CHAPTER XXXVIII.-A DARK AND BITTER HOUE.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume L, Issue 9030, 28 February 1906, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXVIII.-A DARK AND BITTER HOUE.

Jack was conveyed back to Florent, and to the Chalet Valery, in. as easy a carriage as was procurable in the village of JLacroze ; the obliging' landlord p? the hostelry doing everything he could to assist them. Perhaps Jack scarcely felt the jolting and tiro deeply' rutted roadway; perhaps, that hour's drive was passed in happiness to him greater than he had ever felt before ; at all events, his white face wore a bright smile, and no groan escaped bis pallid, lips, as he sat supported on either, side by Mr Lytton and Isabel, She' was safe, and he v»as happy., and,' this -was enough, for Jack's brave -and

chivalrous heart. What was pain? Noth ing. Only our poor human frames are not sometimes as stout as the spirit within Poor Jack fainted as they lifted him out of the carriage at the door of the Chakr Valery, and during the night fever set in 1 , and his arm grew very troublesmoe. He was so ill that his father and Mrs Curzan were telegrapheed for; and as Isabl watched him tossing hour by hour in his restless sufferings, unconscious of her presence, babbling strange., fantastic woTds, she began to lose hope, to fear the poor fellow had given his life for hers. Mrs Lytton's kindness was very great. and Mr Lytton was charmed with Isabel's grace iand beauty; but still it was with a cry ot relieef that she fell into Mrs Curzan's kindly arms, and kissed again and again the sweet, motherly face of the woman who had befriended her. "And our boy?" whispered Mrs Curzau anxiously. "We hop© a little better," answered Isabel ; and then she turned and held out her hand to the squire wlio was in a pitiable state of nervousness and agitation. They !bad had bad weather in crossing, and the poor squire was a, shocking sailor, and his appearance was now very/ lametable. The jolting roads had sent his new wig awry^ and tha sea fog had ' taken all the curl out of It, and his "restored" whiskero hung limp and parti -colored by the side of his sallow cheeeks. It had given him a> great shock, too, when he heard Jack was wounded, and , he had cried like a child more than once on the journey, and Mrs Ourzan had done all she could to comfort him. "Oh— if we're too late, Mrs Curzan ; ' he always kept moaning; therefore., when he heard Jack was a littie better, that the fever was subsiding, and found himself in thie presence of two pretty women, he began to think once more of his looks, and eagerly acoeptied the offer of Mr Lytfcon's dressing room. But Jack did not know either his father or Mra Ourzan for many days after their arrival. And as Mrs Curzan and Isabel sat and watched him, and listened to his Tavings, they Both — if they had not known it before — learned th& secret the poor fellow thought he Had kept so well. It was "Isabel f Isabel!" The word was never off his fevered tongue. Yet neither of his watchers ever mentioned this to each other. I* became their secret, as it had* been his, and, perhaps, made both their- hearts mor-e- tender to poor Jack. ' But it was weeks before 'Jack could be moved from the Chalet Valery. Shaw returned to England immediately after the death of Pierre Charron, which took place the' day after' he his fatal wound. The landlord at Lacrpz-a gave a terrible description of the last hours of this miserable man;. Pierre declared he would not die, even when th& chill hand of that remorseless foe was already laid on the whole of the lower part of his body. In vain the cure prayed-by his bedside, and entreated him to prepare. . "I fear his 'life had been an evil one," the landlord told *ir Lytton; "always he cried out for Marget — that was the woman's name— not to peer at him through the sand. It waa horrible — he died hard, fighting to the very last." ..And scarcely had .he .drawn his last breath, when. Shaw started ior London, armed- with the important deposition of the dead man. The rest of the party, •however, stayed on with the Hospitable Lyttons ; and before they left, Mr Lytton . and his pretty wife had promised to spend [ part of the autumn with the squire at Yarbrough.

As soon as ever Jack was strong enough to travel, they arranged to go, for the 6quire was obliged to be in London at an early date, as he had been subpoenaed as a witness to attend the trial of Brooke, Dorothy Johnson also having been subpoenaed, as she. 'had Been in Brooke's service -while at North Hal.

They talked of these things as little as possible to Isabel., and yet she kn&w Mra Curzan, thought it kinder to tell her, and after that Brooke's name was never mentioned in her presence.

And not even to Jack did she ever speak of the miserable hours of dread and horror that she had spent in the lonely house at Yethame. Sometimes these two would wander together on the Norman cliffs, and watch the blue waves wifch their endless/-, mumur,' but they never spoke of another sea coast where Jack had suffered such frantic anguish and pain, believing that the woman he loved lay there in an unhallowed grave.

But these things were not forgotten: They wei* ties, strong, if secret, between two iuearts, though both felt it would be too great pain, perhap* too dangerous, ever to allude to them.

Then, as soon as Jack was well enough, tliey all returned to England. Mrs Curzan insisted that tfoey should be her guests on their arrival in town, but Jack would not hear of this, conscious that it would be too painful for Isabel during the time of Brooke's trial, and he and the squire therefore took rooms at a hotel.

It would be wearisome to go through the details of the trial of Brooke. The evidence against ..him was so overpowering, the proofs so clear, that no defence was practically possible. He wai tried only on the charge of coining, Isabel refusing to prosecute for abduction or attempted murder, and her name was never mentioned in <ourt

The jury, without hesitation, returned a verdict of guilty, and the prisoner stood up to receive his sentence with folded arms, and with a dark look of .despair upon his face that, somehow, ■ Jack, who waa present, oould not easily forget-

"James Wintoit Brooke," said the presiding Judge, "it is with pain thafi I am called upon to pronounce the sentence of the law upon a man of your birth and education. You hare indeed turned to an <«vil -use those good gifts to which you were born, and instead of being a useful member of society you have been proved to be a most dangerous and baneful on©.

But I will not aggravate your present wretched position by any further remarks. The sentence of the court is that you remain in penal servitude for ten years." *■ * * Before the miserable man was removed to Portland, he had a closely veiled visitor in his cell. To Mrs Curzan's surprise, and it must be admitted, strangely against Jack'? advice and wishes, no sooner had Isabel heard the severe sentence pro- i nounced on the man who had ruined her young life, than she determined to speak some few words of forgiveness and en- , treaty to him. • "He has still a soul to save," she told Jack, with tears in her eyes, "hie has wrecked the short life here, but the eternal one hereafter is still .left to him — I cannot let him feel that -he is quite forsaken." After this what could they say? So Mrs Curzan went with her to the gloomy prison, though she remained outside its gates, whilst Isabel, pale, trembling, and deeply moved, was ushefled into the presence of her wretched husband. He scarcely lifted his bowed head when she approached him. "James !" she said, in trembling accents. "Why are you here?" he askeed hoasely, | just glancing at her and then averting I hi 3 eyes. ' ; "I came to see you, to talk to you," she said, in her sweet, ringing voice. "To tell you I freely forgive any wrong you have done me, to entreat you now to lead a better life." "To preach to me. I suppose." u aid Brooke, bitterly; 'it's too late." "It's never too late while we live,'* urged Isabel. "Oh, James, think of Pica-re's dreadful dieath — he died with curaes on- his lips — he was false to you, false to the poor woman who had loved him too well ! He wai an .evil man. and. tried to poison youa* mind with lying words." "He was a devil/ muttered Brooke*, darkly. "TJje believed in no good thing — yet hedied in terrorr-shrieking that he would not die. that he dire not die! But, James, he did die — we al must die. I entreat you not to die without hope, as he did?" Brooke turned away his head; he was moved, and over his hardened heart there swept a wave of bitter emotion. '"What are you going to do?" he asked, a faw moments later, in a broken voice. "I shall live on with Mts Ourzan. My father is willing, I believe, to allow me j something to live an." i "Then you're all right; and the best ! think you can do is to forget me." "I will not do that; I shall always pray for you. Think sometimes that every j night and morning a woman is praying for 1 you. However wretched your life, God i will not forsake you unless you forsake I Him. Oh, James, dono't harden your . heart!"

"You will unman, me!" and his eyes grew dim. "Go now. I thank you for coming. I will not forget what you have said."

Thus they parfeed, and when. Isabel joined Mrs Curzan she was deeply moved : but she- -Was thankful afterwards she told her 'friend that she had gone.

'•It may Lave brought a gleam of light to 'him/ 1 she said — "who can tell?-^-in that dark and bitter <hom\"

(To be oon.clud.ed.)