STRATHMORE'S SIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10037, 25 January 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

STRATHMORE'S SIN.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONKS, Author of " The Midnight Prophecy," " A Great Wrong," " Lady Lauderdale's Temptation," " The Rover Captain," etc. CHAPTEK XXVII. SAVED FROM DEATH. A DAY or two later Lord Wicklow finds himself able to be raised on bis pillows, and to speak in slow mid feoblo whispers. Kathleen loses no time in presenting her self at his bedside.

The poor fellow's hollow cheeks flush and his eyes brighten, and ho puts out his emaciated hand in eager welcome.

" This is very kind of you, Kathleen," lie falters.

Kathleen aits down beside him, and takes the thin hand in tier, cool, soft) palms. She struggles resolutely to keep her self-com-inand, but in spite of all her efforts, her woman's heart thrills and throbs with the old, sweofc rapture, and the hot toars fill her eyes unbidden. Bu(, Roderick does not see or know, poor fellow, and eho gets her voice, and proceeds calmly.

"I want to know about your mother, Roderick," she begins; "it is important that I should know at once, else I would not trouble you with quostions in your present weak state; but try to bo composed, and to remember. Your mother, Lady Wicklow, where did you leave her, Roderick ?'

The old hunted look comes back into his eyes, and he shudders from head to foot. " My poor mother," he repeats, in a sort of dreamy retrospect. " I was wrong to leavo her. She entreated me to stay, but I could not, Kathleen. Do not blame ma. The curse was on my soul, and his face pursued me every hour I'livod. I could not stay, Kathleen." " No, no, of course you could not stay. I am glad you came away, Roderick," she answers,soothingly. "Bub tell me where you loft your mother." Ho looks at her with dull, dazed eyes. "My poor mother ! Such a happy woman as she used to be, Kathleon,"he goes on; "but I broke her heart. Poor mother, her hair is grey now, and her eyes are dim with weeping, Go and fetch her, Kathleen; you are good and truo. Go and fetch my poor, old mother, and let me tell her that I am not a murderer I"

" I am going, Roderick," she answers, holding his hand fast, and fixing his wandering gaze with hor steadfast blue eyes. " She shall soon be hero besido you. Only tell me whore you left her. Was it on the island ?"

But tho dull eyos cannot comprehend tho paralyzed memory cannot reassert its power. His head droops, and he swoons away from utter exhaustion.

Kathleen stands and looks at him, an infinite pity in her sweet eyos. "1 cannot, wait an hour longer," she murmur*, "I must go at oiicu-1 may return to find him in hi* grave, poor follow." The words seem to choke her as alio utters them. She glances about the room, to bo sure that she is alone ; then she bends her queenly head, and kisses the parched lips of the man who was to have boon hor wedded husband, for the first time in her life. She turns from him, rings the bell sharply, and leave* tho room.

Sir Richard moots her in the hall.

" Lord VVioklow has swooned again, Sir Richard," sho explains, briefly. " I have summoned tho nurse; it is from weakness, no doubt, I tried to question him about his mother, but his memory seoms quite gone ; and he is too weak to be worried, bo I am going at once. "Going, Miss Rathlin ?'' Going, Sir Richard, to hunt for Lady Wicklow, Have the kindness to send my trunks to St. Ivan's. I purpose walking as far as the rectory, and as it is uncertain when I may comeback, on Lady Cavendish's return from her drive, make my kind adieus to her. 1 leave my poor cousin in your charge, well knowing that he will be well cared for. And now, Sir Richard, good-

bye 1" She holds out a pretty, slim hand. The baronet grasps it, and lets it go, too utterly amazed to speak. She trips down the graveled walk, under the shadow of the oaks and elms.

Sir Harry Tresham appears just after sho has left, and hearing of her determination to go in quest of Lady Wicklow, waits to hear no more, but darts down the walk, and comes up with Miss Rathlin at the Lodge gates. "My dear Miss Rathlin," lie begins, with his best bow, "I beg your pardon, but Sir Richard has boon tolling me of your intended journey. Really, now, Miss Rathlin, you must consider the distance, and tho inclement season. And what need is there that you should go? Pray, commission me ; I am at your sorvico, ready and willing to do your bidding, even if it sends me to the ends of tho earth."

Kathleen turns, and looks at his eager face, with her serene eyes. "You are very kind, Sir Harry," she replies, "and lam grateful. At the same time, you must allow mo to have my own way. I have decided to make this journey, and no amount of persuasion will induce mo to change my mind." "At least, then, Miss Rathlin, you will grant me the honour and extreme pleasure of being your escort?" continues the young baronet. "It would be unwiso, to say tho least, for a lady like yourself to make such a journoy— She interrupts him with a waro of her slim hand.

"Unless properly attondod?" she adds. " I am aware of that, Sir Harry, and have provided myself with a couple of trusty friends. Thanks, however, and I beg your pardon, but I must nob delay another minute."

She bows, and puts out her pretty band. " You will not permit me to servo you in any way at all, Miss Rathlin ?" he says, regretfully, as ho givos it a lingering pressure. " Why, yos, I will," she replies, frankly. "If you are really anxious to oblige me, Sir Harry— at Keswick, and aid Sir Richard in taking care of my unfortunate cousin. That would be the most grateful service you could render me. I bid you good-morning." "Confound hor cousin!" mutters Sir Hurry, biting fiercely at his moustache, as she trips away, "Quite likely that I'll land a hand at taking care of him. I only wish they had loft him to floundor in the sea, Instead of fishing him out, and bringing him here. She will be fool enough to take him back at a word. Women are all alike. I was an idiot to race ovor into Ireland, and fetch her here; - bub she'd huvo come anyway, likely enough. Off 011 a sea-trip in midwinter, too, and sho the handsomest woman in existence, and an heiress as well ! Well, I will bo on hand at Dover when sho returns, and maybe that mad beggar, up yonder, may get off the hooks by that time. I flatter myself I should stand a pretty fair chance with hor if he wero out of the way, confound him 1"

And the titled young master of Tresham Court strolls back to the Grange, casting sundry vengeful glances toward tho windows of that darkened chamber where poor Roderick lies. ,

Meanwhilo, Kathleen walks briskly onward, reaches the rectory, bub finds only

Janet at home, t(io pastor being out somewhere umid his flock, " Well, Janet," she says, "I am off on my long journey. There is no hope of getting anything definite from poor Roderick, so I am intent op ft voyage .of discovery. You will wish mo Godspeed, I know, ana do the best you can for my poor cousin during my absence. "Yes, dearie," replies the old woman, " but I only wish I could go along with ye. It is to the islands far out in the blue sea you're going. Yes, and she's there, my bairn, my darling, my pretty lflmb. Oh, Miss Kathleen, 11 she goes on,' pushing back her grey hair, a strange, introverted look in hor old oyes, " she's there, my child, my little Eeruo 1 They say she's dead, that false lord, and the wicked woman who is 10 be his wife—but Janet knpwg bqtter— knows it's a lie, Don't I Bee her every night, the blessed minute I olose my eyes, with her sweet face shining across the great sea, and she a-holding out her hands to mo, and on her breast a little qhild ? 1 wish I could go with you, Miss Kathleen, and fetch her homo; hut I can't leave the old father all alone in his trouble. But you'll find her, my little Esme, and fetch her home to her father and me, who nursed hor when slio was a wee darlingi-won't you, dearie?" "Yes, Janet, if I can find her, I will certainly bring her home," replies Kathleen, deeply touched by the poor old dame's earnestness.

" An' you'll find her, dearie ; no doubt of that. Go now, dearie, and I'll keep a blessed candle in the eastern window, day and night, until I see you coming back, fptphing my lost lamb home." Kathleen takes her leave, deeply touched, though, of course, she believes poor Janet to bo daft, as do all her neighbours j and before the day closes she is on her journey. A couple of trusty companions, old friends of Lady Wicklow, accompany her, and they travel day and night, fast as steam can carry them, bub to Kathleen it seems a snail's pace. Her soul is tortured by a horrible fear, lest they are too late. Through all the long journey she has pictured Lady Wicklow all alqnp on that little sea-girt island, perhaps exposed to danger, evon starvation. But this latter cannot) ho, for Kathleon has from time to time sent secret stores and treasures to the island. Sho does not know that through the treachery of her emissaries, not one of her donations evor reached the hands for which they were destined, If she did, her impatience and terror would bo even greater. They reach the sunny shores of Italy, and one glowing morning finds them on tho vast, blue sea, with the dull, red glow of Vesuvius fading in the diatanco behind them. Their oraft is staunch and fleet, their pilob skilful and well paid, and they skim tho shining waves with bird-like speed, and reaoh, at last, tho tiny island. Kathleen hastens to set hor foot on shore, and stands fearless and exultant on the very spot where poor Roderick partod from his mother, months before. The sands are washed and oovered with debris, and from a swaying sapling flutters a white signal, all torn to shreds by tho wintry winds. Kathleen's hoart gives a painful bound, and she looks through the tangled growth toward the little hut. Her oyes fill with tears as she thinks of the weary months poor Roderick has passed in that miserable place. She starts onward at a rapid pace, careless of any dangor that may await her, and her companions follow her load. They reach tho rudo dwelling; the door is closed, and from the low chimney no vestige of smoke issues. They pause, an awful horror falling on them. "Isshe within?" Kathleen asks herself. " Shall I find her, or has my long journey been in vain ?"

While »he stands thus, a moving object in the small, open window attracts her notico. It is a huge brown cat. It sits on the sill an instant, surveying tho littlo party with wistful eyes; then leaps out, and running to Kathleen's feet, rubs its head against hor, with othor signs of joy.

Kathleen utters a little sob of hysterical joy. Somehow the sight of this living creature reassures hor. She advances boldly to the door, lifts the rude latch, and enters.

Ah ! pitying Heaven, what a sight meets her dilated eyes as the outor sunshine streams in. Tho fire upon the hearth litis smouldered into a heap of grey ashes, and before it, on hor knees, crouchos Lady Wick low, her face hidden in tho folds of her mantlo. Close beside her sits another figure, wrapped in a scarlet shawl, clasping something close to her breast.

Kathleen gives one terrified glance, and then bounds forward.

"l'ray Heavon, that I am not too late I" she cries, clasping theknoeling figure in hor arms.

It is not cold, nor rigid. A wild hope thrills her heart. She raises the hidden face. The sunken eyes are oponj the parched lips move feebly. "She Heaven bo praised—she lives 1" Kathleon crios. " Quick, friends, with wino and food I"

In a minute's time a fire craoklos on tho hearth, wine is warmed, and a littlo administered to the enfeebled lady. It rovives her almost instantly. She looks up into Kathleen's face with a long, questioning (•mo. " Kathleen," she murmurs at last; then she Hdds, " My son, Roderick ? 1 "He i* safe. I have come to take yon to him," Kathleen sobs; and, oh, dear mother," eho adds, " lot me tell you the best news of all. Sir Richard Cavendish is alive —and Roderick is forgiven 1" Neit wino nor food is so potent us those blessed words. Tho mother hears them, and a great cry breaks from her white lips. "Sir Richard lives, and my son is' forgivon? Oh, Kathleen, Katheen, Heaven bless you for this precious news which you bring I" Sho rises up, strong in her now joy; bub tho effort is too much for her, and she faints away in Kathleen's arms. But joy rarely kills. She soon recovers, and so does Esme, under Kathleen's prompt and skilful treatment. As for the infant, ho scorns in better condition than either of his companions, His young mother looks at him, smiling and content in Kathleen's arms, and her meek eyes run over with tears.

"Oh, Lady Wicklow,"she sobs, "I was sure that Heaven had nob quite forsakon us."

" Yes, Esmo, and you were right," hor friend answers, " Your faith, not miao, has saved us."

Kathloon catches the namo, with a start of surprise. " Esmo!" she repeats. "Eamol Merciful Heaven, can it bo ? Child, tell me, are you tho rector of St. Ivan's daughter ?" "I am his daughter. Toll mo of my father; does he yet live ?" "Ho lives, bowed down with grief bocause of your loss. Oh, Heaven bo thanked for this crowning joy !" cries Kathleen, falling on her knees, with the baby boy in her arm?. " I shall carry you homo to old Janet, as I promised." To be continued,]