A SCARLET SIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 162, 7 June 1909, Page 4

A SCARLET SIN.

tALL Hunns iu:sr.n\ r.n \

A I'OWKR FUL STORY.

By AI.ICI. ni'.-i fI.M I'K ASKT.W, 'Authors of "Th- Sl-.u'.anut»•.'' "Ap na of the riains." &<: . &.c t

FWIITII INSTALMKXT. "Then* ! I>id you ever sec such ar extraordinary likeness ?"' exclaimed Pamela. "Look * The eyes. th« no*-. Ihe rhin. the lip*—they arc all identical." she went on. in quick, excited tone*. **l wonder what yout mother".* name is. though ? Klsie if written in pencil at the back of it— Klsie and no more."

"Klsie ! That is my mother'* name." Ilasil murmured, reflectively Me felt strangely puzzled. He had no doubt that he was looking at a portrait of his mother taken in the day* of her pirlhood : hut by what extraordinary accident had it come into the iiossession of the Martindale family ?

"flow did you come across this sketch." he asked, putting the drawing down carefully on the table, and what do you know of its history. Pamela 7 "

He addressed the girl very dimply and naturally by her christian name, for it seemed impossible for Ilasil to mtftar that a few days ago he and Pamela had been strangers to each nthrr. He felt a* if he had known her all bin life.

"I am quite in the dark about the portrait." Pamela answered, slowly. "I found it years ago. caught in at the back of a drawer in my father's room. For all I know it may have loin hidden there for years. I took it to father at once, but directly he caught sigtit of it he told mc to »>nr it up and burn it. for it was trv- portrait of some one he wished to forget. Oh. he looked so white." Pamela continued, reflectively, "so tearfully white and troubled, ami his voice shook as he sent me out '»f the room. I rcmemlier wondering at the time if he had had some love affair with the original of the portrait, and T evolved quite a little romance about it—a romance I naturally had to keep to myself." "You didn't tear it up?" Ilasil +|»oke in troubled tones, for he fell matters were getting more mysterious every moment. Why. be reflected should fSeorge Marlindulc want to lestroy the portrait of a former friend, unless there had been a quarrel and a parting? "Xo. I did not tear it up. as I *upi»ose I ought to have done. for it wns such a pretty face that I lost my heart to it. Instead. I hid the drawing away in my own room amongst my special treasures. And as for father, he never referred to the subject again."

She paused a second, then smiled. "I wonder if my father and your mother knew each other in the past jihl were sweethearts. perhaps ? Wouldn't U Ik- n strange coincidence if it were so ? " "Yes." answered Ilasil : "and a

more wonderful thing still if you and t hrtM- taken up the thread of our >arent"s broken love story. For. tit iFe sweetheart, you do love me. ion't you—;nu who are growing I. nrer and sweeter to me every moment '? " He |KiHsed. afraid of saying ttHf much ; and >el it was so hard to refrain from (touring out the love which was in his heart—not to breathe the vows he was dying to jlter.

"I know now." he went on. slowly, "why I couldn't fall in love as my ri.-mls did. in can-less, light-hearted 'ashion I knew there was something •unr. sweeter, holier—and I waited r,n f found it. I am so glad that , ..u nc>' the only l«-ing I have ever ar.-.i Cor in the world except my ui.rh.-r."

Pamela flushed with shy pleasure

Oh." she murmured softly, "it ins so wonderful to fee! that any -r>- loves me. For 1 have led rather i lonely life, and have lived in a world of my own dreams and fantifs. Now. for the first time I nvl really awake—alive —and oh. what a xaiitii'ul thing life is ! " She turned r., him with glowing cheeks and .hmintf ey««*. "Yes. Ilasil. I do love \..u and I am not afraid to say so. tr.r IM trust you with my life."

He caught her to him. kissing her with a tender reverence. "And you tan tell me <uu love me. Pamela." he w.-nt on. "even when you know nothing of me in reality—hardly my name even ? Oh. thank Heaven for Roman'o trust and woman's faith. \ut| I will be worthy of you. Pam•r>v Y«-s. I will strive my best to be v»<>r«hj of you and to make you happy in |he days ip come. You -h.il! never regret this hasty wqojng I it. Pamela, by all that is rv>u. by all that is sacred.'*

11.- kissed her tenderly, and tho Kir! yiebk-d herself to the ccstacy of the moment. It was quite true, as Ilasil had said, that she knew nothing about him, and so could not really tell if the story he had told her was false or true. But she had no fears, no doubts. She-bad all the innocence of I'na and all the passion of Juliet of Ycroiia, in -*»"' veins ; »he was fire and dew. warm and fine.

"Ah. Ilasil." she whispered, "per- !••< t !>>\f castetfa out all fear,— She said no more, for the sound of h-uty footsteps could be beard as- * > nriing the stairs, and the lovers drew apart, Pamela, wondering a lit" tie to herself wjjat Man' or old Sarah wotihl have thought had they cojuc into the room a moment earlier.

It was Sarah who entered carrying a telegram in her hand, and the first sight of the cnvclojic brought all the blood to Pamela's cheeks. She guessed at once that it was a message from her father.

"Thank you. Harah." she muttered as she took the telegram, conscious that the old woman was looking at her curiously, and afraid of betraying the emotion she felt ; but her ling.rs trembled painfully, a* she !>r.- op»«n the envelope, and her ! ir' h.at wildly* ■ I. it nflw.t about the master. n, ' ' Sarah asked, gazing at ;'.i :!;••!,i anxiously. y.-s— vf%," inuttert*il Patrx-ta : ■■..■:■ -.1,,. a f r.ith'-r i- »t»■ I*.•«sI-- -"Mv l'ath-ir U no' w-.-ll

I and this is a message from th':"— I Pamela paused and h«--«sit ated. th.r ! i,||.-:l. making n desperate attempt j -it self-control—"a message from lh< ri'iul he is Maying with." Is there any answer ? " asked j snrnh. Shi* was only half-satisfied J with the reply, and would have j 1.-arly loved to have cast her eyes >\er the piece of pink pa|>cr that ncr young mistress was clutching so iightty.

"No. the fioy can go. Sarah." Pamela put up her hand to her dazid brow and gave a little sigh of reief when Sarah slowly removed her dump, comfortable presence from the room. Ba«»il came forward. "You arc troubled. Pamela, what is the matter ? Don't tell *me anything you would rather not. only I want you to know that I am ready to help .-011 if I can, and you can trust me So k<-ep a secret." -t feel sure of that," she answered : then held out the telegram she lad just received. "Head it aloud." she murmured, •I can hardly lake in the sense of it myself yet." She sank into a chair, watching llasil with troubled eyes as he read iloud. his own face full of anxious lixmay.

"Your father lies ill at my house. Writing to aon .—Rob Perrint, Orga Jale Lodge, Stoncport, Sutherlandmire." i •

''My poor Pamela, more trouble 'or yon ! " Hasil s(*oke with tender *yinpathy : then he took the girl's •old hands into his own. "You hum n't worry more than you need." he went on, "for it is evident your 'alher is ill in a friend's house, ami «•> will !»•• well looked after." He

mii Mil. "Sioneport—why. that is the station for Metherly." he^ added. 'So hr has gone down there." ,'".Yes." returned Pamela, "ho has {«i«. to Metherly." A look of horror overspread her face. "And as to having with a friend. 1 have never nenrd of this man. Hob Perrint. l>c!ore. I don't know who he is or anything about him." She clasped and jnclaspcd her hands. "Oh. it is very Ircadful to think of father away 'rom mc and ill. I oughtn't to have allowed myself to have been happy with you this afternoon," she went 3n. "I ought to have Invn thinking jf him. Oh. my poor father ! "■

Tears came into her blue eyes, and die glanced up pitifully at Basil. Her conscience was evidently troub» ing her. "Don't stuy with mc any longer! low." she murmured. "I want to bo eft to myself." There was a note in her voice hat showed that she meant what ihe said—a note of determination. "I understand." Basil answered, iimply. "Very well. I will go now. You have my card with my address jn »t, so you can send for me, dear, if you want me again this evening. Dr my mother would come round at jnee if you wanted her, you know — ;ome round, and !>e only too glad.' 4 "No." replied Pamela. "I would -ather l>c alone, counting the hours till I get a letter which will tell mc ill about my dear father—the letter iromised in the telegram." "I will come the first thing tomorrow morning." Basil moved towards the door as he spoke, for although It went to his heart to cove Pamela at such a moment, he volized with keen intuition that die felt it was not right that she diotitd lie having such a prolonged ntervjew with a lover unknown to ier father who lay ill in the house jf a stranger. And he appreciated Pamela for the feeling.

"Yes. come round to-morrow," die nn.sttered. then watched Basil vox*' the ro«»m. her ryes dimmed Aiih l<•!»!>. her heart full of anxious limilil*. For I his (•■(••grniii from an inknown man had filled her with lismny. and she shuddered to think hat her father had pone to Metherv and had Iwen taken ill there. ' '-The Held of Idoiid ! The field M blood '." She murinured the words over and over again. Then a ghastly fear assaib-d her. Was her father's illness a mental or a physical one ? Could it ho that he had temporarily laJcen leave of his senses ? She remembered hi* peculiar looks and manners when she had revealed to |ilm the fact that Meiherly had pas*ed Into strange hands, and his wild incoherent raving. "Oh. what can have hap|»cned, and what Is happening ? " She refused to think of Basil and her new-found happiness. All her thoughts must lie with her sick father and all her prayers, whilst she waited with what patience she rould for the letter that would tell oi his condition. Suddenly she determined to telegraph for further particulars, and also to ask if she might not hasten to the s||k l|ian's side. She went off herself to send the telegram for she did not like to entrust it to the sen-ants. When she returned to the house *he made her way to her father's room, oppressed with a terrible craving for his presence, an extraordinary longing to soe him.

She smoothed down the lied wfiich had not been slept in that night with tender, loving hands ; then she moved towards the dressing-table and began to arrange two or three knick-knacks, putting them in- their places, and as her father liked to sec them.

At last she picked up a small leather-bound Bible, rusty and worn at the edges, but a book which she remembered from her earliest childhood as having its own particular place in her father's room, general Itresting on a little table near his bed.

She took it up, intending to replace it there, for Pamela was cxtremclv methodical in all her ways ; then as she moved across the room, she opened the Uiblc wistfully, wondering if her eyes might chauce to fall on a line from which she might gleam some comfort, some hope. The volume fell apart at a turneddown page. Pamela smoothed it out with careful fingers, then started, for the book had opened at the 20th chapter of Exodus, and under the commandment. "Thou shalt do no murder." ran a deep line in red ink, as if special att'-ntion was t,o bo called to it.

Tlv girl shut the book with a sh'Klder. If r worst forebodings were bvinjc K-aduaiiy realized.

UHAPTKK Ml. hkcallixu Tin-; past. "You have Iteen hasty over your love-making—very hasty." Mrs. Farrailay spoke in .slow, soft tones, gazing reflectively, at IJhsil. The mother and son were sitting in the drawing-room of their flat at Chelsea—a pleasant room, lit by a large lire, whilst artistically-shaded lamps gave out a warm crimson glow. There was none of the formalities which hedge most drawingrooms about this room. Hooks and magazines lay everywhere, ami there was a good deal of Oriental drajrery about and pieces of quaint china. A great numlK'i* of Hasil's sketches hung round the walls—walls distempered a pale yellow, while mulberry velvet curtains drai>ed the windows ind doors, making a vivid colour .•flee!.

••Don't you believe in love at first sight, mother?" The young man glanced up at Mrs. Farraday inquiringly. He had just come back from his interview with Pamela, ami had l>een telling his mother all that had passed, suppressing, however, any mention of the sketch, but dwelling with a lover's tender embroidery on Pamela's sweetness and beauty, her delicate and ineffable charm. Mrs. Farraday had smiled and li.M----•n<-d very patiently. It was her role in life to play the part of the silent woman, ami she did it to perfection. No one had ever heard an angry woril pass those sad. pale lips ; and her neighbour's doings in Paris had held little meaning to her. She had lived in her own world, and that a quiet and dreary one. She looked like a woman who had mice in her life come face to face with some great tragedy, and who had walked very softly ever after. For though she was beautiful even in her middle age, he would have l>ecn a bold man who dared to speak of love to this quiet, passionless woman, and the lighter things of life seemed to hold little of interest to her.

She made a devoted mother, lavishing all the tenderness of her soul upon her son. always ready to listen to Basil's ambitious dreams for the future and to cheer him on in his artistic career, reminding him that one day the Motherly propertymight make him wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice ; and if so he must be true to the responsibilities that money brings with it- For Mrs. Farraday had never doubted that .she and her son would be able to purchase Melherly. A relative of her late husband had left her a considerable sum of money a few years back, in the shape of a totally unexpected legacy of thirty thousand pounds. This money, however, was strictly tied up in trust securities : thus they were not able to spend the. capital, otherwise Hasil would have gone on bidding nt the sale : but as it was he had to stand aside. •Love at first sight ? " Mrs. Farraday rejwatcd her son's words slowly, then she sighed. "I don't know. Hasil. "1 couldn't say. I want to sec your Pamela," she went on, "and I feel sorry for her, poor girl. She must be so painfully anxious about her father. Isn't it strangeMart indale happens to be an old family name tin my mother's side? " She checked herself hurriedly as if she regretted the remark. "How extraordinary ! exclaimed Hasil. "won't you tell me something about yourself, mother ? " he asked in earnest tones. "You have never told mc anything about your past, turning Ihe subject round to father and his family whenever I questioned you on the matter."He took his mother's hand in his as he spoke, and raised it affectionately to his lips. lie was sitting on a foot-stool by the side of her chair, the firelignt gleaming on both. "Sweet, grave mother." he said, gently. "Ho you wonder that your son wants to know all your past history—the son who loves you so devotedly ? " Mrs. Farraday shivered and a look of intense pain and suffering came over her face ; then she flushed to her forehead. "Basil, my dear, dear boy," .she murmured. "I have always known that this hour would conic—the hour when you would want to know who vour mother was and all about her; but there are some stories that can never t>c told, some histories which ire better forgotten."- Her voice was inexpressibly sad.

"Mother ! " exclaimed Basil. Ha looked at her scrulinizingly and in> tently.

"Don't gaze at mc like that."murmured the woman, covering her face with her hands, "for I am afraid of your eyes, Basil, lest they should read my soul, and study ull that is in my heart. Let it be for von enough to know that I am as well-born as your father, and that I come of a good old line." Sh<j paused a moment. "Ours was a runaway marriage," nhe continued ; "hut J can tell you this, Basilwhatever shame and misery there has been in my past life was never broutjfht upon me by your father. For I have suffered, Oh, suffered bitterly." She let her thin hands drop from her face, and clasped them together. "Suffered so intensely-," she. rontinued, "that the iron has bitten into my soul ! Suffered at the hands of a man."

"A man ! " repeated Basil. His \oung face had grown very pale and stern. He felt as though ho had been entangled in the (oils of some vague and horrible dream- Who ■-. the man? " he asked, gravely. - Who made you suffer so in th" pa.:-' ? Won't you tell me his name '.' '-'■ I-'.lsie Farraday shook Ivv Iv-ad. "Xo, Ha.sil,"- .she murmur' 1 '!. "His name—the name of the man I lo\ed —will never pass my lips. 1 don'' know why 1 have told von >.. mu'-h"-She went on, "I never intended •■,. I meant to keep my secret lock-d In my heart to the day of my d'-a'.h—-the secret that there was some <> r ,. else in my life besides your fa'h-r." "You cared for my father, 'howirh, I can remember wlia' a <[:■•■ •".-<i couple you were. K<'ii <t- a li"l» chap I was able t<> appreejat.e the love you bore each ot her.'To be Continued..