A SCARLET SIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 177, 29 July 1909, Page 4

A SCARLET SIN.

(Af.l. nvr.i ;■ ; n: -":

A row hi; i i'L ST< ujy.

By A LICK suM rf.M t r. \SKi;W, AlltbOrS of "Ttv f. **Ao OA Of Ihc &( , &C,

♦ XIXKTKKXTI! INSTALMENT. "Ho you stent for me only to *a> •good-bye" «!•«! you ?" he whispered. "Hut did you think I should lot yoi pass nut of.my life like that ? I'm not that sort of man. dear. I know that you love me. and that you would not bid me go of your own account. Something has happened t«* put this silly idea into your head, and you must tell nic aU«ui it." "I can't—l can't." she interrupted feebly struggling to release hersell from hi* clasp. "That's just the horror of it Basil." -"he gas|ied : "bill yntt must go away from me. dear VoM mittl never try to see m again, and for pity's sake you must not ask me to explain why. I cannot tell you. You said just now that fate was juggling with «»ur lives* : but the threads nrv not interlacingl—t hen- is a cruel knife that is cutting them asunder." She paused, drawing deep anil paim'ul breaths. She was no longer struggling ogninst the touch of his arm. nor did she make protest against the kisses which he pr.-ss«-d tl|H»n her eyes. her cheeks, her lips. What did it matter? Was not this their parting ? Basil did not attempt to sjH-ak. judging it wisest for the girl to sob out as much of her story as she w»utd tell : but his arms about her ttirt' masterful and |K>*sessive. ••'This is our parting, llasil." She hardly realized that she was answering his caress«fi. nestling her head linw against his breast. "I must c>> tack alone, whence 1 came, and ori must return to tendon to-night. You must forget imp. and purhaps >»>» will find some one else worthy •>i' you—more worthy that I could ever be." He broke in'.o a laugh, though there was little mirth in it. "Hut what if I won't go. Pamela?" he asked. "What if I refuse to give *ou up ? " "t>h. bin you must —you must ! she s,,MwW. "It isn't jnissible that we can ever l»" what «*«- hoped to each other. You must l»etteVe n.y word, llasil. for I cannot. dare not. make myself clearer Since 1 "have twen here I have learned things— secrets that I may not re|ieat. I have twen so'miserable, so unhappy; but there is no way out of it."' She broke down, her tears now irimtng unrestr«>mdly ; y n * Jhere wn< joy in h«>r heart to know that he had said he would nol let her go. "You |H>or darling." whispered thman en her ear. "do you know that I have expected something of this sort ? Since you came to Scotland am have learned things about \oura>fl( rtiiji -bout me that have terrifies! >ni». Vim thtnt. »«»»* hnvt. found out a secret of which I am in ignorance. Y>>ti f«-lt it impossible to tell the truth, and decided that, rather than do >o. we must part. Hut. Pamela " he raised her h-ad so that he coitbl on*.* i.iure «•■»• into h-<* eyes—"what it' I know the Mo»> 1 What if it is no secret to me ? " There was infinite tenderness in his regard, though his eyes were sad. "Am I right ? " he asked. "Is the secret itißii'••» tk t! uith my mother and with your father. IttU.. »iiiisin ?" I'.tuii'ta started, hardly belie*i»g Hi fjirs. It was as though a great i.iH-J. r« had suddenly fallen from her M-.i.rirders. llasil knew* everything : Hi.iv wa* nothing she could tell him —Mie'.v that she wa+ the daughter of n murderer, knew- of the sham- that haul iM-tallen Ills imeihct in the past ! She could find no word* to x|ienH. hut sh- re|wated Iter lover's namo over and over agniin. Itasil ! llasil !"

"Yes. it's true." he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I understand why yon have lieen tnlking of parttug for ever. Pamela. I know what it is you dare not tell me. It is well fur ws that I met Sir Charles Sainton In the frpin lust night, for tilt then I was in wotui ignorance ,tt «>ur family history. You tut:" he went on. "I spent so much of my time abroad engaged in my art studies, and my father died when I was quite a young boy. I quickly realized that there was something in my moMvr's past life that she did not

:-,re to talk about. and I loved her -.> d-«rly that I hated to trouble »ht with qi«i*ti»»ns. It is only since I went up to Scotland aboid the Metherly property, only since I met yon. that I have really felt any curiosity about the matter. I tormented my mother then with questions, but she would tell me nothing, lly dear, dear mother • How well I understand now why she would not speak » I left her ill. Pamela, or she roust havn felt that the trurh was coming out. and that in nm* way or another, f must learn her secret. I can reinemlier «iow a few vague words she s|ioke. and. thank Clod. I promised her that, whatever it was that she had done in the past, my t.ive tor her would never swerve or change/" Ther« ?*as> ft pause for a f'' w "»'"' utes. Basil was again tugging nervously at a clump of heather, his face turned away from the girl's, boyishly ashamed of allowing her to s»ee the emotion he fell. And Pamela. s«U}»g PPPKht. her little lingersclenched closely together, uns trying to grasp this new and uneX|iecU>d t|e.velopment. to understand all that it meant to her. and how her future actions would lie influenced by it. There was* no reason now why sh< should give Basil up—no reason except {he promise lo Rob Perrint. which bad h*en infracted from hei against ber will. Would it nol Ih wiser to make a clean breast of II to Basil, and tell him all that had happened to her since she came tc i irsM'fate I*odge ? Perhaps he could ! r i some way of checkmating Rot: i' r»,iit nnd of saving her father .in the (oilb Jntff whJcJ l he had fab Sh- was about to sneak, when Bas- :.• turning laid his hand upon hers I'll tell you what happened in the train." he saM. gen My. 'Til t'H

; -•..»•- :•: i f.y .-v- I i ,-hi v.;-;j" I i- ;irit- ; :'■ .:■! Mi: • i".t!l S.iuiln:i. til " >•>■' : i.- ahl- '■• ioir.p;ii-e in-. Miin ■.■ nil what jiiii already know, and : .;•, li there is still any reason why «.- should talk of parting." lb- smiled down at her reassuringly .mud Pamela tried to smile back, but sh.» was telling herself miserably that Itasil knew nothing of Hob Perrint. that he had yet to learn how their love was threatened by the master of Orgadale. "Sir Charles Sainton never meant to tell me all he did." llasil began. "I think he was under a curious misapprehen.sioii from the first. He is -itill v.ry much of a mystery to me, and though I've Ik—n thinking it all over very seriously I fail to see how to weave him into the story. " Basil's brow.i contracted a little. "There is soiii Ihing very Strang*; nlwut the man." he went on reflectively, "and I cannot help thinking he's more intimately acquainted with our affairs than he would have us believe. I'm tuspicioiis of him Pamela, though I inve no delinite ground for saying -to. but " he drew himself up and his li|>s were n straight line of decision—"l came to Scotland to

„-lnim you as my wife, and now f Ind that there are other duties lier'ore me I shall :tot rest till I havo accomplished them." "Tell me about Sir Charles," Pamela said. "I'm stir«- h«-"s a bad man. llasil. I felt afraid of him when I •*nw him at the roup, and I've heard lis name mentioned ever since then, ind in no pleasant connection." She rem-mliered I.iddy's tale, and low the old niirs.- had connected the jinme of Sir Charles Sainton with thit of Clinton IVele. itasil ln-gnn his story. He told of •is depar:ii:- from home, "of his mother's d-siie to neeompany him to Scotland, .if her «-\i«|e»t eagerness to b» present at th- tu-eting with Ileorge M<;rtindnle. and how her sudleti illn-s-* had pr<-\eiited her carryng out her wishes. "Hut my mind was full of suspicions when I left home. Pamela," he went on. "and I guessed that your "ather was implicated in some crime in which my mother, too. had lieen ,-oncerned. Hut be>on.l that I knew nothing, anil I had no means of lifting the veil of mystery. It was lifted for m- Inst night by Sir Charhs Sainton. As luck would Have it I entered a carriage in the srnin in which he had already settled himself. I could not help speaking his name, although I have never met the man to talk to. I must tell vou. Pamela, that I saw Sir Charles Sainton on one other occasion since he bill against us at the sole. It was outside your own house in Ken*ington the evening when I found vou had gone to Scotland. I don't know what he was doing, moping about there, but I know that he rerogni/ed my mother and that she recognizi"d him. lie railed her by her Christ ian name, nnd she was tf.frlbly upvt at Heeling him. Hilt hC moved away, as though he was anxious to escape before anything more could lie said. Hut I don't think my mother knew ih- name of Sir Charles Sainton. She said the man was a certain flint on Peele who had Ih--ii murdered years 'ago. |i was this statement of hers that aroused hi) suspicions, and made me question her so cruelly." "Sir Charles- Sainton and Clinton Peel" bore a peculiar resemblance to ■n<h other." Pane la ini«Trupt«il here —••>«» much I have h ard (vaui Lidily bul I rjinjml wiider-iand why Sir Charles should have known your mother and called her by her Christian nam-." "Thai i- a mystery still to lie solved." llasil went on reflectively. "We must compare notes. Pamela, as to what we know of this Clinton Peele. and jierhaps lietweon us we shall see light. Hut to go on with my story. I had just told you how as the train moved from the station and taken by surprise. I impulsively called out the name of Sir Charles Sainton. lb- was sitting there in the further cornel, well wrapjvd up, a rug on his knee*, and he was frowning over a telegram, which, when h=- heard his nam- mentioned, he crushed up and thrust away in his pocket. I don't think he recognized mi*, but he turned and said : " ' Since you seem to know my name, jierhnps you will tell mc vours.' "Naturally I apologized, explaining that I knew him well by sight, and Hi.:i his nam- had slip|ied out involuntarily from my lips. 'My own nam- is Karraday." I told him. "The sound of the name, as I spoke it. s«-emed to affect him in a remarkable manner. The man was in a state of r*rvou+ excitement. I should say. hardly master of himself. He threw the rug from his knees and crossed over to when- I was sitting taking iiis pbtce exact I;- qpppsjte n t e. He was very white, and I noticed how his hands shook. " 'Karraday ! ' he cried, 'arc you the son of L,uke Karraday. who once owned the Metherly estate, in the north of Scotland ? "

"I replied that I was. He craned forward as though be wished to scrutinize mc carefully, , to examine l»»e|>- feature ,if my face. His voice was shaky, and he spbke in short, disconnected sentences. He was like a man stricken with sudden terror. " 'Ah. I rrtnemlicr now/ he cried. 'I hare seen you liefore—once at the roup, where you bid against mc for the Metherly fields—l wondered then who you might Ik,—and then I saw you again, only the other day in fruition. You were with a lady. Was she your mother?" He brought his face very close to mine, and his lips were twitching painfully "At any other lime I should have resented s»cb qiiestljatis, but tho man was evidently so excited that 1 was forced to humour him. Besides 1 had my own suspicions, and thought it not" unlikely thnt I might lenrn something of interest from him. so I answered him as composedly as 1 could, telling him that I had been fvith my mother on the occasion he upokc of. Well Pamela, for a moment I thought he.was going tc have a fit. He fell back in his scat and panted as though he was choking. He lifted his hand and clutched nt his throat. His face wasghastly. I sprang up to help him il J could, but he motioned rue awav from him Ht.i lip-- i».>v,.,j " 'Ha-'k .'i'"i:i 'h- l-:.'.'■'•• I h'-nrr h-r '---. '

CIIAI'TKi: .\.\v. Pamela ini'l been lisl'-miiir in silrn< •■• to Ilasi] 's t n J«-. Tie- nm wjiv high in Ihe heavens by now. ye«. excited by the events of the morning, ih-eply absolved in Basil's story, she took no regard of the flight of time. She forgot that her prolonged absence from Orgadale would be notired, and occasion if not alarm, at least surprise.

"Then Sir Charles Sainton knew your mother in the past, Isi;-il." sh. murmured, "and he must in some way have lieen connected with the romance of her life. Yet it was not he " She broke off. hardly liking to say what was in her mind. "Listen till I have told you all that haplH-ned," said Ihisil. "There is a mystery In-hind all this which we have yet to solve. Sir Charles Sainton recovered himself after a while, and then seemed confused and angry that he should have made such a demonstration of emotion. He tried to excuse himself. 'You must forgive me.' ho muttered, 'for giving way so childishly. Hut I am not in good health, and there was certain matters which are troubling my mind very much just now. I knew your mother very well years ago, when she was but a girl. I was young myself at the time, and it is quite likely thnt she does not retnemlier me. She was living with her great-uncle. Robert Leslie, at Hoss Castle, which was not so very, far from my own uncle's estate, where I sjient a great deal of my vouth. Hut there was no friend;-hip between Rolicrt Ix-slie and my people so it isn't likely that your mother would know me ' —he seemed very anxious to impress this point on my i mind. 'bill it's possible.' he went on. 'that if she saw me she would mistake m- for one who was a friend if mine in those days, Clinton Peele Perhaps you know the name ? ' He :ooked at me curiously and furtively is he spoke. "'I have heard the name of Clinlon Peele,' 1 said, evasively, for I lid not want to hinder anything that Sainton might be about to say by confessing my ignorance of my awn family history, Besides it was irqe that I had hoard the name of Clinton Peele, for It was that name that had come to my mother's lips on the occasion when we met Sir Charles Sainton in Acacia-road. "• 'Ah. you know,' Sir Charles went on. 'Well, you can understand why I was so surprised at realizing that your mother was still alive, and that she had married the man who was devoted to, her in the past, nnd whom she- abandoned for anjther. I know your mother's story you see. and 1 thought, like everyone else in the neighbourhood of .Stoneport. that she was dead. So cou are Luke Farraday's son ! How old are you ?' He put the question sharply and abruptly and impcralivcly, and again I answered him, restraining any resentment I might feel for the same motive as before. "Something that was almost a, look of relief crossed his face as he heard my answer. A little colour *tole back to his cheeks. 'Ah,' ho re|»eated, Farraday's son- But you arc like your mother : you are very like your mother.' lam telling you all this, Pamela, as nearly as I can word for word. Why do you grip my hand so tight, dear?" For Pamela had suddenly seized. Basil's hand, and was pressing it convulsively. The recollection of certain \\ild wortis which her father had spoken came into her mind. All unconsciously, with no understanding of the purport of his words, Basil was refuting a calumny which should never have been spoken. Pamela's action had been sudden and spontaneous, but hot' heart had leapt with joy. and she had been unable to restrain herself. "It's nothing, dear —nothing." she murmured: and then, "Oh, Basil, I love you so." As was natural Basil had to re-. spond to this demonstration of affection, find for a few minutes his otory was forgotten. Yet Pamela had still no thought of passing time nor any desire to curtail the story to which she was listening. "And now." continued Basil, when he at last was able to take up the thread of his narrative, "I must tell you of Sainton's further strange behaviour. As I have said the man was evidently in a very norvous state. ]Je must have been under Ihe impression that he was talking to one who knew all about certain matters of which I was, of course, absolutely in the dark. He had lieen silent for a few moments, gazing out of the window, evidently wrap|>cd in thought. Suddenly he turned upon mc with a resumption of excitability. 'Where are you going to ?' he asked. "Why are you travelling on th|s line ? - As you may untlerstand. Pamela, he was asking more than I was ready to tell him. It isn't likely that I should have said that I was travelling to Stoneport at your request. Indeed, I had no notion at that time that the mention of your name would have conveyed any mean inn to him. However, he was palpably working himself up to a frenzy of suspicion. " 'You are bound for Stoneport, for Metherly,' he cried. "What object have you In view, I want to know ? Why did you seek to buy back the proi>erty your father sold '} Coal ? Xonscnse ; that's, a lie : u pretence. Then, Pamela, he stoop-d [(irwar-d and laid a heavy hand impressively on my knee. 'l'll tell you why you were sent to purchase Metherly,' he said—'why you are travelling there now. It's because your mother knows that there is that hidden away in, the JletherK fields, which would ruin her reputation, her good name, and yours, if found."You jnay imagine, Pamela, how these terrible words affected me. I had had my suspicions, but it was painful to a degree to have them verified in such a manner. I felt a. passionate desire to cry out to him that ho was speaking to me of matters of which T was ignorant—that I didn't fcnow —but somehow my tongue was tied, and all I could do was to gaze foolishly and silently at the man, listening to what he had to say. To be Continued.