OUR SERIAL STORY

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume I, Issue 100, 10 April 1911, Page 9

OUR SERIAL STORY

HER DEAREST WISH. (Continued.) His hand touched th*? key of the ' r beliind him, and, half mechanically. he locked it and moved to the fireplace and looked at her again. . “1 am sorry that- you have competed me to jsay all this. ’ he said, with a courtesy more galling than, any vituperation, anj* reproach, would have j been. “Will you tell me what, liav- : ing found me, you intend to do? I suppose you and jour brother have made some plans.” ; Slie raised her eyes suddenly. i “Did Morgan know you were—- ; that you lived here ?” she demanded. ‘ G-aiint looked faintly suprtsed. “Yes.” he said, quietly. “Was it not he who betrayed me? It would ,bo like him. worthy of him. I did not bribe him bcuviiy enough. 1 -suppose.” “You—you bribed him? Then, lie knew ail the time, and kept it from me? Kept it from me all the while he was protending to look for you !” , “Yes. said Gaunt, indifferently; ; for w hat did it matter now? “1 bril»ed him, as you put it. I paid him to keep the secret of my identity. He discovered it.” ; She sprang to her feet. j "You are a pretty pair!” she ex- ■ claimed. with a hard laugh. “So lie ; lias been taking money to—to help :to rob me of my rights! Oh, I’ll be • even with him !” "I have no doubt .von will,” said i Gaunt, wearily. "But may I ask you Ito answer my question. What do you * intend to do?” i "What am I going to do?” she ! replied, mockingly, tauntingly. “Gan j you ask? lam going to have my ; rights! I am going to live with i yw«.” i He nicule a slight gesture of dio 'sent.

“You cannot do that,” he said, gravely. “1 could not live with vou I”

“You can't help it!” she said, jeeringly. "The law is on my side, and it. skill help me. I’l'l go to law. I will go to a solicitor directly I leave here. He shall, claim my night to have your name—my projxr name —Lady Gaunt.” “I cannot witlihold that from you." he said, with perfect calm. “No; and I mean to hold you, too.” she went on, defiantly, gloatingly. “Where a husband is, there a wife lias a right to be- You can’t cast me off, and you shall not! I’ll have my title, and—and half your money!” “Ab. yes,” be assented, almost to hiniHPilf.

“Yes; an<l I’ll go into the work!, the society my rank is entitled to, and I'll go as your wife, by your side. You shall take me and introduce me to all your relations and friends.” He smiled bitterly, coolly: and the smile seemed to madden her. “You refuse?” she said.

“I refuse, yes.” he declared. grimly. “You may have all elee you demand. The title, the money—more than half of that which belongs to me; but no more. I could jwt fa<-e the world by your side/’ She toughed stridently. “Could you not? We will see? The law will help me. I will enter an action —compel you. yes. compel von to acknowledge me and lire with me."’ “You cannot." he said, as if he were stating a simple fact. “I leave England in a few horn’s; I shall beyond the reach of even your malice.’’ She sprang from her chair, upsetting it in lier violence, and it fell agains't. the small table overturning it. It came to the ground with a crash. and the bric-a-brac was st hewn ujmhi the floor. As she rose to her feet site uttered a cry. a cry like that of a wild beast baulked of its revenge. Gaunt looked at the overturned table and curios indifferently. A knoak 'wn.e at the door. “Did you trail, sir' ’ asked the maid outside. “No," replied Gaunt ; and she went

away. “Take care!" cried Laura. hoarsely. as site puslied the hair from l>er forehead. “You don t know what I can do! Yow talk of your n a me—the disgrace and shame’ I can drag in the dust for you—and. by God! f will too! I’ll fill tin* papers with ‘Lord and Lady Gaunt’s Case’; I’ll make you a laugliing stock throughout England." “Yes.” he said, with a Terrible calmness, “you can do that: and 1 have no doubt you will. Rut you raiiiiot compel me to live with you. And the world will understand why I do not. - ’ Her face went white, and she ground her teeth. “What do I rare?" she retorted. “I sliall have had my revenge. You won't- be able to show your face in England again; and I—l shall live Jfere. shall be Lady Gaunt, your wife, your ill-used wife! - ’ He smiled, bitterly. ••Yes," he raid. “Let- that thought console you; tot it. content you. I shall say no word, otter wo denial.” Tire cahnw® of his acquiescence startled her. Sire went closer to hi tn. and looked at him keenly. “You are going away—out of England. Are yon going alone. I wonder ?" For tine first tune his calmness broke down. It was as :f -she had found the ••h-itik >n h> •■rmorr through whi -h <#!.- ■ • ai I ■ ■ • ‘.to, -■ > >■ 'I digger. She .-••w i 1" <-;.".nge i:t l.t*> expre ami i ;• «-ry. “Ah. v«rU aic 'i .e:e a woman! Sl-v lar.cini iliseoidant-iy. “!>• /i d-.-’ty u! I < «n '■ “ ;a yc.ir fave! S. . that’s .1 ! ! can under

stand now 1” She stood before him, her face flushed, her eyes glittering. “What a fool I was not to have hit upon, it- before! Theres another woman!”

He had regained his former calmness and met her furious, taunting gaze with impassive sternness. No man could be more impassive, more stone-like than G'aunt when lie chose.

“You don’t deny it!” she went on, scanning his face. “Ah, I know' that look! There is some one else 1”

She came and stood beside him, so close that the perfume he bated seemed to suffocate him. He caught his breath, but said never a word, and bis silence increased her fury.

“You to talk of shame arid disgrace!” she exclaimed. “You hypocrite! You—you liar! Shame and disgrace, indeed 1 Yes, you shall have them, and not you alone, but she, whoever she is! I’ll find it all out! I'll have the best detectives money—your money— can buy, and I’ll drag her through the divorce court!” He did riot move a muscle, but still stood regarding her with perfect calm.

"Who is sire?” she demanded. “Y’ou may as well! tell me. One of 'your great lady friends—a woman of rank, o rsome common. girl?” She paused for breath and looked round the room.

As evil chance would have it, her eye fell upon Decinua’s veil. It had come unfastened from the side of her hat as Decima had entered, and she had taken it off and Laid it on the top of a cabinet. Laura flew to it, and seizing it, held it out to him.

“Whose is this?” she demanded, horsely. “Why, sire’s here now — this moment— in your rooms!” She .-prang to the door of the inner r<x>m and tore at the handle. Then w hen she found that it was locked, she turned upon him. “She's here—in that room. Unlock that door! Unlock it! I’m your wife, and I order you—” Her voice broke and failed chokingly. Gaunt watched her—or say, rather, that his eyes were fixed on the veil. Remember how he loved Decima, how devotedly lie worshipped her innocence and purity. He pictured this fury dragging out tine girl he loved and covering her with vituperation and abuse. Remember this and bear with him, for lie needs all your charity and clemency. He sprang forward, and seizing her by the arm, flung her on to the couch.

“Silence!” he said, as he tore the veil from her fingers. “Silence! You—desecrate—!” He thrust the veil in his breast, and stood over her, panting and struggling for the mastery of his passion. “Do what you will,” ho said at last, when he had regained something like composure. "Do all you have threatened; but—lint go now, leave me! It is not safe!”

i His voice rose at the last words; | they could have been heard plainly j by any one who happened to be in j the corridor. She leant back, rubbii g I the arm he had gripped. j "Go! go!” she retorted defiantly, [tauntingly. "No, 1 will not go! Why {should I? This is your house, and '.I am yonr wife! My place is here! [ L shall not go! And you can’t comI pel me! 1 am your wife—your wife! 1 It’s that other woman who is hiding here, the other—”

She uttered a word that cannot be written, and as it struck his cars, Gaunt raised his hand as if to silence her mocking, taunting lips. Then the hand fell to his side, and he said, hoarsely: “If you will not go, I will! Stay where you are! Do not attempt to follow me! 1-1 cannot answer for myself!” Ho stnxle to the door and unlocked it, and looked at her for a moment. “Go!” she cried, with a strident laugh: “go to her, I say! This place is mine—mine,! I am your wife! As for her—shame and disgrace. You shall have enough of it —both of you—and to spare. I’ll—” Gaunt took up his hat, passed into the inner room, locking the door as he did so. He looked round wildly. The room was empty. Deci ma was not there. His brain was in a whirl; he scarcely knew where he was, what he was doing. All his thoughts were of Decima—to get hor out of the place, out of reach of the demon he had just left.

He looked round the room again. Her hat and jacket were not there. He went hurriedly into the next room —a bathroom and dressing-room. She was not there, nor was there any trace of her. The room adjoining was a kind of “den” in which, he kept his guns and fishing-tackle—a bachelor’s litter-room. She was not there. He looked round, and drew a breath, of relief. She must have gone. It was just possible that she had not heard a word of what had passed between him and—his wife. Oh, God, his wife!

He stood for a moment and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His had Ixv-n calm enough until the last moment or two; but now his heart was beating furiously, and he was all of a shake. But it was because he was thinking of Decima.

He saw- now how mad--how bad—he had been. He had tempted her, persuaded her to fly with him; he had tempted her to her ruin. In a moment, overwhelmed with his passionate love, he had lured her to destruction. And she would have come to bis lure! He saw’ non, as by a flash of lightning, how bad, how cruel, he had been. lhank God she had escaped! He had lost her for ever—should never see her again ; but—no matter, she was saved! As for him, what did it matter what became of him? (To be Continued.)