THE FRENCH MASTER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 12069, 12 September 1902, Page 3

THE FRENCH MASTER.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY ALFRED WILSON BARRETT'.

CHAPTER VHT.

Yes, what did it mean? My God. what did it mean?

Madeleine Leicester a murderess? Impossible! And yet bow could it be otherwise? She was the woman I had seen with the lamp that night in the woman' who had tried to staunch with trembling fingers the wound whtch she had giventhe woman I had heard addressed as Murderess" by the murdered woman herself!

For I was certain now of this. That strange scene on the beach had brought itall back so vividly— crime which had almost passed from my memory in the midst of the enjoyment of my new life, which would have passed entirely, perhaps. but that it had been so strangely recalled. It. began to appear as if my meeting with her and my sudden recognition of her had been some miracle, some mysterious sudden judgment. For, in truth, I might, but for that strange scene with Riga, have met her a thousand times—as I had a hundred —and never hare known her i had been so confused, so struck with horror on that terrible sight: I had had so Little timeit had all happened so quickly, and my attention had bees so fixed by the beauty and pathos of the dying girl—that 7' had hardly noticed this other woman before 1 wan hulled from the brougham door. Yet it. seemed that, unknown to myself, her face had been primed on my brainpale, terror-stricken as it was—and when the time had come I had known it again. And Riga? Was it possible that the scene ob the beach had indeed been almost a complete repetition of that other tragedy? That touch of the sinewy hands seizing me. from behind and striving to force me away —it was that touch which had first flashed this light on my brain and made me glance at her. Were those bauds indeed the hands which had seized me in the log; and was Riga Madeleine Leicester's accomplice? How probable, bow fearfully likely, itall seemed! How that would explain the meeting of these two, their quarrel, his threats! 1 trembled as I realised the inexorI able certainty of if all. Silent, gloomy, j melancholy—no wonder! For what was in j j her thoughts? i | Was ever man who loved a woman so j i terribly undeceived, I wondered; and how S swiftly the shocks had followed one another! j

" Tell' me lies—only let me believe in you r/sjoitt," 1. remembered my words, words spoken as I held her hand* and looked into her face, into her pure, sad eyes. Pure'.' Good heavens! With a groan I shut the image from hit mind, and rising began to walk hastily away from the spot where we had met. I took the opposite direction to Viareggio, half running in my confusion. I dared nob think of her, I dared not meet her again just them. J was afraid —afraid of my own weakness —afraid to meet the gaze of those eyes which had so blinded me, which, heaven help me! I feared would blind me still.

When I reached J fossa— Cod knows what roundabout road— it was already late ill the afternoon.

I made my way confusedly to'the nearest albergo, and putting aside the anxious inquiries of the head waiter, who remarked my haggard appearance, I asked to be shown at once to a private room, where I spent an hour or so in trying to pull myself together. All mv attempt's were useless, however, and I sought my bedroom early worn out with fatigue and anxiety. Alas! my bed brought me less relief Chan I had found in pacing the little sittingroom, and staring blankly at the photographs of Garibaldi and Crispi which decked the walls. Sleep seemed determined not to come to me; and when at last I did contrive to doze a little, it was only to be haunted bv dreams worse than my wakeful thoughts. "Morning, nevertheless, it does to everyone, brought at least a clearer view of things. Whatever happened, I determined to try to exercise a little more self-control, to crush my feelings back into my heart, and probe all this "mystery to the bottom. I would have certainty, I vowed, where now there was a doubt; and to do that 1 must return to Viareggio. For in the night I had, to speak truth, hesitated even about that step. I had had thoughts of flying ft om the place, sending an address for my luggage, escaping from the terrible position in which I found mvself at any cost. That 1 did not do so, how thankful I have, been since.

CHAPTER IX. When I leached the hotel at Viareggio 1 approached it nervously, fearing to meet Madeleine Leicester or Riga on the steps or in the entrance,' and scarcely knowing what 1 should do in such a case. Fortunately, I could see no sign of either of them ; only Major White was to be observed walking up and down, the verandah, apparently (Jeep in thought. He started when he caught sight of me, and came forward to meet, me, glancing curiously into my eyes. I could see that his thin, sunburnt face wore rather an anxious look, and his hands trembled more than usual. : "So you have come back, my young J friend,'' "he said, clasping my hand. "Good j heavens I we began to think that you had I disappeared too." "Disappeared? Too':" " Yes—haven't you heard? But, of course vou haven't. Well, the world's coming to an eud, my bov. Miss" Leicester, that noble-looking girl—By Gad! I could have sworn she was a noble girl too—has gone— run awav. And the French master — fellow Riga (I never liked him !)—he's gone. They've gone together, in short. There's not a doubt of it." "Gone! gone with Riga!'' I gasped. "Ave, "one! And, what's worse, they haven't been, content with merely going. Walters' Gusi —one of those Ashantee jars, worth. Lord knows what, has gone with them." "Stolen? Good heavens, you must be mistaken!" I cried. .Major White shook his head solemnly. '•'There is small chance of that, I fear; though really, Eusor, 1 can hardly think that girl is guilty. It was the man, probablv. and perhaps she didn't know." " tell me what has happened," I gasped, feeling the ground sink under my feet. "Wo 1 !], this is all we know for certain. This fellow Riga came to give his lessons yesterday as usual. You were away, you know. It seems, instead of leaving when the lesson was over, he took a bedroom in the hotel, making some excuse or other, and staving the night, or, at least, part of the night. Wafers is a poor sleeper, and he fancied he hoard a noise in his room during the evening ; but he took little notice of it, it appears, at the time. In the morning the Guars gone—slo's Miss Leicester Riga. A little line of .apology from Miss Leicester to Mr. Walters arrives later—she thanks him for all his goodness, but she has to go. That is all. Nothing from Riga—nothing about the Gusi, naturally. Cool, isn't it?" " Good heavens!" I repeated, blankly, attempting in vafin to collect, my thoughts. Madeleine gone with Riga! Well, bad as that was, after yesterday I could at least comprehend it. But a thief—she? That at all events was impossible. Nevertheless, 1 knew not what to say, or think. Fortunately, at that moment Lucy Walters made her appearance on the verandah and relieved me. She was looking pale, I noticed, and her eyes ijore traces of tears. She talked indifferently for a moment or &o, and then made me a little sign that she wished to sneak to me. We contrived after a tiirtl to separate ourselves from the old major, who still paced verandah irresolutely ; aad we made our way on to the beach. " You have heard?" asked Lucy, when, at length we found ourselves opt of heading. " Yes," 1 said. " I think so." " Isn't it terrible, Mr. Eufior 1" cried poor Lucy, almost weeping again. "Poor, poor Madeleine! Do yon know J. always had a strange idea that that man hated "her, and that she feared him—and now she has gone —run away. Oh, lam sure it is his fault." I stared. This was a new view of the case. Lucy, at least, did not take the major's view of things. Lucy went on. "And grandpa's vase the Gusi —he was so proud of it! And they protend to think Madeleine was in league with that man—that she took it! Madeleine !" "But you don't?" I said.

"I? Mr. Elisor! Do you? How could she! Madeleine steal! Why, I know she is innocent. Listen, Mr. Ensor. I think you thought well of her—yon admired —how could anyone help doing so! I will shew you something. 1 haven t shown it to anyone else.", Sao produced a little sheet of paper from her pocket, and handed it to me. I took it in silence.

"Good-bye, Lucy, darling Lucy, goodbye,'' the note ran." " 1 must leave you. I most go from here at once. Don't ask why — cannot tell you. It is the secret of my unhappy life, and you are not fit to hear it. Xhmk well of me, Lucy. I was so fond of you, dear. Thank you for all your dear kindness. Lucy, don't think badly of me '. Whatever you hearwhatever they say, trust me. Perhaps .some day we shall meet again—if not, forget your unhappy Madeleine."

That was all; but I gave a little ga*p of relief as I read the line?. .She was not guilty of this last misery at least. She was no thief. And then I turned sick again. For was not this theft a small thing when I remembered that other crime with which she had been connected?

I comforted Lucy Walters as best I could : and befoi" I returned to the hotel 1 heard one piece of news which relieved me a little : Mr. Walters bad refused to take any siej;to recover the stolen vase, and Madeleine, guilty or not guiltv. was free from pursuit.

Thai; evening, when I was seated in the smoking-room alone, one of the underwaiters handed me a little sealed packet, saving, with a meaning smile, that La Signoriita had asked him to deliver it into my own hands, The matter of the lost Gusi ard the sudden departure of Miss Leicester and the French master had not been mentioned outside our own little circle, but doubtless the manltalian-likesuspected a love affair, and I tipped him, telling him not to mention the delivery of the letter, instructions he effusively promised to obey. When he had gone I looked at the little packet eagerly. It was addressed to me in the handwriting I now knew to be Miss Leicester's, and I felt my heart beat fast as I saw that if encldfeed a long letter or manuscript in the same hand.

Hiding it- hastily in my pocket I hurried up to in> room to read it- undisturbed. "Let me tell you my story." The words, wrJioh the sudden appearance of Riga had cat short ou the beach on the previous clay, recurred to me. What was this letter? Was it her story ; and what was I going to learn? In. spite of my eagerness I trembled and almost hesitated to read it.

(To be continued daily.)