In the Clutch of Nemesis

Lake County Press, Issue 2390, 24 August 1911, Page 2

In the Clutch of Nemesis

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. )

8y FEorsnse Haps, Adthoi of “The Trials of Madge Mobeilcy,” “A Merciless vVonisi',' “TangJed Threads,” :: The Brown Rosary,” &x. t &c. (COP VRGIHT.)

ObAllhh XXl—Com*mi n Joan had reached her room on tlie first floor, asd was just in time to sec v Brereton's face through the side-glass of the cab window whirl past, as he believed, in pursuit of her. "Escaped him this time!" exclaimed the girl as she sank down on the sofa bedstead that took up one side of her room. ''lt seems as if he would hunt me down to ruin or death," she murmured. "How I hate him —oh! how I hate him!" It was a strangely lonely life for a young and beautiful woman that she was leading now, living in this one room by herself. She was only required to be at the Universal Typing Offices from nine till one; the remainder of the day she could work for herself in her own room; so she had gone back to her former work of illustrating, and was doing her best to her sketches taken for various magazines and papers. She was thankful for work, for it enabled her to think less. She had not the time to brood when there were sketches to be drawn and folios of typing to bo got through. It was only when night closed in and the racket of cabs bad ceased in the street and all was 'quiet around her in the old dingy house that she felt a rush of memories overwhelm her with painful longings. She did not regret leaving \\ oodburst, for she believed it was the only thing to be done. Geraldine La Touche was right. It would have been a shamefully ungrateful thing towards her who had been her benefactress had she remaind on and won the love of the man who was destined to be Geraldine's husband. At least so Joan believed, as with a sigh. of sadness she came to the conclusion that Ralph's love for her was a passing glamour. Now that she had gone he would forget her—or think of her only now and again with a touch of sentiment as a memory—one of the things that might have been. For hours she would sit by her long narrow window that reached down to the floor absorbed in thought, com- ' panionless and alone. She could not J draw or type at night, for artificial light hurt her eyes for that kind of < work, and she was often too tired to t read or write, so she would save burning lights and watch them twinkle out from the different small restaurants i on the other side of the street. She < grew to know the habitues of the va- s rious eating houses-- the plain one 1 with no ornamentation called "he t juste ' milieu," the smarter-fronted house frequented by elderly bachelors k who had not much money to sp. id, v but who liked their food appetising g and nicely served, and the rather a flaunting place at the corner that Joan avoided passing at night. f< The gas lamp below her window d threw a gleam of light across her j, room, so that she was not in total \\ darkness, and could see every object n distinctly. She had picked up bits b of furniture gradually, and it was by cl no means a poorly furnished apart- yi ment that constituted her home. S; A camp bed with a serge covering over it in the daytime to - make it I look like a sofa, an old oak chest to st keep her few clothes in, a si cupboard for her food and cooking to utensils, a table, a couple of chairs, T and a washing stand that shut up in were sufficient to make the room ye habitable. A pair of Japanese chintz j n curtains at the window gave an artistic finish, and a bracket beside a fixed long glass on the wall held her lit one luxury—a vase of flowers, aut- vvi umn leaves they were, now with a do long train of crimson Virginia creep- we

er hanging down the wall in a grace ful festoon. She avoided making friends will her companion typists, and thougl always civil, was so reticent and re served that they did not care to fore their company upon her, and it wa: the same with the men with whon she was brought into contact. He manners were what they cadet ''stand-off," and did not invite inti macy of any description. Admira Hon she could not help getting, fo her face and figure attracted adniir ing glances wherever she went. The easy quiet life surrounded b} every comfort that she had led fo: the last few months at Woodhurs had tended to improve her wonderfu beauty, and Joan at the present tim< was at her best, in spite of the anxi ous lite she had, and the carking can that was ever at her elbow, like ; black shadow shutting out the sunshine. The only friend she allowed hcrseli was Sally, whom she felt she coulc never give up, for had she not been true to her all those dreary years, and welcomed her like a sister on hci re-appearance in the world? The. twe would sometimes go on Sunday afternoons to visit the grave where the child lay whom they had both loved so dearly, and however poor they might be, there were always flowers an little Roy's green mound, and a ivrcath of ivy twining round the little stone cross that headed the grave. She was horrified at the tall, house, and gloomy staircase that led up to Joan's room, md did not appreciate the oaken steps and ancient panelling of the 'ld house that was falling into decay. "It's so ghostified!" remarked the juxom little woman. "J don't 'alf ike yer bcin' all alone in sech a dace," looking round with disdain at he grimy waals of the landing and he second flight of stairs that led to he artist's rooms above. "And oh my, if it ain't like a irison," she exlaimcd when she sawhe double doois that shut off Joan's 00m from the landing. "But it's so safe," said Joan; "no ne could get through those doors; he outer one, you see, shuts of itself 'ith a spring." "Yes; and ow'd it be if you got xed between them two doors, and ould open neither? Why, you'd jest ufTocate; it's an uncanny sort o' lace, that's what I calls it," connued Sally, disdainfully. "But, you silly, I should have my cy to get through the outer door ith. There couldn't be that dan'r for me," replied Joan, laughing Sally's fears. "That's all very well. You might rget your key one day, and let the j )or slam-to behind you. and get j mmed in. T ate the hid-a, f do. I hy can't you come back and live in y little place? It's not a. palace, if though I say it as shouldn't, it" .■an and 'olesome, and 'ealthier for 'it tli.in being shut up 'ere," said lly. "Too far out, Sally, dear. Besides, really do like my room here. The eet is comparatively quiet and recctable, and I can always manage get one good meal a day over at c Blanc,' where I get French cookie for a mere song, and coffee that t can't b-at at the best restaurant London," was Joan's reply. ?o, after her recent encounter with I : ■reton, she looked round her room j hj a sense of entire safety. The j tble doors, strong and solid as they ' 'C, were a comfort to her, and she I

knew that no other keys in the house would lit them. Besides, he would hardiy think of looking for her in i such a strange, out of the ordinary, I sort ol house. She had led too soliI lary and silent a life in prison to mind being alone now, or to know what fear of loneliness meant, but she missed Daisy, and she longed intensely, with a longing that was actual pain, to see Ralph again. She knew that he had recovered, for she made it her business through Sally to find that out, and she had also seen a notice that a book of his would shortly appear. She began to scan the society t columns of the weekly journals, expecting to come across the announcement of his engagement to Geraldine La Touche, for Joan felt sure that it would follow on soon after she should he out of the way. But as the weeks slipped by into months, and the . autumn mists changed into November fogs, she began to have her doubts, and wondered a little when she saw I amongst the names of visitors for the Riviera those of Mrs. Rutherford and her son. One day as she was seated at her luncheon, or, rather, mid-day dinner, at "Lc Cafe Blanc," just opposite the house where she lived, she was to let. It was the apartment of the music saw a notice up in the window of the: next room (o her own stating that it ! teacher; and Joan fell she should not be sorry were she to leave, for at times the piano was rather an annoyance, being of the tin-kettle kind, and the wall between the two rooms not particularly thick, only she reflected that a change might not be for the better, and often meant from the frying-pan into the fire. She was wondering whether it would remain vacant long when she heard herself addressed by someone ' behind her. "Excuse me speaking, but f wonder if you could tell me anything about the house over the way. I happened to see you come from it, so ventured to ask you. The woman, who spoke timidly, almost confusedly, was haggard and careworn-looking, and shabby in her dress ; she was eating a roll for hei dinner, with a cup of coffee to wash it down, and the waiter had looked rather askance at her ordering so frugal a meal. "I live there," replied Joan. "The house is c\uic\ and rpiitc respectable. The carctakc r is a decent sort of woman, who lives on the ground floor, and would show you any rooms that are to let, if that is what you are in search of." "It is. This neighborhood would suit me, as I have employment at one of the theatres near, and am looking out for a room where 1 can live." Joan liked the woman's face, and her voice was cultured and refined. She seemed instinctively drawn to iter, and, contrary to her usual reserve, she at once entered into conversation, turning her chair round te converse. When they both rose to leave the restaurant, Joan invited tin stranger to come 1 across to her room, which invitation was eagerly accepted. The woman appeared to be about three or four and thirty, and was slim acid delicate l locking, with a slender, graceful figure that attracted Joan's admiration. "'And you live alone here?" said tin 1 stranger, looking surprised. "Yes. You seem astonished," re- j plied .["an, smiling. "I am. You are so beautiful. Beautiful women don't usually live alone. And you are voting, too; not thirty, 1 should say." "T am twenty-nine. I work for my living as a tvpist," said loan simply. "I should like to have the room next to you if I ran afford it. T am a journalist; and to make a little more money show people into their seats at 'The Chloris Theatre.' I, too, am alone, very much alone. T think I'll go down now. and sec the caretaker about that room that is to let," said the woman. "You can mention my name if you like —Mrs. Ilatherlcy," said Joan. "Thank eon very much. 1 will do so. By the bye, mv name is Becktoo Sophie Beckton." %k i CHARTER XXII. A PROPOSAL 1 OF MARRIAQE. j Brcreton was furious at the failure j that had prevented his discovering the whereabouts of Joan. Her cabman 1 had suddenly disappeared down some j haunt of his own, and seemed to 1 Brcreton as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up, horse and 1 hansom as well. Feeling baulked in his desire, he 1 dismissed his own cab and walked v slowly and aimlessly along Piccadilly, i Should he call on Miss La Touche j> :>r not? What was the good? Yet why should he not? Perhaps she c ould tell him something' of Joan. I ■ihe would be almost certain to know w vhere she was living, but would she S idl him? Anyway, there would be n 10 harm done by asking, so for the hj ;econd lime that afternoon Brcreton hj nuiiil himself in Grecn-strcct. Gerddine happened to be in, and had unitled to give orders that she was f 'not at home." s; She was writing in her own sane- j urn, the room where Joan used to I it, when the maid told her that Mr. ; , Irereton was in the drawing-room. It was on the tip of Geraldino's j nigue to say that she could not see '>•'' im, bill feeling just (hen ''stuck" at ' 1 ~'

die particular part of her story that she was writing, she threw down her pen impatiently with a certain sense "' rt ''iel at the interruption. "Say I will see him directly," she said. Then woman-like she turned to the glass over the chimney-piece and touched her head, daintily adjusting a little ,ml into place on her forehead and smoothing down a ruck in her delicate silk blouse. What did he want ? The man interested her as a type that she was not acquainted with. She liked to draw him on when she was in a certain mood that craved conquest, or !o snub him if he became too familiav. In any case, lie never bored Iter unless she was under stress of great anxiety, as she had been that day when going to Ralph. .She had not seen him since then -what a long lime ago it was, and what a lot had happened since then. Gnhappincss and despair had come to her that she was struggling against "ow, fighting them down, and calling up all her pride to help her. Ralph should not think that she would go on eating out her hearl for love of him though she was -yes, she was; and she loved him so dearly, so madly, that through that love she was smothering her own feelings in order to help him. She wanted to restore Joan to him, and so win his forgiveness, ft was a task she had set herself to do, a task that seemed well nigh impossible, but Gcraldinc vowed die would do it, and she intended to keep that vow. "Ft is quite a long time since we met," she said, extending her slim white hand that flashed with costly lings for her visitor to take. Brcreton always admired Gcraldinc; her calm superiority, her ease of manner, her perfect savoir-faire appealed to him. Coarse and rather brutish as he, was by nature, he only admired a certain tpyc ofwwoma n lady in every .-anise of the word ; other women had no attraction for him, and he was not a man who would ever be tempted to rnarrv beneath his own rank in life. I'ntil he had come across Joan again, he had thought seriously of proposing to Miss I.a Touche, and the thought ri turned to him now as he he'd her white lingers in hi-. and admired her manners, her aristocratic tone, and the red glory of her ii.ir that crowned her well-shaped head like a rich diadem. "1 did not know you were in town .id 1 heard so the oilier day. 1 thought you were still at VVoodhurst," he said. "Xo. As soon as Mr. Rutherford i.-, strong enough to travel he and his mother arc going to -Nice or Mentune, and will remain there for the winter, I think." replied Geraldine. IP "And are you going with them, Mtvs La Touche " "I i Why should. ! accompany them, Mr. Bereton?" " I did not know. 1 thought ■ the I.K t i>, Miss La Touche, 1 thought it was a settled thing between you and Rutherford,'' said Brcreton, clumsily. ki \ ou are mi-taken. There is nothing between Mr. Rutherford and mvscli, absolutely nothing," replied (ii t alcline firmly. "I n't there likely to be?" "Xo." Brcreton came nearer to her, his bold eye,-, upon her haughty Luv. "V.Hi know how much i admire rou lie paused, waiting for a sign from ler that he might go on. She moved 0 a little table of nick-nacks, and beran lidga t'.ing with them; she was vondering whether she would allow dm to propose to her or not; trying n the few moment- that she. had to veigh ihf pros and cons of a inari.ige with, this man, whose wealth night tempi main- a woman of soiety lo link her life with him. Gcraldinc had only that very moiling received a long letter from her nothcr upbraiding her with remaning single still, complaining of her lebts and difficulties, and her (laugher's extravagances. Ileie wa.-. a way out of these petty i oubh ... She had only to give a • old. a glance of encouragement, nd she felt sine Horace Brcreton ,'ouhl ask her to become his wife, 'eople would no longer dare to pity or ;is being neglected by Ralph Uilhorford, and he—he would see . bat she was soon consoled. • s lie ga\a' a little laugh, and < lamed up with the look of a fin- ' It (1 coquette in Brercton's face. ; "You admire me. How nice of you » say so ! i love admiration. And • that what you have called to tell , ',T' 'fhe mockery in her tone roused c rereton's passion. "Not thai only," he said, and al- ,' lost fiercely caught her bare arm, here the loose sleeve fell hack from s soft whiteness, and hold it in a lip of iron. "1 want you to be my wife," be nd. She (lushed warmly crimson. j is touch hurt her delicate flesh ; lie ', as rough- too bold too daring, a ie almost re-fused him—almost, but >l quite. The next instant she met j ( s gaze with a straight look from w r eyes. tl f< "I have no love to give you, but ll 1 marry you if you want me," sheid, with perfect sang-froid. m pi (To lie Continued.) th ih wl fhe cow that is ollic 1, lo contract ■" I habit i is often the cow which can ''' taught good manners with the , ' 1 st trouble. *u