A HOIDEN'S CONQUEST.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXII, Issue 9955, 19 October 1895, Page 3 (Supplement)

A HOIDEN'S CONQUEST.

BY MRS. GEOROIK SHIiLDON, Author of " Brownie's Triumph," " The Forsaken

Bride,' etc.

CHAPTER XXIX. A CRY IN THE NIGHT.

It would be useless to attempt to describe the weary days and nights of the two following weeks, during which Harrie saw no one, and spoke to no one save William Wilder, who came to her room at regular intervals, to bring her food.

She had heard and read of the horrors of solitary confinement, but until now never had she begun to realise how terrible it must be to be cub off from the companionship of every human being, when, as the prisoner of a crafty villain, she suffered from loneliness, homesickness, and excessive nervousness.

She lost flesh and colour ; she grew weak in body and depressed in spirit ; she felt as if an untoward fate was making of her its especial football -as if life itself, with so little, at the best, to hope for in the future, was hardly worth fcho living.

For nearly two weeks she existed thus ; bub never complaining ; for she thought it useless to stoop to entreaty with William Wilder.

Bub one day, feeling that she could endure her lot no longer, she detained him when ho brought her dinner, determined to make one last appeal to him. Sho thought that, perhaps, if she should tell him the secret she had recently learned regarding her birth—that she was no longer the owner of Fairviowand convince him that he would gain nothing from her as such for she did not believe that his only hope was to extort money from Robert might nob be so anxious to retain her a prisoner. "Stop!" ahe commanded, imperatively, as, after leaving her dinner, he was about to close the door; " I wish to talk with you." The man turned & sullen look upon hor. " Well?" he curtly returned. " You hinted, some time ago, that you intended to extort money from Mr. Fielding in return for knowledge of me. You may possibly obtain something from him, for doubtless he would be willing to pay handsomely to know where I am; butif you have any hope of getting the control of my property again, I wish to tell you that you will only have your labour for your trouble in abducting me." " How so What are you driving at now?" William Wilder questioned, while he regarded her curiously. " 1 am simply ' driving' ab the fact that I have recently learned a secret which will change, very materially, my f uturo, and has already deprived me of my right to the property." "What?" the man exclaimed, wibh a violent start, while the hot blood flushed his face with what seemed like a guilty crimson.

Harrie contemplated him for a moment in surprise ; then she continued : " You once told me— or said in my hearing—that you held a secret for which 1 would almost be willing to sell my soul. It may possibly be the same to which I have already referred ; but whether it is or not, I will tell you this : that if you expeob to get the control of the Wentworth estate again, through me, you will be greatly disappointed, for —l am nob the presen|?;heir to Fair view."

"Girl! what in thunder do you mean? Who has told you? Who has told you? Speak?" and the villain grasped her arm with a clutch that made her wince with pain, while he actually shook from head to foot, like a person overcome with fear upon being detected in a crime. Harrie observed him with astonishment.

His agitation and consternation were so evident that she saw she had touched upon a subject of vital importance to him. " Agnes Hazelfield told me," she at length replied. " Agnes—Hazelfield ? And how on earth could she know anything about it ?" queried Mr. Wilder, in a wondering bone, bub still looking deeply troubled. " She had the story from a woman named Mary Weld, who also confirmed it to me." " Who is Mary Weld ? I never heard of her before. Ah!"—with a long-drawn breath, as if suddenly relieved of some fear —"what is this remarkable story that these women have told you ?" he added, in a more natural tone, as he began to realise that Harrie's " secret" and his own had no connection. " They have proved to me thab I am nob the child of her whom I have always believed to bo my mother," the young girl replied. " Bah f was the incredulous retort. "It is true," Harrie positively affirmed ; and then she proceeded to relate the story of the exchange of infants, as she had learned it from Mary Weld; although, for Robert's sake, she withhold the name of

the man who was the father of Judith Gilbert's child.

She concluded by stating how she had discovered in Edith, whom she had so strangely run across in Albany, the real child of Mrs. Wentworth, and the heir to Fairview.

"So you perceive," she added, "that this Edith Gilbert is the rightful owner, and I can have no further control of the estate ; indeed, I have pledged myself to relinquish everything. Consequently, you may as well let me go free, since you can never hope to reap any benefit from the property." At first William Wilder had listened to her with mingled incredulity and astonishment ; then, as she went on, and the story developed, and he began to comprehend the truth, with all that it involved, an evil light of triumph glowed in his eyes. "Ha ! ha !" he laughed, as she ceased, "that beats all the romances I ever read — that is, if it is really true, and I see no reason to doubt it. So you are the child of Judith Gilberb, are you? Hum! then that makes you the half-sister of that puppy, Robert Fielding, instead of his wife, as you so triumphantly announced to me some four years ago " Harrie shrank with pain at this rude and unexpected taunt. "Why do you say that?" she panted. " I have not told you who—who—" " Who your father was her companion supplemented, with a malicious chuckle, as she faltered, and a flush of shame mounted to her brow. " No; but I happen to know Judith Gilbert's history, from beginning to end, although I never dreamed of any exchange of infants. Oh ! but this is rich ! You have played into my hands finely by revealing this secret to me, and I shall not fail to make the mo3t of my advantage, I assure you." " How ao ? I do not understand you," said Harrie, looking both puzzled and distressed.

" Very likely nob ; bub Robert Fielding will not only pay a handsome reward for news of you—he will pay hush-money besides."

Hush-money !" Harrie repeated, in perplexity. "Yes ; to keep from the world the fact that the girl he was so eager to marry and rescue from my clutches, is his father's— the high-toned Gordon Fielding's illegitimate child."

" Oh 1" gasped Harrie, throwing out her hand as if to ward off a blow.

"First, however," the man went on, without heeding her, "since the existence of any other heir is not generally known, I shall compel you to give a certain friend of mine power to act as your attorney. He will then dispose of your property— for an adequate consideration, of course— turn your stocks and bonds into money, which he will then transfer to me, when I shall be able to skip the country and live in clover. You did nob dream, my highapirited young lady, that night in Cleveland, when you thought you had so cleverly outwitted me, that my revenge would ever be quite so complete, did you?" he concluded, in a tone of exultation, that was almost maddening to his listener. But there was still one arrow remaining in her quiver, and she did not fail to make the most of it, even though the man's perfidy almost drove her to despair. " You are reckoning without your host," she scornfully remarked ; " you will never succeed in carrying out your nefarious plot, for Robert already knows that I am not the rightful heir to the Wentworth property ; I mailed a letter belling him the whole story immediately after escaping from Agnes Hazelfield's house."

" Thunder and lightning !" cried the man, in a tone of anger. "You always manage to get your work in ahead of me ! However," he added, after a moment of thought, " the letter was written before you ran across that girl in Albany, so he knows nothing about her, and 1 shall make a bold fight for the prize I want to win ; besides, your mother's will gives everything to her ' beloved daughter, Harriet Thorndyke Wentworth,' and there is no othor person to answer to that name."

" William Wilder," sternly returned Harrie, looking him steadily in the eye, " you will nover achieve your purpose; not a dollar from the Wentworth estate will ever go to enrich either you or yours. But I do not care to discuss that subject with you any further. There is one other question, however, I wish to ask you. You onco boasted to me that you held an important secret regarding me. I thought, when I first learned what I have just told you, that I had discovered what ib was; but your manner, on learning that I was Judith Gilbert's child, convinced me that I was mistaken. Now I want you to tell me what you referred to that night when I ran away from you, and sought refuge at Silvermead."

The man paled a trifle at this demand, and hesitated a moment before replying. "It is one thing to ask a question—ib is another to have it answered," he at last mockingly returned. " I have no idea of telling you what I meant ; that, together with what you have revealed to me to-day, will be another trump card in my hand to hold over you." And, without waiting to be questioned further, the man hastily quitted the room, leaving Harrie in a very uncomfortable frame of mind.

She now realised that she had only made matters worse for herself by telling him Mary Weld's story. Instead of proving to him that he would gain -nothing by retaining her as a captive, she had put fresh weapons into his hands, and he would only use his knowledge to assist him in committing even greater crimes ; while she was utterly powerless to warn anyone of his intention. She was very sad during the remainder of the day, and, when night came, for the first time in many months, cried herself to sleep. It proved to be another long and dreamless slumber, for her tea had been drugged at supper- time, and when she awoke again ib was to find herself in a comfortable and familiar room, and she knew that she must have been transported from the canal-boat to Granite Lodge during a state of unconsciousness.

Although she had dreaded exceedingly being carried into the wilderness, where, she felt sure, no one would ever think of looking for her, it was a groat comfort and relief to be released from that close little room on the boat.

Yet, at the same time, her fiory young spirit bitterly rebelled against the fact that she was a prisoner, in the power of an arbitrary and unscrupulous villain, and she resolved that she would use all the cunning of which she was possessed to regain her liberty and bring him to justice. It was late in the day when she came to herself, and, upon looking about her, she found a, tray of food standing upon a chair beside She bed.

She knew at once that the meal must hare been prepared by a woman, and by an experienced cook, for it was nicely served, and invitingly arranged. This evidence that there was a person of her own sex in the house was a great comfort to her, for the thought of remaining there alone in the wilderness with only William Wilder and his vicious, foolish son for companions, had been terrible to hor. But the poor girl could not eat. She was sick and wretched from the drug which was still in her system, and after drinking her coffee clear, with the hope that it would neutralise its effect, she lay down again and was soon sleeping heavily once more.

She never knew how long she slept ; but, all at once, she was aroused, and started up with a shock that set every nerve in her body vibrating and prickling as if she had received a heavy charge of electricity, while her heart was beating with a sense of fright that was almost suffocating. What was it!— strange sound and influence that had startled and thrilled her so?

Hark ! there ib was again 1 She seemed to recognise it, even though she had not consciously heard it before; it seemed to come in through the open window from somewhere above her—a low, pathetic sobbing, as of someone in distress. It rose higher and higher, until it became an unearthly wail ; then there fell a sudden silence.

Harrie sprang from her bed, and, going to the window, thrust her head forth to listen. She heard nothing for several moments, and began to think that she must have imagined or dreamed that she had been disturbed, for everything in and about the house was calm and still ; there was hardly breeze enough even to stir the foliage upon the trees. . But, ah ! there it came again— low, muffled sobs, that made the listening girl think of a child that had been severely BuiiiflhjejsLonix the voice seemed, older.

Who can it be, and what should cause anyone to weep like that?" she murmured. " Where does it come from* I am unable to locate it!" ,

Then, suddenly, a cry fell with frightful distinctness upon the stillness of the summer night, calling her own name I " Harrie ! Harrie ! Oh, my lost darting 1" [To be continued.]