A SCARLET SIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 174, 19 July 1909, Page 3

A SCARLET SIN.

! Ai.t. : ; - ::: :. .

A PoWKKI'i'L STOIiY.

By AL.ICK ar.'l f'l.AriM; ASKEW. Authors of "Tlv: Shulamite." "A> Da of the Plains." &c.. &C,

i SIXTEENTH JNSTAJLMEXT. "Then ye ken that I love yc," he Interrupted, "on" that I'm wantin' ye for my wife." "It wax cnfel. unfair, to take advantage of a »ick man ok you did. Mr. I'errint." she liuivt out gather;tng courage. "My father and I are your guest*. and we are defenceless on your hands. f cannot mv what harm you have done by your threat* last night." "I*<l he after dain' anythin" to win ye." he persisted. "an* I'm nan th* mini to he oisily li?or. I dinna wish to hurt ye. nor yer faither." "Hut you do—you do." cried Pamela- "Since you know all about my father's affairs', the whole of hi-* unhappy story. you mu»l rcali® what the fear of publicity means to hint and what it means to me. You know that you could force him to any pri»mise by playing upon his fears. Ho you think. Mr. I'errint. that you can win love when you nr.- forfeiting esteem ? "

"Esteem ! " he exclaimed, scornfully. "I dinna fash masel* a deal after esteem. I'm thinkin* esteem is vlra cheap in the world's market. Xo. nn. lassie, it's your ainsel* I'm wantin' an" as for love an" esteem, they'll I** romin' after."

I'ameia drew a deep breath nnd ( shrunk back still further into the | shadow of the tr>*»-s. Her fear of the ! man was lieginning to revive. She saw. once more the determined, bru- f to) giant into whose power she had | fallen—the man who would risk his i very soul to attain the end he had in view. In the gathering dusk she ! roulil discern little of the lietter |H>ints of Hob I'errint*s face, the softer expression whirh would some- | times come to his eyes, the genial cur%'e of his lip*. .lust now she j could only realize his haVd. strong I chin, the fierce. bristling moustache. [ and the aggressive straightness of t his shoulders. He was physically i repulsive to her. and she trembled j like a snared bird at the pros|iect of her future.

"I>snnn shrink from me." he muttered. "for I willna hurt ye. I ha ma ain ways o' wiunin" whnt I di*sire. There's little givin" in this world : if I hadnn" learnt «hnt lesson perhaps I -shouldua Ik* after talkin - But. tell me. what said ye fnither to ye? hid he no bid ye to marry me ? " "He l»*ggv»l nie to do so for his sake and m> own." faltered Pamela, "but he left me free to give you what answer I think ln*st. Oh. Mr. IVrrini" —she turned to him. raising her «'las|ied hands, pitifully— | "you ni*" not hard-hearted, really. 1 unless I hove mnde a great mistake in judging you. I-V»r my fathers sake I would do anything, consent to anything, but " _ | With a low cry of triumph Hob j IVrrint stretched out his hands as though to gather th- girl into his arms "Then >e hae consented?" he cri»*t|. in a low undertone. "I may >a" ye mine ? " "No. rvo ; Israr me out." The girl strugsrl'.l in his grasp, attempting to thrust him l«itck. "I don't love you. Mr. I'erruit. I have |.nonn > o«« :o short a time that any siit-h feeling i» ini|H»ssil»le. Then, is i> 1 vt.»elwr whom I love, loudly jtnd ilevofivlM. elt«>»g.*i I know now I can m-ver l»- hi- wile." Sh * 1-oVered h.-r fan* with her hands. "Itut loving him as I do. how can I give myself »o you or to any man living? Won't vim have pity on me. Mr. Permit. and If a frieml to me?" Hob lWri«!"» hand felt from the girl's wni-»t. and lie drew back a pace or two. as though abashed. "So there's anil her mon " lie muttered. "Ye fa it her didnn s|«eak o* that. Mr. Mart indole said >e were heart whole. Who's the mon. he asketl almost tiercel,*. "an' why dye M v v «a»»na many him?" •'«»!*. I can't tell >Oll his name." *oM«<i Pamela. "but it thiesn'l mn't.T. does it. as long as you know there is some one to whom I ha*e given my love ? Whatever may h,*pl* >« to me will make no difference I :«hall never love any one but him." ■•ltut why will >e no marry him?" j.ersist»'d the man. "It/ftnw" I am my father's child."

.he whis|wr«d. her face still hidden (>\ li"'' hands—"because there is a stain of Mood ii|n»n my name ns >Oll t,n>w (00 well. Because —oh. ther.* - other reasons but I cannot speak of them. I haven't broken it to him •■_ her voice was choked with „ o ii^ j _"lmil I shall tell him that though I can never he his. he shall have my love till I die."' There was a minute's silence, broken only by the sound of the girl's plaintive **»l»#. Hob I'errint folded his arms. One of the dogs crouching at his f.n't whined impatiently. "lie silent ye brute." he cried. hrtrshl> : then he turned once jnore (» Piiiu'-la. "I See." he said. "I timtoMaml " —fie was evidently tryins.' to soften his naturally harsh |*n» thinkin*. Pamela. I iiit> i»> winnin' ye yet. Ye say ye cHitna" marry this mon because ye mauna tell him a' about yersel*. All the mair. then, all the easier, ran ye gang to kirk wi" mc who hae naethin mair to learn alioUl ye. It's not love I'm askin" ye for ; but I hae little doot that I can mak" ye love in time. Yc cannot In* alone for a" yer life. Tonu'la. and I misdoot |f ye faither hae lang toe live. An' I'll »»a I"* a l'»d husliaml to ye. J'otnela ye mo.« tok* ma wort I *>' Itt«t t'ome now there was a thange In fob manner as in his lone, qs once more ii# stretched out his hand to the girt—'"Kla iwu ypur hand it. on' co" K » horgoin. I'M no «*Mn* ye to marry me to-morrow V. shall tak" me ye ain lime il U tetl nu* that aln day ye'll Ik «(fe. Ye shall kee|> yer love for irher inon in J'cr heart. He con V W r soul, sae long as ye g«- yer- , r '»> H<>)> I'errint. Hut I'll Is* of- •. r aimitn' >e b>ve "00. Pamela." hs kt ,|.|ed. "tf je c- m- " Tituv ' It tin < 'iwt' Pamela

had lifHirrd. No definite engagement. lin a sort of half promise. She frit orr-imrd thai if she wen* given nun- .she could escape from these l>e--.•i:ing toils —she could .show Hob I'errint how impossible it was for h<T to be his wife. She would make n friend of him. a true. honest frieml anil the desire for her that was in hi.s heart should give way to a purer affection. If the worst came to the worst, if her efforts were not crown•tl with Huccow. she could but hold to her bond and sacrifice herself upon the shrine whirh her fulher had prepared for her. "I am in your hands. Mr. I'errint" she faltered. "You have taken from me the power of saving no. Since vou are ready to take me. understanding that I have, nnd can have no love for you. there is little more to lie said. You can save or ruin my father : you can save or ruin me. I tut I'm grateful to you for not pressing me nt once. When we know •ach other better an answer will mini' more readily to my lips. Hut it's a pain to me now to s(>enk or think of marriage with you now that my father lies sick and ill peril —now that my own trouble is so frejfh upon me." "I'll wait." said Hob I'errint. hoarsely, '-'now that 1 ken you'll Iw mini' in the end ; an* I wish that I hail spoken to you yesel' instead of to ye fait her. But I'm a rough mon. Pamela, an' I hae not'met with so much kindwss fra the world." He stooped ond gazptj into the girl's face, resting one hand very gently on ter shoulder. "Oh. but ye're like to her ! " he murmured—"the same i-en the sam<- bonnie fair hair, the same reel lips. Ye line heard the story o* -lean ? " he asked, wistfully. l'amria nodded. "I lost in.: .lean." he continued.

"for I wa" nae guid enow for her. mi said that dour mon. her fait her. I tut she loved me. did ma .Jean, an' moiiy a time I hue ki.Ssed her lips, mid never a kiss hae been sweet tue me though mony hae I given since then I've l>een a heck less mon and I've lived ma life, bit it's always lieen .lean in 111 a dreams—it's always bin for Jean that I hae looked I hae ne'er kissed .Jean to her wrang an' I'll ne'er kiss you, Pamela." ho muttered. The appeal was pitiful, and Pamela's gentle heart was touched. It was not herself into whose eyes this man was gazing—it was the vision of his lost love hj- saw. It was .Jean and not Pamela, that he was fighting to win. "You may kiss me," she whis|iered. faintly. Was it not .lean's lips and not her own that he would touch ? The man s:oop»-d. trembling in ..very limb, but at that moment there came a rustle aiming the tn-es close at hand and the dogs, springing forward, begun to bark furiously. Hob I'errint started back and the embrace so passionately desired was never given- It was as though a •»|ieH had ln>eti removed, and he was once more his rough, uncouth self. "Who's there?" he cried, and sprang followed by the dogs into the bracken that grew thickly by the side of the path. Pamela remained standing beneath the poplar, gazing in the direction which Hob I'errint had taken. At the moment when he had lien I his head to hers it had seemed to her that a wrinkled malignant face had gaz«-d out upon them from among the l.iishes. She had sc-ii it. but for one moment, yet in that fleeting view she had seeim-d to recognize the ugly wizened face of old Klspeth. Now. too. as she stood waiting, she rould fancy that the sound of voices came to her —her host's angry commanding tone, and the sharp, cracked voice of the old woman.

It was not long, however, before Hob IVrrint returned. His face. Pamela thought, was very stern, and his lips were set in a straight line. "What was it ? " she asked tremulously. "Was any one there, hidden in the bracken ? " "It was tun-thing." he replied—"nnething to I"* skeert of. One o the men on the farm : but it was a' I could do tae k.n-p the dogs fraction." t IIi» spoke evasively, ami Pamela was certain hi* had not uttered tho truth.

"LAft us go back to the house."she said, trembling partly with cold, nnd partly with fear. "It is lonely out here in the avenu-. nnd one may imagine all sorts of ugly faces peering through the shadows. Please let i;s go bock. Mr. I'errint. and I will tell my father what we have decided "

"Verru well—verra well," he returned "Ye Willi gang to ye faither. an" then ye'll tell me that ye hae consented to what I asked. Ye wull Im> savin that ye hue promised later on to lie ma wife. Ye maun tell him too. that Hob I'errint is his friend, and he maj lie put tin* fear frae hi.s mind."

They were walking* slow Iv back in the direction of the house. The man had drawn Pamela's hand beneath his arm ami held it proK-ctinglv and with the air of a possessor. But he' made no further attempt to kiss her. for which Pamela was grateful. She had but yielded to the impulse of the moment and to a feeling of pity which hail l»een stirred in her breast bv the knowledge of. his devotion t> the memory of a dead woman. They parted at the door of the house, for Hob I'errint hn?l other duties' to attend to. und it was not vet the hour for the evening meal. "I'll no Is; after scein' you again the ntcht,'* he remarked at parting, ••but to-morrow morn I'll tak' ye a walk on the moors, an' I'll tell ye mair nboot Jean an" about mysel*. This nicht I'll after ye faither s work." He lowered his voice and brought his face close to hers. "An* I'm lellin ye it's no pleasant work, he went on. "to dig in the ground for dcid man's bones, to lay open the secrets o the grave which I he guid earth hae kept sae lang. But I'll lie doin* it for the sake of ye bonnie cVn an' for the promise that yc ha' given mc.'* With these words' and without waiting for a reply, he walked away. I'aint'la cnl<*red the house, an | throw herself into a deep casy-chair drown up to a peat Hr«-\ and for a jihort half hour gave herself up to blt\cr reflections. She had given her promises—a promise that without the consent of Hob I'errint, must not Ixj r«*scin«|efl. It w _ us a hard task that la> In-fore her. nnd one in which sh-- doul'f'-d her own strength. Jlcr hy.Ht, lh-: mnn co whnjn >h- ha<i

pledged hi'f word was not < n-Uiy moved. She realized the intensity of his passion. a desire none the less keen because it was directed to an ideal rather than to herself. It was against this ideal that she must contend The greater her resemblance to Jean the nearer would she be to the man's desire. Hut for the present she had won her point. There was nothing to lx; done in a hurry, lie had not attempted to force her to an immediate marriage. It was this she had dreaded above all else, and now she breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving as she crouched over the tire, trying to instil life into her cold limbs, for. at least, for the time being. the great danger was averted. Also—and this was of the greatest importance—she could go to her father and set his mind at rest as to the future. The task for which he had come to Scotland was to l»e undertaken. and i>erhaps before the morning all tract? of the crime committed so long ago, and yet a present menace, would Imj removed. Her father would Ik; saved, his health restored, his good name untarnished, and she herself, though the aufTering would be hers, it was not in vain that she would have submitted to the loss of all that was dearest to her in life. Again and t agair« she repeated to herself that she must not blame her father or any one for the loss of Basil. It would be cruel, unjust, unreasonable to win him at the inevitable sacrifice of his mother's reputation. Pamela remembered how fondly he had spoken of this mother of his ; and though Pamela did not believe that her father's wild words of that afternoon were based upon anything but iealous supposition, yet the truth in itself was too cruel ever wantonly to be revealetL to the yotyig man.

CScorgc Martindale had slept for the greater part of the day, and he was in better health bodily and mentally when he awoke on Pamela's entrance into the room. He seemed to have forgotten much of .what had passed that morning between him and his daughter : he had but a very hazy recollection of his interview with Rob Perrint the night before. Pamela was not displeased at this for she had been spared a long explanation, and perhaps a resumption of the scene which she had broken by her hurried departure from the room. She told him as gently as she could what Mr. Perrint had promised to do. "Thank Heaven for that—Thank Heaven ! " the sick man muttered. His relief was evident. "He's a good fellow, this Itob Perrint." h<j went 011—"a loyal friend. I believe I was able to do him one or two good turns in the past, and he ha? not forgotten them." He passed his hand over his brow as if in the effort uf remembrance, and then abandoned the exertion. "Didn't he

say something about being fond of you Pamela he asked querulously. "My memory's getting very bad and tilings are not so plain as they used to Ik-." "Don't trouble your head about it now, father," Pamela urged. "Let us be thankful in the knowledge that \vc have found a friend—one who will work for us and remove a terrible burden from our shoulders." "He will go tonight, you say? " asked (ieorge Martindale. after a pause. "All, it's best that he should go to-night, and he's a wise man to lose no time. For T remember something that he told me—something that awakased a sickly fear in my heart. He said that the workmen were coming to Motherly, and that they were going to begin to dig without delay. It's an open secret now about the coal, and it's in the very Held where' I buried Clinton Peele." He lowered his voice almost to a whisper and his eyes roved furtively about the room. "It's in that very field that they're to begin operations. They would find the bones of Clinton Peele, Pamela, and then the whole story would be made public—the story of my sister's disgrace and of my crime. I have seen it all in my dreams. The room has: been filled with my accusers, and they have pointed their lingers at me and have cried. 'Murderer ! murderer! and they did not spare you either, Pamela—you who are a murderer's child." He paused, breathing heavily and painfully. He was but half-con-scious of what he f said. Pamela stooped over the pillow, and did her best to soothe him. "You can put all these dreams away now. father," she murmured, "for Mr. Perrint has given his word that after to-night the danger will Iki passed." Hut she shuddered as she spoke, realizing how imminent the danger had been and that but for her no hand would have intervened to stave it ofT.

Later that evening, passing the door of Rob Perrint's study on her way to the room where a solitary meal hod been spread for her, Pamela became aware of a sound which caused her to stay her footsteps and listen. The sound was that of weeping, heavy sobs intermingled with plaintive, half-articulate words in a woman's voice. The sobbing came from within the study. Pamela holding her breath and listening intently was sure of this. Soon, too, she heard Kob Perrint's voice, rough and strident, though lowered to an undertone- Pamela hurried on ; the sounds terrified her, and the role of uavewdropper was not in her nature. Hut she had little difficulty in guessing who was the woman who wcpl. and what was the cause of her tears. To be continued.