THE EVIL GENIUS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIII, Issue 7567, 20 February 1886, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE EVIL GENIUS.

BY WILKIE COLLINS. CHAPTER XX. THK MOTHER-IN-LAW. STRONG as ".he impression was which Captain Bennydeck had produced on Randal, Mrs. Presty's first words dismissed it from his mind. She asked him if he had any message for his brother. Randal instantly looked at the clock. •' Has Catherine not sent to the farm yet ?" ce asked, in astonishment. Mrs. Presty's mind seemed to be absorbed in her daughter. "Ah, poor Catherine! Worn out with anxiety and watching at Kitty's bedside. Night after night without any sleep; night after night tortured by suspense. As usual, she can depend on her old mother for sympathy. I have taken all her household duties on myself, till she is in better health." Randal tried again. " Mrs. Presty, am 1 to understand (after the plain directions Herbert gave) that no messenger has been gent to the farm?" Mrs. Pre3ty held her venerable head higher than ever, when. Randal pronounced his brother's name. "I see no necessity for being in a hurry," she answered, stiflly, "after the brutal manner in which Herbert has behaved to me. Put yourself in my place a nd imagine what you would feel if you were told to hold your tongue." Randal wasted no more time on ears that were deaf to remonstrance. Peeling the serious necessity of interfering to some good purpose, he asked where he might find his sister-in-law. ... „ " I have taken Catherine into the garden, Mrs. Presty announced. " The doctor himself suggested—no, I may say, ordered it. He is afraid that she may fall ill next, poor soul, if she doesn't get air and exercise." In Mrs. Linley's own interests, Randal resolved on advising her to write to her husband by the messenger, explaining that she was not to biaine for the inexcusable delay which had already taken place. Without a word more to Mrs. Presty, ho hastened out of the room. That inveterately distrustful woman called him back. She desired to know where he was going and why he was in a hurry. "I am going to tho garden, Randal answered. " To speak to Catherine ?"

" Yes." "Needless trouble, my dear Randal. She will be back in a quarter of an hour, and she will pass through this room on her way upstairs." Another quarter of an hour was a matter of no importance to Mrs. Fresty ! Randal too* his own way—the way into the garden. His silence and his determination to join his bister-in-law roused Mrs. Presty's ready suspicions ; she concluded that he was bout on making mi/ chief between her daughter and herself. The one thing to do in this case was to follow him instantly. The active old lady trotted out of the room, strongly inclined to think that the Evil Genius of the family might be Randal Lihley, after all ! They had both taken the shortest way to the garden ; that is to say. the way through tbe library, which communicated at its farthest end with the corridor and the vaulted flight of stairs leading directly out of the house. Of the two doors in the drawincroom, one on the left, led to the grand staircase on the right, opened on the back stairs, and on a side entrance to the house, used by the family when they were pressed for time, as well as by the servants. The drawincroom had not baen empty more than a few minutes wnen the door ou the right w»3 suddenly opened. Herbert Linley entered with hurried, uncertain steps. He took the chair that, was nearest to him, and dropped into it like a man overpowered by agitation or fatigue. He had ridden from the farm at headlong speed, terrified by the unexplained delay in the arrival of the messenger from home. Unable any longer to sutler the torment of unrelieved suspense, he had returned to make inquiry at the house. As he interpreted tne otherwise inexplicable neglect of his instructions, the last chance of saving the cii'lu's life had failed, and his wife had been afraid to tell him the dreadful truth.

Alter an interval he rose, and vscnt into the library. It was empty, like the drawingroom. The bell was close uy liiin. He lifted his hand to ring it—and drew ba'jk.- As brave a man as ever lived, lie knew what fear was now. The father's courage failed him before the prospect of summoning a servant and bearing, for «11 he know to the contrary, that hia child was dead. How long he stood there, alone and irresolute, he never remembered when he thought of it in after day?. All he knew was that there came a time when a sound in the drawingroom attracted his attention. It •was nothing more important than the opening of a door. The sound came from that side of the room which was nearest to the grand staircase— and therefore nearest also to the hall in one direction, and to the bed-chauiber3 iu the Other. Some person had entered the room. "Whether it was one of the family or one of the servants, he would hear in either case what had happened in his absence. He parted the curtains over the library entrance, and looked through. The person was a woman. She stood with her Lacs turned towards the library, lifting a cloak off a chair. As she shook the cloak out before putting it on, she changed her position. He saw the fa?e, never to be forgotten by him to the last day of his life. He saw Sydney Westerfield. CHAPTER XXI. THE GOVERNESS, Linley had one instant left, in which he might have drawn back into the library in time to escape Sydney's notice. He was incapable of the effort of will. Grief and suspense had deprived him of that elastic readiness of mind that springs at once from thought to action. For a moment he hesitated. In that moment she looked up, and saw him. With a faint cry of alarm she let the cloak drop from her hands. As helpless as he was, as silent as he was, she stood rooted to the spot. He tried to control himself. Hardly knowing what he said, he made commonplace excuses, as if he had been a stranger. " I am sorry to have startled you ; I had no idea of finding vou in this room." Sydney pointed to her cloak on the floor, and to her hat on a chair near it. Understanding the necessity which had brought her into the room, he did his best to reconcile her to the meeting that had followed. "It's a relief to me to have seen you,"he Said, "before you leave us." A relief to him to see her ? Why ? How ? What did that strange word mean, addressed to her? She roused herself, and pat the question to him. " It's surely better for me," he answered, "to hear the miserable news from you than a servant." •' What miserable news ?" she asked, still as perplexed as ever. He could preserve his self-control no longer; the misery in him forced its way outward at last. The convulsive struggles for breath which burst from a man in tears shook him from head to foot.

"My poor little darling!" he gasped. "My only child!" All that was embarrassing in her position passed from Sydney's mind in an instant, 'She stepped close up to him; she laid her baud gently and fearlessly on his arm. " Oh, Mr. Linley, what dreadful mistake is this 1" His dim eyes rested on her with a piteous expression of doubt. He heard her—and he was afraid to believe her. She was too deeply distressed, too full of the truest pity for him, to wait and think before she spoke. " Yes ! yes!' she cried, under the impulse of the moment. "The dear child knew me again the moment 1 spoke to her. Kitty's recovery is only a matter of time." He staggered back, with a livid change in "is face startling to see. The mischief done hy Mrs. Presty's sense of injury had led to serious results. If the thought in Linley at that moment had shaped itselt into words, he would have said, "And Catherine never told me of it I" How bitterly he thought of the woman who had left him in suspense ; how gratefully he felt towards the woman who had lightened his heart of the heaviest burden ever laid on it. Innocent of all suspicion of the feeling that she had aroused, Sydney blamed her own Wa nt of discretion as the one cause of the change that she had perceived in him. " How thoughtless, how cruel of me," she said, "not 'o have been more careful in telling you the good news I Pray forgive me I"

* The proprietors of the Nitv Zkaland Hbeald th« V"' a !£ b . i he *? la right tu publish this story in Island o( New Zsaland.

"You thoughtless! you cruel J" At the bare idea of her speaking in that way of herself, his sense of what he owed to her defied all restraint. He seized her hands aud covered them with grateful kisses. "Dear Sydney ! "Dear, good Sydney !" She drew back from him —not abruptly, not as if she felt offended. Her fine perception penetrated the meaning of those harmloss kisses— uncontrollable outburst of a sense of relief beyond the reach of expression in words. But she changed the subject. Mrs. Linley (she told him) had kindly' ordered fresh horses to be put to the carriage, so that she might go back to her duties if the doctor sanctioned it. She turned away to take up her cloak. Linley stopped her. "You can't leave, Kitty," ho said, positively. A faint smile brightened her face for a moment. " Kitty has fallen asleep —such a sweet, peaceful sleep! I don't think I should have left her but for that. The maid is watching at the bedside, and Mrs. Linley is only away for a little while." " Wait a few minutes," he pleaded ; "it's so long since we have seen each other," The tone in which he spoke warned her to persist in leaving him while her resolution remained firm. " I had arranged with Mrs. Mac Edwin," she began, "if all went well—" "Speak of yourself," he interposed. "Tell me if you are happy." She let this pass without a reply. "The doctor sees no harm," she went on, "in my being away for a few hours. Mrs. Mac Edwin has offered to send me here in tho evening, so that .1 can sleep in Kitty's room." You don't look well, Sydney. You are pale and worn ; you are not happy." She began to tremble. For the second time she turned away to take up her cloak ; for the second time lie stopped her. '•Not just yet," he said. " You don't know how it distresses mo to see you so sadly changed. X remember the time when it was such a pleasure to see you happy. Do you remember that time ?" " Don't ask me," was all she could say. He sighed as he looked at her. "It's dreadful to think of your young life, that ought to be so bright, wasting and withering among strangers." He said those words with increasing agitation ; his eyes her eagerly with a wild look in them. She made a resolute effort to speak to him coldly ; she called him "Mr. Linley she bade him "Good-bye." It was useless. He stood between her and the door ; he disregarded what she had said as if he had not heard it. "Hardly a day passes," he owned to her, "that I don £ think of you." " You shouldn't tell me that." " How can I see you again, and not toll

y° u ?" She burst out with a last entreaty. " tor God's sake, let us say • Good-bye !' " His maimer became uudisguisedly tender ; his language changed in the one way of all others that was most perilous to her— appealed to her pity. "Oh, Sydney, it's so hard to part with you." " Spare me!" she cried, passionately. " You don't know how I suffer." " Oh, I know it—no words can say how I fee# for you. Are you sorry for me, Sydney ? Have you thought of me since we parted ?" She had striven against herself, and against him, till her last effort at resistance was exhausted. In reckless despair she let tbe truth escape her at last. " When do i ever think of anything else ! I am a wretch unworthy of all the kindness that has been shown to me. I don't deserve your interest; I don't even deserve your pity. Send me away—be hard on me—he brutal to me. Have some mercy on a miserable creature whose life is one long hopeless effort to forget you 1" Her voice, her look, maddened him. He drew her to his bosom ; he held her in his arms she struggled vainly to get away from him. " Oh, ' she murmured, " how cruel you are ! Remember, my dear one, remember how weak I am. Oh, Herbert, I'm dying—dying—dying l" Her voice grew fainter and fainter ; her head sank on his breast. He lifted her face to him with whispered words of love. He kissed her again and again. The curtains over the library entrance moved noiselessly when they wore parted. The footsteps of Catherine JLinley were inaudible as she passed through, and entered the room. She stood still for a moment in silent horror. .Not a sound warned them when she advanced. . After hesitating for a moment, she raised her hand towards her husband, as if to tell him of her oresence by a touch ; drew it back, suddenly recoiling from her own first intention; and touched Sydney instead. Then, and then only, they knew what had happened. Face to face those three personswitn every tie that had once united them snapped asunder in an instant —looked at each other. The man owed a duty to the lost creature whose weakness had appealed to his mercy in vain. The man broke the silence.

" Catherine—'" With immeasurable contempt looking brightly out of her steady eyes, his wife stopped him. " Not a word !" He refused to be silent. "It is I," he said — "1 only who am to blame." " Spare yourself the trouble of making oxcuues," she answered; " they are needless. Herbert Linley, the woman who was once your wife despises you." Her eyes turned from him and rested on Sydney Westerfield. " 1 have a last word to say to you, Look at me, if you can. Listen to me, if you can." Sydney lifted her head. She looked vacantly at the outraged woman before her, as if she saw a woman in a dream. With the same terrible self-possession which she had preserved from the first— standing between her husband and her governess—Mrs. Linley spoke. "Miss Westerfield, you have saved my child's life." She paused—seized the girl by the arm—and put her in the place she had thus far occupied herself. Deadly pale, she pointed to her husband, and said to Sydney, "Take him 1" Slowly she passed out of the roomand left them together. THIRD BOOK. CHAPTER XXII, ItKTROSP£CT. The autumn holiday-time had come to an end ; and the tourists had left Scotland to the Scotch. In the dull season, a solitary traveller from the North arrived at the nearest post town to Mount Morven. A sketch-book . and a colour-box formed part of his luggage, and declared him to be an artist. Falling into talk over his dinner with the waiter at the hotel, he made inquiries about a picturesque house in the neighbourhood, which showed that Mount Morven was well known to him by reputation. When he proposed paying a visit to the old border fortress the next day, the waiter said, " You can't see the house." When the traveller asked " Why," this man of few words merely added, " Shut up."

The landlord made his appearance with a bottle of wine, and proved to be a more communicative person in his relations with strangers. Presented in an abridged form, and in the English language, these (as he related them) were the circumstances under which Mount Morven had been closed to the public :—A complete dispersion of the family had taken place not long since. For miles around everybody was sorry for it. Rich and poor alike were sorry for the good lady of the house. She had been moat shamefully treated by her husband, and by a good-for-nothing girl employed as governess. To put it plainly, the two had run away together; one report said they had gone abroad, and another declared that they were living together in London. Mr. Linley's conduct was quite incomprehensible. He had always borne the highest character—a good landlord, a kind father, a devoted husband. And yet, after more than eight years of exemplary married life, he had disgraced himself.® The minister of the parish, preaching on the subject, had attributed this extraordinary outbreak, a vice on the part of an otherwise virtuous man, to a possession of the devil. Assuming the devil," in this case to be only a discreet and clerical way of alluding from the pulpit to a woman, the landlord was inclined to agree with the minister. After what had happened, it was, of course, impossible that Mrs. Linlej could remain in her husband's house. She and her little girl and her mother, were supposed to be living in retirement. They kept the place of their retreat a secret from everybody but Mrs.'Linley's legal adviser, who was instructed to forward letters. But one other member of the family remained to be accounted for. This was Mr. Linley's younger brother, known at present to be travelling on the Continent. Two trustworthy old servants had been left in charge at Mount Morven—and there was the whole story ; and that was why the house was shut up.

r , CHAPTER XXIII. SEPARATION. In a cottage on the banks of one of the Cumberland lakes, two ladies were seated at the breakfast table. The window of the room opened on a garden which extended to the water's edge, and on a boathouse and wooden pier beyond. On the pier a little girl was fishing, under the care of her maid. After a prevalence of rainy weather, the sun was warm this morning for the time of year; and the broad sheet of water alternately darkened and brightened as the moving masses of cloud now gathered . and now parted over the blue beauty of the sky. The ladies had finished their breakfast; the elder of the twothat is to say, Mrs. Presty—took up her knitting, and eyed her silent daughter with an expression of impatient surprise. "Another bad night, Catherine ?" The personal attractions that distinguished Mrs. Linley were not derived from the short-lived beauty which depends on youth and health. Pale as she was, her face preserved its fine outline; her features had not lost their grace and symmetry of form. Presenting the appearance of a woman who had suffered acutely, she would have boon more than ever (in the eyes of some men) a woman to be admired and loved. . "I seldom sleep well now," she answered, patiently. " You don't give yourself a chance, Mrs. Presty remonstrated. " Here's a fine morning—come out for a sail on the lake. Tomorrow there's a concert in the townlet's take tickets. There's a want of what I call elastic power in your mind, Catherine—the very quality for which your father was so remarkable; the very quality which Mr. Presty used to say made him envy Mr. Ormoud. Look at your dross! Where's the common sense, at your age, of wearing nothing but black? Nobody's dead who belongs to us, and yet you do your beat to look as if you were in mourning." "I have no heart, mamma, to wear colours." • . , , - Mrs. Presty corfeidered this reply to bo unworthy of notice. She went on with her knitting, and only laid it down when the servant brought in the letters which had arrived by the morning's post. They were but two in number—and both were for Mrs. Linley. In the absence of any correspondence of her own, Mrs. Presty took possession of her daughter's letters. " ne addressed in the lawyers handwriting," she announced, "and one from Randal. Which shall I open for you first ? " Run letter, if you please." Mrs. Presty handed it across the table. " Any news is a relief from the dullness of this place," she said. "If there are no secrets, Catherine, road it out." _ There were no secrets on the first page. Randal announced his arrival in London from the Continent, and his intention of staying there for awhile. He had met with a friend ( formerly an officer holding high rank in the navy) whom he was glad to see again—a rich man who used his wealth admirably in the interests of his poor and holpless fellow creatures. A "Home," established on a new plan, was just now engaging all his attention : he was devoting himself ho unremittingly to the founding of this institution that his doctor predicted injury to his health at no distant date. If it was possible to persuade him to take a holiday, Randal might return to the Continent as the travelling-companion of his

friend. . _ . " This must be the man whom he first met at the club," Mrs. Fresty remarked. " Well, Catherine, I suppose there is some more of it. What's the matter I Bad news .' " Something that I wish Randal had not written. Read it yourself—and don t talk of it afterwards."

Mrs. Presty read : "I know nothing whatever of my unfortunate brother. If you think this a tooindulgent way of alluding to a man who has so shamefully wronged you, let my conviction that he is already beginning to sutler the penalty of his crime plead my excuse. Herbert's nature is, in some respects, better known to me than it is to you. I am persuaded that your hold on his respect and his devotion is shaken—not lost. He has been misled by one of those passing fancies, disastrous and even criminal in their results, to which men are liable when they are led by no better influence than the influence of their senses. It is not, and never will be, in the nature of women to understand this. I fear I may offend you in what I am now writing ; but I must speak what I believe to be the truth at any sacrifice. Bitter repentance (if ho is not already feeling it) is in store . for Herbert, when he finds himself tied to a person who cannot bear comparison with you. I fay this, pitying the poor girl most sincerely, when I think of her youth and her wretched past life. How it will end I cannot presume to say. I can only acknowledge that I do not look to the future with the absolute despair which you naturally felt when X last saw you." Mrs. Presty laid the letter down, privately resolving to write to Randal, and tell him to keep his convictions for the future to himself. A glance at her daughter's face t warned her, if she said anything, to choose 'a new subject. The second letter still remained unnoticed. " Shall we see what the lawyer says?" she suggested, and opened the envelope. The lawyer had nothing to say. He simply enclosed a letter received at his office. Mrs. Presty had long passed the age at which emotion expresses itaelf outwardly by a change of colour. She turned pale, nevertheless, when she looked at the second letter. The address was in Herbert Linley's handwriting. [To he contlnuod.]