THE WAY TO WIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13690, 5 March 1908, Page 3

THE WAY TO WIN.

fj'UBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.!

BY MADAME ALBANESI, i„thorc€S of " Capricious Caroline," ''The Wrongest of ill Things," " Susannah Strongest oi an ««»k»i t and One Other." "Love and Louisa." Etc., Etc.

[COPYRIGHT.]

■CHAPTER XI. CHRIS MKETS MRS. DAXCIIOFT. r R-sTiKV had iu,l closed her eyes all that St following on her interview .with Dan- « She went to bed, but sleep was lmible. and when Maeintyre came to call P T«he was already up and dressed. *Li<* Dancroft had left her with the understanding that he .would communicate •fch her to let 'iff know when his mother *"uld arrive, and the morning was still "° (r when .< note was brought to her by a. Joy on a bicycle. The note was from Dan|joy on a DK v l '

iX °«On thinking matters over," he wrote, , nd from the address on the notepapcr, it rM evident that he had put up for the ItaU at the nearest town, "I have come to he conclusion that it will be better for you to tv.ta> London and see my mother * 1>os " "wY»ah(J('niay not desire to come down hciiw l ' the momeni " He then wrote the ■n'dre** i" London where she would find his motherland added: "I shall be glad if vou will s°w as early as you conveniently ■an to-da-y.'" 1 am leaving at once lor Louton aud we can meet there." So Christine gave her maul orders to put . few things into her travelling bag. Macintyre heard of her, mistress' deparljro ; alone with great surprise and even • let me conic with you, Miss ' 'hristinV," she begged, but Christine was U "I don't know that 1 shall be away very . on <r in any case I can take care of myself." . Then she added, for she felt that the servant* required some little explanation iroin i.J. "It is business which is taking me, ' Aiac'iutvre a sacred business which my dear father would have done if he bad lived, and 'which 1 must do in his place." '-And'these words in a sense satisfied the maid, for she, better than all, perhaps, wis • in the position to know what the significance, of Christine's devotion to her father's memory really was. ~;.,,„ ... It, was strange to the girl to hud herscli quite alone. She: shrank "-'into a --corner of the '-railway carriage and closed her eyes' wearily. The real meaning of what lay im- '•> mediately in front of her had not come to her as vet: all connected with Dancroft. '•'was 'blurred except the one big fact, that ■treat inexorable fact, that the father she mourned, the, lather she had adored, had achieved his greatness by tun act of treach- '■" ery, and that' it had never been granted to hint to make atonement. And beyond this one big fact there. was the nervous, conscious resolution, the determination no matter what it cost her, to wipe out if she could this stain from her father's memory to act as she was convinced he would have acted, to restore as she was equally ' convinced he would have restored.' " * ; . It was not. until she had alighted from the \ train at the London terminus that she rea- : lised that she.was about :to meet a new, v and, perhaps, a bitter enemy.. • : ■"' > -. : The crowd at the station bewildered her; she hardly knew which way to turn, "and it was' with a sensation of relief that' she • found 'herself addressed,-.and turning i saw I James Dancroft standing beside her. V "I cam up in the same train," he said in his curt way, ''and.as.l saw you standing here I thought I might be of some use." - .He hailed- a cab as he spoke, but when ' ae had put Christine into it he did not follow her. Instead he mounted the box beI side the driver. "' ' -.« '? The girl's nervousness increased as the , cab rolled away and carried her through a labyrinth of, straps all wearing the same; dull, aspect. Jt^, r seemed Jo her. as-if , tips. pirney was interminable,, yet,when at last J they': stopped in front a quiet-looking: - : hotel a - wil4 sense # ifclftair settled upon her, and she had a natural yearning for /'. someone belonging to her to be with her

■ now."".* >.';?■'-. -'•-. .--.,'■ .- ''.V. v "- ; ;,* As the cab door was opened, however, she : stepped out bravely, and there was something proud in her bearing as she followed- , Daacroft into the hall. V "~%,'< : He "paused just for a moment when they" were inside and-no on* was in hearing. ■.'■[ ;;.';I must prepare you," he said. " You " vill find my mother very harsh, very bitter..; ;>i'f she tries you too much you must remem-' : Der what she has suffered and you must en-' deavour to put yourself in her place." I '"Thank you," said Christine, "I am pre-! }.'pared for everything." . • _ • " He looked at her for, a moment, and. bis" -eyes were lit with a wonderful expression ; then without another word he led the way "indoors. He left Christine in the waiting- )

I*'lf you will wait h%re," he said, "I'll see if my mother is ready to receive you." 'Christine did not sit downshe stood md looked out of the window, and she : hivered as she stood. There was a racking pain in her head, and she felt faint; Ad horribly weary, but above all she felt frightened. .. She had told him that she was prepared ; but in her heart she knew;that she was a long way from'being ready to suffer further and perhaps inevitable'; abuse of her father. He returned"very soon. "Will you come now?" he said. And if Christine had looked at,him she would have noticed that he was very pale. She followed him obediently, mounting the dark, narrow staircase with knees which trembled beneath her. •'•'..; She was never conscious how she passed into the room into which he led her. Just for the moment all was blurred: then she awakened to the knowledge that a pair of eyes were resting on her with an expression so vindictive, so terrible, that she shrank back involuntarily. James Bancroft moved forward quickly and pushed a chair towards her. . "Won't you sit down?" he asked. But Christine shook her head. " I prefer to stand." She aid,-however, rest her black-gloved hand on the back of the chair, and was vaguely glad of the support. "Let her stand, James," said the old woman, who was sitting by the fireplace. She was a very thin woman, and her age was the age which comes from suffering, from constant, unremitting toil, from lack of _ comfort, lack even of those things which are necessary to the life of most ordinary people. About her shoulders there was a grey shawl, and on her head a widow's cap,* and the skin of her face seemed as grey as her shawl. She was so thin, she looked so frail, only that burning fire in her eyes spoke of strength. "Yes, let her stand," she said. Though she did not look in that direction, Christine was conscious that another woman was in the room standing by the window, conscious that another pair' of s yes were regarding her intently and. with curiosity.

Mrs. Bancroft's fingers were plucking nervously at the fringe of her shawl. - "So you are Henry Fielding's daughter,'' she said, " daughter of that treacherous wretch ; and you have conns here ot " your own free will no doubt to hear what I have got to say about him." Christine looked into those terrible eyes a 'id courage surged into her heart. , said, "I have, not come WJSM 1 ) to your hatred of my father, ! Mlp« tare because I feel it my d«ty3|Mra[ Bu it you, to know your wishes, ° ti»,ul may do what my beloved father would have done had he been alive." The old woman sneered back. "That's not a good beginning," she said. " Your beloved father lived a good many years, and there is no record of his having tried to do what we mean to make you do."' Christine coloured hotly. "You are making an assertion," she said.. "What proof have you that my father did not try to make atonement? You judge him by one act.' I am going t_» defend that act. If I could give my life to wipe it out I would do that gladly ; but you don't know the man at whom you sneer so easily as I knew 11111!." The old woman cut into the speech. ".James,"- she said, " I will not be intuited." -

The man standing by the table shivered as ho saw. the shiver run through Christine's slender figure. "I think—" Then he spoke; with an effort; "I think," he said, "that we make a mistake by starting with recrimination. Miss Fielding has come here, mother, to discuss the future." The young woman at the window moved forward here.

"Yes," she said, "let us get to the future; what is done is so old, I'm tired of it; I want something new, something that means life."

Mrs. Dancroft turned on her son and on her daughter. "You had better leave us," eh© said " this is my affair, and I am not going to be dictated to, I shall say what I please and when I please, and I'd best warn you," she said, looking again at Christine, " that I don't mean to spare you. You stand in the place of your father to me, and I shall deal with you as I should have dealt with him."