IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13286, 19 September 1906, Page 10

IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY A. W. MARCHMONT. Author of " The Queen's Advocate. " A Courier of Fortune." " By the Wit of

a. Woman." etc. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER XII. " SHK IS BKTROTHKn." I was by no means sorry that Father Ambrose preferred to see Voina alone. It was her influence, not mine, which would have any effect upon him; aaid it was certain', she would be able to exert that influence better alone than if I were present at the interview.

I judged, too, that the priest, was shrewd enough to see the wisdom of hearing our story from us separately. I had already told him one falsehood and Volna had acquiesced in it so that we could not >.me him for using any caution which his suspicions might prompt.

That she would win him round to her side, I had little doubt. My faith in her made me very confident. But what could he do then? 'What could lie do? Howcould he, a mere parish priest, help us to turn our failure into success and get those papers to Cracow?

I had ample time to meditate upon this, for it was mote, than an hour before he came back to me. He looked exceedingly grave and doubled, and asked me to go to his study. Volna was not these. He took his seat at his writing-table and waved me to one opposite to him; aoid for a moment or two ho said nothing. I felt very uncomfortablesomewhat as I useTl to feel in the old Corpus days when carpeted by the Head. He pressed his finger tips together, and when he spoke there was a mixture of censure and kindness in his tone. " Mr. Anstruther, I don't know how you regard the falsehood you told me yesterday and induced my friend's child to act." "It was on the impulse of the moment, and I am compelled to. admit it was only one of many I have had to tell in the last two days. But don't think it is my habit to lie." " Your name is really Robert Anstruther?" " Yes. But I can give you no proof. My papers wore taken— He interrupted with a wave of the hand. " 1 know. 1 am aware that I must take your word." "I have perhaps deserved that word 'must,' but it rankles. If you feel that my action yesterday prevents your believing what I tell you we may as well close this conversation at once." " Spoken hastily, like a young man, but not unnatural, perhaps, in the circumstances. That you should have deceived me with such ready speeiousness is scarcely calculated, however, to convince me of" your good faith. Perhaps vow can appreciate that." His cold tone and calm, clear' glance emphasised this, and it hurt. 1 made no reply and dropped my eyes. '" Can you see' that?" " You are quite entitled to take your own view of it, of course. But if. the conditions were repeated I should probably do it again." " then you would do very wrong. Mi. Anstruther," he said, with some warmth. "A falsehood is not- only a sin in the eyes of the Church, but wrong in every war." "I dare say you are quito right* I have never tried it as a policy before, and it has landed us in a pretty bad mess. But if you can show me how we could have got out of the hands of the police witTiout lying I'll listen readily. And if we had got into them the mess would have been much worse than it is." "If you had been candid with me yesterday, all the troubles since then would have been avoided."

" They would also have been avoided if the storm had not overtaken us arid we had not lost our way. But cau we.do any good by dissecting causes? I am man enough I hope not to shirk responsibility for my acts. I take all these lies on my own shoulders. They appeared to be. necessary. The necessity no longer exists, and I shall tell you none. If you can't believe mo there.is an end of things. That's all." He sat for perhaps a minute in frowning, thoughtful silence. "Will you tell me exactly all that has.occurred?".

" Has Volna told you?" 1 asked. Yes but I wish to hear it from you also."

"A natural precaution," I admitted; and then told him as succinctly as 1 could everything from the moment of the meeting at Bratinsk station.

He listened very closely, interposing some questions now and then," and when I finished lapsed into thought again. Presently, with a smile, he said: " You have left some things unmentioned." "Not intentionally'." " Descriptive of your own acts in places— at least, as told me."

" I have said all that need be said. Volna may take an exaggerated view of some things.' • •

" I think I have done you an injustice, Mr. Anstruther."

"That is of no consequence." "Tell me, why did you plunge into this hazardous matter?"

"I don't think that matters. Put it that I liked me prospect of an adventure. That is quite true." "Is it all the truth?"

"There is no falsehood in it, father. We'll leave it there, please." lie looked at me very earnestly indeed and then held out his hand. -Will you let me beg your pardon?" he asked. I grasped the hand cordially and shook my head. "No, 1 will not. If i had been in your place I should have been much more suspicious. You hurt me when you thought I might lie to you. Rut you "see now that I shall not. And that's all."

"The child is very dear tonic fur her mother's sake, ami I see that you had absolutely nothing to expect in helping her except the risk and danger that you ran." "I raj) no risk. T have powerful and very influential friends who will see me through all right." "That I did not understand," he said quickly: "It makes a difference. It will be easier." He spoke rather to himself than to me it seemed. " You are sure you can rely upon your friends?" he asked presently. My father carried through some largo financial matters for the German Government, from time to time, and I myself have had evidence of the, goodwill of several men high in office in Berlin." "But this is Russia,, Mr. Anstruther." "True, but their influence would not stop at the frontier. You may take it from me, I am in no tort of danger." "What are your plans?" "To get those papers through to Cracow. How, may depend upon you in some measure." He paused, and then said slowly: "They are on their May already." 1 sat up in intense surprise. "On their way? Why, has" He understood the unfinished question and smiled. "No, she has not taken them. But they will be in Cracow to-night. A day has been lost —precious hours, perhaps —by your action yesterday." I drew a deep breath of bewilderment. " You do not understand the wide-reach-ing influence of the Fraternity, Mr. Anstruther, and had better ask no questions. But now that the papers are gone, what are your plans.?" "I had not got as far. as that. have none." "You will wish to return to England?" I hesitated. There was something hehind his question I could not read. " I suppose so—yes, of course, 1 shall return there. My home is there." He bent a. kind but searching look on me. "I hope you think I am your friend as well as—" he said after a pause, leaving the sentence unfinished. "Oh, yes, indeed. I should be sorry Uot to think so. —is Volna going home to Warsaw?" "Have you been quite frank with me? I don't mean that unkindly." he hastened to add in reply to a start from me. "As to your motive in all tins? It will be best to he quite frank. Young folks are young folks all the world over." "I should be. sorry to misunderstand you," I said. . " Von entered info this tiling from love —of. adventure only?"

As it is over, does my motive. matter?" He shook his bead slowly. "It may. It may. I. don't know. It may. I am so afraid of appearing impertinent, or of making a mistake. We old people fall so readily into mistakes," be said with a deprecating smile.

"Don't you think the best way to avoid them is to speak plainly?" He picked up a sheet of paper and played with it with a suggestion of nervousness. " I am tempted to tell you a story, a chapter of my life. Mr. Anstruther. I was not originally intended for the priesthood ; hut was to have married. 1 was betrothed, in fact. Then something happenedthe result of misunderstanding—l knew afterwards how easily it could have been avoided, but it* was not avoided; other influences intervened, and -and so the marriage which took place was not mine; and I am now a priest with just a memory." Does that incline you to any special frankness with me as to your motives in this?" " You mean with regard to Volna?" He looked at me again very intently. "You know that she in betrothed?" he asked. "Oh. yes. She told me her uncle's plans." His look now was more sympathetic and kind than searching, and he sighed. "Ah, you do nut know, I see." "I am not a child. Father Ambrose." " I can say no more. I ought not, perhaps, to have said so much. 1 am,going to deal with you as a man, Mr. Aii.Uruther. Of course all that hah occurred in the*e two days must never be mentioned. The dear child's future must not be compromised." ; " It will not pass my lips." , "You and 1 together •' can secure her safety; I am going *to ask your help. Sue will remain here until I can.get back safely to Warsaw." ' i "I will do anything to secure her safety," "The one thing you can do is to put yourself in the baud's of the police." "The polio:?" " You say your friends will help you in any explanation.'' "I don't follow you yet." "The police have tracked you here from Bratinsk. They were in the village yesterday evening. They are coming to me" again this afternoon. It happens that my housekeeper's niece was to have come here to-day —in a village '.ike this a.ll private matters are public, you know. She is not cornier, but Volna can take her place for the time without any suspicion being aroused. What you have to do is to cause the police to believe that Volna. has crossed the frontier with you and that you have returned alone." " How cause them to believe t'nii=?" "Co and get your horse and ride through the village this afternoon and call here." "'Here!" I cried in astonishment. "Yes. I shall then send for the police agents and hand yon over to them as the man who told me the falsehoods yesterday. This Mill clear this house of the'danger of any suspicion." I could not restrain a smile, remembering how he emphasised the heinousness of false" hoods " It. will at leu.st be a good cause,'' I .s.kl. ■ "God forgive me— the child must-be saved, Mr. Anstruther. You'll do this?" Why, of course." " And when your trouble is over you will go to England?" "One thing at a time. They might send me to Siberia." ' ' ■' '■ It will lie best v>." he said earnestly. "What? Siberia tor me?" I laughed. " No. no. Cod Forbid. England—England as soon as yon can.'" "And Volna? 'Does -know of this?" " Indeed, no. Her one thought is of 'the trouble she may already have brought upon you. She would never agree to it." I believed that, Should I— her to— to say good-bye." This perplexed him. "ft would be better not, but"—his eyes wandered all round the room before he finished" I suppose she would wish it. And you won't meet again and—-and you'll tell her you arc"going home to England?" . ' ..',, .i " I'm afraid you must leave it to me what to say," I replied, with a. smile. "I think you may trust my discretion. And you must do your part afterwards carefully. Keep her out of the way when we play the comedy of that arrest' later, or she'.may cast, herself, for a part, in it. She's plucky enough to avow herself, and that would piix things up a good deal for us all. you know." Ho frowned, threw up his hand* in-trou-bled perplexity a.nd pushed his chair back. "We had better get. it over," he exclaimed, resignedly. "I'll go and tell her,-you are leaving/'

He walked toward the door, paused, and turned as if to say something more, then tossed up.his hinds again and went out of the room. , .-« i*

I staged out of the window into the small, but carefully tended garden, a prey to '.the very mixed thoughts which the good father had succeeded in rousing. , ,:i Then the door opened and Volua came in alone. (To be continued daily.)