BETRAYAL OF JOIN FORDHAM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10061, 22 February 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

BETRAYAL OF JOIN FORDHAM.

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

BY B. L. FARJI'.ON, Author of "No. 119, Great Porter .Squire," " Grif," "The March of Fate," " ''or the Defence," "Aaron the Jew," etc. (All Eights Deserved,! (YNOWIS OF PKHVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapters I. and ll.—John fnrdhani, at an ear Age, is left an orphan ; hi** stepmother, n ''' Ins guardian, has a sun, l.otlts, I'M) J™'' J . F 111., ii John. Mie maintains a deadly liateiforJohn, perhaps owing to 111* division of n ,h llkg PMiperljr. Louis crows up with the .am o • After many years of domestic " „'f 24 becomes of age and leaves home. At ii, r | lro ther lie falls ill lt.ve with Barbara Maxwell. Her brother pesters John for mono, which is pi en ,' • , rlie marries Barbara with jv that .1.. is character. .Maxwell jeennjly tells Jul" tlmt ,110 andV.-On the dayof theirmarriafie John anil lUrb.ua i» to Paris Mo* at the hoM John leaves his wife to unpack. vMlH.ec''" , '"> the city. He return- 10 the hotel to hi d that his wife lias l.aLeil him out. »>Y the aid of the manager he is aide to get through the window lie tin,ls the toom in a itcploinbio state, and liwife drunk ,-n the bed. Her true character now dawn- up' ii him. luit lie resolves t" reclaim her. lie transfer- Mr. brandy hollies from her box to his. CllAl'rf Rs VI. *.mi VII.-In morning Itarbam nrumiites «, reform The managei requests them to feive the li. tel. John and his wiie sock another hotel Itarhara I ikes a liking to the chambermai l, Annette, and takes her into regular seivice. J.-1,,, liiis'isp itnifly le'i-ls Barbara hi« keys, and when he begins to unpack liediscoveis that his »i e lias abstracted the brandy hollies, ami alsotl it she ha li.id dii limtes of his koys made. sneaks to her about it md a quarrel ensues. lit m Kits VUI. aMi -John, after consider. Ing the put event, decide- to give in to his nlfe, by owning that he is in the wrong.

CHAPTER X.-(Continued.) The next morning wo were comfortably seated in the train for Geneva. Annette was knitting, I was looking through some English papers and magazines I had obtained at Brentano's, and Barbara was reading a French novol sho had purchased at the railway stall. She appeared to bo bo deeply interested in it that I asked hor what is was. She handed it to me. I started ns I looked at the title, "L'Assoimmoir 1" I handed it back to her, thinking it strange she should have selected the work, but drawing from it a happy augury, for there is no story in which the revolting effects of drink aro portrayed with greater coarseness and power. It did not occur to me that I should have been sorry to see such a work in tho hands of a pure-minded woman, and that the absence of the reflection was a wrong done to a woman who was but newly married—and that woman was ray own wife ! My thought was : What offect will the story have upon Barbara? Will it show her in an impressive and personal way the awful depths of degradation to which drink can bring its victims, and will it be a warning to her ? " Have you read it ?" she asked. " Yes," I answered. "It is a terrible (tory ; it teaches a terrible lesson." " i have heard so," she said, " and I was quite anxious to read it myself, It opons brightly." '• Wait till you come to the end," I thought. She went on with the reading, and was so engrossed in the development of tho sordid wretched tragedy that she paid but little attention to the scenery through which we were passing. 1 did not interrupt her. "Let it sink into her soul," I thought. " God grant that it may appal and terrify her!" In the'-afternoon the book was finished. But she was loth to lay it aside. She read the last few pages, and referred to others which presumably had produced an impression upon her. Then she put the book down. 1 looked at her inquiringly. " Von are right," she said. "Ib does indeed teach a terrible lesson."

I did not pursue the subject. If the effect 1 hoped for had not been produced no words of mine would bring it about. A fellow passenger engaged me in conversation, and we stood upon the landing stage awhile. When I returned to the carriage I detected that Barbara had been tippling; the signs were unmistakable. Later- in the day she made reference to the story and expressed sympathy for the victims of the awful vice. " Is that your only feeling respecting the Story ?'' I asked. "What other feeling can I have?"she replied, sorrowfully. "It was born in them. Poor Gervaise I Poor Coupeau! I don't know which 1 pity most." " And the terrible lesson, Barbara?"

" Everything in moderation," she said, and after a little pause, added, " besides, it isn't true; it isn't possible. Novel writers are compelled to draw upon their imaginations and they invent unheard-of things- you will do, I suppose, with your stories. Make them hot and strong, John, and you will stand u greater chance of success. People like to have their blood curdled. If I had the talent to write a novel I should stick at nothing. Look at" —she mentioned the namo of a living English author whose stories were wonderfully successful—" he deals in nothing but blood ; in every novel he writes he kills hundredsand hundredsofpeople, and slashes them up dreadfully. His pages absolutely reek with gore. Now, you can't convince me that lie is describing real life; he is describing things that never occurred, that never could have occurred. It is just the same with this story that I havo beon reading. Very clever, of course, and very horrible, but absolutely untrue." That was her verdict, and I knew it was useless to argue with her.

In the carriage in which we were sitting were a lady and gentleman who excited my curiosity. I judged him to be some forty years old, and she perhaps ten years his junior, but to arrive at this conclusion keen observance was necessary, for both of them bore on their faces marks of premature age. So far there was nothing in them to arouse attention ; it was their manner and demeanour that attracted me. During the mariv hours that we had travelled together the lady spoke not a word, and when she looked up at him and around her it was with a timid frightened look in her eyes to which I could not attach a satisfactory meaning. Assuredly there was no visible reason for thoso looks of fear; it was evident that she was not acquainted with any other person in the carriage but her companion, and the few words he addressed to her were in a solicitous tone, and were distinguished by great tenderness. He brought her food, and her hands shook as she took it, He urged her to eat, but she could not, and with a sad shako of her head she gave it back to him. I noticed that when he had occasion to go from the carriage, to bring the food or to take it back, he was not gone for more than a minute or two ; he seemed anxious to get back to her as soon as possible. I noticed also that every time he left ho cast an apprehensive look at Barbara. There was no accounting for this, but it was cloar to me that both he and the lady were oppressed by a great grief. There was some mystery in it, ami I caught myself wondering what it could he, and from what causo it sprang. I was soon to learn—and 1 learned at the same time the reason of his apprehensive looks at my wife.

We arrived at Geneva between eight and nine o'clock. In accordance with Barbara's wish, we took tho omnibus of the Hotel de la Vaix, whero Maxwell was to meet us, She was disappointed that he was not at the station ; we looked out for him, but wc did not sec him. It happened that tho lady and gentleman oi «i.'-in I have spoken took the same otntiibii.- and were seated when we entered. They .hew into a corner of the omnibus, and he gentleman shifted his place so that he sat be. ween his companion and Barbara, lie seemed to be desirous that the ladies should not tit next to each other. A disappointment waited Barbara at the hotel. Maxwell was not there. When 1 gave my name to tho proprietor and was speaking about the rooms we were to occupy, he said, "There is a letter for Madame, and handed it to her. It was from Maxwell. She read it with a frown, "It is a flume—a shame 1" she cried. " What docs he say ?'' 1 asked. "He will not bo here till the end of the week," she replied, fretfully. "He may nob be bore at all." 11 lam sorry, I said. You aro not," she retorted, fiercely. " You are glad."

And certainly it was she who spoke the truth. We went up in tho lift to look at our rooms, and then I came down again to order dinner. Returning to inform Barbara thr-t it would be ready in twenty minutes^ 1 found the door locked,

" Let me alone, 1 ' : Barbara cried from within. "I don't want any dinner. You can have it without) me. Ib won't spoil your appetite." I turned to go downstairs and met Annette. " Is my wifo unwell ?" I asked. " Madame is disturbed that her brother lias not arrived," the woman answered. " She does not require me any longer tonight. lam to got something to eat and go to bod. Good-night, monsieur." " Good-night, Annette." She had spoken sulkily, as though vexed at not being allowed to wait upon her mistress. I had my dinner alone, and afterwards strolled along the banks of the beautiful luke, smoking a cigar. There was no moon, bub the sky was bright with stars. 1 was in no hurry, knowing that when Barbara was in one of hor passionate fits it was best to give her plenty of time to got oyer it. My presence irritated her, and I did not care to be the butt of her unreasonable anger. It was half-past ten when I turned my face towards the hotel, and I had not taken many steps beforo the gentleman who had aroused my curiosity in tho railway carriage ran up to me, and cried in a voice of ex treme agitation: " Where is my wife ? I must find her— I must find her I Life and death hang upon my finding her to-night!"

CHAPTER XI. Ho had gripped my arm with a trembling hand and 1 easily shook him off. It was roughly done, and I repented when 1 saw him stagger, but his mention of his wife had brought my own troubles vividly before mo. "I know nothing of your wife," I said. " Why do you coma to me ! I hope I have not hurt you." He had put his hand to his head, ns though overcome by dizziness. With an impatient deprecatory motion which was intended to express that whether I had hurt him or not was of no moment, he said, in the same excited tone.

" I come to you because you muab know where sho is. She and your wife are together. Are you all in a plot against me? Where aro they ?" I saw tho necessity for calmness. To havo answered his in a tone as excited as his own would havo been adding fuel to flame. "Perhaps you will explain yourself. I do not understand in the least what you are talking about. I have no knowledge of you or your wife, and I am certainly no party to any plot against you. Again I ask why do you come to me for information?" He was still unreasonable. "If you will not tell me where my wifo is, tell me where I can find yours. She may assist me ; sho may have mercy upon mo." "Psha I" I muttered. " This is trifling." And I left him, with tho intention of returning to the hotel.

" Alan, man 1" ho exclaimed, treading 'close to my heals "Have you no pity Do you know what it is to suffer the tortures of the damned, to be weak and to bo tempted, to see tho woman you love dragged lower and lower, till your life becomes a hell upon earth! It is a crime to refuse me satisfaction. Why do you avoid ma—where are you going ?" " I have a wife of ray own," I said, doggedly, for a horrible suspicion to which I couid not have put intelligible words was haunting me. "I am going to her." " To the hotol ?" " Yes, to the hotel." " But she is not there. I went myself to your rooms, and she was gone." " Gone !" I echoed, hurrying on. " You are dreaming." He followed me closely. " I will go with you." Arrived at the hotel, I did not wait) for the lift, which was on the upper floor. I ran upstairs quickly, and found the door unlocked. I enterod the room; no person was there.

"Barbara, Barbara 1"I called, and received no answer. It was my turn now to question him. "What doos it mean?" I cried, ringing the boll violently. He did not answer me, but waited, twining his fingers with convulsive restlessness. The waiter appoared, and informed mo that M. Ramsay, bowing to my companion, had already made enquiries, that he, the waiter, and the proprietor had made inquiries, and had ascertained that the two ladies bad left the hotel together, and had not returned. They were probably strolling along the banks of the lake; it was a favourite promenade, and the night was fine. "I came to you," said Mr. Ramsay, " thinking they were with you." " As von see," I said, gloomily, my suspicions taking shape and form, " they were not. I have not seen ray wife since I loft her here, an hour and a-half ago." I addressed the attendant. "My wife's maid has a room on one of the upper floors. What is the number ?"

"1 will ascertain," he replied, and went downstairs. We followed him, and the proprietor, who, with his servants, were polite and attentive, consulted his books. Annette's room was on the fourth floor, and we ascended the lift, which was waiting for us. I knocked sharply at the door, my belief, or rather my hope, being that Barbara was there. Annette's voice, aroused from sleep, responded to my summons. " Who is there? What do you want? Was this the manners of the Swiss—disturbing guest" from their repose?" "It is I, Annette." But why, monsieur, why?" I heard her scramblo from her bed. " Does madame require me? Is she ill?" " Madame is with you—is it not so?'' " But no, monsieur. It is strange to ask. Pardon ono moment. I will present myself. "

She did, partially dressed, and a shawl wrapped round her shoulders. " Now, monsieur." " I wish to see for myself, Annette." "Monsieur is welcome, quite welcome. Why this suspicion ?" , She stood aside, and I entered, Barbara was not there. I questioned her. " Havo you seen madame since she retired ?" "Now, monsieur " Nor heard anything of her?" " No, monsieur." "Is it the truth?" "lb is the truth, monsieur. I was not born to deceive." By this lime Mr. Ramsay was convinced that I was as ignorant as himself of the whereabouts of the ladies. We descended to the ground floor; I took no notice of Annette's inquiries, but I observed that she was discomposed at the idea of my wife doing anything in secret without her knowledge. " If we walk by the lake," I said to Mr, Ramsay, " we may meet them." [To bo continued on Wednesday next.)