated up into the clear air from a few cottage chimneys, and one ore two agricultural labourers on bicycles and on Foot were setting out for their daily toil. Since her last meeting with Raymond Travers Hazel had avoided the beech woods on the hill, but now, almost unconsciously, her footsteps went up the familiar track. It was only when she reached the summit, and saw 7 the fallen tree upon which they had so often sat side by side, that she awoke to a realisation of her whereabouts. But he would hot pass that way, she told herself. He would be as anxious to avoid all possibility of meeting her as she was of meeting him. Hardly, however, had she taken her accustomed place when alio heard the thud of the horse’s hoots galloping along the grass track. Instantly she rose with but one idea in her min'd—to run away and hide herself. She did not want to endure the torture of even seeing him again if it could be prevented; but as she hesitated, looking -about for some place of concealment, he came galloping into view. To fly now, Hazel told herself, would be undignified, and so she stood where she was with her back to him, staring down into the valley in an attitude that suggested that she was quite unconscious, of his presence. He would see her, she told herself, and would ride on. But, to her amazement, she heard him slip from the saddle and come towards the very spot where she was standing. “Good morning. Miss Keane.” She turned on him furiously.^ “How dare yon speak to me?” He was beside her. his hat off, and a troubled look in his eyes. “ I wanted to apologise to you, Miss Keane, for what I said to you when i we last met.”

“Apologise I 1 don’t want your apologies, Mr Travers. My only request is that you leave me alone.” She turned from him with a little toss of her head, as if his existence were a matter of complete indifference to her, though in truth her heart was beating to suffocation. “ I hope, at any rate, you will listen to what I’ve got to say,” he went on gravely. “I saw Morton last night, and he told me that you had broken off your engagement.” ' A hard expression came into Hazel s eyes. “ Am I to understand that you are congratulating me, Mr Travers? ” “ If 1 may say so, yes.” “ Exactly on what? ” “ On taking the right and honourable course.” She turned swiftly and faced him. “ Thank you. And, of course, you take a great part of the credit of what I did to yourself, I suppose. You imagine that it was the lecture you thought ■ fit to give me the other day that produced this miracle? ” _ He coloured uncomfortably. It was true what she said. The fact that she had broken off her engagement so soon after their last meeting had suggested to him that she had been influenced by what he had said to her. “ That may have occurred to me, ' he stammered. She regarded him angrily, her eyes blazing now. “Oh! Oh, I don’t know what to say to yon, Mr Travers. I don’t know how to describe you even to myself, unless I call you a prig—yes, a png, who really imagines lie’s been sent into the world as the repository of all wisdom to direct the manners and morals of his less fortunate fellows.” He stared at her aghast. “I don’t want yon to think of me in that way.” , , “ How else can 1 think ot you? she continued passionately. “ Yon have the impertinence, the insolence, to deliver me a lecture on what you consider my reprehensible behaviour, and then you dare to come here and tell me to my face that by acting on your advice I have at last got hack to the path of grace. If it wasn’t for your unbearable insolence I could laugh at you.”

Travers felt like a man stunned by a blow. He had come there that morning in the firm conviction that Hiitiel had broken off her engagement only because he himself had pointed out to her that to marry Morton, while concealing from hint her real financial status, would be dishonourable. Ho was prepared to show himself warmly delighted that she had seen his point and taken the advice which only hts regard for her had led him to offer. And note hoiv she was reviling him. “I think you’re rather hard on mo, Miss. Keane.' If I said anything the other day which offended you. I am sorry, but I thought it my duty to point out to yon that it wasn’t playing the game to engage yourself to

Morton without, at any rate, telling him of the change that had taken place in your circumstances. If presumed too much, I am sorry. “ Oh, it does dawn upon you at last that it may have been presumption, does it, Mr Travers? In future, before you deliver any more of your adihnablc lectures, it would be as well to be quite sure of your facts.” “But the facts, I take it, Miss Keane, are indisputable? You were engaged to Morton, who believed you: to be still the wealthy young lady he had known. You had engaged J’our-' self to him in a rash, moment, I suppose, when you were unutterably, weary of the new life you were, leading, and you omitted to tell mm oc the change that had taken place m your circumstances.” “ How did you know that I was engaged, may X ask? ” , “Morton told me so himself. “It amounts to this, then, Travers. Your friend’s statement, like his conduct, are to be regarded as impeccable, while my conduct is naturally. SU^I C didn’t sav that,” he stammered. “ But you implied it. You assume ah once that I am capable of doing such a thing; it never entered your head for a moment that the story might not be true. Morton had told you it was true, and of course I was the sort of girl who might very well do such things, and so that- completely satisfied you.” , , He stared at her utterly bewildered.; “Are you telling me, Miss Keane, that what Morton said was not trua? - “Of course it wasn’t true. He had asked me to marry him again and again, and I had refused. He asked Hie that dreadful day on the train when we had lunch, arid I was so miserable. But I had written him refusing him finally, and he must have had that letter at the time he told you this lie.” She turned away with a little gasping sob and made as if to walk down the hill, but before she had gone more than a few yards be had caught her

up. “Miss Keane, what can I say-to you? How can I apologise? I recognise that I have behaved abominably,”' Hazel was very near to tears, but she bad sufficient control left to be able to turn to him and speak in a steady voice. ' . “ I don’t want your apologies. J ask nothing of you except that you never speak to me again.” (To be Continued.)