ESTRANGED or the LOST HEIRESS of the CHAMPNEYS.

North Otago Times, 15 February 1913, Page 4 (Supplement)

ESTRANGED or the LOST HEIRESS of the CHAMPNEYS.

(All Bights Beaerved.)

A Fascinating Romance, By the Author of "Tho Hampton Mystery," "'Sir Pctor Eldon, &c.

PART 10. "And to-day is Tuesday," thought! Bora, with a thrill of pleased anticipation. "The letter was written on Saturday. The servant must havo delayed to post it. He is on his way now. He docs not tell me at what hour he may arrive, He may bo here at any moment," She put the letter in her bosom, and hastened to make a fow alterations in her toilet, which might nmko her more pleasing in the eyes ol her aristocratic lover.

Then sho wont out to tho Bitting room.

''Well, what's your news ?" demanded Mrs. Narr.

"Mr, Champney will bo hers today." ■"He will I" and tho woman's oyes ■■brightened. "That is good. You can marry him, if you want to, Dora, Only, whoever does marry you will have to pension off Jack and mo, if he don't want ub to settlo in his neighbourhood." Dora had not thought that her maF riage was to afford the Narrs an opportunity to obtain blackmail, and while she was considering the subject in a bitterness of spirit a heavy step was heard on the stairs, and a thundering knock sounded on tho door.

'''Come in!" called out Mrs. Narr, The door opened, and a man strode into the room.

With a great cry of welcome Mrs. Narr flow towards him, drew him further into the room, and embraced him,

"'lt's Jack, sure enough 1" sho ejaculated. "Jack, at last I"

Dora looked at tho new-comer curiously.

He was a stout man, of medium height, yes, by reason of his breadth, seemed shorter than ho was. He had a red, full moon face, framed in red and bristling hair,, cropped close to his round head, A red fringe of whiskers adorned his face. He looked the incarnation of vulgarity, was coarse and bluff and ignorant, fond of drink and vices that go hand-in-hand with drunkenness, and bad, as he had had all his life, a positive genius tor getting his living at the expense of some other person.

Ho was gaudily dressed in plaid trousers, a red velvet waistcoat adorned with brass buttons, a blue satin scarf, in which was thrust a pin displaying an immense paste diamond, a velveteen coat, and, finally, an old dented hat set jauntily on the back of his head.

It was evident that he had propped up his courage or his strength by a •use of his favourite beverage just beforo arriving at Lowater-cresccnt. He looked, in short, like a retired and well-to-do prize-fighter.

Such was Jack Narr, the man who claimed to be the father of the pure, dainty, and blossom-like Dora. "Yes, it's Jack I" cried the man, with a hoarse laugh, looking around him. f Very nice quarters, old girl. Setting up for a nob, ain't you ? Beg parding, miss," he added, his gaze settling on Dora <; and he made a sweeping bow to her. "I meant no 'fence,"

Mrs, Narr pulled his sleeve, "'Don't you understand ?" she exclaimed. "That is Dora-oar jirl, you know,"

■" Ah, yes. Happy to sec you, Miss Dora." "Not Miss Dora, Jack, She's our girl that Squire Chessom adopted, and left without a farthing. The squire's dead, and his son has sent Dora adrift to look out for herself. She's going to teach und support you and me, or else"— "Is she?" asked Jack Narr, brightening at the thought of being supported by somebody. "It's very good of her, I must say. Shall bri delighted, Miss Dora" — '"Miss Dora, again!" cried Mrs, Narr, impatiently. "Can't an idea bo got into your head, Jack, short of vaccinating it in? The girl's ours, and you must call her Dora, or Dolly, just as you choose. But don't go to talking as 11 sho was our superior." Jack Narr looked at tho pale, highbred girl, who was as unlike him and his wife as a stately lily or cultured rose is unlike a field bean, and his round faco grew puzzled. | "I know it's all right," he mutterjcd. "'But dashed df I can quite get at it."

I "You've been drinking, Jack. That's | why you're so dreadful thick-headed,"

: '"l've been drinking only enough to feel racller," said Mr, Narr, putting his thumbs into his arm-holes of his waistcoat and balancing himself jauntily and alternately on his heels and toea. "Sure there's no mistake now, old woman? That's' tho girl?"

"Yes. How often must I tell you? She is going to teach, as I said, to support us, or, what's more likely, she's going to marry a rich fellow, an heir to a title, and we can live on him. He'll pay us any sum to keep out of the way and save bis pride. Ah, Jack, there are easy times ahead of us."

"Ah!" said a deep and significant voice at the open door,

Dora turned a startled look in that direction.

There, on the threshold, where he had been standing unseen for several minutes, with a strange and inscrutable cspression on his countenance and a strange gleam in his eyes, stood Felix Champney!

CHAPTER XIV. COLONEL EFFINGHAM. The boathouse at Saltair Manor, to which repeated allusion has been made, demands at this juncture a fuller description. It lay at the end of the little stone pier, which stretched from tbo foot of tbe stairway In the rocks out into the waters of the little bay.

It was built in two storeys, the lower one being of stone, and some twenty feet in height.

The upper storey was only about twelve feet high, and Its side walls were almost entirely formed of movablo shutters, capablo of being opened or closed at pleasure, after tho fashion of many West Indian houses. These shutters painted a) deep, cool green, and in winter were protected by additional blinds. Tho roof projected slightly, and was painted in gay stripes, looking like a Venetian awning. This cool upper room in tho boathouse, high! up over tho water, and swept through its shutters by tho coolest sea-breezes, even in the sultriest day in summer, was one of the favourite resorts of Lady Champney, who loved to lio upon its divan and listen to tho musical swishing of the waves against the stone walls below, or against tho cliffs forming the sea-wall of tho manor.

It had become an especially favourite retreat since .Lord Champney's return to Saltair, and since he had developed a tasto for boating, Left unfurnished for tho winter, the upper room in tho boathouso was now, in June, in its full summer attire.

The floor was covered with a palo Indian matting. A fow pictures, tiny scraps of bright scenes, w.ero hung on the narrow panels botween the jalousie shutters. A* lounge was ranged against tho wall, and a couplo of armchairs o! canework stood in the centre of the apartment, near a large round table. The remainder of the furniture consisted only of a large supply of Moorish cushions, some of them heaped upon tho lounge, and others scattered in luxurious heaps about the floor, Upon the aiternoon of the day on which Felix Champney had chosen to go to town for his flying visit to Dora, Lady Champney was half-re-clining upon the lounge looMng out upon tho sea through partially-open-ed shutters.

Since the day on which lie had made his memorable visit to her sitting room, bringing with him the mischief - making bouquet, Lady Champney had not seen Lord Champney.

Insulted, tortured, and aggrieved, she had kept to her room, not going downstairs even tn her meals, Tiring of her self-imprisonment at last, however, she had como out this afternoon for a stroll in the garden and a lounge in the boathouse, and Intended to make her appearance at the dinner table.

The afternoon was bright and pleasant, with a glorious flood ol sunshine on the glittering waters, with their dancing foam-crests, and with a strong, sweet breeze that was inexpressibly delightful after the sultriness of the morning. The sea was dotted with the bright sails of fisher craft and larger vessels, and Lady Champney was idly watching them, and wondering which among them was Lord Champney's sail, for he had gone out an hour before in the little yacht. "He may have gone over to Cromer," she thought, toying with the abutters. '"He must miss Felix Champney, who started for town this morning. And that reminds me. Willard Ames and I were strangely, unjust to poor Felix, in thinking him guilty of a conspiracy against me. But that is the way we misjudge people," she added, sighing, "We throw away a sincere friendship for a seeming one-the real diamond for the paste ! Sidney knew his cousin best, after all." Watching yet a little longer, Lady Champney distinguished ono sail which was making direct before the wind for Saltair. A further scrutiny convinced her that this was the graceful little yacht, homeward bound.

'"I don't wish Sidney to find me here," she said, to herself. "He will think I have been watching lor him. I will go upon the lawn." She regarded the approaching boat through her glass, and then, convinccd oi its identity, arose and shook down the long folds of her dress, preparing to retrace her way to the land.

She presented a charming picture as she stood there, taking a last peep at the swift-sailing yacht through the interstices oi the shutters, with her pale gold hair coiled high at the back of her head, one long curl straying over her shoulder, gleaming like, sunshine, and with Hie iolds of her sea-green silk floating about her, giving her the look of an Undine.

And so thought—it was apparcnt-a man who bad como up the flight o! stone stairs silently irom the boathouse below. Ho was standing on the topmost, stair, and regarding Lady Clnmtney with a glance of the most intense admiration, taking in with his keen raze every feature of her dazzling loveliness.

This man, who was of middle age, was strikingly handsome, after a bold and wicked fashion, and had a military air that was infinitely becoming to him.

Ho was Colonel Effingham, an officer in the army, a man of the worst type; yet, because of his handsome face and fortune, his polished manners and air.of fashion, he was courted and admired by hall his fashionable world.

The.look of admiration deepened in his bold black eyes as Lady Champney's attitude changed to one of unconscious grace.

"Beautiful I" ho exclaimed, aloud, as if in a rapture. "Superb !" Lady Champney started as if stung, and turned hastily, facing him. ■'Colonel Effingham 1" sho ejaculated, in amazement. The colonel, holding his hat in his hand, bowed deeply, "It is I, Lady Champney," he said,' humbly. "Pardon my intrusion, but j the servant sent me here in quest of : you." J "Indeed !" cried Lady Champney, in a haughty scorn. "I receive no ons here but my friends, De kin.l enough to relievo me of your presence at once." j The colonel flushed under her cutting tone, but came up the stairs, ■ approaching her. j "Some one must have maligned me | to you, Lady Champney," he said, dcprecatingly. "Am I not your! friend ? Certainly, if a kinJly feel-1 ing towards you could constitute me such, I am one." "I have no wish to hold any conference with you," said Lady Champney, pointing to the staircase. ''Go !" , "'Surely you will not condemn me, unheard ?"■ persisted the colonel, I Lady .Champaey's blue eyes flashed

like drawn steel. "You daro urge your defence," she cried, "when you have grossly insulted mo. beyond all forgiveness by tho bouquet and the note enclosed in it which you sent mo the other day? Yon have not been condemned unheard, Colonel Effingham. My. husband would .have punished you"'"You showed him the noto then?"' interrupted the colonel, his countenance falling. "No; but he saw the bouquet, and knew that it enclosed a note. To save my name from scandal, I screened you from Lord Champney's' just wrath,"

Tho colonel smiled again. "But bewaro of so insulting me a second time," said the baroness, haughtily. "I know Lord Champney's unfortunate peculiarity," observed Colonel Effingham, coolly. "To speak against any man's attcntiops to him would he liko pouring spirits on a Are. Ho has a theory that any woman who respects herself will never bo insulted. Consequently, when you tell him you have been insulted, what will he say to you ?" "I shall not appeal to him. I shall avenge my own wrongs." The colonel arched his brows,. •But how ?" bo asked. ■"lf you venture on my premises again I will have you horsewhipped—that is how ! Since you are insensible to appeals made to your honour,, let us sec whether you will bo sensible to an infamous punishment at the bands oi a menial." The conlonel glared at tho baroness,

"This to me?" he ejaculated. "Be careful, I.ady Champney. I never an insult in my life. I could not forgive one even Irom you, if I did not love you so." "'Love me-a married woman I"

'Hove you, Barbara !" he repeated, "I love you !"

Lady Champney grew white to the very lips, Glancing out ol the open shutters, she saw the little yacht under a spread ot sail, driving straight Jor the boathouse, and so near that she could distinguish Lord Champney's features as he sat in the boat alone. "How near he is!" said Effingham, coolly, his glance following hers, "'He will cone into the boathouse. He will bear voices up here, and como up. He will find us, ind then — What will he say, Barbara, to see mo at your feet ? Ay, you tremble. You are afraid of him. Tell me that you will try to love me,; encourage me the least bit. Say I may come again, and I will avert from you the coming terror. Say something, Barbara, and I will go."

He waited breathlessly for her reply. "Coward ! miscreant I l ' was/her indignant response. "I would not speak the word you want were it to save my lifer - I would sooner dio than give you the smallest word of encouragement." ' Then suddenly—so suddenly as to startle Eflimilmm-she made a quick spring, passed him, gained the staircase, and flew down the broad, stone steps like a flash of light,

With an oath her enemy sprang after her,

She was half-way across, shadowed from observation, on the seaward 1 side, by the tall boathouse, and from the land by the cliffs, when Effingham overtook her,, clutching her by the arm. CHAPTER XV. IN THE TRAP. For a moment, as she stood thereon the wave-washed pier, in the grasp of her enemy, the imminence of her deadly peril held the Lady Barbara speechless, motionless, paraJyscd. '•'Only one word, Barbara," said the villainous colonel, his voice sounding to her benumbed hearing like tho hiss of a venomous serpent. "One word, and I will go before Lord Champney comes out, Speak I" The man's beard again brushed her cheek. His breath, as he bent his evilly triumphant face yet nearer to her, caressed her lips, A sound from the interior of the boat-house.

"'He is coming," whispered Effingham, holding her yet more closely. The sound—lhc words—broke in upon ih» benumbed senses of Lady Champney with the startling force of a cannon boom.

With a quick spring she tore herself from his grasp. Then, more from impulse than reason, she'put her two hands lull against the breast of her enemy, aud sent him whirling backwards into the water.

Effingham sent up a wild cry of rage a nd alarm. It was still echoing on the air when Lady Cliampucy, turning, sped up the rocky staircase with the speed of a startled deer, not pausing until she had gained the green lawn above, ant was safely screened from all view below by the massive stone balustrade.

Then, white and panting, she sank do'.'.n for a moment upon a garden chair to rest.

Effingham, realising that she had escaped him for this time, and that his diabolical purpose was completely defeated, wisely made up his mind to avoid an encounter with Lord Champnsy.

Loosing his hold of the stones of the pier, Effingham struck out boldly through the water, swam to the side of the hoathouse, and clung there to a trailing chain, being submerged in the water up to his neck.

He was thus hidden from observation from the shore.

The movement had not heen effected too soon if be desired to avoid being seen by Lord Champney. Effingham remained hidden for a> little while behind the boathouse, but as Lord Champney did not .reappear, he moved about uneasily, muttering:

"Chamr/ncy's gons upstairs to sleep, I daresay. And I'm shivering here in the water, like a rat in a trap ! Now is my lime to heat a retreat," The sounds of his footsteps, cautious though they were, attracted 1 the attention of Lord Champney, who had thrown himself on the canework divan in the upper chamber of the boathouse, and who now roused himself, and listened. He was just in time to see Effingham mounting the rocky stairs. He reeled as if shot.

"He here!" he gasped. "Effingham hire! And with Barbara ?" His lips quivered under his moustache. Pallid and strengthless, he leaned against the shutters, watching that ascending figure with an appalled gaze.. "She has been here, and so has he!' 1 Lord Champney muttered,. "The room

looks as though they fled hastily at my approach, Barbara's fan and book arc on .tho floor, I disturbed the two, it seems, This,, then ,is their. placo of meeting in secret. How indignant Barbara was that I should suspect her of being false to me I That women would'deceive an angel. Oh-h I I could kill ibem both I" He grated his teeth together, and glared out at Effingham's figuro with maddened eyes. He would have dashed alter him then, for murderous thoughts were) surging in his breast, but that tho shock had made him weak as a little child,

"I will bide my time," he said. "I will be as watchful, aB keen, as untiring as a bloodhound. And when I come upon tho two together—tbaii"

The glaring look in his eyes, tho sudden clenching ol bis hands, finished the sentenco better than words could havo done.

Meanwhile, uaconscious of the baron's gaze, -Colonel Effingham mounted the stairs in tho rock, and came to a momentary halt upon the lawn.

•"Tho.next step is to widen the breach between this amiable couple," he mused,, '"and then - 1 will step in between them and carry off my prizo —my beautiful, scornful Barbara. Felix Champney said that ho knew that she loved me, but that her indomitable pride and her fear of her husband stood between us like a bulwark of stone. Well, I like to batter down obstacles. I'll win her and humble her, let what will stand in my way. Nobody ever frightened me from my game."

Ho laughed to himself—a low, noisoIcsb sort of laugh, "The best thing to do next is to drop the note Felix wrote for me, with an eye to this disposition of it, in' the way of Lord Champney. It will probably disgust him with his wife, and cause him to leave her again, thus giving mo a clear field." He took from his pocket his notebook. It was wet. He opened it, and drew from its inner pocket a little crumpled note, over which ho glanced with a smile of satisfaction. He dropped the note, bal! opened, upon the lawn, and hurried swiftly towards the lodge, a clump of larches soon intercepting him from v;ew at that point. He had scarcely vanished when Lord Champney mounted the steps, and moved towards the mansion with rapid, nervous strides. He had proceeded hut a few paces, when he caught sight of tha paper on the grass. He halted instinctively,, and picked it up,

"Barbara's writing ?" he said, huskily, "A note. To whom ?"

He looked at it. The very first sentence held him spellbound, and compelled him to continue its perusal. He could have sworn that the handwriting was that of Barbara, his wife. And, '"to make assurance doubly sure," her name was appended to the letter. "' My dearest Albert,'" Lord Champney read aloud, in a low and husky voice, '■'" I received your lovely bouquet and the delicious note accompanying it; but both had like to have been my ruin, for it was Lord Champney who placed the flowers in my hands, and I had n2ed of all my powers of dissimulation and all my capabilities of getting up a, display of mock indignation at his insulting suspicions to prevent his getting at a knowledge of the truth, I do assure you.' "

'■'''ln regard to your proposition, dear Albert, I know not what to say. I cannot fly from the house, dearly as I love you, I prefer instead a divorce from my husband, and then we can marry. Saltair belongs to me. I inherited it from my father. With you instead of my jealous watchdog, Saltair would be, as you love to call it, an Eden. Meet me at the boathouse on Tuesday, at five o'clock and we will talk over the most feasible plans of driving the baron to the divorce court. Cncc free, dearest Albert, I will become in truth your own. The days and the hours seem long between this and Tuesday. Be cautious. He will probably out for a sail; yet do uol fail to be very careful, for he is a'ready jealous of you. My darling, accept my tenderest love.

"' 'Barbara.'" It was scarcely to be wondered at that the peculiar nature of rLord Champney should have been fired by this letter to the wild blaze of an awful despair. '"My God I And I have worshipped that woman!" he said to himself, in a hollow whisper. '"Every time when I have met her eyes or looked on her face I have doubted my own convictions of her falsity. Oh, if I could only hate her! One thing is certain, she shall never drive me into seeking a divorce She shall never have her freedom to marry Effingham. Never!"

A little later the husband found his wife in her room. Her face was buried in her hands, Her form was shaking with passionate sobs. Never in his life had Lord Champney seen her exhibit an emotion and a despair like this.

In the midst of his rage and anger there crept, for the first time, an element of pity, "Barbara," he said, softly, his voice trembling. She started, with an inarticulato cry. " Sidney 1" she ejaculated, in a panic.

" Barbara," he said, in the same hushed voice he had before employed, "I know all."

"You know all?" repeated the baroness, wondcringly. ''Yes. I saw Colonel Effingham from the boathouse as he climbed up the did stairs." "Sidney, bear me. At least, let me speak in my own defence," cried the wife, passiouately. "It is useless, Barbara, I should not believe a|word you said. I bave lost faith in you utterly. The mask has been stripped from you, and I know you as you are-false, treacherous, cruel"— The wife threw up her arms with a wild moaning cry, "Oh, Sidney, Sidney !" she pleaded. "Hear me! I can explain ! Colonel Effingham intruded upon me against my wishes. I rebuked him. I pushed him into the- water"— The baron's lip curled in a terrible sneer. ; ■-

"Madam, your prevarications and falsehoods are beyond parallel. I have; in my pocket your last letter t 0

your adored Albert, Permit me to restore it to you."

Ho handed.her the missive. She looked it over in a stupor of amazement. . '

r 'l never saw it before, Sidney," she cried, "'lt is some vile forgery. Colonel Effingham has written this, forging my handwriting."

'''lndeed I" commented' the baron, with a terriblo sarcasm, and ho turned to leave the room.

Tho wife sprang to her feet and rushed towards him, a great and undefinable fear swamping all her anger and indignation.. "Where are you going 7" she asked. "To Cromer, lam going to call upon Colonel Effingham. Either ho or I must give way in this matter. But one man must love my wife." "You will fight him 7" "Yes."

"But, Sidney, the colonel Is a dead shot. He has fought two duels on the Continent, and killed his antagonist each time.. And duelling is so wicked, so foolish, and contrary to law. Do not go."

He caught her hand in a vice-like pressure, Then he moved away, but camo back and caught her in his 'arms, and strained her to his heart, showering kisses upon her, The next moment he hurried swiftly away, moving towards the lawn, whence he made his way' to the boathoiisc.

Lady Champney followed him with nervous haste, but when she had gained the cliff stairs the little yacht was just putting out from tho boathouse, Lord Champney stood up in it, tall and dark and stern, and waved her a farewell. Then tho shitting breeze swelled his sail, and the yacht stood out to sea, He was gone on his mission of vengeance, (To bo Continued,)