THE CANKERWORM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11783, 12 October 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE CANKERWORM.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

Atithor of "Black Blood," "A Mint of Money," " A Crimson Crime," " A Woman Worth Winning," " Cursed By a Fortune," etc., etc.

[COPYRIGHT.]

BOOK 111.

CHAPTER LV. THE COMING OF KISMET. Lord Inveraigh looked at his wife as if dazed.

" You do not believe me," she said, with a sad intonation in her voice.

" Would to heaven I could believe it was other than the coinage of your diseased brain, Davenport—my brother's friend'.'—a man the soul of truth and honour?"

She littered a low, mocking laugh, and her eyes lit up with a flash of detestation, as she stood now holding her husband's hand.

" The father of your child?"

" Yes —' the soul of truth and honour.' My husband — far as church could make us one and law divorce, this man of truth, who left me, a girl not sixteen, to die of misery and want. He knew the marriage was void— Wilfrid Rede, as he called himself then."

" Impossible >

"The man whose one aim has been your dishonour, from the day we met again. The enemy who has pursued me till in his mad rage he saw a rival in his own son."

" Great heavens 1"

"At a time, too, when my heart was throbbing with my boy's confession of his love for Helen, our—your child."

" But lam bewildered. Archibald Grant loves my child?"

" Look in your picture, and see his confession there," she said, pointing to the wall. "But he knew you were his mother?" "No;it is a secret still. George, dearest, do you not see?"'

He still gazed at her wildly, for doubts of her sanity lingered in his brain.

George," she said, proudly, "I am your faithful wife. Take me to your heart again ; look into my very soul, and judge me then."

She gazed appealingly at him, but he did not move.

" You know ho v we first met, and how I fought against your prayers that 1 would be your wife." " Yes," he said, with his hands trembling. " Did I not striveso —heaven knows how hard—to avoid youwith that old wound in my breast, which ached even to bursting with, its newly-awakened love for your child?" " And I pleaded to you to come—to save her life," he murmured. " Yes, dearest; and all these years what have I been?"

" My gentle, loving wife !" he said, as he still gazed wonderingly at her. "But Davenport?" " I never saw him again till you brought him to this house."

"And Grant?"

"My child was taken at its birth. I never saw him till you brought him here. Yours has been the hand which struck these blows. Georgehusband—was my girlish sin so great —the hiding of the truth at a father's prayer — vile, that there is no forgiveness here?"

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it as she ceased speaking, and was shrinking away, but he snatched her to his breast. "You believe me, then?" she said, faint- " Linda, you have given me back my life." There was silence for some minutes, and then, unheard in the drawing-room, there was a slight rustling sound, followed by the faint click of the conservatory farther door, as if someone had passed through. " How could I be so mad and blind !"

Lady Inveraigh laid her hand upon her husband's lips, and he held it there, till, in response to the message he had sent by the butler, Archie's steps were heard crossing the hall, and the next minute he was standing by the door, looking wildly from one to the other, his brain throbbing with the revelation made by Preston and his words respecting.the impossibility of Lady Inveraigh's acknowledging him as her son. A glance chased away a part of the mist which stiii confused him.

Lord Inveraigh pointed to a seat, but Archie did not take it, for his eyes were fixed fully upon Lady Inveraigh's pale face, in which he could read now by another light the meaning of her gentle, tender, manner and the yearning love of a mother towards her child.

"Does he know? Has she spoken?'' he said to himself. But Lady Inveraigh sank down in her chair and closed her eyes, while Archie felt that come what might he must respect her secret. It was for her to speak, not for him.

All this was almost momentary, and he found himself returning the fixed, inquiring look which seemed to search deep into his soul. Then all doubt was at an end.

" She must have told him all," lie said, for Lord Inveraigh's lips parted. " Mr. Grant," he said quietly ; but a slight tremor in his voice told how "deeply he was moved, " I have to ask your forgiveness for doing you a cruel wrong." The young man flushed, and glanced at Lady Inveraigh, to see that she had stolen out one hand to lay it upon her husband's. "I can bear my wrong, sir," replied Archie, quickly, " but tell me this. No, it is not for me to speak." ( " There is no need," said Lord Inveraigh ; " I know the truth, and I ask vour forgiveness."

( "You have it, sir!" said Archie, eagerly. ''Perhaps I was more to blame than you. That is enough said. My business is with Colonel Davenport now."" Lady Inveraigh started from her chair, and held tightly by her husband's arm. She uttered a sigh of relief, as he took her hand, to draw it through his arm and give it a warm pressure. " Mr. Grant," said Lord Inveraigh, '- Colonel Davenport is my guest."

! " Your truest? The man is a villain,!* " Possibly, sir ; but what do you mean to do?" I " 111 —•* ! He said, no more, but there was a. fierce j gesticulation which sent a thrill of horror I through Lady Inveraigh. j " You would punish him, then—strike him I —I see your meaning—for his insulting lan- ■ guage to you?" j " No'." cried Archie, and Lady Inveraigh ' shuddered. I " Your object, then, is to provoke a meetj ing with Colonel Davenport, on account of his insult to Lady Inveraigh?" j "I wish to see Colonel Davenport," said j Archie coldly. j "In spite of the-law which forbids such j meetings?" ( '" Here!" cried the young man with a eyl nical laugh, as he met the eyes fixed upon j him curiously and as if trying to read his ; very soul. " I understand you, sir." said Lord Invel raigh, firmly. ; " 1 am glad you do, my lord," cried I Archie, " for he musthe shall meet me. He | can't refuse.'' 1 " But I can forbid it. Mr. Grant." said the j old man, sternly. "Lady Inveraigh is my ' wife. You are trying to usurp that which is ; —her husband'sduty." Archie started and looked womleringly at the stern face before himat the countenance which had completely changed. " Lord Inveraigh.' he cried, " I must— j after what has passed, lam bound." ! "Thank you, sir.'" said Lord Iveniieh, coldly. " I can protect my wife's honour ! and my own. ! " Yes. but you are an old man. sir ; and T jam young and strung. This man is a trained soldier." " And lam a quiet student. Granted, sir ; but, once for all, if such a step is taken against. Colonel Davenport, if he is to be punished, the duty falls to me. You can not —you shall not meet." " I not meet him?" cried Archie angrily, " No—not even if a meeting could be arranged between yon abroad. Colonel Davenport shall render account to me—and at once Great heavens! what is that?" Lady Inveraigh uttered a wild cry as if she had divined what had occurred, for a dull, heavy report shook the windows, and she clung to the arm of her chair, looking wildly at husband and son. "ft is nothing," said Lord Inveraigh, quickly. "Do not be alarmed. Something has fallen in the library."

CHAPTER LVI. ONE CURTAIN' FALLS.

As the last word left his lips there was another rattling of the windows— sharp, unmistakable report, of some firearm within the house, and Lord Inveraigh hurried to the inner door and tried it.

"Locked!" he cried, excitedly. "Why it this door fastened? The key— key 1" " I—l locked it," faltered Lady Inveraigh as her husband ran to her side. "I was afraid. To keep them apart—they must' never meet."

" Ihe key—quick—the key!" cried Lord Inveraigh, and Lady Inveraigh tried hard to extricate it from her breast, into which it had been thrust.

, " Lindawife !" he cried ; " for heaven's sake, quick!" With trembling fingers she drew out the key at last. It was snatched from her hand, and Lord Inveraigh ran to the door and trembling now himself with tln?> dread of a, horror which he felt to he possible, as he recolled hiis own feelings when shut up in that room, he tried to unlock and open the door, just as Preston and Morrison came hurrying in by the other. Lady Inveraigh strove to rise and follow, but sank, back"in her seat, overwhelmed by the horror of some terrible catastrophe which she felt in her heart must have occurred.

Meanwhile Lord Inveraigh, closely followed by Archie, had rushed across to the. library and thrown open the door, from which came slowly staling out a faint bluish smoke . with its strange odour suggestive of blood* 1 and looking as it Writhed in the fresh current ot air like some mis-shapen demon escaping mini a scene of murder. " For a few moments the vapour was so dense that they did not see that of which they were m search. Then Archie caught sight of a hand holding something, and sprang to the far side of the tabled Lord Inveraigh meeting him from the other direction, for them to stand paralysed for the moment, looking down upon the motionless figure of Davenport, face downward in the thick pile of the carpet. Lord Inveraigh looked from one to -.he other oppressed by the knowledge latelv imparted to him by his wife, and then turned faint as lie caught sight of the still smoking pistol, stooped and wrenched it out o£ the wretched man's hand.

Help me, sir," whispered Archie, as soon as he could recover his voice, and with his face pale and ghastly he bent down, passed his arms round the fallen man, and, without, waiting, raised him and bore him t-> the couch, as Lady Inveraigh staggered <-> the door and caught at the side to keep herself from falling, as she bent forward, wildeyed and horrified, to gaze in. "Is—is he dead?" whispered Lord Liveraigh.

"Heaven knows!" replied Archie, i« husky tones. "Look, sir; his head!" He pointed to a blackened 1 atch in front of one temple, where a drop of 1 lood slowly trickled down, and to another mark farther back, while Lord Inveraigh thrust his hand into his breast as Preston passed by ,_,ady Inveraigh and entered, closely followed by the butler.

" Quick, Morrison, the nearest surgeon." The, butler shuddered as he looked ('own at the ghastly face on the couch, r.nd then ran out.

" Oh, my lady, don't—don't go in,' ha whispered." ."'Tisn't fit for you to rae."

He might have spoken to one of the marble figures in the hall for all the notice she took, and the next moment he was gone, and she still stared at the ghastly face, while Preston, horrified by the scene and fchb ideas it suggested, caught Archie by the wrist.

"Archie!" he panted, "this is murder! My boy, what have you done?" " No, no, Preston," whispered Lord Inveraigh. " Mr. Grant'was with me. Colonel Davenport was quite alone." "Thank God for that!" muttered Preston, with a sigh of relief, and lie turned to look at Lady Inveraigh's wild countenance thrust just inside the doorway" thank God for that. Is—is lie dead?"

"No, I Think not," whispered Archie. "Then—you think—self-inflicted?" faltered Preston.

Lord Inveraigh pointed to the pistol hehad laid on the table, while Archie took out his handkerchief, and with his face pale and curiously stern, held it to the wound, from which the blood now began to well.

There was the sharp rustling of a dress ati that moment, for as Lady Inveraigh saw her son's act'she uttered a low moan, staggered, and nearly fell. " Linda, my child, this is no place for jou," cried Lord Inveraigh, crossing to her. For heaven's sake go." No, no," she whispered, hoarsely, as she caught her husband's arm and took a step or two forward, with her eyes fixed wildly upon Davenport and Archie bending over him trying to staunch the wound. '' Look—look !"

Davenport's eyes slowly opened, closed, and opened again, to stare blankly round, as if he did not grasp where he was-, till they rested on Archie's face, at which he looked wonderingh for some moments. At last a curious expression began to dawn in the wounded man's eyes, as he strove to rise a little, to look closer. It was a wild, strange gaze, full of surprise, wonder, and pleasure, and yet marred by a, cynical smile, as he lifted one hand feebly to try and lay it upon the young man's ami, Archie involuntarily shrank back. " Lie still, sir, and be silent," said Archie,, sternly. "The blood wells up at every movement."

"Let it!" said Davenport, smiling, "I'm used to that. I know, boy. Only a lew minutes, and you may wrap me "in mr cloak."

A shudder ran through Lady Inveraigh, and she clung tightly to her husband, watching Davenport as if fascinated, while his eyes were fixed still on Archie's face. '" Not good to listen," said the injured man. " Listeners never hear good of themselves. But you all spoke so loudly I was obliged to hear. Locked yourselves in, and would not open. I heard every word. Inveraigh, —quick! You," "he cried to Archie, in somewhat of Ins old commanding, tones, "back!" And the young man, resenting the order all the while, obeyed,, ; "You wish to speak to me? Pray. • fc# silent till the doctor'haa aeeiv you.,"

"Bah! I want no doctor, man. Your pistol, Inveraigh loaded it for yourself?" Lord Inveraigh started. "A bit of Fate.; ready for myself. A strange world, Inveraigli. Our little sin? find us out, man. And that boy. You know' new. It was in my blindness, Poor Linda. I retracteverything. That boy— quick—fake this black from before my eyes —you." Arcliie came slowly forward, frowning. "Hah! Archibald Grant they called you. No, no. Let it bleed." For Archie had bent forward with his handkerchief again, as the exertion of the movement pent the blood trickling down. "Hah!" he sighed, with a curious spasmodic gasp. " Let me look at you—Linda's boy." Archie smarted, and again a curious, cynical smile played on Davenport's lip. "A bravo lad. The right blood in his veins. Ab-h-h!" He ground his teeth together as if mastered for the moment by some agonising pang, which passed off directly, and with a faint smile upon his lip he went en. "Linda—Lady Inveraigh!" he said, raising his hand a little, " Inveraigli—the last time." She glanced appealingly at her Ausband, and he loosened her arm. "Go!" he whispered, and Archie stepped back as his mother glided forward rnd sink upon her knees by the couch, reading death Silly too plainly in the suicide's eyes. "Forgive!" he said faintly. "God forgive you, as I do—Wilfrid Rede," she said, in a low voice which mado Archie take a step forward, but only to be restrained by Preston, who uttered a faint crv. Davenport's eyes were half-closed, but he opened them widely. •' yes—Wilfrid Rede. God forgive! Ah," he said, with a faint laugh, "pood-bye! I heard—every word. 'Of our pleasant sins —scorpions to lash us!'" he muttered. " What—why—getting so dark. But—you will forgive me?" "' As we forgive them that resp-iss cganist us,' for the sake of our child." "Hah! He knows? The whole truth?" j

"No." " Bring him—quick—take his hand— .—before I go." Lady Inveraigh sprang to where Archie stood, caught his hand, and drew him to her breast. " As Ave forgive them that trespass against us," she whispered in his ear, as she pressed him towards the couch. He yielded to her touch, and as lie stood "by the dying man he yielded again, sinking down upon one knee, "with her hands upon his shoulder. Davenport looked wildly and yearningly in the young man's eyes, his own dilating with the effort. "Your hand— boy," he whispers'], so faintly that those by the couch alone hoard, and then, " for the first time, andthe last." He turned his eyes now as if seeking blindly for something, till they rested en Lord Inveraigh's with so intense a longing, so appealing a prayer, that the latter followed slowly and stood close up. Dave.iport's lips moved, and there was an inarticulate murmur, as the look grew more set. "I understand your wish, sir," said Lord Inuveraigh, slowly and clearly. " Yes. Henceforth this is my son; this, sir, is my honoured wife. Take with you our forgiveness to the Judgment seat of God." Davenport's eyes were fixed in a stony stare which seemed is if it would never alter more. Suddenly the strong man in his agony heaved himself up. bowing out his chest, sank down, and then with the wild stare increasing horribly, he threw up one arm, struggled into a sitting posture, and fell back on the couch.

"God forgive you said a voice softly. " I never thought to say those words to you, Wilfred Wilfred Rede." ' It was Preston who spoke, gazing wonderingly the while at the stern face fixed in death, just as the doctor entered the room.

CHAPTEPv LVII. "POOR JOHN PRESTON ! HE NEVER THOUGHT

OF ME."

Some very small scandals float high on the stream of society, and are seen plainly, much discussed, and largely magnified. Others naturally far greater never rise to the surface, and are swept away, or are smothered by events which take the attention of the world.

It was so with regard to the death of Colonel Davenport—which made little stir. There was the regular inquest, witnesses were examined, and Morrison gave evidence that the deceased had quite a collection of ■weapons amongst his luggage, over which he was very particular, taking guns and pistols to pieces, and oiling locks and putting them together again. Then mention was made of the climate of India: there was some rumour about a sunstroke, and evidence relating to recurring fits of jungle fever canght in the service of his country. In short, ill-health was blamed for the fit of temporary insanity which resulted in the self-inflicted death of Colonel Davenport, which was forgotten by the time certain distant relatives had accompanied him to his grave. John Preston and Archie Grant were not of the small funeral party, but they were present, to stand close by the strangers — the next of kinwho had an interest in the property the colonel left behind. And as Preston and Archie walked back to the carriage which had brought them there, Preston said sadly: "Forgiven and forgotten, my boy. But look here, Archie. I had a chat with an old lawyer friend of mine— to be a captain in the Yeomanry crops I belonged to— I thought I would put the case before him."

"What case?" said Archie, rousing himself from the reverie in which he was plunged.

"Well, yours, my boy." - Archie looked at him wonderingly. "Eh? Seems out of place directly after a funeral? Oh, dear, no. They always read a will as soon as they get back. I hear that he left no will, and my friend tells me that he is afraid you would have no claim. "Good heavens! Uncle Preston!" crieo Archie. "do you for a moment imagine that if I had the best of claims I could ever stoop to touch his money?" " But, you see, you have no expectations, my boy." " I require none, sir. I shall go on with my art, and I daresay I can sell pictures enough to enable me to live. I shall work hard now, I daresay, when I get over yonder." , "Then you still mean to go?" "Certainly!" said Archie, sternly; "as loon as I hear that Lady Inveraigh is out of danger." " Quite right, my boy, quite right; but— iut—"

" Yes, uncle, but—" "You will stop and see her first?" " No, sir. lam going to efface myself altogether, as a man with a bar sinister." " Bar nonsense ! My dear boy, 1 will not hear that. It is like an insult to your mother. The law with its crotchets and quibbles may say that marriage was void, but your father and mother's hands ; ere joined before God's aft<tr, and unless you wish to insult me you will never speak like that of yourself again." The rest of the journey to the cllumbers was performed in silence, and a quiet, thoughtful evening was spent before Preston rose.

" You will not mind my leaving you, my boy, for an hour or two?" he said. "Oh, no, sir; I'm afraid I am rather a tie upon you." " Tie on me, my boy'/*' said Preston, :;oing behind the young man's chair, to lay i.is hands affectionately upon his shoulders. '"It's getting quite an old tie now, my hoy; over twenty years, you know; and my end grows thicker and stronger. Archie, don't —don't you think you could let your end grow a bit thicker, too?" " Uncle Preston!" cried Archie, springing up, to catch the hands extended to him. " I believe I am the most ungrateful hound that ever lived." " Then you are a miserable infidel, sir, and your faith has gone.to the dogs," cried Preston, excitedly. " But it is not true, my b 0 y—ot a word"of it. You are hipped and low-spirited. So am I. Of course we are. And the news we keep getting .about Lady Inveraigh is heart-breaking. But look here, Archie, I know you better than you do yourself, and—never mind the world, my boy. We*can make our own." "I don't quite understand you, sir. ""Eh? Don't you? Well, I*ll try and explain myself. I am getting on in life now Archie and am one of those fellows who will never marry, and it looks lonely onward if a an has nothing before him. Don t. you x iwk it's time now; to drop the 'Uncle, and

let it be Archie Grant Preston, my boy, for the future?" * - "What, let you thoroughly take me as your son, sir?" Yes. There, there don't be so excited." " No, sir. Impossible." "Now, you'll make me angry, Archie; and I shall begin to say unpleasant things. I don't want to put on the screw; but you force me. Now, look here, sir. You were such a miserable little scrap of humanity that I don't believe you would have lived if 1 had not taken you in hand.'' "Why did you do me such an ill turn?" . cried Archie, 'bitterly. "Because I chose;, sir!" said Preston, hotly. " I was sent to do it. I honestly believe, and I've done it like a duty. I did not marry, to have a son, but you are just the sort of boy I should have had, I'm sure; and yon knowwell, there, I will not go into that. Now. look here, sir, I consider you are minethat I've earned you; and if you don't treat men in future as if I reaily were your father I'll—Archie, my boy, don't let mine be a, miserable old age, when you can make it so happy." "Forgive me!" cried Archie"forgive me! There, father; and I will try in spite of all to be like .your very own." Preston made no reply, but soon after hurried out, half-choked by his emotion, and to keep up the fiction he took a cab to his club, but only to ask if there were any letters, and then drove to Kensington, where he was shown at once into Lord Inveraigh's room. A silent pressure of the hand passed between the two old men, and then in answer to Preston's inquiring eyes, "A change for the better. I have been looking anxiously for you. She is quite herself again, and \ really think there is hope. How is our boy?" Preston looked up at him half-wonderingly, and Lord Inveraigh smiled. "Yfou think my question strange," he said. "My dear Preston, if I have anything to condone it is condoned ; and I can only thank heaven that a dear wife is spared to me— loving mother to my child. There I have been too ill at ease to enter upon a subject so near to my heart, but I can talk now." " —very glad!" said Preston. " What is it?" About that boy." " I have just come from him. Had very hard work these last few days. Depressed. Frets about his birth." " Poor lad! I will see him in a day or two." " Better not." "Why?" '* Let him get into a better way of thinking. We are off to Rome as soon as lam satisfied that Lady Inveraigh is recovering. We could not go till then. We are going to study hard, Inveraigh ; and make a name for ourselves. And we can and will." Lord Inveraigh was silent for a few minutes looking very serious and thoughtful, and when he spoke again it was in a quick, decisive way. " Yes," he said, "it will be best. Let him go. You will go with him?" " Of course." " And about money, Preston?" " Want me to lend you some? Certainly." " No, man, no. I mean for his use. He is my dear wife's son, and I wish to make proper provision— "My dear Inveraigh, we are very old friends now, and you are almost the only one I have. Don't let's break that up." "I do not understand von."

" Offering to pay the expenses of my son. Pooh! sir: he doesn't want money. He only wants a name, and by Jove! sir, he shall win it, too, and you shall be proud of him as I am."

" Perhaps I am already, my dear Preston," said Lord Inveraigh, taking his friend's hand. " But you will go in and see the ladies?"

"Um! Shall I?" said Preston, dubiously. " Certainly. Helen would be hurt if she knew you had been, and— " Stop! I fcay, Inveraigh," he said, "there's a meaning tone in your words, or I'm mistaken. Look here, you know everything. Would it not be better now if I kept right away? That must all die out now. Let the bov's wound heal over."

" Preston," said Lord Inveraigh. " in the long, quiet talks I have had by my wife's beside she has told me everything, word for word— she said to her son on that terrible day. I endorse those words. Time must pass first— couple of years, say— perhaps a longer space. Let him prove himself worthy of my darling, and I shall do anything to make her happy." " But you forget. In the eyes of the law the poor boy is—" "Bah!" cried Lord Inveraigh, contemptuously. "A man is what he makes himself." A few minutes later Preston was ushered into the drawing-room, where Helen and Cousin Sophy started to their feet. " Our dear friend Preston has come to say good-bye." said Lord Inveraigh. " Good-bye'?" faltered Cousin Sophy. "Yes. He and Mr. Grant start at once for Rome."

It was Helen's turn to change colour now. " I think it will be better, Preston, old friend, that you should not stay, for my dear wife is out of danger now. Some time in the future —"

" Yes, yes." said Preston, quickly; " some time in the future. Good-bye, my child." Re held out his hands to Helen, and with her lips quivering she placed hers within them for a moment, but only to snatch them away and throw her arms about his neck, to kiss him lovingly. It was no time with her for words.

As she was released Helen flew to her father, gazing wildly in his eyes, but his seemed to beam approval, and she stood clinging to him, as John Preston held out his hand to trembling Cousin Sophy. "And you go at once, Mr. Preston?" she said, with her lips trembling. "Yes; we have talked it over together. We both think it would be better so. The doctoryou know— any fresh emotion —timebefore we meet again. Good-bye." He pressed her hand firmly as she gazed sadly and wistfully in his frank eyes. The next minute he passed with Lord Inveraigh from the room, leaving Cousin Sophy weeping silently as she covered her face with her hands, Helen, looking sad but hopeful, kneeling at her feet. "Faithful to the old, old love," sighed Cousin Sophy. " She told me allshe told me all. Poor John Preston! He never thought of me." [the end.]