STRATHMORE'S SIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXII, Issue 10014, 28 December 1895, Page 3 (Supplement)

STRATHMORE'S SIN.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES, Author of "The Midnight Prophecy,"" A Great Wrong," " Lady Lauderdale's Temptation," The Hover Captain," etc.

CHAPTER XX.—(Continued.) Sorely bewildered, and scarcely conscious of what ho is doing, tho baronet yields to her entreaties, and disappears through the thick-growing laurels. A minuto later, and Lord Wicklow is on the spot. " What are you doing here, and in this shameful apparel, and who is it that has just left you?" he demands, seizing her arm, and speaking in low, moasured tones, his face white to the lips. Her heart gives one great leap of mortal terror. The game is a perilous one, but sho will play it through ! She clasps his arm, and clings to him, though ho tries to throw her off. . " Roderick 1 Roderick 1' she implores, " have patience and you shall know all I I have boon foolish and vain ; but I havo never wronged you. Sir Richard gave mo this coitume, as I told you, and begged mo to wear it. It is so probty, Roderick, and really there is no wrong in wearing it, and Ithought you would not mind 1' He throws off her dinging hands, and tries to speak, but his white lips iv ° forth no sound. Sho clings to bim again, and goes on, in breathless hasto! On, Roderick, you must hear mo 1 I ought to haro told you at tho very first, but I wanted to spare you pain, dear. Sir Richard is vour friend, and—and—you are so deeply indebted to him—l know it would hurt

y ° ,l What is it?" lie gasps, " Why don't vou explain ?" . "I will," sho continues, the lovely eyes uplifted to his faco. " You remember that letter, Roderick—the one you gob si) angry about? Well, it was from him ..From whom?"

Her cheek grows ashen white, but she reeoivos to play her deaperAto game to the end.

"From Sir Richard," she answers, steadily. " A letter that no man of honour should writo—no Rood wife read. I refused to lot you 800 it, dear, bocauso I wished to spare you pain. But ho followed me hero to-night again—" " Sir Richard followed you ?" "Yes; you saw him as you came up. Ho followed me hore, and ronewod his infamous proposals, and threatened to ruin you, if I refused to listen to him ! Oh, it was a bitt9r, bitter insult! Roderick, we must leave his house at once!" Ho puts her from him coldly, his face as white and cold as if is were cut of stono. " You have told me the truth ?" he asks. "I have ; can you doubt) me, Roderick ?" " Yos; I can doubt , anything," ho answors, with a harsh laugh, "since he has failed me—my best friend—insulted me, whilo I am a guest under his roof—forced his favours upon me as tho prico of my wife's honour. Vory well, there's but one way to settle such accounts 1" , His low, calm tones and frozen face chill the blood in her veins, still her eyes glitter with triumph. Ho grasps hor arm, and forces her out into the walk. "Go to the house and to your room," he commands, and remove that garb, which may cost your husband his life ! Make your preparations, and when I have settled with him, if lam alive, we go: if I am dead," ho adds, with a second desperate laugh, "I leavo you to follow your own will. Go at onoo !" She catches up hor mask and hat, and obeys him without a word; for tho look in his oyes fills her with shuddering terror, bold and desperate as she is. He watches her out of sight, and thon strikes through the laurels, with another short, mirthless laugh. " Well, the end draws near," he mutters, his teeth set hard. Ho strides oil through the donse shado of the laurols, and prosently conies out upon a little lawn that, ovorlooks the sloping stairway which winds downward to the river. At the head of this stairway stands Sir Richard, conversing with a couple of his friends—Major Lodyard, of the dragoons, and young Lord Percy. Ho turns at Lord Wick low's approach, and his sombre blue oyes light. "Ah, Rory, old fellow—" he begins, bub tho sentence is nover finished.

" Liar! coward ! villain !" hisses fcho Irishman, through his shut teeth, and with his clinched fist he givos the baronot a stunning blow full in the mouth.

Sir Richard reels backward with a stifled cry, tho blood spouting from his lips. His friends catch and support him, and the major cries out, indignantly: " For shame, Wicklow 1" " os, it is for shame," replies his lordship, coolly. " Look at him, gontlomon— a friend, who insults his guest undor his own roof, and forces favours upon him, that he may demand his wifo's honour in payment."

" Roderick, you mistake," begins Sir Richard; but tho angry Irishman interrupts him, "I don't want words or explanations," lie says, sneering. "There is but one answer to a blow like that, between gentlemen, If you aro a coward as well as a sneak, I will repeat it." Under all his gonial good humour, Sir Richard has a temper, all the moro terriblo, that it is slow to rouse, It blazes up now in his blue, steel-like eyes. "You say truly, Lord Wicklow," ho answers, in a voice that rings, wiping tho blood from his lips as ho speaks; " there is but one answer in this case—but ono way to settle this trouble. Have the kindness to n.imo your weapons and your hour." Pistols at dawn to-morrow," is Wicklow's prompt reply. Sir Richard bows, and takes the major's arm.

" You will find mo punctual," ho says, as he turns away.

CHAPTER XXI. THE FATAL HOT.

The gay night goes by liko a dream. The clashing music dies away, the gleaming lights burn out, tho feast has been eaten, tho red wines consumed, and at last, weary with tho festivities, tho maskers turn their faces homeward.

Sir Richard slowly ascends the grand stairway to his wife's chamber. The lower portic i of his mouth is bandaged, yet one can seo the awful, ghastly look his faco wears.

" There is a terrible mistake somewhere," ho has said to his friends at parting ; " but it is too laco now for explanations ! There aro non:o things a man cannot endure even from his best friend 1 No thought of backing out, boys. I am no coward, as you know. You will be on hand in good time And one last word—for Heaven's sake 1 don't let this get to my wife's ears.''

His two friends grasp his hand in silence, and as the brilliant sceno belows disappears like a dream, ho makes his way toward his wife's room.

Outsido tho door ho pauses, and presses one hand hard upon his heart. " Poor Lottie, poor little mother and poor little boy I" ho mutters, hoarsely. Then ho uncloses the door very softly, and goes in. But sho is not asleop; she sits before tho hearth in her pretty white night-robe, waiting for his coming. " Well, the tiresome night is over at last, dear," she begins, turning to welcomo him ; but at sight of his bandaged face, she springs to her feet. " Why, Dick, what) is tho matter ?" Bhe cries, in consternation. He tries to laugh, and then tells hor a lie, the first one of his happy married lifo. " Why, the clumsiest trick, Lottie. I struck myself on tho mouth assisting to put up an arch of lights, you see." He stammers and reddens, and turns from her soreno eyes. "Does it pain you, dear?" she asks. " Is there anything I can do ?" " Blosa you, no, my little woman. Nothing serious, I assure you. Mrs. Hodges bound it up with arnica. How's tho boy?" Ho turns to tho crib, and looks down on his sleeping heir, and the tears fill his oyes. "He is a pretty boy," he says, reflectively, stooping to caress the swoet, sleeping faco. " I trusb ho will mako a good man, Lottie." " As good as his father will do," answers Lottio, pleasantly. Ho loaves tho crib, and takos her in his arms.

"No, you must make him a better man than I have over boon, littlo mother," ho says, pressing her close to his heart. But, Ixittio," he adds, wishfully, " I hare mado you a good husband, have I not?" She turns and looks at him with wondering eyes,

" Why, Dick, darling, what's tho matter?" she asks, uneasily. "Are you ill? You seem strange to-night."

" Do I? Well, there's nothing tho matter, child, only I have boon watching tho frivolous women to-night, and thinking what a jowel my libtlo mother is. And—and— well, I would liko to bo auro, Lottie, that 1 have dono my duty and made you happy ?"

"Indeed you havo, Dick," she unsworn, earnestly, putting her two armß about his nock, and kissing him fondly. "Wo bettor husband ever lived than you are. and I love you ever bo dearly, and I could not be half so happy were I the queon on hor throne. Will thabdo?" "That will do, Lottie,and thank Heaven for It—if—if— should—" " What do you mean, Dick ?" " Nothing—nothing. My brain is in a muddle to-night. I cannot stand late hours and dissipation. Come, get to bed, little mother, or tho sun will riso on you." " You aro also about to retire ?"

"Yes, directly, Lottie. There is a letter that must go by to morrow's poet; I'll jueb run into my don and finish it. I hope to find you asleep when I return. By-by, little mother!" lie kisses her again, and loaves her, looking wistfully after him. In his 11 don," ho locks the door, and sits down at his desk. For half an hour he writes incessantly ; then he folds and deals what lie ho* written, and directs the packob to his wifo. This done, he looks at his watch. One hour moro, and the dawn will break. In a few minutes ho musb go— his death, perhaps I Ho loans his head upon his hand, and falls into deep thought. " I am a good shot," he meditates, "and jo is Wicklow. Wo may both fall. What » horrible thing it is, even if one should eecape, to live for cvor, with murder on one's soul. And Rory's murder, too—Rory, thab I have loved liko a brother! All for a miaerablo mistake, mado about? a worthless

woman ! Lottie was right; I should have gono to him with her letter; bub I wanted to spare hira, poor follow 1 And now, lam going to do my best at putting a bullet through his heart, after all my friendship ! 1 don't call myself a Christian, but I cannot do it—l cannot murder my beat friend, for one pitiful blow. Thoy may brand me as a coward, but I will keep my soul cloar of Rory'B blood." He springs to his feet, throws open the casement, and looks out. The grounds below lio eilont and deserted, the lights are out, the guests are all gone. There is no moon, but the star 3 aro out in thousands, and in the east a faint primrose glow begins to kindle, s harbinger of the coming dawn. A holy silence broods over the sleeping world. Sir Kiohard looks up at the everlasting stars, and his soul thrills with an emotion he lias not felb since the remote days of his childhood, when he watched Che stars, kneeling at the open window to lisp his evening prayers. The fcoars rush to his eyes, and his cliost hoaves. Ho closos the easement, picks up the lettor ho has written, and puts it in his breast,and leaves tho little " den." Outside the door of his wife's chamber ho pauses again. All is silent; he enters softly, and draws near the bod.

There she lies, the pale, sweet, fond woman who is his wife, and tho mother of his boy ! He daro notgivohera last kiss, lost he should awaken her, but he touches the smooth hair on hor white forehead, then with last look at, the boy asleep in his crib, he tears himself away. He may novor soe them again, and only in that moment of supreme agony does ho realise how much ho loves them !

In the grounds below, ho finds a closed carriago, and his two friends awaiting him. Thoy get in, and in utter eilonco drivo toward the fatal spot. Just upon tho verge of the Hazel Glon which is a peculiarly dismal spot, a sort of ravine between the mountain ridges, tho major speaks. "I say, Cavendish," his voice hoarse and unsteady, " if—if— Confound it—l moan is there anything you want to do or Bay if— you understand—if harm should como to you ?" The baronet leans forward, and looks out at the window before he answers. Tho day is dawning gloriously above tho mountain*, and tho glad stir of awakening life, the rustle of glowing leavos, and tho chirp of birds fill the air with sweet music. His eyes tako in tho cheering scene with wistful regre)). Ho heaves a deop sigh, and draws the letter from his breast.

"If I fall, give this to my wife—that's all," ho says, quietly. The major takes the lettor, and they drivo on.

The daydawn gleam? clear and bright amid tlio mountain solitudes when they roach tho Hazel Ulon, and Lord U'icklow and his seconds are alroady on the ground. Thoy fall into proper position, and Lord Wick low stands dark and grim and resolute, tho murderous weapon glittering in his right hand The seconds take their places, and tho two combatants face ouch other. Tho baronet looks at his old friend, and his face pales to the very hue of death. It is a hard tiling to keop his resolvo in tlio face of tho man who lias insulted and wronged him; to bo brandod as a coward in tho eyes of all his order. " Why do you wait, gentlemen ?" de mands Lord Wicklow. Sir Richard makes a single step forward. "Thero is a miserable mistake at tho bottom of all this. I cannot shoot you down as I would a dog, Rory—we have beon like brothore, and have dctorminod to keep my hands clear of your blood. If you still desire my life, hero's a fair mark." As ho utters these words in a clear, unfaltering voice, he tosses his pistol some half a dozen yards distant, on tho dowy turf, and stands unarmed beforo Lord Wicklow.

The luttor breaks into a harsh, sneoring laugh. " Coward I" ho hisses, his teeth sot, his face livid with rage. "No more can bo expected of a man that does not scruple to insult the guests under his own roof. I will not be cheated out of my revenge. Die tlio dog's death you so richly dosorve !" Beforo a hand could be lifted to stop him, he (ires, and Sir Richard falls, without word or sign, his left broast pierced by tho unorring ball. " Shaaio ! shame I Seize him ! Seize the murderer !" cry tho major and Lord l'orcy, in one voico.

But tlio Irishman motions thorn from him with a haughty gcsturo. "No need,"ho says, his dark faco still rosoluto and desperate. " 1 have no thought of oscape-1 shall give myself up to iho authorities at once."

They raise tho body of the baionet, construct a rude litter, and placing him thereon, bear him homeward, white and still and bleeding, through tho jubilant i;lory of ilio opening day, and tho man who was his best friend, and is his murderer, slowly, sad, thoughtful, and siletic.

[To b» continued.