. . THE . . WELFLEET MYSTERY.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLII, Issue 7383, 8 February 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

. . THE . . WELFLEET MYSTERY.

By MRS GEORGIE SHELDON. Author of "Geoffrey's Victory," "Dorothy Arnold's Escape," "Brownie's Triumph," "That Dowdy," "The

Forsaken Bride," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXXI. "LET HIM DO HIS WORST."

John Knight left Mr Gregory's house with despair in his heart. We have said that Theo was beautiful as a child and she seemed to grow more lovely with every passing year. She was quick at her music, she had a sweet and flexible voice, and it was a pleasure to John Knight to train her in the science; and so, innocent

as a dove of the mischief she was

doing, she won and sang" his heart away from its allegiance to Sylvia Haughton. When he found that Theo's heart was not to be won — that his arts and blandishments had no power over her, he tried to force her by a magnetic influence which he possessed, to yield to the decrees of his will. That he terrified her we all know; but she grew to absolutely hi*te him, until his very presence became painful to her. Still, after that last confession to her in the garden at Welfleet when she had expressed such abhorrence of him, he fondly imagined, since Herbert Knight was out of the way, and Guy Walton's reputa-

tion ruined by the suspicion of a foul

crime, that he would eventually suet ceed in bringing her into subjection Jto his will. But when to-night she had turned upon him so boldly, standing so proudly and peerlessly beautiful beside his rival, and told him to his face that she defied him, while at the same time she so bravely avowed her love for Guy, he felt that his case was utterly hopeless. He wandered about the streets in

an aimless way for a long time, mut-

tering to himself, beating his head and breast with passionate vehemence, as if the torturing emotions within him were more than he could bear.

During his wanderings he came to

London Bridge. He stopped and looked over the railing into the dark waters beneath him. "Why not end it all at once?" he

muttered; "why not get out of this

misery? My life is but a wreck at the best, with that habit growing on ' me and all my hopes ruined — of what use to prolong it, when a plunge and a few moments' suffocation would

end it all?"

"Would it end it all?" queried something within him, with such startling power that it almost seemed as if a voice had spoken to him. "What would you meet beyond — after the 'plunge' and the 'suffocation?' How account for the deeds done in the body?"

A cold sweat started from every pore — a shudder swept over him from head to foot. He turned abruptly from the spot, and, as if pursued by some frightful spectre, rushed from the place, and never alnted his pace until he reached his room, where, still shuddering as if some icy blast was congealing his blood, he crept into bed, and tried to court forgetfulness and ease the torments of his soul in artificial slumber.

Guy, on the other hand, went back to his humble lodgings in a glorified state.

The whole world was cnanged for him. He seamed to walk on air; his heart bounded anu throbbed within i\ini with ecstatic delight. "When Josephine went upstairs, after taking leave of her brother, she found Theo there before her.

She had removed her rich dress and

donned a white wrapper, while her unbound hair was sweeping in glittering masses over her shoulders.

Her face was full of sweet tenderness, and a thrill almost of wonder pervaded Josephine as she remarked her exceeding loveliness. The fair girl crept into her friend's arms, and, twining her own about her waist, hid her face in her neck. "My sister," she murmured, "did I take your breath away to-night." "Yes, literally," Josephine, answeredj, while she fondly smoothed the pretty, head on her shoulder. '^heo laughed softly. "Did you, too, think I was a baby — a poor, weak, little girl, with no spirit or character? And did I shock you dreadfully by my unexpected and unexampled denouement?" "Theo," Josephine said, gravely, ■while she rt^od back from her and looked straight into her eyes, "if you

really me^n it, I could almost fall down and worship you; but if you only said it on the impulse of the moment, and simply to show your defiance of that wreteli, I shall find it hard to forgive you. I could not bear that you shoulu raise such hopes in the heart of my dear, muchwronged brother, only to dash them back to earth again."

"Oh, what sceptical people! Papa Gregory began to quiz me in the same way," Theo returned, with a laugh; then she drew up . er small figure and continued, almost passionately: "Do you think I could have said anything like that if I had not meant it? Do you suppose I could have stood there before those men — two of whom I honour above all other men — and sacrificed all my delicacy, laying bare all the most sacred feelings of my heart, by confessing my love for your brother, when he had never by so much as a word or look sued for it, if I had not intended to abide by my words? It is true, I knew that Guy had said he loved me; and he told me, you know, to-night, that he could never unsay it; but you must remember he has never asked me for my love; he even pleaded with me to forget that he had ever made such a statement. Do you think it required no effort save impulse, no moral courage, ior me to set aside all barriers and almost unsex my. -If, if I had not been thoroughly in earnest?'

Josephine Walton folded the beautiful girl close to her heart and kissed her most reverently upon lips, cheek and brow.

"My darling, you are pure gold!" she said, vith starting tears. "Forgive me for doubting you for an instant; but what has transpired tonight seemed too much to believe. I know that it will put new life into Guy — that he will think nothing which he may henceforth have to meet a hardship. I know that his courage will rise to v meet, and seek to overcome, every obstacle, for your sake. But," she continued, an expression of trouble clouding her face, "I am afraid you have so angered John Knight that he will seek to be revenged upon you."

"Somehow," Theo answered, "I feel entirely free and independent tor night; it aeems as if the fear and terror which I have always felt have suddenly dropped away from me; while I know that he can never again acquire that strange power over me which he once possessed. I ferr only one thing from *iim now," she concluded, her face clouding.

"And what is that?"

"That he will carry out his threats regarding Guy. You know he told me that he would sweep any one out of his path who dared to come between us; he said, that day in the garden, when speaking of him, that he would weave aro-nd him a web of circumstantial evidence, mesh by mesh, until he would ruin him."

"That he has determined to do from the very first," Josephine returned, with pale, compressed lips. "For some reason he has hated Guy ever since he went to Welfleet. He is a man who, when he takes a dislike, never gets over it, and if he can in any way do the person for whom he feel» it an injury, he will leave no stone unturned to accomplish his end. I do not believe that what you have said to-night will make any material difference in his purpose. He has been dodging our footsteps ever since we came to London, and the blow must fall sooner or later; perhaps the events of to-night may hasten it somewhat, but such a circumstance might be a benefit rather than an injury to us, since, perhaps, he would not have so much 1 time to perfect his evil plots as he would otherwise have taken."

"Do you believe that he has any tangible evidence against Guy?" Theo asked, anxiously.

"I know that no tangible evidence — no real evidence, I mean — exists," Josephine answered, proudly. "But I also know that many a man has been convicted and executed upon circumstantial evidence alone; and we both know that a man of John Knight's disposition would hesitate at nothing to accomplish his end."

"Let him do his worst. I believe the truth will prevail," Theo said, spiritedly. "I shall do everything in my power to upset his plans. ■ I am ready to go into court and repeat word for word his vile propositions and threats to me; what he said of you and Guj r , and, worse than all else, that awful assertion which he made about sweeping even Bertie out of his path to accomplish his evil designs." "Theo, would you voluntarily do that?" Josephine asked, regarding her earnestly.

"Would I not? I would do anything, no matter how hard or disagreeable, to save Guy and baulk John Knight," Theo responded, fearlessly.

"You are a dear, brave girl," her friend replied, fondly; "but we can

only wait and see what turn events will take. I try to be patient, but, Theo, it is very hard, when one is proud and ambitious, to be so oppressed and to have one's way hedged about by impassable barriers.

There was a silence of a few moments, and then Theo suddenlj asked:

"Josephine, what do you suppose ever became of Bertie?"

"I don't know," the girl replied, giving her a startled look, and shuddering.

"I am going to talk freely to you about it," Theo resumed. ''I have •hardly dared to breathe it before, though I did speak of it to Papa Gregory; but I have had some strange thoughts regarding his disappearance."

"If I should tell you what I have thought, I am afraid that I would shock you beyond everything," Josephine answered, with pallid lips.

"I do not believe that you have imagined anything wilder than I have," said Theo.

"Theo, have you any idea — do you believe that — John Knight is answerable for the disappearance of his nephew?" questioned Josephine, in a low, excited tone. "Ah!" she added, as she marked the look which leaped into the young girl's eyes. "I see that you have had the same thought, and let me tell' you that from the very first, in spite of the apparent affection which he always manifested for his dear boy, as he always called him, I have felt that in his heart he hated him— hated him for his bright, genial ways, which won him friends wherever he went; for his wealth and brilliant prospects, and, more than all, for the love which he supposed existed between you two. His passion for you has absorbed everything else, and I believe that he was capable of deliberately planning and executing a wretched plot for the destruction of that noble young man, in the hope of winning you for his wife."

"It is very strange that these very thought should have come to both of us," whispered Theo, growing very pale; "but, if it is true what do you suppose he has done with Bertie?"

"That is the mystery, you know," Josephine replied, very gravely; "the puzzle is beyond my comprehension. We know that they both spent the evening with Uuy and Mr. Edmonds, and apparently in the most amicable manner; that John Knight left early, that young Mr. Knight and Guy went out together into the storm. It was a wild night for a wild deed; but just how, or when, or where it was committed I have not the slightest suspicion; but I believe, firmly believe, that the solution of the whole mystery lies alone with that wretch. Oh, it is horrible! — it is horrible!" Josephine concluded, with startling vehemence, while a sob broke from her.

"It is horrible," Theo assented, clinging to her, while a feeling of awe crept over her; it seemed tenfold worse now that they had given expression to their suspicions.

"I feel sometimes as if I could not live and bear* it," Josephine cried, still strangely moved.

"Do not let it unnerve you so, dear," Theo pleaded; "it cannot be possible that a. crime committed by another will be proved against Guy."

"Ah! but it is not wholly on Guy's account that it is so extremely distressing to me; can't you understand, Theo?" Miss Walton said, more disturbed than before, while her pallor was succeeded by a vivid, burning flush.

Theo- regarded her in astonishment for a moment; then light seemed to break in upon her mind.

"Josephine!" she cried, amazed. "Are you surprised? Truly, this seems to be a night of confessions and wonders," she said, sadly. "It seems the strangest thing in the world to me! I never once dreamed of it!" Theo cried, blankly, then, winding her arms about her friend, she added: "And, oh, it is too, too cruel, with all the rest."

"Theo," said Miss Walton, after a few moments of silence between them, "this is between you and me alone; my burden was getting heavier than I could bear, and, after what occurred to-night, I felt as if I must confide in you; but not a word of this must ever be breathed to a living creature while I live. I shall devote myself faithfully to my brother while he needs me; if ever happier clays should come to him, there will then, doubtless, be work for me elsewhere in the world. I am not one to spend my life in weak repining, but there are times when I feel as if my heart was rent in twain, and I could not live. Do not let it grieve yon, my darling, for I shall bear it as bravely as I can. Now," she added, drawing herself up proudly, and regaining her usual composure, "we shall never speak of this again; I have opened the sepulchre in my heart for you for one brief moment; now I seal it up again, never to be reopened until that day when the secrets of all men shall be revealed."

Theo's sweet lips quivered; her face was full of deep sorrow for this great grief which had come to her friend.

She laid her fair arms around her neck and kissed her more tenderly than she had ever done before.

"My dear, my dear," she murmured,, in a low, trembling tone, "it is the saddest thing in the world. How can you bear it? What can I say to comfort you?"

"Nothing," Josephine answered, steadily, though her face was still very pale. "I have let you read this page in my life because I know that you love me; and now, the greatest kindness that you can show me will be never to refer to it again, and I will, as I said before, try to bear it as bravely and patiently as I can."

She gently released herself from Theo's clinging arms, and calmly began her preparations for retiring; but there was a look, as of a strong spirit wounded "unto death, in her dark, handsome eyes, which haunted Theo for many a iong month, and often after that when alone and thinking of it, she would burst into sudden and passionate weeping over the ruined hopes of the friend whom she so dearly loved.