A SCARLET SIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 172, 12 July 1909, Page 4

A SCARLET SIN.

' At.r. nt<; r ; ;■- v.v.<r.:;\ t;t> ,

A roWIIRFI'L STOIiV.

By AUCi; and Cf. U F>K ASKEW. Authors of "Th" "Anna of the i'taiw." it.. Ac,

*mim;i:NTii IX.htalmkxt.

CH I ITER XIX. "TIIE CHOICE 14158 WITH YOU." "Yn«. ye#." answered Hob. impatiently. Hp «m afraid (or the second that »h«* other *os going to return to his wild raving* again, and that talking wi mi* h on the subject of the mur»ler had onre more upset the bntaiKP of CJi orce Mart indole's mind "I*isten to me." he «rnt on. "I'll save >p frne ruin an" ili*gr#c<H-Jaw V(» frai? the gallows*—for I'll dig up the Iww* p( him ye murdered in the dark jMlrtiee o* the nicht. an" give him siife burial in my nin land. I'll hum the lilnrkthom in the lire. Tomorrow uicht .'•hall find me at my tasfc—tomorrow nit hi. when nac moon shall I** out. I'll go toe the field an' dig at the spot ye'll tell me of—dig I ill I And." lit* was speaking in rapid, broken • sentences ; (hen he turned sharply to the othrr man. "Til risk my freedom for ye." he said : "hut ye'll pay wr my nin price for what I'm going to do. You hear me ? My ain pritcv." "Tell me your price." said fleorge. slowly ; hut he was dimly aware ► n»n'f>. ««»rril»le Innn wanted—this rough, red-headed giant.

"Yere tne tell that lass o" yours that she is to marry me in a month. Ve're tne mek a' rirht between me nt»' Pawn-In. Art* I swear tne ye by. the Atmirhty "—he flushed purple, and stioke in hoarse tones—"that if t am baulked in this —if Pamela re(tw* to liecoine my wife—l'll denounce ye to a" the world as tho murderer of Clinton Peele." • * • •» The morning came at last and Pamela o|«ened her weary eyes upon a cold, grey world. She could not rememlwr having laid down upon her bed. Her Inst impression of the night was of old Liddy "s enveloping arms, and of the words of comfort whi'-h the kindly soul had crooned over her. Prolwtbly she had dropped asleep from sheer weariness of body, and exhaustion of spirit, and it was the old woman who had lifted her up and placed her upon the bed.

She lay lor a while without moving, her eyes fixed upon the window, before which the curtain hod not been drawn. Mist shrouded the land, and there was little thai she could see nnvr the rain-sodden boughs of some lofty tree*. They seemed to shimmer silver : but Ixeyond them all was white and misty, and tho sky was completely,hidden from her view She wondered lit fully what the time wa* : then a fear rame upon her that' the morning might lw well advanced, and that she was neglecting her duties of sick nurse. Iter b"»d pained her as she lifted it from the pillow, and she drew a »|.ep breath, hardly conscious yet of .til the |>acidnl events of the night. Mil filling instinctively that something bad happened to her. and thai the course of her life had deviated sadly from its normal channel. It *.;**" with her n* with one who. healthy the day liefore. awakes to the knowledge oi present sickness. There wns a movement in the room and the old Scotch woman stepped to her bed. Liddy"* tartan shawl «a«. drawn closelv about her shoul- .!. and hrr grey hair under the t.Uiris tare mutch, wa* disarrayed It •v*.s cl.-ar that she had not been to !,..[. but had been watching by the tierNrdf of Ihe girl whom she had taken under her protection. Liddy approached on tiptoe and ga/ed intently into Pamela's face as if to make certain ihot the girl was nwnke liefore »he Ventured to disturb her. Pamela smiled feebly.

"How good of von to sit up with me. Liddy." she murmured. "I must have dropped oft to sleep without knowing it : but I don't think it's been a restful sleep for me, for I've had horrible dreams." Her dream* came, back to her as •.he spoke. .Were they always to hnunl her now—those visions of a Mood-slainnl field, of digging in red enrih. and of turning up the hones of murdered men ? How terrible the pt",;ht would lie " And yet the day. r. "I, it* realities*— was not the day .■vft moTf terrible?

• My puir bairn"—Liddy smoothed th>- pillow, and her shrivelled hand r.-sted lor a moment upon the girls (air head—"the nicht has been unco' hard for ye. an' it's rest that ye'll lie wnntin". Mcbbe, if you try, you can shwl ycr eon again.'* "Oh. no, I couldn't sleep.'" cried Pamela, with • •hudfjer, sitting up in lied. "You must let mo get up, now. Liddy—you really must. I'm sure my father will be wanting me. and I must know what passed between him and Mr. Perrint last night How Is my father ? Do you know ?" She put the question with nervous animation. "It was too bad of Mr. Perrint to disturb him at such a time. It wns cruel and wicked." liu* lJ*Uiy was not able to give the iteMr.'rt 'information. Mr. Pcrrint. it -»PP ared. hurl remained for a long wliMe in George Mart indole's room. iUll i the otd woman had more than lime been alarmed at the sound of upraised voices. She had, indeed, n'"*r Pamela had fallen asleep, crept down and listened fearfully outside the closed door, but had not ventured t« mtC r - , "What tH* Awrtor will be sayin l dinna ken," »«c tfpjffcd. " f ° r lnc P ulr mon was clfan daft yesjermom. an I* na bv his richt sense* >ct. When the maisler left him J heard him rreetin', but quiet. *n* to hisscl' Ukc. So I «*■» '«*• bid me gang to my ain room, sayta* he maun be alone. So I come back to ye. my bonni*. »■' »B *>* >' c t,u the morning." She sighed heavily. •■But I misdoubt oe that yer falthcr W ,U b>> ill the day.Pamela was of the aaroe opinion. and her anxiety to go to her father ■x.i* increased by the old woman? f.ire..-a*t. Liddy. however, would not :--f her rise at once. but bade net .-ay in tied till she had a cup of <-n whs.-h should be vn' 'ip to h«-r a! „,.-v,f. unmeiltaf-ly. «:rh »r.rn P^

miw the kind-hearted nurse took her-s--U from "h- room.

it whs ton o'clock, as Pamela rei>v n hn."l,v glnnce as tne heavy . !o»k upon the mantlepiece. the ticking; at which had seemed in some rnrimis way to blend Itself with her dreams. The sound of the spades turning up the soil—it was here that the idea had found its Inception. She fell very* drowsy, bodily unwilling to stir, yet mentally active. What had the day In store for her ? What would her father have to tell her of his interview with Rob Pcrrint—always admilting that George Martindak shoutd lie in a condition to speak sensibly ? Pamela had little doubt ol her host's object in forcing himsell to her father's bedside. Ho had gone there to threaten, and to make demands from a man too ill to offer fair ivsistcnee.

And those demands—in her heart Pamela guessed too well what they ttcr-. She shuddered, and buried her face in her hands, a burning blush suffusing her cheeks as she told herself that not even for her father's sake could she yield herself up a victim to such a man. And yet. what did it matter, since she had nothing now to look forward to in life ? For she had quite decided—or so she told herself. lielieving. woman-like, in her strength ol will—that she must part from Ilosil for ever—that she. the daughter of a man whose hands were stained with blood, was no fitting mate for Hasil Farraday. This idea was predominant.'and the fact that Basil's own life-story wo* ho strangely intermingled with hers only seemed to present n still stronger olislaelc to their union. For Basil was. of course, ignorant of his mother's unhappy history : and how could h»i ■ (Pamela) tell him all about herself without revealing that which were I jest kept secret to the end ? Hot tears came to the girl's eyes as she remembered her letter to Basil of two flays aao. and how she had I legged him to come to her aid. Her letter had been wholly futile, for now she must send him away again. She did not doubt that he would come, and wondered what she should say to him. how she should put her decision into words, and how Basil would take it. Would she have the necessary strength ? Was it not only too likely that she would break down, and commit herself by some ill-worded phrase ? It would be better, of course, not to see »him: but—in spite of herself Pamela found some gratification in the thought—it was too late now to prevent his journey. Her letter would have reached tandon. and if. as, was most probable, he acted upon it at once, he would shortly be on his wayCo Scotland. It was just possible that a telegram sent at once would prevent his coming. But how was she to send a telegram ? There was probably no office nearer than Stoneporl. some five miles distant from Orgadale I,odge. and she could neither make this journey herself, nor was there anyone whom she could .•ntrust with her message.

In her secret heart she had no wish to prevent Basil's coming. Let her see him once more, if only, once more. "It is for the last time." She whispered the fateful words to herself in all seriousness, never thinking how often I hey were used, and how often abused. "He will say-1 am cruel, and he won't understand me." she sobbed. "It will be very hard for him and for me. But I must try to be brave, anil tierhnps. since he has known me *«. very- short a while, it will not be difficult for him to forget. But I shall never forget—no, never, never, for I love him so—l love him so." It was unlike I'nmcla to indulge overmuch in the luxury of tears, but jusi now it did her good to weep, picturing to herself this last meeting with her lover, a meeting that was most unlikely to lie realized according to her imagining. She wuh drying her eyes when her lea was brought to her by the rosychecked girl. Klspelh'B niece, who had offered Pamela her services the day before- This morning, however, there was no smile upon the girl's face, and she glanced at Pamela askance »* she placed Ihe tray on the bed. She made no remark, not even deigning a reply to Pamela's shy greeting, but muttering something to herself, turned and left tho room.

There wns something very derogatory in the thought that this coarse country wench should look upon her as a rival, and Pamela flushed angrily, and would have called the girl back, but prudence, and her own sense of the fitness of things prevailed. She drank her tea ami was refreshed : and when she had finished. old Liddy herself reap|»eared to announce that George Mart indole was apparently none ihe worse for the disturbance of Ihe night, and would like to see ills daughter as soon as she could go to him. Pamela occoitlingly mack* o hasty toilet, and hurried to her father's room. It was with some trepidation that she descended the stairs, for she feared to meet Hob Perrint. who might be on the lookout for her. She wom|ered ( indeed, that he had sent no message to her asking her to join him at breakfast. But probably, she reflected, he had been up betimes, and was by now engaged upon the farm.

. George Mart indole sat up in bed and stretched out his arms.to his daughter when she appeared-. There had evidently been no recurrence of the delirium of the preceding days, for the man's eyes no longer roved restlessly about the room, but were fixed upon his daughter, and there Was great love jn them—love and fear. His face woa haggard and almost colourless, the bones of his checks painfully prominent. "Pamela." he cried, "my darling child, when you came to me yesterday, I don't think I was quite my-' »clf. I have been ill, very ill—half out of ray mind, I think—and in my madness have said and done some foolish things, spoken words which cannot- bo unspoken, allowed myself to fall intp the hands of pne who is strong and implacable." He spoke hurriedly, as if he were anxious to relieve bis mind of an overwhelming burden. Pamela came to his side and kissed him fondly, assuming what cheerfulness she coiiUl. "I am going to be your nurse now, father." she .said : "and. If you will let me. I shall not allow you to be disturlied again a-s you were last night. I know thai Dr. Macph'-rson will fr.rl.id a !•■■;...■;;•;,■>!. oi anything o; rh- ■■<';■ H- ;■ ;i ",.:r.d :;;;in, and is .vu.-- to 1 ■-■ •-■■■:■- tf.--l.iv. oh.'' she

added, with a sigh, "if only I could get you away from this house, for it is not good for either you or I to be here !" She moved about the room as she spoke, opening the window a little, for the atmosphere was heavy, and the mist without, was clearing away by now, the clear blue sky above it becoming visible. The room itself was larger but in other respects similar to the one which had been allotted her. The bed was an old-fashioned four-poster, and the furniture, though handsome, was time-worn, also, as Pamela noticed, not free from dust. The man's eyes followed her as she moved with gentle tread from place to place ; then he called her to him, and bade her sit by his side.

"Pamela." he said, "the time foi secrecy has passed, and there is much that I must tell you. Thank God, I am sufficiently recovered to speak. You. poor child"—there was a great pity in his voice, a very torture of reproach—"l have made you suffer terribly in your ignorance of my trouble, and I would to God that I could say it wer»* over, that the worst is passed. But oh, Pamela, I cannot, I cannot." He wrung his hands together, and rocked his body feebly to and fro. Pamela placed her strong young arms about him. and gently forced his head back upon his pillow. "There is not much that you can tell mi', father." she -said, very softly. "You can at least be .spared the pain of speaking of the past, for I know"—she lowered her voice to a whisper—"what brought you here." "Pamela, you know ? Has he told you ?" Pamela shook her head and tried to smile reassuringly. "Mr. Perrint only put me upon the right trark." she said. "It is from another—from your old nurse. Liddy —that I have learned everything." The man groaned. "Liddy ! Is she here?" he muttered. "She has nursed you in your sickness." returned Pamela, "but you were too ill to recognize her." "How it all comes back," sighed George Martindale. "To think that Liddy who nursed me when I was a baby, should nurse me again now, and listen to my ravings ! But Liddy —what has she told you ? She knows nothing—nothing.** He raised his voice half defiantly. "If it were not neccssarv that I myself should tell you everything. Pamela, I should sa that you had been listening to foolish gossip." There was a touch of self-assertion in his tone, something of the arbitrary manner which characterized the man. "She told mc the history of the Ixrslies, father," said Pamela ; stories of yourself and of your halisistcr. It was necessary that I should know, placed as 1 was without a friend to turn to. Don't be angry with me Iwcausc I know ; it is for the best. Indeed—indeed it is for the Iktsi. I put two and two together."

For a few tense moments there was silence. George Martindalc's gleaming eyes were fixed upon his daughter His thin white fingers clutched and tore nervously at the counterpane. "You put two and two together !" he repeated slowly. Pamela drew a lonir, deep breath — a sigh that was half a sob. What words could she find in which to tell her father that she knew him to bo a murderer ? '•What you did was right and just." she cried. "Don't be afraid to speak to me of it. Oh, if you had only spoken* before !" "You know, then, that I killed him ?" The words were spoken painfully, but with slow del iteration. Pamela bowed her head in answer. She pressed her hands airainst her breast, for the throbbing of her heart seemed to prevent her speaking "Yes, it's true I killed Clinton Peelc. A pretty confession that for a man to make to his daughter, isn't it?" He laughed horribly, as though with a return of his delirium. Pamela pressed her hands against her cars, for the sound hurt her. "Don't —don't laugh like that !" she cried. "The man deserved to die. You have nothinir to reproach yourhelf with. " George Marlindalc thrust his hands under the bedclothes. "I won't look at them," he groaned, "for they're red. I thought the stains had vanished —that I had washed them clean years ago ; but since I have been lying here the blood upon them has come back. No, Pamela, you mustn't look at my hands." The girl rose, and turned away from the l>ed. Her father's face \as ghastly, and she could not look upon it. She stepped to the window, longing for the relief of the fresh, morning air. There was a sweep of moorjand hills before her, and the o.f heather greeted her nostrils. scene she looked upon was placid and restful. It seemed strange that amid such surroundings human hearts i could be so painfully torn. But fat | away in the distance she could distinguish a low white wall and a fow mean buildings which seemed familiar |p her. It was in just such a farmhouse as the one she was looking ai now that the roup had been held. Could she be gazing at thr> Motherly estate? Was that the field of blood itself?

Neither indoors nor out was there rest for her eyes. She turned bark to her father, and at that moment ho called.

"There, Pamela," he said, "I am Ireller now. It's not an easy thi'iiu for a man to speak to his daug-ht< •: as 1 am obliged to speak to you. J have tried all tfty life to kwp my gecret from you, and I hop>-d that there woultl never be need for you to know it. Hut man proposes, and c,k,\ disposes." He laughed bitterly. A trite saying—almost as tnt< as 'murder will out.' Well, I've no', u. face it, and if it werc%not for y<<-;. perhaps I should not mind so m>i<•:■:. But sit down, and let us talk rjuh ■•.- ly. I have that to say, and you have. that to hear which will iv—<} ail the. strength that wc can muster." Pamela did as he bade her She treated herself by the side 01 the bed and took one of his cold hands between hers. "I have- guessed what it is that you arc about to ask me. fath..-r.'-Pamela spoke in a half-fritrh' ••:■••<■] whisper. "Oh, yes, Mr. Perrint has not left me in doubt as to his intentions. He- has ob'ain-'s: a kohl over you through his know; •-.•!:_-e oi your secret. an'l h•■ •.van'.- :r;j '..<; marry him as a r-w.-ir i :'••;• his .-;!• : ence. Is that r.<,~ •-■'■. :a'her 7 -'- To ': •• f,,;.-::.•;..,•].