Through The Silent Night

Manawatu Times, Volume LV, Issue 6840, 22 April 1932, Page 9

Through The Silent Night

(by william gtjidott.)

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) She broke down and hid her face in the oushions, sobbing as if her heart would break. Marcia stood looking at her. She knew that she must decide what course to lake, and quickly. She must pretend to herself that she knew nothing of <tho whole affair, and act and speak like it, that would pull her through. With a mental effort which cost her more than she either knew or cared, she forced her brain to do her bidding. A girl in her position would either blame or pity, or sympathise. Which course should she take? She looked at Doris sobbing there, huddled in the deep arm ohair. How helpless and piteous she looked. Maroia’s heart went out to her. And this was all her fault. A human being had to suffer as this girl had suffered, and was suffering now for what she, Marcia, had done, though she herself had been given no choice as to whether she would do it or not. Fate had forced It on her. Fato was forging with deadly malicious skill the chains around them, entangling first herself, innooenl so far as intention went, and helpless, then Doris, friendless and alone. Why had It all had to happen, and (the quiet and peace of their lives been so ruthlessly broken? What bad they both done? The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children 1 The text came back to her suddenly. Was that the explanation? Had the money-lender spoken the truth, whon he had said those things about her father? Marcia suddenly realised that part of her anger at the time had 'been due to the fact that she heard the ring of truth in the man’s voice, usually so Insincere and mean. Bhe was suffering for her poor father, and the horrible injustice of it staggered her. She touched Doris on the shoulder gently. The girl started. “What is It? Why don’t you leave me or tell me to go? I know what you must he thinking.” Marcia forced herself to smile. “No, you don’t in the least,” she answered kindly. “Let’s be calm and sensible. First -of all, get that notion that nobody cares out of your head. I do, and Mr Kynaston does. There are two right away. No, don’t talk; it’s my turn. He believes in you, doesn't he?”

Doris nodded, and a little sob escaped her. “Of course, he does, and so do I,” Marcia went on. Doris squeezed her hand. She had hardly dared hope for this. “But tell me. That night you left home, did you go before or after the ’’ Marcia forced back her repulsion, “the murder?” “I don’t know; before, I suppose,” came the weak voice. “1 left the house about half an hour after seeing my step-father; we had quarrelled. He shouted at me and told me to get out, and I went up to my room and got. my things. He was all right when 1 left'him.” She smiled grimly. “The front door bell rang just as 1 was going. I simply fled out through the kitchen door. 1 was afraid he would expect me to answer the hell, you see.” She stopped.

“Go on,” Marcia said gently. Her attention had strangely enough been wandering a little, as it sometimes will under any great nervous strain. She was thinking of her own flight from that terrible house. “Is that all you know? Y r ou haven’t any clue, I suppose? What happened after you ran through the garden door?”_ "The garden door." Doris looked up in amazement. “How did you know?” ~ . Marcia kept control of herself; she had made a slip. “I thought you said so, dear, didn’t you, or was It the back door? It doesn’t matter, does it?” “No,” saicl Doris, bitterly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except that I may be arrested at, any m-oment. Now you see why I must get. I ought never to have come.” Marcia thought quickly. She could not lot her go like this. The horrible injustice of it was too much for her. “You shan’t go alone. We will. both go.” she said, In a low, decisive tone.

CHAPTER XVI. Mrs Leighton came slowly into the morning room ■with, a perfunotory glAhce at the olock. She quite expfipteii 1o have her breakfast alone. She was never punctual, and disliked t.he fooling she was keeping anyone waiting, so Marcia, and lately Doris also, usually finished their meal and went out, before she made appearance. Very sweet and fresh she looked In her'simple grey morning gown, with sort old lace at the wrists, an oldworld up-to-dateness In her whole appearance, which many of her contemporaries had tried in vain to irmlate. She paused to touch the bell, and then sank into her chair by the lire. A table, had been closely drawn up. A tinkling of china and the fragran,. odour of coffee heralded Mary with her dainty breakfast. Mrs Leighlon liked this quiet way of beginning the day, a letter or two to amuse her, and the paper. Lately Marcia had been rather greedy about the paper, but only for a few days, as it now re-ap-peared with usual promptness at her breakfast hour.

“ If you please, ’m.” Mrs Leighton looked up from her toast. Mary was standing by her side, with a small silver tray. “ Post Is late, Mary," said her mistress with a little smile, as she saw a letter lying on it. The maid hesitated, "It’s not, the post, if you please, ’m. I have just found it. on the hall table. It was nearly hidden by the card-tray." Mys Leighton took the letter with a puzzled look on her faoe. "But when did it come, Mary'?’’ she said, holding it lightly in her hand for a momeraent, and looking inquiringly at the maid. x don’t know, 'tn. I found it just now. I think it is Marcia’s writing and—•"

11 Miss Marcia?” Mrs Leighton looked down at the letter with the frown deepening between her yes. She resognised her daughter's handwriting, dismissed the maid, and proceeded calmly with her breakfast. When the door had dosed she poured herself out some more coffee, and settling back comfortably in her chair, proceeded to open the letter. For a moment she stared at the sheet of paper,

Instalment 18.

and then a llush mounted to her cheeks and her form grew a little rigid. “ Mother darling,” she read, “ I have gone away with Doris for a little while. You know me well enough not to worry about me. .1 need only tell you I had to go, but 1 am going to ask you to tell anyone who inquires that I have gone to Sootland, and that Doris is not with me. Doris is in some trouble, mother. I may be able to help her. Please believe in her absolutely. I beg you to know nothing about her, I have no time for more.—Ever your loving Marcia.” Mrs Leighton gave a little gasp, and the hand holding the letter fell into her lap. She sat staring across the room, more puzzled than alarmed. She did not remember that Marcia had ever been quite so sudden before. Mrs Leighton wrinkled her brows and thought hard. Marcia usually had a very good reason for anything she did, so if she wished people to think she was In Scotland, Scotland It should he. Of course, Doris— The front door bell whirred in the distanoe.

Something impelled her to swiftly push the letter into its envelope and slip it into her dress. Voices, in firm altercation with Mary, sounded in the hall, and a momernent later the maid entered with a flushed face and annoyed expression, ushering in two men, one unmistakably a sergeant of police. Both men stood hat in hand just inside the door. Before the indignant Mary oould speak the sergeant took a step forward. “ Can I have a word with you, madam?" he said courteously. Mrs Leighton’s bewilderment was at, first patent to everyone present. Then a little touch of hauteur hardened the whole contour of her fact, as she sat staring straight at the speaker. “ 1 ain't it rather an unusual thing to intrude like, this?” she demanded coldly.

“I’m sorry madam, but I should be grateful if you would give me a few moments, and I should be glad to speak to you alone." He glanced significantly at the angry maid as he spoke, “My man will you wait outside.” Mrs Leighton looked coldly from one man to another. “You can go, Mary,” she said quietly. The significance of the letter she had just received from Marcia struck her now. Instead of shattering her nerves, the whole situation braced them. As far as she knew it was Doris whose troubles were so shielded, so no feeling of fear on Marcia’s account assailed her. She made a. slight gesture with her hand as the door closed. “ What do you wish to say to me?” She spoke quite easily and proceeded to butter some toast as calmly as If she were, alone. The man coughed and looked into the crown of his hat, feeling somewhat sheepish. “ J want to see the young lady, madam.” He was obviously ill at. eass. . Mrs Leighton paused in the act of conveying her toast to her lips. “The young lady? You mean my daughter? I’m afraid you can’t. She is away.”

“ I don’t mean your daughter. I mean the young lady staying here." Mrs Leighton calmly went on with her toast. “ I believe she went away last night.” “ That won’t do madam.” The man took another step forward. Ali Ills diffidence had vanished. He was now the alert police officer. “We know she didn’t leave the house before you came back from the theatre, and that was 11.45.”

Mrs Leighton was rather enjoying herself. Sho began to fold her tablonapkin with fastidious precision. “You know more than 1 do then, my good man.” The officer was getting annoyed; hs turned to tha door. “ 1 should be obliged if you will allow your maid to call the young lady," he said somewhat shortly. “ Certainly. My maid can coll her if yon like, but, as I told you, I believe she went away last night or, it might, be early this morning. I aoij’t usually worry my guests about such little matters." She took up thu morning paper as she spoke, with an air of dismissal. The man opened the door, thaq paused, and came back into the roorili “Will you kindly toil me when your daughter wont away, madam? 1 * he asked quietly. "I believe it was early this morning,” said Mrs Leighton, looking at him with a kind of soft impatience, "but I don’t see what ” “I have reasons, madam, and I must ask you to be more explicit. Where did sho go?"

Mrs Leighton felt her heart give a throb under the letter sho had thrust into her gown. "My daughter has gone to Scotland,” she roplied, with cold dignity. “I can’t tell you her address as I don’t know it myself until she writes. May I be allowed to enquire what ail this curiosity means?" “I’m afraid I am not, able to answer that,_ madam,” said the officer Awkwardly. “But, before I call your zhfttd, would you mind telling me If the young lady you have had staying bore has gone with your daughter.’* “Not. that I know of,” replied Mrs Leighton sweetly, knowing by the man’s face how she was baffling’ every question he asked her, and enjoying it with a certain amount of pleasure. “You see,” she went on naively, "when my guests go on a round Cf visits, 1 never cateohlse them As to which house they visit first. If I had known you were so Interested about them, I might have——” The officer made an impatient movement.. He seemed gettihg thO worst of It. There was something about this graceful woman’s manner that made him - uncomfortable. He couldn’t even doubt her word, so he turned sharply away and oalled to tha maid. “Miss 1”

With indignation in every featura Mary appeared at the end of tho corridor. "Is Miss Smith In her room?" "I don’t know,” she snapped angrily. Something antagonists in the girl's attitude made him suspicious. "Hadn’t- you better go and see,” ho said In an ominously quiet voice, (To be continued^