THE HAND ON THE PLOUGH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11872, 25 January 1902, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE HAND ON THE PLOUGH.

BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER, Author of Booties' Baby," "A Magnificent Young Man," " Heart and Sword," " The Colonel's Daughter." " Every Inch a Soldier," Etc., Etc. [COPYRIGHT.! CHAPTER XXV. For a minute or two Mrs. Meredith sat staring at Dick Vincent as if she would look into his veiy soul. ' Dick," she said, "you have put a new idea, into my head. What did you mean when you said that it would be best to leave well alone?" "I have been trying to explain what I meant," he said deliberat-'y. His heart was beating more quickly than usual; he felt that some suspicion had been aroused in her mind. Any sorb of revelation might take place during toe nest half-hour, and he nerved himself to meet wiiat might be before him as only a strong man in perfect health would , have been able to do.

"Look here!" she said, ignoring his remark. "I insist upon it that we stop at Midas Creek— mean that we go there first. I have a reason- very urgent, a very cogent reason." "Not with Cynthia." " Yes, with Cynthia." "No, Mrs. Meredith; I will not give my consent."

" Your consent is not necessary. Cynthia is not your wife yet, but Cynthia is my daughter, and she will go where I tell her. That will be to Midas Creek." "I shall appeal to Cynthia." " You can appeal to Cynthia if you choose, but Cynthia will do my bidding. Cynthia has never disobeyed me in her life; she is not likely to begin now. Cynthia is going to Midas Creek with me; you can please yourself whether you go or not. I shall not conceal myself, or the tlio fact that I am my husband's widow. What there is to learn about my husband's death I will learn."

. "What more can you want to learn than you already know, Mrs. Meredith? You have seen the account of the occurrence in the local journal." "I want to make sine," she said, looking at him fixedly, " that my husband was killed." He gave an exclamation of impatience. "My dear Mrs. Meredith, this is worse than folly. If you have any idea that Meredith, poor fellow, is still alive— "No, 1 have no such idea. I know that my husband is dead, but, and the question is a large one, was he killed or was he murdered?"

"He was killed," said Dick, shortly. " You have the evidence in the papers. You can have no better proof than that."

" Yes, I can have better proof than that. I can have the proof of the man who was there and saw it —the landlord of the hotel." " His evidence is there in the paper." " I would prefer to have it from his own lips. How do I know that the editor of that paper was not paid to produce that report "My dear Mrs. Meredith, this is absolute folly," said Dick. *' Folly!" " Perhaps. If it proves so lam content to abide by it. You take things too much for granted over in these •wild parts of the country. I will not do so. 1 have been robbed of my husband," she exclaimed, working herself up in a fury, " and I will have satisfaction. I will know the truth. You got the news in New York; you came on."

"What was the good of going back?" "You came on; you left him to his fate. You didn't care." "What was the good of caring? The man was dead." "You don't know that he was dead." " YeSi I do." "How do you know? By the paper?" "No, I had a letter from a man who was present, a man I know." " What was his name?" " His name is Valentine Clegg." " An American?" " Yes." " You knew him?"

" Oh, yes." " And "lie wrote and told you my husband was dead?"

" He wrote me the whole circumstances of the affair."

" Why didn't you show me that letter, Dick?"

" Because there was a good deal in it that I had 110 wish for you to see." " Why?" "I have already told you, Mrs. Meredith, that Meredith did not carry a very good character about with him. His reputation in California, such, parts of it as he was known, was a bad one. I should not like you to readbeing Roger's widow, and I knowing him as I did, knowing the good there was in him—l should not like you to read everything that Valentine Clegg said about him. He had known him for many yearsalmost ever since he first came out."

"I should like to see that letter.'' " I am sorry I cannot show it to you." " Why?" " Because I have destroyed it." "Why did you destroy it?" " I destroyed it because I then could not show it to you." "Did this Valentine Clegg justify the action of the man who killed my husband?"

" Absolutely. Nobody could have done otherwise. It was a question of life for life, an(J_the man who had his senses about him did not see being shot down by a man who was raving mad drunk. It's no use shirking the truth, Mrs. Meredith, and, as I told you, it is less than no use for you to go to Midas Creek, either in the character of an avenging spirit or, for the matter of that, as Meredith's devoted widow."

"Where does this Valentine Clegg live?" " Mrs. Meredith, it is not necessary to tell, you." . " Yes, I will go and see him." " No, I don't think you must go and see him."

" I intend to do so. Give me his address now."'

" No, I. shall not give you Clegg's address. From what he wrote to me he could hardly be called staying in the hotel, as he had not been there more than five minutes when the affray took place. He wrote me from the standpoint of a purely disinterested eye-witness. It can do you no good to see him. Look herel'll send to Midas Creek for the entire evidence, which I am sure I can get you. That will be as* worthy of credencc as if you went and collected it yourself, because I shall get it from the official quarters."

"No, I'll have it at first hand. I'll go to Midas Creek, and then I'll go to see Valentine Clegg. I shall get his address from the hotel. You are shielding somebody." " Mrs. Meredith!"

" Yes. lam not the least excited; lam speaking with an absolute knowledge of what I am saying. It's borne in upon me with an insistence which I should be a wicked woman to disregard. I am quite calm, but. I am convinced that you are hiding something from me. You are shielding somebody; you know more than you ever told me, and if you will not tell me the truth I will seek out those who will."

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Meredith was most horribly excited. She was trembling like an aspen leaf from head to foot; her face was white, her lips were strained, and her voice was hard and repressed even to monotony. "So," she went on, "it's no use trying to hold me back and bar my progress any longer; it's no use to speak to me of Cynthia; Cynthia will, go the way that I go. The truth I / will have. If my husband has been done to death, Lis murderer shall suii'er."

-As Mrs. Meredith grew more excited so did Dick Vincent become more absolutely calm. He was past all personal feeling now. He was playing a game as a game; he was playing it desperately in earnest, for the issues to him were more important than the issues of life and death. He was playing a game of " pull devil pull baker " between Mrs. Meredith's angry suspicion and the cljance of Cynthia being his wife. And he played for all that he was worth.

" You forget," he said, very quietly, " that you are speaking of a country winch is not England. You would get no redress, you would get no fresh inquest, you would

not even get sympathy. The jury, probably made up of hard-headed, rough" and ready men, considered Meredith's death a pure accident, and in order to express their feeling in that way they brought the verdict ' Died by* the visitation of God.' If I had been the foreman of that- jury, or indeed an ordinary juryman, I should have suggested that they would better have expressed their feeling by returning a verdict of ' accidental death;' but, you see, I was not there, and, therefore, they followed their own ideas and returned the verdict as you know. As to .my shielding anybody. as to .my hiding something, well, if you like to think so, you must. I have no "objection to taking you to Midas Creek I only object to my future wife going near that place. I have asked : nothing unreasonable of you; I have only asked you to take that journey when you have seen the ranche; and you are not acting reasonably by me when you do everything you can to thwart me, when you go against- my fixed principles as regards my fiancee, when you accuse me of something for which you have absolutely no grounds." " You dare to say this to me?" " Yes, Mrs. Meredith, I dare to say this. And I shall dare to say a good deal more before we have done. It takes no great great daring." "Then I shall go to Midas Creek without you, and I shall : take my daughter with me. If you like to give my daughter up—" ■ . " There's no question of my giving your daughter up; I shall never give your daughter up, excepting at her own wish. And 1 defy you—l dare you to say one word to influence her against me. If you do, Mrs. Meredith, it will be a trial of strength between us, and although Cynthia may have been the most perfect daughter in the world she has given her word to me, she has given her love to me, and I am convinced that she will abide by my wishes, because her common sense will tell her that they are more reasonable than yours." Mrs. Meredith got up from her seat. She stood, holding on to the table beside her, staling hard at him and swaying unsteadily, as if her head were in a whirl. "You think," she began,." you think that you can hoodwink me, but you will find your mistake." She pointed a trembling finger at him, and then, without a word of warning, without a sigh, a gasp, or an attempt to save, herself, she dropped like a stone at his feet. Dick, with an exclamation of intense annoyance, stooped and raised her from the ground. He was vexed with her; he was vexed with himself.. She seemed a dead weight in his arms, and he carried her to the nearest couch, where he laid her down, then flew to the electric button, ringing three times as a signal to one of the chambermaids to come to him.

"Quick! this lady is ill!" lie exclaimed, when the maid arrived. "Can. you get me some brandy? Stay! Perhaps Miss Meredith may have some. She has gone to bed; she cannot be asleep yet." The maid, who was a Swede, stooped down over Mrs. Meredith, and took the cushion from under her head. "It is ze best to put ze head low," she said in a tone which reassured him, because it told him that she was not flurried at Mrs. Meredith's state. "I go see if the young lady has brandee."

A moment later she came back, carrying a small silver Mask and a glass from the toilet table. She was immediately followed by Cynthia, who had thrust on a cambric wrapper above her nightdress. " What is the matter, Dick?" she said. "Is mother ill?"

" Yes, she fainted. Have you ever seen her like this before?"

" Oh, yes, I have sometimes. Yes, that's right, Brincka, the lower the head the better. Rub the palms of her hands. Now, Dick, a little of this brandy— don't weaken it with water, just a few drops will be enough to begin." * ' Thus bidden, Dick Vincent forced a few drops of brandy down her throat. There was effort to swallow, and the liquid ran out of the corner of her mouth on to the cushions of the sofa.

" I think," said Cynthia, still rubbing hard at the palm of one hand while the Swedish maid did the same with the other, "I think we should do better if we could get a doctor here. This sort of thing needs ether. There must be a doctor near to a big hotel like this, possibly one living here. Her pulse is so slow, and she'scarcely seems to breathe. Wait a minute, I'll get some scent." But it was of no use. Brandy, scent, doctor, daughter, nothing had any effect upon the inanimate form lying upon the sofa. A doctor who happened to be occupying the next suite came quickly in. He took but one glance at the sofa, touched the wrist, bent down and listened a moment to the heart, then turned to the maid and said, " Give me a looking-glass." Cynthia dropped her mother's hand, went swiftly into the bedroom, and brought back an ivory hand-glass. She had no idea why he wanted it; all this was an absolutely new experience to her. She watched the doctor with wide-open eyes, in which curiosity was the main expression, as he held the glass over Mrs. Meredith's lips. Then he took it away, looked at it, and glanced markedly at Vincent.

"Are you this lady's son, sir?" " I am going to be her son-in-law," said Dick. " This is her daughter." The stranger turned and took the girl by the hand. My dear young lady," he said, " it is better to tell you the truth at once. We can do nothing more." CHAPTER XXVI.

When the doctor uttered those words to Cynthia Meredith— can do nothing more"—she looked at him with eyes which unmistakably showed that she had not in any way taken in the full meaning of his words.

"I have never done more than given her a little brandy," she said, looking anxiously at him.

"You don't understand," he said, "It's no use giving her brandy. It is too late to do anything." " I don't understand you," she said. At this moment Dick took the girl's hand. " Dearest," he said, "you don't realise what the doctor wants to tell you. He means that you have only me now that we must be everything to each other." You don't mean "th(at my mother is dead?"

" She is dead," said the doctor, simply. Dick was holding her two hands fast, within his own. He had expected a terrible outbreak of grief, but Cynthia was absolutely calm.

"Are you- quite sure?'" she said to the doctor, and then looking down at the quiet face of the dead, " Are you quite sure that nothing can be done? Won't you try to do something?" "There is nothing to be done," he said. " Your mother is dead. She was, of course, subject to these attacks?" " Oh, sometimes. - I have known her faint, not very often, but never so long as this. You are quite sure?" "I am quite sure." For a few seconds the girl did not speak. She stood looking down on the sofa with a blank face.

" You were quite right, Dick," she said, at last, looking up at him. You said she would kill herself."

" With what?" asked the doctor. "Oh, she was very ill all the way over; yes. very ill. The doctor on board said she ought not to have come. And then she couldn't rest; she wanted to see everything; and the heat was so groat;; she was so energetic, so determined to make the most of her time, and nothing we could say mad© any difference. She "utterly fagged* herself out." . '• :

" Ah, it's a pity. Her heart must have been in a state necessitating a very quiet life. I shall, of course, be able to speak more definitely later on. What a. pity it is when people take their holidays too hard and make a toil of pleasure." < "Well, I did my best," isaid Dick; "in fact, I was trying to persuade her not to take a very disagreeable and arduous expedition when she was taken ill. However, it's ,no use to talk of that now; there must be a great deal to arrange. Cynthia, I am sine that you would be better in bed. I ought to fiud somebody to stay with you to-night. Miss Meredith," he continued, turning to the doctor, "does not know a soul in the country ; and I not a single lady in New York."

The doctor did not hesitate a moment. " Oh, that's easy enough," he said. " I'll fetch my wife here. Come into the next room," he added to Cynthia; "I should like just to run my eye over you." He drew her into, the adjoining room and listened a moment at her heart.

"Your heart's all right," lie said. "I'll bring my wife to you. I' think they had

better transfer you-to a room next to ours, and she will look after you for the night." He had closed the door of the room where Mrs. Meredith was lying, and made;assign to Dick to follow him into the corridor. '• She will be better when she has had a good biuret of crying," he said in an undertone. "She is a good deal run down. Has she been sight-seeing too?" :/v ! - "Yes, she has—until she absolutely rebelled this evening, and refused to do any more." - ' ' , "I see. What's her name?" *• " Oh, Meredith. Miss Cynthia Meredith. You know that she is engaged to me?" "I gathered as much. With her mother's consent?' 5 "Of course. 1 Ob, yes." "Father living?' » ■ - " No, he isn't . lie and I were partners on a ranche together in California. We were on our way to settle up his affairs." "Well, my dear sir, it's a pity you didn'tget married before you left England. That poor little woman in there has really driven herself to death from what I can gather from a cursory examination. However, I'll go and fetch my wife. By-the-bye; what is your name?" '"Vincentßichard Vincent. Thank you a thousand times. I really don't know how to thank you enough. You see, I'm so frightfully stranded, being left- like this, and if she breaks down at all I sha'n't know what to do with her. It's awfully good of you." "Ob, it isn't a bit. My wife will be delighted ; she's the kindest creature living. I daresay she'll be able to do more with her in five minutes than you and I would in a week. And then we must have a. talk as to all that will have to be done. Yon have a very unpleasant week before you."

"I know it," said Dick. "However, I must go through it somehow." It was but the work of a few minutes for Doctor Sergeantson to go back to his own suite of rooms, acquaint his wife with all that had happened, and enlist her services for the girl who was so suddenly bereaved of her only living relative.

Mrs. Sorgeantson was a warm-hearted Irishwoman, impulsive, quick, and intensely sympathetic. She never attempted to stand upon ceremony, but rushed into Cynthia's room as if she had known-her all the days of her life.

" Oh, me poor child! me poor, dear child! How can I find words to tell you how grieved and sorry I am for the dreadful trouble that has fallen upon you !*' she cried. Cynthia, who was sitting by the open window, staring at nothing, looked round with a half-vacant stare.

" You are very kind," she said. " I don't think that I quite realise what has happened yet. It's all been so sudden, so—"

" Yes. me poor child, I know perfectly well. You are stunned, poor darling. But you shall not stay here in this room by yourself. Come and stay to-night with me. Come to my suite. You shall share my room to-night, and we'll turn the doctor into the room next door. Come, me poor dear, you can do no good here, and you can't stay here brooding by yourself."

Some note in the sweet Irish voice or in the touch of the tender hands made Cynthia realise, as nothing else had done, the terrible loss which had befallen her. She caught her breath with a sob for the first time since they had called her from her bed.

" Oh, why should you be so kind to me?" she asked.

" Sure, me dear, because although I never saw you before I've got a heart that can ache for anyone that's in trouble. But you must cheer up. The doctor tells me that you've a fine young man that's going to be your husband, and so you won't be as much alone in the world as if you were left all by yourself. Ah, here's Brincka. She's a good sort, is Brincka; she's a great •friend of mine. Come now, Brincka, if I take Miss Meredith off to me rooms you'll bring all her things,, won't you—there's a good girl?" Mrs. Sergeantson well understood the art of getting what she wanted by the soft methods of persuasion. Brincka, who was genuinely sorry for the great blow -which had befallen Cynthia, readily promised to transfer all the young lady's belongings to Mrs. Sergeantson' apartments. , "Now, me dear,. you can leave it all to Brincka," cried Mrs. Sergeant sort. " She's I as clever as daylight, and as kind as they make 'em. Come straight along with me, there's a dear. There's nothing to be gained by staying here, and the sooner you lay your weary head on your pillow and get you to sleep the better." " I don't feel as if I should ever sleep again," cried Cynthia. They were just about to leave the room when an idea struck Mrs. Sergeantson. She stepped aside and spoke to the Swedish maid, who whispered something back in. reply. Then she turned back to Cynthia. "Me dear," she said, " you'd like to go and take your last look at the little mother? She'll not be the same to-morrow, perhaps. Go and say good-bye to her now. It . will comfort you afterwards, and I'll go with you, and then I'll be the. better able to talk to you about her." " Yes," said Cynthia, " perhaps it will help me to realise it." Mrs. Sergeantson looked into the adjoining room. "There's no one there," she said. " They'll wait until we've cleared out of the road." . , The dead woman was lying upon the couch where she had breathed her last, a light sheet being thrown completely over it. " Sure she was a pretty creature," said the Irish woman impulsively, "and you are her living image. Poor dear! poor dear. It's sad to see her like this. Arid yet me husband said she couldn't have suffered a pang." In a moment the floodgates of Cynthia's grief and sorrow were opened. She flung herself down upon the floor by her dead mother's side. The Swedish girl impulsively ran towards her, but the doctor's wiser wife touched her with a warning hand and shook her head.

"Not a. word," she said;"l have been waiting for this. It had to come sooner or later."

The Irishwoman was very kind and tender and considerate to the forlorn girl. She encouraged her tears; she tended and ministered to her; she took her away to her own cheerful room and waited upon her as her mother had never done.

So, knowing that she was in good hands, Dick was left free to make ; all necessary arrangements with Doctor Sergeantson and the authorities. • ,

At best it was a hideous week which followed. The formalities which are necessitated by sudden death were all got through in due course, and as soon as possible all that was left of Cynthia's mother was laid quietly away to rest in one of . the graveyards of the city to see which she had sacrificed her very life. "And now," said Mrs. Sergeantson to Dick, when they were all once more assembled in the doctor's sitting-room, " what is going to happen?" I" Mrs. Sergeantson," said Dick, " you can believe that during the past few days I have been thinking that question out with my whole heart. Under the circumstances, so unexpected, so tragic, I do not see that we have before us but one course. '

"And'that?" "That is that Cynthia and. I should bo married immediately here in •■New York. I know, dearest," he said, putting out his hand to her, " that this is sudden, hut we have been in circumstances which leave us little or no choice. We both thought to wait a few months and to go back and be married in England in the midst of our relations, but here we are, several thousand miles away from anybody belonging to us, alone with each other alone saving for the doctor and his kind wife, as alone as if we we were on a desert island. Now, having come so far, it would be ridiculous to go back without completing the business for which we came across the Atlantic. I hold your father's will; I also hold your mother's will, made just before she left England. You have seen my mother and my" people; you know that you will be absolutely welcome to them whether you go , back as Cynthia Meredith or as my. wife. It will simplify everything if we are married now. We can then go to Santa Clara without any difficulty. We can wind up your father's estate, we can arrange what shall become of the ranche, and then go back to England to take up our life together in the home which would have been yours in any case after a few months. What do you say, Mrs. • Sergeantson?" ■■''■;. 1 - " Sure, I think it is the very best plan, that could possibly be," said the doctors wife. : . " You have no fear that your mother—.'' began Cynthia. w---.' ' , , ; ~j " My dear, I have no fear of anybody, he replied. " You know perfectly well that my mothor. was delighted? when , we, announced our engagement to ber; she was aeT . . ■ vi

. : lighted.- ■To her you are the ideal daughter-', -v ■.< • in-law. I suppose," he said, turning to the doctor, "that there will.be no great diffi- ' culty in arranging . for a marriage to take' place as soon as possible?" , - , v , " Oh,' there are a few formalities to go r through, of course—the same as", in any * country; they are, "if anything,, fewer here . than at home. Anyway, the wife and I will be delighted to keep Miss Cynthia with us." : , " Don't call me Miss Cynthia," Cynthia broke in, pathetically eager tto show howshe appreciated the kindness which had been lavished upon her. . „\ Well, I won't, j I don't feel, . although we have only known you a few days, I don't feel like a stranger to you. We shall be . delighted, Vincent,, to r keep Cynthia with us until she is safely your wife. I", think •: i you are perfectly wise, and everybody concernedthat is to say,. your mother and' , '- i . your sisters, and nobody else will matter— •. . i will certainly agree that you had no other course open to you. Then you can go along . on your journey, get through your busi- i ness in your own time, and stay a few days with us on'your way back." ' "And then," said Dick Vincent, holding out his hand, " our greatest desire will be that you and Mrs. Sergeantsou should com© . and stay with us at Hollingridgc." _ (To be continued.) '