Novelist. [NOW FIRST PUBLISHED] A JUSTIFIED SINNER.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 10070, 10 August 1895, Page 2 (Supplement)

Nov cl i s t. [NOW FIRST PUBLISHED] A JUSTIFIED SINNER.

BY J. HTZ3ESALD MOLLOY, Author of "Sweet is Revenge," "How Cams He Dead?" "Tlie Die of De»tioy,""A Modern Magician," "An Excellent Knave," &o.

[ALL BIGHTS BESERVED.]

CHAPTER XUL—EXPLANATIONS.

Aline olatched Bszil's arm desperately. 11 Tell me this is a lie. a base lie," she said, in a voice ohobed with terror and pMsion. He slowly raised bis bead and looked into her exoited face with eyes whioh told his terrible misery, and appealed to her, m do speech could, for pity. "Tell mo it's a lie," she repeated, heedless of his glance. "Would to God I could, he cried out from the depths of his heart. "Itfs trueP" she demanded, fiercely. " It's true," he admitted slowly, in a tone of despair. v "Ah," Aline said, In a low, quivering Toico, as one might who felt a blade pierce the heart. She guided herself to the aofa, and sat down crashed, defeated, jet defiant, her great b'tta eyes staring before her, her ohest heaving convulsively, her fine distorted by contending passions. On hearing her exclamation, ana feeling nil it expressed, Bazil started up and shook off the lethargy whioh bad fallen upon him. " What onrsed trick Is this you hare played npon tne P " be fiercely demanded of the dancer, who stood looking from one to the other with an air of interest wholly devoid of consternation. "Ton did not think to ace me again," ■he remarked, placidly.

Her bad grammar made him wince, and recalled more vividly than anything •ha could hare said, the days of their married life*

" Yon don't know, woman ; you can't realise what yon have done; through joni fault I hava brought irreparable wrong npon anotbpr," he oried ont passionately, sb he turned away. ••Don't be angry, Bszil," she said, soothingly, lightly. He turned swiftly towards her once more, chilled by her beartleseness, and Bbooked by bet want of perception of this bitter plight 'nto wh ; cb the had plunged Aline snd himself.

" Angry," he repeated, the reproaches he would have spoken expeeeeirg themselves in bis voice.

"To be frank, I was dead (ired of you and the humdrum life we led, so I went away secretly— l escaped," she remarked, nodding ber head. "But the*theatre-the Ere?" be said) recalling the past, and anxious to get some olne to the terrible mistake be had made.

"I went to the thea're all right, but I only stayed for tho first set. The fact is I hadn't quite made np my mind till then to leave you ; bnt my deoisioD came at the right moment, for soon aftf r I bad gone (hat fearful explosion took place. I would have been burnt with poor Mre. Verney aud the others ,lf I had remained. Perhapa you'll think now its a pity I wasn't," and she langhed again.'-** He remerijpfeed the anxiety, fear, horror, he bad suffered on account of this flippant, deceitful woman, and asked her — " Why, in God's name, did you not tell me your life was spared, and relieve me of the terror and sorrow I was fool enough to feel, and keep me from committing this terrible wrong P "

" Well," she replied, after a second's consideration, "I thought siJonoa was best and would spare a lot of bother to Us both, for yon see I bad made up my mind to return to tbe stage, and never to go baok to youi Then I thought It qnite luoky that yon had mistaken some one else for me ; that someone I supposed wag my maid, because she was about the same size and figure as me, and I often suspected she stole my underolotbing. I knew ahe was at tbo theatre that night, because she bad asked n»y leave to go, and I read the poor girl's name among the missing."

Whilst he listened Bazil became conscious of other changes ' in her appearance besides the colour of her hair and the paint on her cheeks. Her manner was broader and freer than before, her smile bolder, and her eye? had a hardened look. She was not at all the woman be had once passionately loved. A sense of revulsion came upon him.

"It was a wicked scheme, a erne' deceit," he said, bitterly.

"Do you know-, at th- time I never thought we should meet again. I left Australia at once and changed my name, I bad do idea you would come <o Europe, and to find you here was the last thing I dreamt of ; but the world is small," she answered, glibly.

"It is terrible — terrible," he muttered, hardly heeding what she said. " As for your grief and all that, I didn't know you cared so much about tne ; Indeed I thought my death wonld be as great a relief to you as cny escape was to me. I'm anre yon must have seen that we would never have suited each other; and, after all, it doesn't teem as if your sorrow was so great, for I suppose yon have married her," and Fatnma Zyne nodded towards where Aline sat listening in dumb fury to the conversation.

" Yes ; don't you see that is the horror your silence has brought about, snd now — my G-od — what is to bp done P. " he cried out in agony.

"Well, do you know I'm almost sorry I recalled myself to your memory. B'zil ; bnt when 1 saw you to-night I thought I would just look in on you, and there's no use denying the spirit of misahief urged me on. I now see it's rather a pity I came."

"PltyP" ho cried out, in his despair. "But don't think I'm going to interfere. I'm not that bind, so yon may set your mind at rest so far as I am conoerned."

"You don't understand, woman."

" I understand this. Here are you and I far away from anyone who ever knew us. They believe me dead, and yon oan go on just as if I was. No one will ever know from me that I am your wife. I'm not the one to spoil sport. Not I."

" Stop," he cried out fiercely.

"You see, Bazll, I'm not a bit jealous," Fsmma Zyne continued, with a little laugh, and then with a glance dlreoted towards Aline, who still Rat with mute lips and burning oheekfl, a look whose maliciousness could only be detected by a woman, the dancer continued, " Bo far as I am conoerned she is heartily welcome to the place I flung up "

' ' Silence," Bazil shouted. " Through you I have brought dishonour on her whom I would give my life to save from injury ; have you no feeling, no

understanding } do you not see bow you inßnlt her. My God, what haye I done?" " Well, if I had only known yon would have taken it la this way I would never have come here to-night," Baid Famma Zjne, making an effort to regard the situation with seriousness. "Butthon you remember I was never good at thinking out things beforehand ; you used to toll me I had no taot. I gee I have made a mistake." " A mistake that can never bo remedied," he said, bitterly. "What fiend prompted you to such a trlok P " " Well, I have made a megs of it," she remarked, beginning to pity him. ""What's to be done, what's to be done P " he murmured to himself, atriv-

ing in vain to see beyond tho oonfnaion and blackness of his thoughts.

He looked towards AUne, bnt her ejos, fall of an angry light, were Btaring in front of her, and took no heed of him. He faced hia wife, and regarded her appearance of interested oomposnre. No help was to be obtained from either. In bis despair he turned from them and looked out of the window at the dark fronts of the opposite houses. If only he had died before this tragedy hsd happened. "So far as I am concerned, said Fsmma Zyne, " I mean to Btiok to my profession. I wouldn't give up dancing for any man that lives ; not I When I called I didn't mean to stay more than a eonple of minuteß. Indeed," she added, with a bnrat of candour, "I wouWt have coma at all if I hadn't known yon had a oompanion. I wanted to see what she was like: woman's curiosity, you know— and I thought it would be (great fnn to give you both a little surprise ; but there the surprise has turned out more than I bargained for, and I can only say I'm sorry.',' "And for Bake of gratifying your ouriosity you have brought all this misery npon us," Bazil paid, turning round. " I didn't ace It." "Ton have no heart." " Well, perhaps I am not so bad aa other women. I didn't ask you to buy my silence, as somo would. I read in the papers the windfall you had from yourorotohety old unole, whom I hated ; even that didn't make me Borry to have left you. Bnt then I waa a big success from the first. I have have had more more money than I could spend, try how I would ; and I am going to America in three months, where I shall make a fortune. Then I have variety, excitement, liberty, all the things I used to long for when I wbb shut up in your bouse. How long ago it B<?ems since then. Bnt then, it happened in another world. Well, good-bye, we need never meet again ; our ways lie in different directions, and they only crossed for a moment. Pity. But for the sake of old times, I'll not split on you." Bazil conld only stare at her ; no words of his could make her understand the wrong" she had wrought, the horror and misery he felt. She heaitated a second, and then went forward until she atood opposite Aline, at whom she looked criticvHy, inßolently, triumphantly. From the 6rst glance the dancer had obtained of her seated beßide B'Jzil tn the box, F*rama Zyne immediately conc'uded that he had manied again; and with the rapid perception of one woman guaeing anotber she recognised that her successor was a gentlewoman. Thbt, the danctf acknowledged, waa what BjzTs training and patienoa had never bee" Bble to make her. And because of this as well as of the fact that she had a successor, an unreasonable envy and malice bad seized possession of her which urged her to | give Alines pride a fall. Moreover, her bitterness and dislike had been intensified by AHne'a reception of her, "and by the fact that after learning the tru'h of her position Aline took no part in the scene that ensued, as If haughtily refraining from conversation with aud notice of a person who was her inferior and her enemy. Here waa the scorn that wounded. Galled by this more than she would have been by a spoken expression of hatred, condemnation, or jealousy, to which ahe oould have replied, Famraa Zyne resolved to give Aline a parting sting. Therefore, in a confidential and oomnniHeratine tone ahe said, bending slightly forward as Bhe spoke, "I'm really very sorry for you, for yonrs is snoh an awkward position. But don't bother yourself about It, my dear. You will nod Bazil a good-natured fellow, generous too, and now he's so rich — -p" Alinefstopd up, her face scarlet, her eyes flashing, so that somewhat frightened, Famma Zyne hurriedly drew back.

At the same time Bazil, qnlokly advancing, laid his hand npon her arm. " Hilda I " bo Baid, sternly. "I'll say no more," remarked the dancer,. "Do you know, I'm so glad to hear you call me by my name before I went : ic's so long since Ive heard it. Well, forgive this unexpected call, and now good-night, and good-bye." She looked at them attentively, as if enjoying the misery of the situation, smiled, nodded, and noiselessly left the room. They stood silent, watohfnl of eaoh other, scarcely breathing until they heard the clatter of horsea hoofa and the roll of carriage wheels leave the hotel door, pass down the stony street, and die away in the distance. Then in a voice, hoarse from long suppressed passion, Aline oried ont, " What la to become ol me?"

CHAPTER XIV.— WORDS THA.T

WOUND.

Whilst Famtna Zyne had beon glibly talking, Aline silent, brooding, and wrathful had forced her mind to realise her position, and to face the future. The plight In whioh she found herself morally did not appeal to, or affect her so much as the consequences of the mistake viewed from a worldly standpoint.

She had, as she believed, married Bazil, married him for hia wealth, whioh alone made him endurable to her, and now came the discovery that she w»s not hia wife, that she had no claim to the riches she had counted on and delighted in, bat was a deceived and defrauded woman, who at beßt would be dependent on hia bounty. The oonsideratton made her desperate,. Bather than this had happened she would gladly have seen herself his widow.

She had done no wrong, and yat she foresaw the scorn and ridicule with which her position would be regarded by the world. She would become an object of unbearable pity to women, of ribald mirth to men ; she who had been bo proud, pitiless, end defiant.'

How oouAd she face her father »nd bear his tedious homilies ; the neighbors ohe had sneered at or cut ; the wives whom out of malice or for pastime she had striven to make joalous. How the news of her downfall would pass from house to house, everywhere welcomed as a piece of interesting gossip, evorywhere creating a sensation. She could feel how the parishioners would watch her as she walked up tho ni«le of the church ; how as she pasßed through the village street the women would strive to restrain their tongues, the men to hide their leers until Bbc was safely out of sight and heariog.

It wan insupportable.

And then how coold she t»ko up her old life Rgain with its small ccono.nieß, its narrowness, its weary monotony after moving amidst the stir, Bpaoe, splemlour Mid frcadom of the world, and realising the advantages of wealth. She could never more enjoy the luxuries to which sho had becomo bo quickly accustomed,

and regarded ft* her due ; never mo T e travel wherevwr fancy led her ; never more indulge her whims reennileas o( cost. How could she endure humiliation

and dullness, how renounce all that made liFe worth living to her? In the bitterness and abasement of her feelings it appeared as if from the beginning her Ufa had baen one of unhappiness. Sho had been given a father to whom she was antagonistic, placed amidst surroundings she detested, hampered in her desires, unable to Rain the affections of him she reaHj loved, duped by the man she bad married. And then sho had for fl brief hour beau lifted up into a glorious and

Bpaclons atmosphere, and gvven one wide outlook on tho world with Its maguificent posaibilitios and limitless enjoyments, only to ho imprisoned once mote within the stifling nurrownes-i of her own life. ' What w*a to bo done 1 " It was not only the present which wns unbearable, her future was likewiao black. What mau would now ask her to become bis wife even if convioced Bhe bad married Basil whilst believing him a widower P She, a woman of strong emotions, would be left to wither and age, to grow groy find bitter in her loneliness, to starve her nature whilst others tAsted to the full the joy and sunshine of life which might never be hera. Then nlw thonght of Ansalem Venkarvau nnd hia nnplial <><le. How would be recpiv i Uv» nowa of her misfortune ? Wuuld ho pity her. would her wrougs awaka his nffoction for her P Scarcely, and yet if their positions were only revorso' 1 The angrily recalled her mind from the fiel'i of speculation into whioh it had vueuely waudored, and brought it back to tho consideration of the orisia before her, questioning herself again as to what could be done, yet unable to arrive at a definite conclusion. No pang of the pain t-he felt was oaused by a thought of. her parting from Bszil, which she supposed wai hot inevitable. She had never Wed him, never f<?lt any sympathy with him, and had merely tolerated him for what hia woalth gave her. Now she hated him as the oauße of her humiliation, and trouble, at,d because consciously or unconsciously be had duped her of the gain for whioh ehe hod sold herself. For the reproach which racked, for the misery whioh overwhelmed him, ghe had no thought or care. She could not conßider anyone outside her. self ; that she was wronged was an all-important fact which admitted nc consideration for him. Did her mind dwell on him »he would have felt gratified by his Bufferings, for her hatred ol him was greater even than that she fell towards the woman who was the rea' cause of this miafortane. Therefore turning to him she cried out in a harsh, stern voice, " What jb tc become of me ? " " Aline, Aline, oan yon forgive me ? ' he said, approaches her. ■' Never," she answered quietly, draw ing back a step from him. " Ah, don't say that," he pleaded, it a husky voice. "Don't say tha f , foi God pardon me, I love yon still " " And I," she responded, her vnlc< full of a calculated vehemence, " I lwtc you." He looked at her reproachfully, liii face becoming if possible whiter thar before. " I deserve it ; I know I deserve j it, but God knows the fault was no mine." " It was your fault," she said, glory Ing in tho fact that she made him suffe: as she never brw mortal Buffer before. "Aline?" "Why did you p>»s3 yourself off foi what you were not " " Only think, dear, before yon Bpeal such words," he implored, looking a her face, whioh was quivering wit* passion, " they wound — they wounc terribly." "Why did you daro to ask mo t( become your wife ? " " You know I believed ahe, Hilda wai dead." " I don't know any such thing," ah< cried out, hurling her words at him witl wilful intent to ornsb. "My God," he shouted, as if hii torture wbb more than he could bear then making a supreme offort. he calmer himself, and paid, " It was Dot I nlont who believed we had evidence of hoi death ; the corontr'a jury——" " I know. It may have been a trio! got up between you and tho woman whe had grown as weary of you as I have,' she exclaimed, not that she believed the suggestion Bhe made, bnt that sht desired to wound him as deeply r< po>sible ; for if words oould have killed, then Bazil Brockworth had reached hi: last hour. "You cJnnot believe this, Aline," he replied, sorrowfully, with the oalmnesj of despair. "I can believe anything of yon; think of what you have made me, think of my position, she cried out bitterly. " I have thought of nothing else since——" "To yon, to a man thio means nothing ; but to a woman, to me, the idea makes me desperate." "Believe me," he Bsid, full of contrition which admitted no resentment for her unjust words, " believe me, I will make every reparation In my power." "Now that you have ruined mo," she rejoined, with all tho force of the aversion she felt towards him surging throi3P.li bar words. " Not that, Aline, not that, for you ore blameless, you ore free from reproach," he said, anxious to calm her, and In Mb greftt generosity, to remove any self-condemnation whfoh ho foolishly fancied she might feel. " The world will only remember that I am not your wife, nor yet your widow." "But your conscience will acquit you of all wrong," be responded. "Nor yet your widow," she repeated, with emphasis, us if the words had suggested an idea which she desired to convey to him. " God Unows I would die to save you from dishonour," he exclaimed, watahing the loathing and scorn expressed on her face, now distorted by passion. " You would die ? " ohe said eagerly, forcibly, catohing nfc the phrase, and looking with a Bxcd glance, whose meaning she hoped lie would fathom, into his eyes which gazad at her sorrowfully.

" Aye, if my death oould have saved yon from this." She know from thp tone of his voioe, and tho expression of his face, ho had not read her thoughts. She drew a long breath, and said mockingly, "It's easy to speak ; it's always easy to apeak, but you will content yourself ■with words that mem nothing, whilst —whilst " "Aline," he oallod out distractedly. "Go," she said, almost shouting in (he midden noce*a of her fury. "Go. or you will drive mo mud," and flinging wide the folding doors of her bedroom, Bho banged them behind her. Bazil stood in thu contro of the room motionless and worlleos for somo timo, a aonse of overwhelming misery, bitter dißappointmunt, and heart loneliness weighing him to tho earth ; for tho knowledge which surmounted .all ethers at that terriblo and tragic moment wan that the wotnau whom he loved with all his soul had no lovo fo'r'him. Not one word she had uttered, not one look she had given throughout the storm of her passion, hud indicated that she thought of his feolinna, cured for, or pitied him. Had she loved him, as he hnd blindly hoped, in spito of the thousand signs which would have shown him the contrary had ho but oared to

see, she would not blame him so bitterly, sho could not have turned from him so

wrathfully. Even the rnt;o that shooli her could not have so suddenly distorted her nature, had a little flame of affection for him burned in her heart. And that fhme having no existence, the world suddenly became for him a desolate and

a darkened place. Even then he sought to excuse her by assuring himself he had wrought her a great wrong, tbo greatest wrong woman can know or man can Inflict ; and that it was dono unwittingly in no way diminished Ita grievousneßß in his Bight. He feared ahe wonld never forgive him, she who wan all tha world to him ; whom ho would have died to save From humiliation. The happiness he had known was ebbing ont of his life for ever, as might bio "i from the heart | of one wounded to death. The Bir whb heavy with heat, the room where the ga« flared wifch a joyous brightness was n<ibesr<ibls. With a dance round ita walls whioh had become familiar in a little while, and must over ramoin memorable beoause of the joy and pain ha had known within thtnr compaas, the stricken man p^sed out into the night, whoso freshness was relief, whoce darkness was meroiful, whose silenco fell S'v.thinalv up mi him

Without having any direct purpose in bis mind he hnrrioi forwarJ, avoiding the chief streets whore lights ?bone in wine taverns), tobacco slvpa, and oafe«, and tonft his way thrrn^h narrow winding thoroushfsres, thsir basements wrnppad In shadows, yellow lights Vn.rnl'i.; in the windows Uii>h above, of donpely-crowdpd tenements the stars shining over r.ll. One of these iiineß which he traversed armfed on the cithedrM, stunning in silent erandpur «nd grim masaivonesa, hnt he ilid n"» r»i«c h\a i)e-,d to look towards tha pcnlpt.nrod front, so eager wbb he to i-.n'inno hi 3 route ; and thoush BOJrclv c."i-cioua of bis purpoße,"he w«s hast, nin^ towards the sea. For when a mnn sufEers tho «-n obllb to his soul, and his boul responds to this element which is it" symbol, with Hb stormy upheavals nnd its seasons of calm, its depilia which ars untathomable, Itß forces which ara not understandable, and it* melancholy which is abiding, And comiupt within its Bound, It Boomed to sp?ak to the lonely man with a sympathy which no human tone could address to him, its vrice freighted with far-rHachiug meaning, for which no wards were fitted, not needed, nor desired. Waging far' out on the old pier no sat down in solitude and silence, his face turned as towards a friend's upon the bonndlesa, trackless waters, black save where the reflected rays of the harbour lighthouses fell with cold gleams. And in suoh time and place, heedleta of tho breeze that swept round and chilled htm, and unoonsoious of the slow passing hours, he dwelt on the crisis of Ills life and framed hia future plans. (To he continued.)